Chapter 15: The liquid made from blood and blinding eyes

"Private Dorn, what is purpose when you reach the islands?" A drill sergeant, staring directly into my eyes, shouted.

I softly said, "Eliminate the hostiles, sir."

"Speak louder private" he shouted back.

I yelled "Eliminate the hostiles, sir"

"Excellent and what is your strategy private Dorn?"

"Sneak at night sir"

The drill sergeant patted me on the back and grinned, motioning for me to follow. I followed him outside the tent, into a wilderness of torn trees, muddied ground, thick clouds obscuring the sun, and rain that made it difficult to see where they were going and fight.

As firearms shot into the fog created by machine guns and gun barrels, cradles of bodies formed barriers. I was at a war on the island, and as I looked around the tent, the drill sergeant had disappeared.

The world shook and spun upside down as I fell into the strewn abyss, returning to Brandon Wilson's body and opening my eyes. The ground was chilly on my back; Lesley had fallen down the fire escape stairs' railing while attempting a current wrestling maneuver he couldn't think of, leaving him dazed and confused.

'Was the maneuver finished or did I strike my head while performing it?' he pondered. He noticed with clear eyes that the trick had worked; he and that thing had created a hole with the impact which made a hole into the sewers .

Smirking, Brandon faced the enormous hole that had been made.

"Hahaha that felt good" as he laughed at the hole in the makeshift sky without clouds, sounds of alarms from nearby cars sounded, distant sounds of emergency vehicles gradually sounded close, and the voices of the crowd of onlookers were close to the hole. Looking down it, only to see a young man with white hair with black snippets on the ends of the hair and elf-like ears laying within the hole, his head visible while the lower part was obscured by the shadows.

When he was noticed by an observer, who cupped his mouth to increase the volume of his voice, he yelled:

"You. elf, are you alright?"

Brandon attempted to respond in the same way that the man had asked: by using his hands. But something felt strange, and after giving it some serious thinking, he came to a realization. He lifted his head as best he could and his gaze set on the lower body, he couldn't feel his legs or limbs, so his eyes raced all over the place trying to figure out what was wrong.

The proof that made him scream in terror was lying there, much to his astonishment and dismay. He had an interim thought that made him reflect; the monster he had fought was not human at all; he had wanted to have killed the bastard, but that stubborn bastard had stolen something when he had done that risky maneuver; as the phrase goes, the bigger the risk, the greater the prize.

So what the bastard took caused Brandon's strained emotions to rise as he felt the sting, his legs were severed along with his hands, and all that remained was the setting dizziness of blood loss as he screamed in agony and pain:

"Arghhhhhhhhhhhhhh"

His limbs had been severed from his torso, ripped from bone and muscle. He was in agony. Why was it that way? What had happened to the creature? Had it eaten his limbs to regain strength? Was it devouring them now while dodging the prying eyes of the public?

Brandon, using the last of his might before his demise, pointed with his stamp to the hole and yelled:

 "I need help quick; I'm bleeding." Since the pain did not exist while he was sleeping, it is likely that his body caused him to pass out even while he was aware of the discomfort.

"Fear not the ambulance is here with the fire fighters"

Satisfied with the response, Brandon took a pain in the groin:

"Thank the above"

"Will they save when they realize you are a Husk, boy?" A voice spoke out of the darkness in the area he had fallen into.

The voice was followed by soft footsteps in a rhythmic step and a slow milo dramatic clasp of the hands. The creature stood 5 feet tall, with pale skin, elongated arms with sharp claws, a pointy nose, slit pupils, a yellow iris, a bold head with no signs of hair growing, and sharp pointy teeth that made his smirk even more terrifying.

Then, squatting down, he caressed Brandon's face with his long nail and continued, saying:

"My small prey, that was fascinating and enjoyable at the same time. Even though it's a cowardly move, fighting, running, is powerful. It took me a while to recover from that trick of yours," he grasped Brandon's head and hoisted him to his level, adding:

"You are so special Husk; may I have your name?"

As his eyesight became somewhat blurry, Brandon grinned and said in a low voice, his body began to gently leak blood.

