Solder Defence
Control
mouse:shoot space:recharge
c
The old timber creaks as shadows swarm the perimeter. You barricade the door with splintered furniture, fingers brushing the hatchet on your belt. They’ll come at moonrise—always do. Rotting claws scratch at boarded windows while you pour lamp oil across the porch. That cursed well out back? It ain’t water bubbling in the dark anymore. Three tripwires snare the eastern gully. Bear traps crusted with last week’s blood wait under leaf piles. You’ve rigged the attic bell tower with blackpowder charges, but the real fight happens downstairs. Granddad’s shotgun holds two shells. The scythe hung above the hearth? Blunt, but it’ll do. Dawn’s a liar’s promise. Third night running, the things dig through the root cellar. You’ve welded chainmail into the floorboards, melted down Ma’s silverware for shrapnel bombs. That wailing through the walls? Ignore it. They want you tired. They want you hearing things. Keep the forge blazing, keep the salt circles fresh. Whatever’s buried under this land’s waking up hungry—and you’re the last oath keeping it chained.
