Artyom Dereschuk - Hate the Sin

The guns thundered as they started spewing lead, but in the darkness it was hard to tell where to shoot. The enemy had seemingly improved their tactics and they weren’t just blindly rushing in. Their attacks resembled the waves rolling onto the shore—they were coming and going, picking off soldiers one by one before sliding back into the shadows. And just like with the waves, their onslaught seemed unstoppable, driven by gravity itself.

Their intent might be to create confusion, to suggest that their numbers were greater than they actually were, and it worked exceedingly well. Without any chance to count them, there was no way to tell whether there were ten of them or ten thousand. All that mattered was that they were where they needed to be, striking down one soldier after another at every opportunity.

Desecrator wasn’t sure whether or not it was a trick of the shadows, fueled further by his vivid imagination, but the creatures seemed to have changed since the last time they had shown themselves. Their bodies were bulkier, bloated with the unearthly growths within them, and where there used to be wounds there were now sprawling formations. The boy could see the beginning of what would become of them; new limbs and some unseen organs were already gestating under their translucent skin, waiting for their time to break free. As time went on, the villagers resembled humans less and less.

It seemed that the herb that the priestess had used to resurrect them was continuing to do its job, working miracles on their bodies. What used to be broken, shattered, was now stronger, and the boy had no doubt that the Giants’ Blood would continue to spread through them, replacing their weak mortal flesh with something tougher, stronger. Fiercer. Until nothing would be left of their former bodies. Until their vengeance would consume them whole.

“Keep your formations!” the General shouted at his soldiers. “Don’t get into herds, for fuck’s sake!”

As if to confirm his words, one of the soldiers shot another one in the back when the poor fool walked into his line of fire.

Their brigade became a chaotic swirl of bodies, a school of fish gathered into one place by a cunning whale who was now taking a dive before rising to swallow them all. It was impossible to stay put; as soon as somebody froze or tried to take a nice shooting position, a demon would leap at them from out of the shadows. They wanted to keep the soldiers in their panicked, disorganized state, since it was their best chance at victory, and they were succeeding. As a result, most of the soldiers were charging around at the very edge of light and darkness, where they could still see where they were going but just barely.

The priestess was nowhere to be seen, but that was to be expected. She had probably learned her lesson from their previous fight and thus was waiting for an opportunity to strike instead of attacking the General head-on.

Desecrator lined a shot against one of the attackers, but as soon as he pulled the trigger the creature started moving again, and the bullets flew past it. Their bodies had muscles strong enough to carry them out of the bullet’s path just before the trigger was pulled.

His knees were shaking, and he feared that at any moment he could wet himself. Although it wasn’t at the top of his priorities at the moment, the boy still feared that he would be seen as coward. If these were his last moments, he wanted to savor that glory that he had been yearning for his entire life. Maybe he wasn’t old enough to be a warrior worthy of the General’s attention, but he was definitely old enough to go out like one.

And yet, despite his resolution to go down in a blaze of glory, his body refused to answer to his honorable call. His arms were shaking, refusing to take aim, and his legs were trembling, calling for him to run away. He got the message that it was sending him: “If you were never brave before, there’s no need to be now.”

Tsetse had warned him to run away when this shit went down. Was it his captain’s final taunt? Was the older boy hoping that he would run away like the coward that they thought he was and get killed? That wasn’t going to happen.

He glanced around and saw that Homewrecker and Corpse Eater were still with them. Sons of bitches, Desecrator thought, gritting his teeth. I bet Tsetse didn’t tell you to run away, or why else would you still be here?

The other boys were also desperately trying to pin down a target and shoot them down. Despite his disdain toward them, Desecrator felt a sting of envy when he saw how organized the two of them were. They stood back to back, seemingly glued to each other, and when one of them took a step the other one followed, feeling his companion’s leg movements. It almost resembled a dance, only they were looking away from each other, to where the enemies were, and they had complete confidence that their six was covered by someone they could trust.

It was no wonder that they were the ones who had taken down the first attacker when their base had been attacked. Their synergy was almost inspiring, and had the General saw them at some other place he would no doubt commend that.

Another soldier fell to the ground, screaming. The monster that had pinned him started tearing into him, shouting unholy incantations that no longer even resembled human speech. Desecrator could easily shoot him down—the creature was in his sights. But when he pulled the trigger, not a single bullet managed to find its target; his trembling hands just couldn’t deal with the gun’s recoil.

The creature looked in his direction and, at that moment, someone else managed to land a shot on it. It roared and retreated to the shadows, but the boy knew: at the rate they were being eradicated, soon there would be no one to save him.

Another soldier got yanked into the darkness. One of the kids ran into the darkness and moments later his screams rolled across the battlefield. Despite the pain they were filled with, it took them a full ten seconds to subdue; the monsters were taking their time to end the boy’s life. Someone was crawling across the ground with his legs missing, and another soldier was trying to land shots while holding the rifle with his single remaining hand, seemingly unaffected by the loss of his other limb, before falling backward like a drunk.

Death Herald was already on his second clip. When his gun spewed its last bullet and started clicking in demand of more ammo the boy threw it away, pulled out his machete, and fearlessly rushed into battle. He even managed to land a blow on one the beasts, but it was more because the creature, drunk on bloodlust as it was, was shocked to see a tiny kid go into close combat against it. A moment later it swayed him away like one would an annoying fly, and the boy fell to the ground with his skull carved open.

Everywhere around him was chaos. The monsters were crawling everywhere, attacking whoever they wanted, and Desecrator realized that the only reason he was still alive was probably due to how unimpressive and harmless he must’ve looked to their attackers. At that moment, his lifespan could be measured in the number of adult soldiers still alive. And that number was rapidly dropping.

Is this how we go out? he desperately thought, looking around. Is nobody going to save me? Please?

He wasn’t expecting to find a savior in that hell, and yet salvation came to him. He saw something that made hope flutter in his chest again.

Amidst all the chaos and pain and panic, the General was impatiently unwrapping something from gray cloth. Something long and heavy that, before until moment, had lain on the trolley next to the generator. Next to him, a soldier with two cartridge belts wrapped around his torso was doing the same to a smaller parcel. What he conjured brought hope to the boy’s mind.