"Moody and fuck you, if I had a hand, I'd give you the middle finger," he chuckled as blood poured from his mouth.

Shaking his head slightly, the monster said,

"It's not fun anymore that I took some essentials, I can't bring them back, but if you were a husk from a vampire lineage, I could have fed you some of my blood and weakened your seal to heal you, but you had to be an elf," the creature said, stopping abruptly as his ears began to flicker somewhat.

You're lucky to still be having fun because your luck has continued. I have to turn you into a potato for the sake of this hunt, so let's see what you can accomplish when you are defenseless. You know, the time you told me about the benefits of running and environmental combat.... You wouldn't be saved by those individuals, and no one will, Moody. Why do you ask?

Approaching Brandon's ear, he continued, saying:

"Everyone hates a Husk because of what your type did to every race in this city, this country, and this globe, and that's because you are delusional. You will be viewed as a menace, liability, and a hindrance, even though your power is sealed with that tattoo on your back. You will always be viewed as a caged and chained monster, and monsters do not receive assistance when in captivity.

They are displayed over the world as men's trophies, so little monster, I will hunt you for mine. "It's just a way to see what kind of fun you can have when you're hopeless; maybe if your seal breaks, I'll get to see the monster."

As he stated this, he pulled his face away from the ear. Then he used his magic to make Brandon's blood cease seeping out of his body and sealed the wounds by solidifying the liquid into crystalized solid.

"That I will keep you awake as you wait for you transport to our next battle ground, where the public eyes wouldn't see us" For a brief while, there was a strong tremble throughout the area as masses began to shift in one direction. Brandon's eyes and ears remained heavy as he forced himself to see and hear. 

He was absolutely hopeless; he needed help here, he wanted aid, and he wanted to shout and weep for it.

The wave of water reached the creature's torso as he smiled:

"Well, I suppose this is your vehicle while we play hide-and-seek, our next game. His voice was otherworldly, full of wild greed and hunger. "You hide, and I will seek." The beast flung Brandon Wilson's potato body into the abyss, pushing the water with enough force to shatter a brick house.

That water, like Brandon, was made up of common paper debris found in sewers. With no limbs to help him swim, Brandon was carried by the water while holding his breath, unable to dodge or maneuver around the obstacles that attempted to finish the bones in his body, hitting his head and bleeding again.

Brandon wanted to scream and cry as his body was tossed and turned into the abyss that is filled with filth and waste that mankind and other races have dropped down here, he wanted to swim out of here, but his limbs were gone, gone for good unless he found a healer, which is next to impossible because he will be killed by that thing that is hunting him.

Lesley had previously felt weak; his crew was storming Oceania's islands, which were populated by a rogue turned terrorist group that utilized them as bases. They took them there as observant troops not assigned to engage the enemy; he was a private at the time.

However, after the unexpected surprise attack when they were sleeping, fucking, pooping, and eating, they were attacked in the dead of night by a tiny force who tore through the frontline and crept into the allied base.

We were given rifles to defend ourselves, but no one survived, and the frontlines were duped and attacked, leaving the superiors stunned and terrified of this military power that might wipe them out in barely a week of warfare, leaving no one at all.

They believed this up until Washington, D.C.'s situation room was called by a certain phone number whose caller ID showed that it was from the islands, and General Townsend responded:

"General Townsend" was his response.

"Echo...Charlie...Hotel...Oscar...Do you copy, Sir?"

"I copy soldier, why use the Echo Code Sergeant?"

"Sir, I am not a sergeant, I am private"

"State your name and army number private?"

"I am Private Lesley Dorn of the daycare falcon squadron 1, sir"

"Who told you about the ECHO Code, private?"

"Sir, sergeant Adams"

"When did he tell you about this?"

"A week ago, Sir, there was an attack on us. As one of the few survivors of the abortive attack on the Oceania islands, may I please request extraction, general?"

"Please accept my sincere condolences, but we are not fully staffed to send a rescue out to you. If you've been on the island for a week, you've noticed that the shore is heavily guarded by intense shelling; a helicopter or boat couldn't reach it.

