The Guild of Generations

197 days ago

He sat there, empty, watching as the organs of his only alive friend spilled over from the void the things maw had rendered upon him. It was beautiful, in a way. The raw power needed to puncture the smallest of holes through a skinsuit, let alone shread the thing. They had failed. All of them. They failed the very task they alone were called upon to do in the most embarrasing manner possible. He watched emotionless as his comrade perished. He wondered if it hurt, to lose that much of yourself. Could you even feel it anymore, or would have your body have given up? He himself was missing a leg, and he was spared no exception from the grave, approaching death with the aid of the chunk of metal skewered through his body. He failed, and dozens, if not hundreds of innocent lives will be lost because of his foolish choices. He wasn't enough. He was never deserving to lead. He was a fool to think so. As he let out a shuddering, desperate gasp for air, he once more doubled over in unbearable pain as the radiator shifted inside of him. He was a fool. This was his fault. He didn't see it. It was hiddeen from him, and he didn't notice the signs. He led these noble men to their deaths. They had worked so hard, only to have everything taken away from them. He was the reason the only people he had a relationship were now gone, forever. Lost not only to himself, but to those who loved them also. Such brutal, senseless suffering, all to protect him. They didnt deserve this. He doubted anyone would find their bodies, let alone if the bodies would survive long enough to be found. As he watched the blood and gore of his best friend stew into the dirt beneath them, he fingered his pistol that rested at his side. Perhaps he could find solace in a last act of free will, to bring upon himself the justice his catastrophic failure had warranted. He ruminated about what lay in store for him in the afterlife, had he shown faith? Was he good enough? Or did he fail the one thing he was called to do above all else? He didn't know, and he no longer cared. A sole, miniscule teardrop rolled down his cheek as he removed his helmet, unholstered his sidearm, and put the gun to his head. His voice broken and trembling, he barely managed to breathe the words "I'm sorry, mom. I've done it again, haven't I?" His apology was not meant for only her, but for all of those he let down when they needed him the most. With nothing more to do, he dealt upon himself the punishment he saw fit, as a last attempt to square the debt he had encompassed.

196 days ago

He ran, panting. The empty streets seemed to stretch on forever. Where was she? She wasn't with the others. He got them out, but not her. He could only pray she was okay. "Raline!" he shouted. The ground shook as the Earth around him quaked. He was running out of time. "Raline!" Where the hell was she?

And then he heard her scream.

