《The Insatiable Instinct》 The Soldat There I was, cowering in a trench like a child, covered in mud and blood. A mighty explosion threw debris high into the air, masking the sun¡¯s light. It threw me off my feet, smashing me into the opposite wall of the trench. I raised my arm to check if it was still there and thankfully it was, but that meant that this blood¡­ wasn¡¯t my own. I trembled down to my very bones. So many voices all at once overwhelmed me. I just sank further into my coat to block it out, but no coat could ever shield me from the noise and the smell. The acrid scent of gunsmoke and rot. Then, an enormous force slammed down on my right shoulder, startling me out of my mindless, fearful stupor. ¡°Heinrich,¡± a voice began, ¡°get off your ass and get out there!¡± I lifted my head out of my coat; my hair plastered to my forehead with sweat and dirt. My helmet sat askew on my head, practically hanging from one ear. He was a very angry-looking man with bulging veins, a thick neck, and wholly blind in one eye. The iris sat there, devoid of life or colour, just like the battlefield mere feet above my head. The man¡¯s mouth was set in a gritted sneer, exposing his grey teeth. He spat out obscenities like a used wad of chewing gum as an explosion rocked the trench a couple of yards away. He shook me by the shoulders again, rattling the various buttons and whistles that hung from my bland green uniform. His grip was strong and his breath was hot and smelled of cigarettes, stale beer, and a hint of some kind of meat. His eyes stared into my own. They burned with a fire that spoke of a man who had seen the depths of despair and still managed to find the will to keep fighting. ¡°Come, Heinrich, come!¡± I was jostled to my feet and shoved toward the nearest firestep, whence he forced me to grip the ladder that led up and over. I was filled with a sense of dread as I was firmly shoved against the ladder, knowing that I was being sent to join the battle - a battle that I had little chance of surviving. ¡°Now, up!¡± He left me, stomping away, barking orders and blowing his whistle incessantly. Standing near me was a soldier I knew very well. We had attended school together, passed through boot camp together and then got separated. I thought he had died! His name was Hans Albrecht, 20 years old. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. ¡°Hans?¡± I ran up to him, grasping his sleeves. He turned to me slowly, his body shaking like the ground during a barrage. His gaze swept right through me, almost. His eyes no longer held their usual enthusiastic glimmer; it had been replaced by an animalistic drive, a desire to fly or fight for the sake of his own life. A primal fear. ¡°Heinrich¡­ you¡¯re alive?¡± he asked, incredulously. ¡°Yes, but maybe not for much longer.¡± He trailed off. ¡°We¡¯ll do this together, yeah?¡± His body froze in place at the sound of another explosion, which dumped mud into the trench and onto us. Nodding, he took a deep breath. ¡°I¡¯ll go first." Hans turned around and, slinging his rifle across his back, gripped the rickety ladder that led up and out. He climbed up, up, up, to the top, one leg over, then- Four spurts of blood erupted from his chest. He fell back, bashing his head against the opposing parapet and hitting the slushy ground below, unmoving. Four splotches of dark red slowly spread across his chest. ¡°Hans?! Hans, are you okay? Hans?¡± I shook him. No response. His helmet had slid off and partly lay over his face, casting a grim shadow over his eyes and nose. ¡°Hans¡­?¡± I reached out with a trembling hand and brushed the helmet away, sending it clattering to the ground. His eyes were closed, and his face was pale. I knew he was dead. Then, our commanding officer returned. He was red in the face and had a stream of blood traveling from his forehead down his cheek. In one hand, he carried a small pistol, pointing it skyward, shaking violently. He completely ignored Hans'' body, and rushed up to me. "Heinrich, why are you still here?! I told you, get up and go!" In utter terror, I grabbed the ladder and didn''t look back. I climbed up and over and- Boom . The Creature Boom. An enormous blast lit up the rapidly darkening sky. The tremor jostled the trees in the forest, causing birds to stir and fly away. Forest creatures of the ground cowered in fear, retreating to their dens to ride out the disturbance. The tranquil waters of a nearby pond rippled; the fish that called it home swam erratically as their watery abode fell under assault by what to them appeared to be a world-ending catastrophe. Deep within a grand cavern of limestone¡ªfilled with stalactites and stalagmites, yawning crevasses and waterfalls, and babbling brooks and brackish tide pools¡ªresided a creature, a beast, whose name would spark fear in the hearts of anyone who heard it. A creature whose killing sprees would span hundreds of kilometres in just hours¡ªan impossible feat for any normal being. She was not normal. This creature was a predator, bred to