The Mortui shambled ever closer to the makeshift barricade, and the survivors who had things to throw barraged the undead with spears and stones. It was largely useless, but a few of the shots struck true and the corpses stumbled and fell. But for every Mortui that fell, three more took it's place. Many of the walking corpses wore simple, plebian tunics, but a few wore fine togas, now stained red with blood. Lucius could even see a few Mortui wearing the armor of Roman soldiers.

The situation was beyond hopeless. Sooner or later they would get through and all these people would be ripped to shreds. But for now, all Lucius could do was help delay them. He secretly wished that a few more trained soldiers, but chided himself. The gods weren't going to help anyone who couldn't help themselves.

The first mass of dead threw themselves at the wall, and Lucius gripped his gladius in his one remaining hand. 

"Push them back! Nothing gets through!" said the centurion before taking his place on the wall. Even now, the Mortui were already crawlling over eachother to climb over the wall. Lucius took the first one in the throat, severing his spinal cord with his sword before kicking him back off the wall and into the mass.