The forgotten--[short story + art] (Patreon)

I can still smell the acrid air in my nostrils, and feel the heat of Emain's dank, irradiated atmosphere looming all around me, the pressure from the air squeezing my body, as if trying to crush every living thing on her back.

The front lines had turned into a bloody disaster early on- Wave after wave of infected rushed our troops, infecting or killing those it simply couldn't infect. I watched thousands of my kind torn to shreds, blue-black blood and organs littering the earth in such a manner that the brutality of it was incomprehensible.

Chaos was throwing thousands of creatures of all shapes and sizes at us, soldiers who weren't Abyss and became infected had no option but to kill themselves. Even as I scrambled up rocks and into a collapsed building, I could see the twinkling of what looked like stars on the horizon; The bursts of Amanathine bombs, Veil committing suicide if they were bitten, scratched or even touched by infected.

It was how things were.

Chaos was desperately trying to find where the facilities were on Emain that were ushering civilians into space. It wanted nothing more than to escape our gravity well and invade other planets, polluting and destroying them. Abyss were engineered with enough Amanathine in our blood that we couldn't be so easily infected. The other races…were not so lucky.

They wanted to test the augment program- To see if we- if I could survive infected attacks. If the modified Chaos in my body was truly resistant to the plague. So, we were dropped in from the burning sky above, to fight. There was no extraction point. Those who survived had to make it out of the Wastes and find our way to one of the subterranean base entrances. We'd then have to face decontamination and radiation treatment before even being allowed to step inside.

So here I am, alone. I've slaughtered over a dozen Chaos beasts. I'm exhausted, dehydrated and I can feel aches in muscles I didn't know existed. My gun was torn from my grasp by an infected Clover and I'm down to my daggers. Two infected--I don't know their species, have followed me. They're massive, and Chaos is oozing from the wounds down their bodies and from their mouths. They're calling for me, I hear their voice. The voice of Chaos, the singular voice. Only I can hear it, only I can hear what it wants.

Maybe it's the fact that technically I am infected too, I don't know. I try not to remember that voice. Like some deep-sea creature singing, but the melody isn't normal or natural. It's wrong. Bent, twisted, dark. Evil. It's singing a death song, looking for the perfect host. A host that can withstand infection. A host whos body won't rot. A host that can be bred to create a new generation of Chaos. Chaos with form, shape, and a physical immunity to the limitations of its current existence.

The echolocation clicks from the monsters are coming closer now, soon, I will have to fight. It's okay, it'll be fine. I feel strange, there's heat burning down my spine, the growths on my back are stiff, it feels like a current running through them. I feel strong. Alive. My heart was racing but now it's calm.  I understand now, I understand why I am special. This strength, it burns like an endless well of rage.

 I was born for this.