"RALINE! I'M COMING!" He then turned and sprinted in the direction of her calls for help. He was sobbing as he ran, he knew what those screams meant. He wasn't going to be fast enough. It was going to be too late. When he broke through the gate that barred him from progressing further, he stumbled into an intersection, and there she was. She was standing there, petrified, staring it headon. It was almost to her. He watched as she was skewered through the ch- He watched as his bowl fell to the floor and shattered, splattering what would have been his dinner across the floor. Sinking into himself, he stared at the mess, unmoving. The mess seemed absurd to him, for why must it have had to happen? Unblinking, he stood there once more before tentavely picking up the pieces of glass and disposing of the waste. Upon drifting towards the sink, his shredded hands drew his attention. Where had these come from? Surely he hand't cut them on anything? After cleaning them, he walked over to where he kept the medical supplies, and reached for a gau- He didn't know much further he could crawl. He dragged himself across the ground, as at this point he had no more energy to walk. He had to make it. He was the only one left. He had it. Their efforts weren't in vain. He heard the humming. He shouted for help. They heard him! They really did! He watched as they sprinted towards his mutilated body to aid him. It was going to be okay. He was safe. They were here to save him. Then the world exploded. A sever- His hands itched, as the gauze wasn't applied quite right. He walked back into the kitched and rewrapped them. He was hungry, and upon looking at the time, he was confused. He should have had something to eat an hour ago, why was he hungry? There were no dishes in the sink, so he surely must have had cleaned them and put them away. He check the fridge, and sure enough, a serving of the food he had prepared was missing, further proving that he had already eaten. It mattered not, he would be fine until breakfast. He ventured into his bedroom, undressed into shorts and an undershirt. The sleeping pills were to help him, as he struggled to sleep. They were left of the picture of his wife on the nightstand, which in turn was to the left of the lamp. What a fool he was, he had forgotten to get a glass of w- He stared into her dull eyes, praying she recover. She had it didn't she? The Dissolution? Holding her hand in his, he wept. She was his pride and joy. He loved her so. He couldn't lose her too. First Raline, and now Millie? It couldn't be happening. There's no way. Surely he wasn't fated to suffer so much? Surely not? He reached over to a bottle of pills, and shook one into his hand. It would hopefully make her better, perhaps along with some bro- Where was he? It was too dark, he couldn't see anything. Where the hell was he? Shooting up, he slammed his shin into some sort of metal appendage and fell backwards over a ledge, slamming into the ground with a heavy thud. Refraining from uttering the slightest word, as his training had taught him, he cautiously stood up again, and noticed he was standing on something soft. He knelt down to the ground, and ran his hand along it. It felt like carpet. It had to be carpet. He followed the carpet to a door, and the door to a wall, and the wall to a light switch. He was in a restroom. How had he gotten here? When leaving the room, he noticed it was bright outside. Day? Had he not come to... he couldn't remember. A warm splat against his leg brought to his attention his hands. They were covered in soaking red gauze. What had happened? He thought for a moment, and recalled he had cut them at dinner. He walked over to the bed, which had look as if someone sat on it, but never had the opportunity to lie down. The nightstand next to it had a lamp, a bottle of pills, with a pill beside it, and a picture frame. It caught his eye, the picture frame. His trembling hand reached out to pick it up and take a closer look. Who was the lady in there, resting her arm against his shoulder? He didn't recogni- The had made it. They rescued them. They had succesfully saved them from the hell it had become. The city behind them was aflame, as far as the eye could see. He radio'd in to his fellow man. We did it! Barlaw! We did it! He was tremoring with joy. He felt like this everytime. He moved to close the door on the side of the helicopter as the one in front of them suddenly swerved to the left and slammed into the one right next to him. The resulting fireball sent his carrier careening into the forest below, launching him out of the helicopter, and sending him rolling down a hill. Oh how cruel fate had to be. From the rock he was caught on, he watched as the rest of those on the same helicopter as him flailed and fought as Rea- He stood in a hallway. Which one, he didn't know. It was straining to stand, so he slumped against the wall behind hi- our of them were left, they were almost there. They might make it. They might have gotten out of there fast enough. As they bursted through the clearing, his hopes were immediatly crushed. Not anything was left but the skeleton of the truck they had been in. He and his men were too late. They had gotten to them first. He fell to his knees, and eventually to his hands. He beat his fist against the Earth as he screamed in despair. He was too late. He had saved all the others, and yet had failed to save them all. Had he run for it on his own and trusted the other three to get out of there fast enough, he would have been able to get to them in time. He would have been able to get them back h- Had the city always been this loud? Surely, it hadn't been. It was quiet inside, so why wasn't it outside? His bloodied hands were slippery and warm against the cold metal bar. He didn't have any friends anymore. He doubted anyone would miss him. Not that he cared, as to care wouldn't he need to feel? He thought back to the photograph placed on the nightstand in the strangers apartment. The photo has always been there, he knew that. But he never knew who it was, and the longer he though about it, he began to realize he never cared to know either. The wind flung his shirt wildly around him. It still sounded the same. He was dissapointed, as he had expected the city would notice his departure.

