The man's body hit the ground with a wet thud.
For a moment, Taro just stood there — sword trembling in his grip, breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts. The creature's eyes — still human in shape but clouded over with that milky film — stared up at him, lips parted around the word that had already died on its tongue.
"Help… me."
The voice echoed in his head even after the forest went silent.
No wind. No birds. Just the drip of blood from his blade onto the dead leaves.
He stumbled back, boots crunching over brittle twigs, almost slipping on the mess of viscera spreading beneath the corpse. The forest floor reeked — rot, iron, and something else… something sweet. Wrongly sweet.
"Gods," he whispered, forcing down a surge of bile. "What the hell are you turning them into…"
He wiped his blade on his sleeve, but the smear didn't come off clean. His hands shook so hard the motion left faint streaks of blood across his uniform.
He looked around — the woods pressed in close, trees warped like ribs of some colossal carcass. Moonlight barely made it through the canopy, just enough to glint off the pale flesh of the body.
Taro crouched, pressing two fingers to the man's throat. No pulse. The skin was ice-cold.
He was dead. Or at least, he should've been.
Then came the sound — faint, wet breathing.
Not from the corpse. From underneath it.
Taro's head snapped down.
The man's torso twitched. His chest caved slightly inward as though something beneath the skin was… moving.
"No… no, no, no—"
He stepped back, sword rising defensively. The chest convulsed again. Something clawed upward, stretching the man's ribcage like thin fabric. Then, with a slick tear, a skeletal hand burst through, dragging itself out — a half-formed Wendigo larva, fleshless and twitching, its skull split open like a cracked egg.
Taro's scream caught in his throat. He didn't think — he swung.
Steel cleaved through both bodies in one motion, spraying blood like dark rain.
Silence again. Only his breathing remained.
"They… they use the bodies," he muttered, voice quivering. "They grow them…"
He backed away until his heel hit a root. The forest floor felt uneven — soft in places, like standing on rotten fruit. He looked down. What he thought were rocks were bones. Hundreds of them. Skulls half-buried in moss, ribcages cracked open like hollowed fruit shells.
And all of them — all of them — had that same expression frozen on their faces.
Mouths open mid-scream.
"Rin, Lira… where are you guys?" His voice trembled, swallowed by the dark.
He switched on his comm — only static.
"Ash-3 to Ash Leader, come in… Kael? Lira? Rin? Anyone?"
—shhhhhh—click—
"Damn it."
He shut it off, hand trembling. Every instinct screamed to run back, but the thought of returning through that corpse-strewn path felt worse. He needed higher ground — somewhere to see, to think.
---
He climbed the slope ahead, weaving between gnarled trunks. The moon hung overhead like a blind eye, diffused through fog. He moved quietly, though every step still sounded too loud. His own heartbeat was deafening.
Halfway up, he froze. A sound drifted through the trees — not animal, not human.
A low, rasping wheeze that rose and fell in ragged rhythm. Like someone laughing through a broken throat.
He raised his sword, crouched low, scanning the treeline.
The sound circled him, moving left to right, always just out of sight.
"Show yourself," he whispered, voice shaking. "Come on, then."
The laughter stopped.
Nothing moved. Then — a whisper, close enough he could feel the breath on his ear.
"You smell like him…"
Taro spun, slashing into empty air.
Branches snapped, something darted away into the dark. His pulse thundered. He caught a glimpse — something pale, moving on all fours, its limbs jointed wrong.
He chased it. He shouldn't have, but adrenaline drowned out reason.
The forest blurred — roots, shadows, moonlight flashing on teeth. He swung again, hitting nothing but fog. The thing was toying with him.
"Coward!" he shouted. "Come out!"
Then it did.
---
It dropped from a tree in front of him — all tendon and bone, skin clinging too tight to its frame. Its mouth split wider than any human's, stretching until the corners tore.
It grinned.