hunt, kill, and consume. Everything else came second. It was called Mylena, and nobody was left alive to tell what its name meant. The creature sat on a stumpy rock with a book in her hand, flipping through the pages silently. Then, the shockwave hit. A shudder sent loose rocks tumbling into the cave below. Snapping the book cover shut, she exhaled through her nose. A rumbling growl reverberated against the walls of the cave. The vixen stood up, reaching her full height of nearly seven feet. Stretching her limber arms and legs and waving her tail behind her slowly hypnotically, she yawned; her fang-filled mouth open to the world, her tongue splayed out, dripping vile saliva tinged red with blood. She stalked toward the opening of the cave, perching there on one foot. She sniffed the air. Her eyes glowed with a sinister yellow hue as she surveyed the night. In the far distance, flashes of light illuminated the horizon¡ªabout one every three seconds. The creature knew that with every blast, more men fell victim to the greed of No Man¡¯s Land. She also knew that with every fallen soldier, her hunger grew until it couldn¡¯t be contained anymore. A growl escaped her lips. No. I mustn¡¯t. The moment I am discovered is the moment I die. Her mind raced. So many possibilities, just a stone¡¯s throw away. She could go in, claim her prize, and retreat with the humans none the wiser. Or, she could go in, make herself known, spread fear¡­ This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. She drooled like a wolf who¡¯d captured a frail hare in its jaws. She, the wolf, would pounce on and crush the many thousands of little hares in their trenches over there. All she needed to do was remain undetected. Hoisting herself out of the mouth of the cave, the creature raced away into the night; her claws digging into the soft topsoil. Her eyes shone with a glare full of fury¡ªtheir orange irises glinting as if they contained smouldering coals within them. The landscape gradually morphed during the beast¡¯s frantic flight, changing from a warm, Earthly wood, to a miserable, fractured moonscape. The trees from which the creature gleaned its fruits lay splintered on the cratered ground¡ªsplayed out like matchsticks. Sickening, these humans. Their disregard of my esteemed wood, it¡¯s¡­. Her thoughts couldn¡¯t continue, as the scent of the battlefield ahead clouded her mind. The instincts which she¡¯d grown to so wholly suppress came flooding back like the tides of the ocean: forceful, violent, absolute, eternal. A fire seemed to light within her core; the bonfire grew with each meter she covered. Then, the creature broke through the threshold between peace and war, making its emergence on the battlefield. She came to stop on a promontory that overlooked what must have been a field in a past life. Now, it was home to the worst conditions the world had ever known. Trenches spanned the field¡¯s width¡ªfrom north to south, east to west, and everywhere in between. Great swathes of land remained untouched by the forces that warred below them; pounded to bits and drowned in the mud. This is¡­ quite unprecedented. The creature growled again. Her stomach begged her for something to fill it, whether it be one of her favourite bush-berries, or something much more insidious. The beast was inclined to ignore it, but her instincts¡­ they were far too powerful to ignore. She shivered¡ªnot because of the cold, but because of something much different. Something deep within her. A force that couldn¡¯t be quelled. Then, she leapt from the zenith on which she perched, descending its steep, craggy side. There it was. The Great War. Her Great War. Let the battle begin. The Trench Mylena crept swiftly through the winding manmade passageways, making sure to keep her head below the lip of the trench. It was oh, so tempting to leap from the cramped space and make a mad dash into the vast expanse of battered land between the warring factions. Her heart raced at the thought. Mylena paused every once in a while to sniff the air; the great influx of oxygen rejuvenated her, and with it, the smells of smoke and spent Cordite, the pungent odor of burning wood, and the sweet, alluring smell of spilled blood. Try as she might, though, she couldn¡¯t pick up the scent of any actual soldiers. Alive ones, that is. Plenty of cadavers littered the trenches and the areas surrounding them. Most of them were missing parts¡ªsome arms, some legs; feet, hands, heads¡­ For the first time in what could have been centuries, Mylena could see for herself the enemy which she¡¯d cowered from for so long. She crouched beside a corpse she found slumped against a wall. Her snout prodded the side of his face, leaving a small wet mark where her nose met his soot-covered cheek. No response. The dead soldier looked just as if he were simply napping, propped up against the charred timber. His thick, curly brown hair hung in clumps over his eyes, plastered with mud. He is dead , Mylena thought. Yet, he looks so peaceful. She dug one of