195 days ago

"CC this is Section1552, the breach has been contained. Reporting three confirmed KIA, and one MIA, currently searching for the latter. Regarding the anomaly, it appears to have moved several miles south of its last recorded position. Recommending relocating residents in S44D12 and S43D12 to S42D12." Taking another glance around the area, he confirmed that the trucks were being loaded with bodies, as it's frowned upon just to leave them there. The family has gotta have their funeral, right? Walking to his truck, he double checked he had all of his remaining ammunition on him, as well as notified his truckmate to strip the bodies of their equipment, as nothing was to be left out of easy reach during emergency. He buzzed down his window, and shouted to one of the K9 operators. "Give it another fifteen minutes, if there is no sign of him, he's long gone. No chance in hell we find him, if there is even any of him left to find." After the man nodded to communicate he heard him, he trekked back off into the woods. After a couple of minutes of sitting there and writing his report, Central Communications sent him a response. "Message received. Relocation is estimated to occur in about an hour, head back to the relay and drop off your surplus, and then head down to aid in the cities. Your group will be working with Section33Q and Section 5921 in clearing the path to ensure there is a reliable route to follow. 22 and 321P will be with you as a defensive force while you work. If there is a threat, do not hesitate to engage it. Good luck, soldier." Ah, he wouldn't get a break tonight would he? No point in complaining, it's not like this has never happened before, and by no means will this be the last time. He called his wife to let her know he'd be busy for the next few days, and bid her his love. Resting his head on his steering wheel, he waited for the K9 unit to come up empty, as there was no shot he was still around here after this much time has passed. After boring himself of picking at his fingernails, he climbed out of the truck and meandered over to the team dealing with the corpses. After exchanging questions and answers, as well as a crude joke or two about the situation, he sighed as they once more double checked everything, and then double checked the double checking. No room for error in these parts. He once again checked his watch, unsurprised to see that it had only been 6 minutes since the K9 left the AO. After climbing into his truck once again, only to have to get back out right after he buckled in, only to get a trivial question that could have been answered by literally everyone else, he finally got a moment to just sit there and listen to the engines idle. Eventually, after much fidgeting, he saw the K9 team return, and answered their solemn head shaking with a shrug. Nothing he could do about it. They then packed everything up, double checked once again, and finally left the scene. Another mundane drive through the dark forest, with the headlight beams being the only thing visible. "Sometimes boring is good for you." his wife had once said. He remembered retorting with "Sometimes letting someone complain without interrupting them is good for you." She had gone to bed after that. He remembered saying "same shit, different day," which would've pissed her off even more had she heard it, but he didn't really care. You can't control how others feel. He was jostled out of his thoughts by a slightly larger bump than normal, and joined in the radio call with the rest of the crew. "Y'all think we'll get to sleep tonight?" he asked. "Surely we'll have time, the anomaly isn't moving [i]that fast." one of them replied. And at that he was content. He flicked it back off, and let the driving consume him.

