War: 8.25.1930


They ran through the gas, their gills filtering it easily.

I was not as fortunate.

I’d tasted gas before, and it was still unpleasant. However, when there’s no choice but to go forward, then that’s what you do.

As my lungs struggled and mucus streamed from my nose, as saliva poured from my mouth and tears from my eyes, I drew my Colts.

Through the gas, the men saw me and focused their considerable attention on my destruction.

Fortunately for me, they seemed to think that bayonets alone would suffice.

The first few men died with expressions of genuine surprise on their faces. Green-tinted blood exploded from their wounds, and I advanced cautiously across the gas laden field.

The others, seeing that I was armed, attempted to surround me, though I know not why. Perhaps it was to take me prisoner?

Whatever the reason, it cost them their lives.

As one man lunged, thrusting eight inches of cold steel into my belly, I blew his brains out the back of his skull for him. He fell back, tearing the bayonet out, and the others hesitated, fully expecting me to collapse. I could feel there had been poison on the weapon, but like the gas, my body fought it, extinguished it, and purged the poison from my system.

The men around me realized a moment too late that I was not like any other they had faced before.

The Colts thundered in my hands, and I slaughtered the gilled soldiers.

To a man, they fought, and only at the end did the last few panic.

They shot at me, and I knew the fight was mine.

Soon, there was only a pair of men left, and I called for them to surrender. They backed away, each firing. Finally, they ran out of ammunition, and one of the men threw down his weapon, raising his hands above his head.

His companion ran him through with the bayonet, jerked the weapon free, and then impaled himself upon it.

I walked forward, reloading as I drew nearer. The gilled man in front of me died slowly, his own bayonet deep in his chest. He tried to speak, and while I did not know his words, I knew what he wanted.

A mercy killing.

I left him where he stood, awkwardly balanced on his own weapon, his green blood seeping into the earth.

I’ve no mercy now.

#horror #death

Published by

Nicholas Efstathiou

Husband, father, and writer.

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