her claws down his cheek, drawing a line of dark crimson. If the soldier was alive, he would have cried out in pain, but he remained still, serenely in an eternal slumber. Mylena moved on from this particular corpse, having found it too beautiful to deface by eating it. She knew that the birds of the sky and the worms of the ground would coalesce in short order to bring the young man back to the Earth whence he came, but something in her was happy that she¡¯d at least left her mark. After all, there were better meals to be had. Less¡­ boney ones. Continuing her stroll through the abandoned trench, Mylena came closer and closer to the prize she¡¯d come here for. Some hundred meters away lay a group of young soldiers, each excitedly chattering amongst themselves about the battle that had largely concluded by then. She heard their voices in her mind, echoing about like an empty chamber. Their voices grew louder and louder, more and more forceful, until the clamor melted down into a simple command: hunt them down. Mylena was a victim of the instincts she¡¯d been imbued with. As long as she lived, they were always in the back of her mind, prodding at her very neurons with every thought. Hunt them, Mylena. End their miserable lives so that you could deliver them to a better place. You are superior, you have no challenger. Hunt them. Hunt them. HUNT THEM. The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. Unable to contain the urge any longer, Mylena bounded forth, catching the soldiers completely unawares. She landed on one of them¡ªgripping both his arms¡ªdriving him back into the mud. A sickening crack of bone rang out as both appendages were torn violently from their sockets. He wailed obscenities in his native tongue, all the while his compatriots froze where they stood. Eat him, Mylena. Claim your reward. You are deserving of this. Her inner thoughts declared. She snarled and her tail wagged wildly behind her, sweeping the muddy floor of the trench. The soldier continued his incessant screaming, made worse by Mylena¡¯s slow tugging of his agonized arms. Then, with an even harder pull, his arms completely sloughed away and the rest of him sank to the floor. The screaming grew louder; he pleaded with her. His torso lay in a spreading pool of his own blood¡ªit mixed with the mud, it ran in little streams into the trough created by the soldier¡¯s falling body. His screams were blood curdling. Finally, Mylena rested her foot on the back of his head and leaned into it with all her weight, crushing the man¡¯s skull completely. His arms lay dangling from her grasp; she took a bite out of one, savouring the sweet and salty taste. The remaining soldiers looked on in horror, their weapons drawn. The bayoneted tips of their rifles jutted humorously into Mylena¡¯s face, almost as if they were jesters daring her to attack. She could almost hear the soldiers¡¯ ghoulish laughter, egging her on. The adrenaline rush within her body still hadn¡¯t subsided; she could practically hear her heartbeat and feel the blood pump through her veins and arteries. It clouded her mind, it fogged her vision. Everything went dark, save for the four helmeted silhouettes before her.
It wasn¡¯t very long before five brutalized corpses lay on the ground, stuck in the agonied positions they¡¯d been in when they finally succumbed. Mylena sat on a nearby firestep, licking clean the fractured bone of what was once an arm. Scraps of cloth hung from the bone; Mylena simply pushed these aside and neatly did away with the inedible portions. The bombardment started up again as she sat here, and with the falling shells came Mylena¡¯s time to move on. It wouldn¡¯t be too long before the deadly missiles would begin to fall into the trench in which Mylena hunkered down, and not even her robust body could survive such a concussion. Before she left, however, Mylena stooped over one of the bodies. Its head had largely survived her vicious assault unscathed, but on it¡ªhanging askew¡ªsat a peculiar thing. It was some sort of head covering, made of a thick type of metal. Its top was shaped like a bowl, and as it sloped downward toward the back of the head, it flared out and curved around to form some sort of lip, jutting out from the forehead. Mylena took it in her clawed hands, undoing the strap that attached it to the soldier¡¯s head. She looked it over, sniffing it just in case. Then, she put it on her head. It fit awkwardly. Her ears no longer had the space to move, being pressed down against her head. The securing strap wasn¡¯t quite long enough to fit around her snout, but otherwise, it balanced nearly perfectly. She managed to form the remnants of a smile before slinking away, leaving the trench¡ªand the bodies¡ªto be pounded to dust by the incoming barrage. The Offensive Dear Mami and Papi, We¡¯re in the trenches again today. The sergeant seems to be worked up over something, but I can¡¯t tell what it is. There might be another big offensive coming up, so that¡¯s probably it. I¡¯ve made some friends