194 days ago

He slammed his foot into the lock and the door broke open. "Hernandez, Sidinao, back left. Juden, Cermen, breach right door. Delestia, Travalge, cover my rear." he ordered. As the three raced down the hallway, you could hear the doors splintering and metal clanging against the ground. At the end of a hallway stood a wooden door with yet another lock, which he promptly shoulder rammed and plowed through without slowing. "Wratulin! Here! Delestia shouted. He turned around and ran to the hall closet Delestia was at, and saw the two children, the oldest of which couldn't have been more than 7. "Check them to make sure they aren't sick too." he reminded, and was met by "All good boss, they're clean." Then they all heard the shrieks. Couldn't have been more than a couple miles out. "Hernandez! Sidinao! Get to the van! Travalge, grab the kids and go!" Travalge immediately chucked his gun across the room and threw the kids over his shoulders into a firemans carry, and sprinted down the hallway. From the passenger seat Sidinao had already started the car, and Hernandez already had one foot on the gas before he was even fully in the van. Wratulin ripped the firecrackers out of his bag, lit them, and threw them out the window on the opposite side of the building. The shrieks were no more than a kilometer away now, and Wratulin positioned Juden and Cermen at the back windows. "Give them Hell." was his only order, what else could he say? Don't die? Not with these things. The four of them watched as the figures burst forth from the treeline and hounded the firecrackers. After they stopped popping, the Deathhunters all turned towards the house simultaneously. Both sides stood there and stared for what felt like eons, but in reality had been only milliseconds. "Delestia! Get the front!" Both men sprinted down there, and held the small entryway. They watched as the van dissappeared into the horizon, and Wratulin released a breath he hadn't known he was holding. The kids were home free, thank the Lord. Several seconds of waiting later, the first of the Deathhunters crammed into the doorway, and the two dumped their ammunition into the things skulls, the two alternating between reloading and firing as to leave no room for the beasts to breathe. As they ran out of ammo, they were left to fight with nothing but brute force, and the two took to swinging the butts of their guns into the things. After the weapons were rendered into splintered messes, they were left with nothing but their knives. While in the middle of gutting one, Wratulin watched as one sprinted towards Delestia, whose back was turned as he was fending off another. He reached into his pocket as he ran, produced a pair of brutal knuckle dusters, turned, and threw his right arm with the 270lbs and 7'2" figure he had worked so hard to maintain. Right when the blow would've connected, the Deathhunter went non-corporeal, and he was sent sprawling on his stomach. It jumped onto his back, and he rolled across the floor, keeping its hands away from his face. He got a lucky handhold, and flung it off of so the knife Delestia threw would embed itself beyond hilt deep into the monsters skull. He stood rapidly, and tossed Delestia his knife back. The doorway was empty. Well, at least for the moment. The radio sparked to life as Hernandez alerted them in a haunted voice that reinforcements were on the way, and at that, Wratulin dropped the radio on the ground and crushed it underfoot. They wouldn't get here fast enough. The two men spun as Juden shouted from the back. "We're overrun! Incomi-" Juden was cut off as the remaining windows exploded, and he was sent flying into the foyer. "They got Cermen!" he shouted right as the swarm engulfed him. "Up the stairs! Now!" Wratulin shoved Delestia towards the staircase and both stumbled as fast as they could up the stairs. At the top, Wratulin tripped and landed prostrate. Scrambling back up, he saw the women on the floor, and the man on the bed. After a quick glance, it immediately clear The Dissolution was responsible. "Here they come!" shouted Delestia as the first of them reached the top of the stairwell. Beating back the horde, both were herded to the window. Wratulin smashed the window with his fist, and shouted "JUMP!" and leaped out of the window and landed into a roll. Delestia landed next to him, right arm torn to shreds beyond use. Wratulin yanked him up and the two ran for the fence. As Wratulin reached the top and held a hand down to Delestia, the horde reached them, tearing Delestia to shreds with horrific vigor, sending blood and pieces of him splattering everywhere. Wratulin dove off of the fence, and ran like the wind. He grabbed his last flashbang, and threw it right into the rippling mass. There, that'd get them off of the bodies for now. Piss them off. Works like a charm. Immediatly pivoting, he resumed his sprint into the woods, reminded of their presence by their screaming every step of the way. After he was happy with the distance, and ensured they were close enough, he spun and threw his fist into the nearest ones skull, sending the gore of the dark, oozing blood, the bits of bone, and the tendrils of skin flying in the air. He was met with several slamming into his chest, and knocking him onto the ground. He desperately propelled himself across the ground with his arms, and was free for long enough to stand up. He became a flurry of slicing knives and fists slamming into the abominations, while they in turn became a blur of snapping jaws, slicing claws, and screaming maws. His muscles screamed as he was forced to take step after step backwards, eventually trapping himself in a dead end against the base of a cliff. He fought and tore at them as they slowly pressed against him and began shredding him alive. He let loose a deep, guttural roar as he grabbed the one in front of him, and slammed it's skull into his, over and over and over. After the sixth headbutt, its head exploded like an apple thrown smashed with a hammer. As they overwhelmed him, and he finally spent the last of his energy, he consoled himself with the though of the children. They were safe. He spared them this gruesome fate that nobody deserved to suffer, let alone children barely old enough to tie their own shoes. He stared up at the sky, drew his last breath, and accepted his fate.