Taro reacted on instinct, stepping in and driving his sword upward through its chest. The blade stuck deep. The thing shrieked — not in pain, but amusement. Its clawed hands seized his arm and pulled the blade deeper into itself, pressing closer, nose to nose.
"It doesn't hurt anymore," it whispered, voice wet and gurgling.
Then it headbutted him.
Taro flew back, tumbling into a tree trunk. Pain shot through his ribs. His sword was still embedded in the creature's chest.
"Shit—"
It charged. He rolled aside, grabbing a fallen branch, smashing it across the creature's skull. The impact barely slowed it. It lunged again — he ducked, kicked its knee, snapping it sideways. Bone cracked, but it didn't fall. Instead, it crawled toward him, dragging itself by its claws, laughing all the while.
Taro yanked his blade free as it came, spun, and drove the sword into its head.
Once. Twice. Again. Until the laughter stopped.
He stood there panting, blade trembling. The creature twitched once and went still.
Taro dropped to his knees, staring at it — the remains barely human. Its jaw hung broken, its teeth cracked and uneven. Its blood was darker than normal — almost black, thick and syrupy.
"How many are there…" he whispered, voice cracking. "How far does this go?"
He forced himself to move. He had to keep going. Standing still out here felt like inviting death.
He reached for his comm again — nothing but static. He needed to get to the rendezvous, or at least signal the others. The plan was recon, not extermination, but at this point the mission felt like walking into an open grave.
---
As he climbed higher through the forest, the terrain began to change — the trees thinned out, and he found himself overlooking a ravine. A ruined camp lay below, half-swallowed by mist. Torn tents, broken gear, blood splattered across the ground.
Taro descended carefully, sword ready.
Bodies littered the camp, shredded, mauled — but something was wrong. None of them had faces left. The flesh was peeled clean.
On one of the remaining walls, someone had written a single word in blood.
"RUN."
He turned sharply, heart hammering.
Something was behind him. Watching.
---
He saw them then — silhouettes at the edge of the mist.
Three, maybe four figures. Too still. Too silent.
Taro tightened his grip, stepping back slowly. His boots brushed over loose metal — a fallen radio. It buzzed faintly, still active. A voice whispered through, barely audible through the static.
"…too late…"
The figures began to move. Their eyes glowed faintly in the dark — not bright, but enough to catch the light of the moon.
Wendigos.
Not as large, but faster — leaner, twisted mockeries of their human forms. Their limbs quivered like they were struggling to contain something boiling beneath the skin.
Taro didn't wait. He moved first.
He darted sideways, slashing through the first as it lunged, cleaving its shoulder open. Another came from behind; he ducked low, kicking out its knee, slicing through its neck in the same motion. His movements were sharp, almost frantic — not the clean precision of Kael or Rin, but desperate efficiency.
Still, they kept coming. Too many. Too fast.
One caught him across the arm — claws tearing through his sleeve. Blood sprayed.
He gritted his teeth, swung upward, and decapitated it. Another leapt; he turned the blade horizontal, cutting it midair.
When the last fell, he was shaking. His vision blurred, lungs burning.
The mist began to shift again — whispering voices threading through the air. He turned, and in the haze, he saw something — a massive shadow moving far beyond the ravine.
A towering shape, antlers catching the faint light.
"That's not one of the small ones," he breathed.
He stumbled backward, eyes wide.
The thing paused — as if it heard him. Then it turned its head.
Even from this distance, Taro felt its gaze — cold, ancient, starving.
"Oh, hell…"
He ran.
Branches whipped his face, mud splashed his boots, breath rasping in his throat. He didn't stop until the sounds faded behind him, until only his own heart was left pounding in his ears.
When he finally collapsed beside a fallen log, he looked down at his arm — bleeding, trembling.
He tore a strip from his coat and wrapped it tight. His sword lay beside him, its edge slick and dark.
"Kael… Rin… please be alive," he whispered.
And Taro was alone again.