here, despite everyone at home saying I couldn¡¯t. Some of them are watching me as I write this letter, in fact. I received Johanna¡¯s mail the other day. I¡¯m glad her pregnancy is going well. When I left, her belly barely seemed any different, but according to her, it is getting harder and harder to roll out of bed every morning because of how big she¡¯s gotten! I hope I am home before Johanna becomes a mami. I¡¯d very much like to be there to give her some support. Suddenly, my right arm fell into a horrible agonising pain. Through the cast on it, I could see a dark stain growing ever steadily. The bullet inside must have been making itself quite at home embedded within my muscle. Ignoring the pain for the moment, I continued to write. Anyway, Mami and Papi, I must leave my message off here. Soon, dinner will be served. Bean-stew with bread. Maybe some meat if we find any. For dessert, we will be given fresh biscuits and tea, taken right from a British trench. This will be my first time drinking pure British tea, Mami! I love you all. -from, Heinrich G. I deftly tore the page from my notebook, taking care not to rip into the words I¡¯d written. Then, I snapped the notebook shut, tying it closed with the thin piece of string I¡¯d attached to its side. I stood up, swinging my legs over the bar on which I sat, then I leapt over three sleeping bodies on the floor to the exit of our bunker. ¡°Heinrich, where are you going?¡± One of the ¡°sleeping¡± boys asked. ¡°I¡¯m going to put a letter into the mail. It¡¯s for my parents,¡± I whispered back. ¡°You should go back to sleep, Otto. If Sergeant Schwenck catches you awake, you¡¯ll be put up for double guard duty tomorrow. I¡¯ll see you in the morning.¡± Otto rolled his eyes at me and fell backward onto his thin sheet of bedding. I held aside the flap covering the entrance to our tent, making my way toward the communication trench that connected the infirmary sector to the main battle-line. It was dimly lit with the dying flames of torches lining each wall. Big white arrows were painted on the wooden slats, pointing the way to each major stop along the entire line. I followed the path that led to our only connection with the outside world: the light rail system. As I was about to round a corner leading to the main trench, I stopped dead in my tracks. Two voices echoed into the night, just barely overtaken by the sounds of very, very distant artillery shellfire. ¡°...So, get this, man. An American, an Englander, and a Prussian walk into a bar. The barkeep goes to serve them their drinks, right? And then, the three get into a fight. You¡¯ll never guess what the barkeep says next,¡± one of the men giggles. The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. ¡°Yeah, yeah, Fritz. The barkeep tells them they¡¯re going to start a world war over who has to pay the tab. We¡¯ve been friends for how long now, and you¡¯ve told the same joke at least ten times.¡± Ignoring the pitiful attempt at a joke, I made a dash for the hut built beside the railroad tracks. In it was the post stop, dead silent at this time of night. Quickly, I gathered a stamp, a glob of wax, and an envelope. I folded my letter in half and put it into the envelope. The stamp I held above a nearby candle until it glowed red hot, then I pressed it into the wax atop the envelope. Then¡ªquite proud of my handiwork¡ªI slipped it beneath a small pile of other letters to finish off the secret operation. I was about to congratulate myself on a successful mission when the sirens sounded. At first, I thought I was hearing things. Then, they got louder; their shrill whine echoing through the trenches. I got down, expecting a hail of shells to come and crush me any second. Instead, a blinding barrage of floodlights from every direction, not focused on me, however. Gazing through the window, I could see the bobbing heads of a wave of men approaching our lines. An enemy offensive. Without a second to spare, I threw myself to the floor. My chin bashed against the rough wooden surface, forcing my teeth up and into my tongue. I cried out in pain, but my shriek was drowned out by the tinkling of glass and the splitting of wood and poorly-masoned stone as a grenade exploded beside the mail hut. I had to get out, but before I did, I dug through the upset pile of mail to find my letter, which I folded in half and shoved into the upper left pocket of my blouse. Then, I ran. Burst through the door, down the nearest trenchline, to a bunker. Any bunker. I didn¡¯t have a weapon, save for the meager butterknife that had¡ªprior to it falling victim to rust¡ªsaved me many-a-sandwich. I practically flew through the canvas covering of the bunker and slammed face-first into the chest of a fellow German. He spat expletives at me, which I warded off with a profuse apology. ¡°Bitte, Kamerad, haben Sie etwas, womit ich mich verteidigen k?nnte?