193 days ago

"Come on, come on" he said as he quickly bandaged the ruined man on the floor, doing everything he could to stop the bleeding and to save him from what it had done to him. He rolled Twan over, and wet his face with a washcloth. "Wake up. Please wake up." Twan let out a small groan, and he pulled him up into a sitting position. "Twan, can you hear me? Twan? Twan began a fit of coughing, and after it calmed, he spoke with what little voice he had. "What happened? He responded with "You and the rest of the team got ambushed. You're the only alive save for myself. You had me guarding the entrance, and I ran down here when I heard the gunfire and screaming." Twan coughed up and spit out blood. "You're still alive, and I'm going to get you out of here. I have us barricaded in a room, and I don't know what's out there. Things we've never seen before." Twan shook his head. "I'll only slow you down. Get out of h-" He coughed up more blood, this time doubling over.. "Not an option Twan. You're still alive, and we must have hope." He lifted up Twan by placing Twan's right arm around his shoulder, and his left around Twan's. "Im going to get you out of here, okay? If we need to stop for a moment, let me know." He walked with Twan to the door, and quickly opened and shut it, tossing a flashbang and smoke grenade out in the momentary opening. He put Twan's gas mask on him, and his on himself. As they carefully navigated through the room, an eerie moaning could be heard from far in front of them. "Twan, I need you to tell me what we're up against. I haven't ever seen whatever it is, this being a dimensional breach and all. How did you hurt it?" While Twan struggled for words, Crus unholstered his pistol, and continued their march forwards. "Noise... angry..." Twan fought to spit out. Heading this warning, Crus gave no response and steadily kept them moving. When they reached the top of the ramp, he saw it. It was an odd looking figure, a body the color of steel, and missing a face. It resembled a human only in its shape, and even then it was still... wrong. He led Twan to the wall and carefully skirted around the edge of the room to avoid even getting close to the thing. Right when they were reaching the stairwell, a Deathhunter came barreling and shrieking down the stairs, and Crus barely yanked Twan and himself out of the way. Right as it was about to get to them, the metallic figure turned into a blob, and launched itself at the Deathhunter, leaving a skeleton on the floor where it was. It landed on the beast, and covered it entirely, taking its shape, and silencing it entirely. It stood up, and walked back to the center of the room, standing there unmoving. Crus looked at Twan, and saw the fear in his eyes. What had they gone through? Together they marched up the stairs, and exited the facility. Crus laid Twan against the wall, and called in for someone to come pick them up. The Tone was going to have to take of this breach, there was no way in Hell any of them would be able to. He shuddered as he recalled how quickly it had slain the Deathhunter. It was nearly instantaneous.

this one isn't as good but i was writing it with a fever lol

187 days ago

He sat there, sobbing as he stroke the mans face. The man was dying, bleeding out in Saul's arms. He had called him mother, as he was no longer aware of our world. He was lost in the illusion of a dying man. Saul let loose a sharp gasp as the man shook in his arms, and became still. He was dead. He laid down the man gently, and brought his knees up to his chest. Why had God chosen to spare him? These men around him were infinitly more valuable than he would ever be. The man he just put to rest had children who would never know what had happened to their father. He himself was barely a graduate of training, and was worth nothing. His parents were dead. His sibilings had all left the country. They abandoned him here, alone. The boy continued to sob, interrupted by the periodic, hollow gasp. Why had The Lord saved him, over saving the man who cared for those gone mad? THe man who dealt with those who had been broken by The Null? The man who ensured they knew someone cared about them. The man who showed them what it meant to be loved. He was their tether to reality, and he too was gone. Letting loose an anguished wail, the boy buried his face in his hands ever further. Why had he been spared when there was a veteran of uncountable years, a valiant warrior who was on the cusp of finally retiring? The man who had given his all for so long, and finally had peace in his sight? Slamming his fists into his temple, the boy fought for his mind to go silent, and to cease to assault him with the guilt of the sacrifices of those around him. Why did the farmer have to be killed? The humble man who was roped into this excursion only because his family was endangered? He had come out here solely to protect his family of 5, and with another soon on the way. His fingers bruising and bleeding, he beat himself further. Why God? Why him? Why did he have to live? Over all of the others? He wasn't worth but two cents, and he had still been spared? Why? He wouldn't amount to anything. He was at the botttom of his class, and had barely done well enough to graduate. He was a fool. He was a freak. He fell over onto his side and hugged his legs to his chest, having given up. Let them come for him. Let them relieve him of his sorrows. Let them induce what should've happened.

The Symbol of Commerce of Original World Trade Center

187 days ago

The Toll wrote:

YOU NEED TO WRITE A BOOK!

187 days ago

Original World Trade Center wrote:

YOU NEED TO WRITE A BOOK!

160 days ago