The speaker was silent for a while before continuing, saying:

"General look at the beach again"

Hearing that, the people in the situation room alerted a technician to work the screen as it turned onto the islands. Only to see something out of this world, the heavy bombardment guns and nearby camps were destroyed decimated, smoke coming from the burned tents as people of all shapes and sizes were crying as they fell to the ground clutching their throats. Some burning alive as they screamed in agony but were not audible due to the higher ups looking at the monitor screen.

The situation room guests' mouths were open as they observed what they labeled a successful mission but did not award it to any of their top soldiers.

"Private what the heck I am seeing?"

After a period of silence, he answered the phone:

"Golden goose has laid her eggs and you are the farmers to get most of the harvest"

The general chuckled and continued, saying:

"You know what private, we will get you the rescue and you are going to give us a story in exchange do that sound good?"

"I would enjoy that, sir. Yes, Over and out, Private Lesley Dorn.

Brandon let out a gasp and vomited a lot of water from his mouth. Because he didn't have his hands to assist him rise and let the water out of his lungs, Brandon had to force himself to do so with a deep breath, causing the water to burst out forcefully.

After some time, Brandon inhaled with his face turned upward at a fresh spot. He was propelled by the water pressure from one of the tunnels to a cylindrical area with a metal container that displayed the setting sun setting and the dancing shadows that added to the spooky and quiet atmosphere.

The noises of pouring water from the numerous tunnels that link to the cylindrical structure, as well as the screams of rats running amok in search of food, would eventually bring them to his direction and feast on his helpless body with nothing to fight itself.

Brandon waited as he gulped some saliva, which made him harden even more as tears welled up in his eyes. He didn't want to weep for fear of the beast finding him and killing him; no noise shall be made by him, he assured himself.

'Is someone supporting this horrible joke? First I die, and then they bring me to this place. I'm not the hero; this isn't how things are supposed to operate. The unhappy man passes away and is granted another chance at life.

"What have I done to deserve this?" "I already suffered on earth; this place is supposed to be the afterlife; you don't suffer in the afterlife," he said as the tears were too much to bear. Or am I stuck in hell?

Brandon was in pain—from his predicament, from his worn-out body, from the water's constant pushing on him, from having his arms and legs torn off, from not being able to employ a cheat talent like other isekai protagonists, and from feeling hopeless.

He wanted to blame the heavens for granting him a wish he didn't ask for, to tell the heavens that he is a saint, and to tell the above that he killed for the sake of global peace.

With so much going on in his life, Brandon had always done things on his own. After the Oceania event, in which his friends and colleagues were slaughtered for being in the wrong location at the wrong time, he lived in fear, fleeing and hiding from the enemy. But one day he had a discovery that forever changed who he was: why can't he do a miracle with his own strength and power?

People usually claim that their defiance was bestowed upon them when they stopped being themselves and became somebody else. What could Brandon do? He lacked training, experience, and knowledge of his responsibilities.

Greeting the sky, Brandon said, feeling a little dry at the moment:

"I have a second chance and the previous owner had left it for someone else," he was also reflecting on Brandon Wilson's experience. He had died, and when he arrived to the body, it was already healing itself, so why wasn't it doing so now?

Before Brandon could examine this issue, he heard a rhythmic crawl, which occurs when a liquid loses its ability to move. He turned his head to the right to see, only to find a rat slowly approaching toward him with red spotted eyes, opening its mouth and speaking in a familiar voice:

"Found you"

The water that had spat him here caused his skin to become sodden, causing his body to tremble in fear. His teeth rattled entirely as if he were chewing on a crunchy food, and the shudder sent a chilly chill down his spine.

After speaking to him, the rat sniffed the air and twitched its nose. Once more, the rat spoke:

"Have you given up?"

"Have I given up?" Brandon thought to himself, he'd never given up. Did he give up on his survival while on those islands? Had he given up when he was persecuted by both the militia and the wildlife? Had he given up when the person he loved and wanted to be with the most was slaughtered in front of him? The answer is no.

But Lesley Dorn would not have given up and found a way to die while murdering that monster right now; he was not a quitter. But was Brandon Wilson a quitter? Based on the bits of memories that stayed in his head, it seemed like the person occupying this body was a courageous, foolish, and astute person with a golden heart.