¡± Please, comrade, do you have anything I could defend myself with? The soldier, probably taken aback by my bloodied mouth, shoved a spare G98 into my hands and pushed past me, adjusting his field cap as he went. The bunker heaved under the concussion of each shell that fell around us; dust rained down onto my head from fractures in the ceiling. It was time for me to go. Swallowing my stomach that had leapt right up into my throat, I heaved my body up and over the edge of the trench and ran. I ran and ran and ran until my legs couldn¡¯t go anymore. Then, I collapsed into a shellhole for some momentary respite from danger. My breath formed wispy clouds of vapor that curled up and into the air, dissipating after a few seconds. My fingers shivered, gripped firmly around the barrel of my rifle. Looking up, I could see bullets whip past, quicker than the speed of sound. Other soldiers ran right past me, none of them aware of my presence. Some of them were hit. They fell slowly, dramatically, and sank to the ground. They didn¡¯t move again. I flinched with every impact, and slowly, the realisation settled in. If I didn¡¯t leave this shell hole, I would die. Whether it be drowned in the mud that trickled down ever so often, or fried by a flamethrower. As I sat there, awaiting an opportunity to escape, a surge of exhaustion overcame me like a tidal wave. My kit suddenly felt as if it weighed hundreds of pounds, not to mention the rifle which may just well have been made of pure lead. My eyelids drooped, no matter how much I tried to force them open. I drifted further and further into unconsciousness, and then¡­ Lights out. The Voices Her lack of control would be her downfall. This simple notion Mylena refused to accept. Her inner thoughts, the very drive to keep living, empowered her. It forced her to breathe, it forced her heart to beat, it forced her to hunt every single day. She would be nothing without that instinct. A mere wild fox of the type she frequently encountered could never have risen to the level she¡¯d achieved. Mylena took pride in the voice in her head that told her to hunt. Certainly, it had the capability to pose a great threat to both her safety and the safety of the forest over which she presided. There were times where Mylena could not remember how many animals she had slaughtered, how many creatures she¡¯d nearly driven to extinction because of her insatiable hunger. How many times had she woken up with violent and often agonizing dyspepsia, to the point that she couldn¡¯t think through all the pain? How many times had she awoken to find her abdomen so grotesquely distended that she herself was frightened of the outcome? That was only the first of a series of punishments Mylena would have to undergo because of her lack of control. The voice in her head, while at first glance seeming to be helpful if not downright life-saving, would become the very last nail in her coffin. However, none of this mattered or even came into consideration during a hunt. Mylena had picked up the scent of a single soldier, not very far from her location. The darkness had descended on the land like a disease¡ªsudden, unrelenting, and deadly. The air around her swirled like a thick, black, murky soup. With every powerful step toward her prey, her breath became more ragged. With every powerful step, her hands flexed; the claws glistening with blood that wasn¡¯t her own. She growled: a guttural sound that sounded to have come from a hellish abyss rather than a living creature. With the amount of innocent souls Mylena had consumed, such a conclusion could not have been far from the truth. Her vision swam, filled with bright sparks that grew, collapsed, and exploded like dying stars. Her face split into a smile that exposed her knifelike fangs. Come out, little soldier. You cannot run away, you cannot hide. You do not have to make it harder on yourself. She called out into the murk. Slowly, inch by inch, a head appeared over the rim of a crater off her flank. A helmet, then a forehead, then a pair of eyes, then a nose, then lips, then a chin¡­ There you are. Come to me. She beckoned, curling one finger in toward herself. Her smile hadn¡¯t worn away yet¡ªin fact, it only grew wider. I won¡¯t hurt you. You have my word. She continued, drawling. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. The boy emerged from his hiding place, drenched in the glistening yellow mud that coated this broken landscape. His eyes were filled with fear; they darted left and right as if looking for someone, anyone , to save him. There would be no saving. Only an end to a comparatively worthless life. He would struggle for a time, perhaps try to fight back, but every single one of the others had succumbed in time. The boy trudged forward, his feet gouging into the liquid mire. In the silence of the battlefield, the only sounds that could be heard were the buttons on his coat dinging together, like the song of a church bell. He came closer, and closer, and closer. The boy¡¯s scent¡ªa heavy, sweet scent of blood and the stink of filth¡ªswam through the air, wafting into Mylena¡¯s nostrils. Eat him, Mylena. Eat him, Mylena. EAT HIM. Her thoughts screamed at her. Her mouth opened wide, her glistening teeth dripping rancid saliva onto the ground. Then, she ate. She ate and she ate until her stomach¡ªnearly rent open by the amount of meat she consumed¡ªgrowled at her ¡°no more¡±. She crouched on her haunches, tenderly rubbing her stomach to quiet its forceful churning. The young soldier, once in dire need of medical help, wincing with pain, flailing dumbly at her like a lame sheep, was no more than a pile of bones sinking into the liquid mire beneath her. Mylena had ended his pain. She had helped him, didn¡¯t she? In all of her mirth, Mylena didn''t hear the crack of the rifle aimed at the back of her head. It was a poorly aimed shot, grazing her left ear, but its effect was palpable. The bullet tore through the thin skin and flesh, leaving a ragged hole. It continued into the night, never to be seen again. In an instant, a bolt of pain flashed through her assaulted ear, causing her to cry out. Mylena¡¯s hand covered the pulsing wound as she whipped around, furious. And there, barely visible through the wall of fog, the boy stood. He hadn¡¯t lowered his rifle; in fact, he was preparing another shot. His gloved hand quaked as he tried to force another bullet into his weapon''s internal magazine. But he wouldn¡¯t get another chance to fire. Mylena tore toward him, letting out a roar from deep within her. She ran, ripping up the muddy soil in her wake. Her coat¡ªsoaked in mud¡ªtrailed behind her. She leapt into the air, soaring above him. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as Mylena''s momentum carried her the remaining few meters toward her target. Claws outstretched, Mylena''s eyes glowed in a bloody craze. The fox made impact, practically shattering the boy''s ribs. It forced him back into the mud; the two tumbled back in a weird dance of mud and blood. They came to a skidding halt at the bottom of the crater whence the boy came with Mylena on top, breathing raggedly. Her thoughts ran circles around her, chanting with ever growing ferocity. Take what is yours. Eat him, Mylena. He is your prize. CLAIM YOUR PRIZE, FOR YOU ARE HIS GOD. She let out a deep growl that shook the boy to his core. His bright blue eyes stared up in horror at the creature on top of him. He didn''t move. He couldn''t move. His little whines of pain amused her. You are a courageous little boy. Mylena drawled, just barely sane. I will enjoy what little time you have left. Der Ende der Biest Mylena was losing herself again. Her head spun. No clear thoughts could coalesce in her mind; they were fogged and marred and grossly distorted by the influence of the Voices. She couldn¡¯t even hear the sweet little whines she loved oh, so much anymore. Her heartbeat pounded like a bass drum in her chest. Mylena¡¯s ears drew back, her maw contorted in such a way to expose all her glistening teeth, her eyes glowed with ferocity. That is good, Mylena. He will thank you for the great service you will do him. Do not lose focus on your task, Mylena¡­ Eat him. Mylena¡¯s breath was labored, almost as if it took every ounce of focus in her to not devour the brave soldier she had captured. It would not do to eat this one just yet. It simply would not do¡­ He was different from the rest, the first one in a very long time to try and put up a fight. For what it was worth, he was awfully adorable with that big, gangly rifle in his hands and the pot-like helmet that hung clumsily from his head. His uniform was obviously several sizes too large. Yet, his face said it all. He was ready for the fight, he would die for his Kaiser, for his God, for his Fatherland. He was special . He was brave . One in a million. ¡°I-I¡¯ll kill y-you, you monster !¡± Heinrich stammered. He scrambled fiendishly at the ground with his hands and feet, trying desperately to gain some form of leverage to try and make a move. He knew he couldn¡¯t, but the primal will to survive took him over. He screamed, but was quickly silenced by a great pain on his shoulder. Mylena had sunk her fangs deep into his flesh, creating a deep red gash that spewed precious, warm blood. That will not be the only wound you sustain today if you continue speaking in such a rash manner toward me. There is no ¡°killing¡± me, boy . She snarled again. Where are you from? Why are you all here, fighting over mere scraps? Mylena tilted her head. Heinrich was hesitant to say anything further. He still couldn¡¯t quite believe his current situation, and a part of him felt as if it was a dream. The throbbing pain reminded him otherwise. Mylena shook him, jangling the buckles and hooks that hung from her overcoat. Her nostrils flared with every breath, but her eyes no longer contained that fierce, fiery orange glow. The Voices inside her had subsided; their chanting reduced to mere background noise, overshadowed by the soft prattle of machine guns in the far distance and the deep thwoomp of artillery hitting the ground and exploding. She now could operate under her own influence, as it were, and she would take advantage of this momentary recollection of control. Do you know that I have eaten hundreds of your fellow soldiers during the past month alone? You could very easily make one further addition to that list¡­ She drooled. But¡­ I won¡¯t devour you. Not yet. You are of use to me. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. Mylena¡¯s stress on the word ¡°use¡± sparked terror in Heinrich¡¯s heart. As he sat there in the dark, muddy shellhole with no visibility or sound, he wondered what could befall him, how he might be handled by this beast. He had a feeling of impending doom, and he knew he had to act fast if he was to have any chance of survival. He felt a chill run down his spine as he realized that his life was in Mylena¡¯s hands. He had to do something to protect himself. Steeling his nerves for what undoubtedly could mean a gruesome end to his life, Heinrich quickly unclasped his ditch dagger from a small, nearly unnoticeable pouch on his thigh and jabbed it into Mylena¡¯s side. Its blade was trapped between her ribs, and as it sank into her flesh, her body shuddered and went still. Her breath slowed to a lethargic, almost intoxicated pant, like a dog infected with rabies. Heinrich felt a wave of relief wash over him as the weight of the situation was lifted from his shoulders. He had done the only thing he could, and it had worked. He dragged himself back, out and under, still holding the dagger, and watched as Mylena slowly sank to the ground. For the first time in her memory, Mylena had been caught by surprise by the ingenuity of someone she had rendered so helpless. She was bleeding badly. It would not be very long before she was dead, and she knew this well . Mylena dragged herself to a position halfway between standing and sitting, crouching on her knee and propping herself up with a hand. Her free hand clutched the wound at her side; with every breath, fresh new blood poured from the jagged hole. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying her best to block out the pain. The Voices were back, chiding her for her idiocy. They chanted their dirges but Mylena could barely hear them. She was fading. You should have listened to us, Mylena. He would have made an excellent meal. Now you will die, and he will go on to tell the world about how he conquered the unconquerable. Do you want that, Mylena? She growled, tensing up her maw, exposing her bloody teeth. I do not want to die... With a limp, she edged toward Heinrich. Once vibrant and expressive, the fox''s tail now drooped, dragging like dead flesh. Bleeding badly, Mylena lunged at Heinrich, striking him twice with her claws: once across the face and once across the stomach. His uniform fell to tatters and he cried out in pain, screeching the only expletive words his over-protective mother would have let him hear. It was then that spotlights flooded the scene of carnage, casting a great white light upon everything within range. It was as if Mylena and Heinrich were black cutouts against a white sheet of paper. Shouting voices erupted from the nearby trenches and with them, a hail of machine-gun fire. Nine millimeter rounds zipped through the smoky air, arcing from their origins at the lip of the nearest trench to their final destinations. They struck the ground, spitting globs of earth into the air all around the two figures cast in black. One of the machine gunners had true aim, as a quick series of shots riddled across the fallen fox''s body¡ªtwo of them embedding themselves into her skull. She went limp; her grasp on the boy died out completely. It was now that Heinrich took his chance to escape. Running into the volley of white-hot machine gun fire, he threw up his hands, desperately screaming: "Bitte, bitte! Ich bin Deutsch!" But it was to no avail. Not a soul could hear his voice over the violent barking of the guns, nor could they hear the bloodcurdling shriek he let out as bullets struck his body. Heinrich fell, and the volley came to a whimpering end.
Days would go by, and the trenches of war would remain none the wiser as to the threat they''d just narrowly escaped. Of course, when they found the boy he was mere inches from death, but through his unintelligible mumblings, they could discern one word: "biest". A monster. A vile beast of some sort. The field physicians simply brushed these remarks off, seeing them as the product of brain damage or shell shock. Heinrich was just short of a lost cause. To be patched up and shipped home where he could live or die in peace. The beast however, she would forever find herself stuck on the battlefield. The guns would eventually go silent, the trenches would erode into nothingness, but the bones, they were still there. The bones of a creature that had seen eons of bloodshed yet had bat an eye at none of it. A creature that challenged the might of modernity, the power of steam and steel, and lost. The soul of the greatest huntress the world had ever created, tormented by her own insatiable instincts. The End.