Brandon replied, casting a spiteful glance at the rat:

"Neither my contract nor the contract of life included quitting. I promised a dying memory that I would fulfill his dream and give him the joyful ending he required in this world; you want me to leave. Make me quit, you milk pale f**cker.

The rat's voice reverberated in the silent cylinder as it spoke:

"That's more like it, see you soon"

With that said, the rat screamed as it died, with massive amounts of red froth throbbing from its lips and eyes. Brandon shifted his gaze away from the rat and looked to the container, which flawlessly made the view of the milky white moon appear both close and far, while Brandon spoke to himself:

"Any final thoughts...?" Brandon?"

As he said to himself, "Just one"

"Sure go ahead"

"I wish I could see my old friends, play with them like the good old days, talk about life, and drink a milkshake with Matthews at his family indoor bar, while Butler Teresa and maid Fatima tell us stories about her country with a flaring tree that looks like fireworks going off..." Brandon, how about you?"

He took a minute to reflect and asked himself multiple times, "What do I want?" "What am I wanting?"

Brandon had always been a man who severed the higher power because he saw it as a means to aid the people, even if it meant performing horrific crimes that he thought were benefiting the people but only to discover that he was assisting the higher force in growing in strength.

'What have I done of my own free will?' he asked himself inwardly again, hoping to acquire a fundamental understanding of why the entity that sent him here desired him.

This may be his chance to make amends or get revenge from whoever brought him into the world. However, Lesley Dorn saw blessings in this environment rather than punishment.

As he struggled to come up with an explanation, he heard something to his right. He didn't want to turn his head to see, having conquered drowning, hopelessness, and limblessness. Brandon was not interested in seeing another rat that would indicate that it had located him and wanted to communicate again.

To his astonishment, the sound he heard was unique and peculiar. It was a combination of something crawling on a slick surface while being rapid, similar to a snail. However, he was well aware that snails aren't really that quick or fast.

He gently turned his head to see something that briefly attracted his attention: a reddish-purple puddle in motion that was approaching him as it approached the rat. Brandon glanced at the weird occurrence with his imminent death thrown away for a little as he went to witness something unique about this world he would be saying farewell to very soon.

The liquid then rose like a small wave on the ocean as it covered the rat; after a few seconds of observing this bizarre event, Brandon wanted to return his gaze to the moon, but the liquid moved again, with the rat nowhere to be seen. Perhaps the rat had been digested, but when the liquid approached the area where his nose and head met, he pondered how it was done. Scoffing at this odd object, Brandon continued:

"Cute"

Saying this, the liquid twisted for a moment before rising to a low visibility height. Brandon had questioned who this monster was moving as he got closer to the unusual liquid; now that he saw what was underneath, his question was answered; beneath the moving liquid that it used to consume the rat were circular spheres that were stuck to the liquid like chewing gum.

It moved with these orbs, but what Brandon saw brought his chills back and his impending death closer, except that the creature was not to blame.

As the liquid rose from the ground, the orbs gradually moved. They were...

Brandon blurted out one looming response:

"Are those…humanoid eyes" he asked anxiously, feeling the chills and frost hit his feeble dying body. Brandon wanted to move and get away from this extraterrestrial he saw with tens of eyes that slid around.

The object made him want to blink and close his eyes right then and there, but all Brandon wanted to do was keep staring at it. As though a comforting voice were asking him to keep gazing at it and to remain calm; all would work out in the end.

Brandon was in a trance, unaware that the liquid was growing closer to his mouth. He continued to stare as the liquid suddenly and inexplicably leaped into his mouth, jarring it open.

It proceeded slowly and steadily as it ran through his tongue and down his throat, with his eyes vacant and dull as if he had died, not looking at the crate that showed him the moon, which would be the last thing he saw before dying.

Brandon's head began to twist in strange angles that might have snapped any neck, his body trembled and shook as if he were having a seizure, his eyes empty and dull, unable to see the moon as he faced the metal container that seals the outer world from the cylinder.