The imp wasn't there. The only sign of his presence was a pool of blood and smeared stains around the ventilation shaft. The hunters looked up to investigate. One of the soldiers let out an incredulous chuckle. "How the hell did he get in there?"
The human's voice was now muffled. "…right, get the CS…" The imp, greasing the way with the small dribbles of blood coming out of his opened wounds, crawled and shimmied against the thin rectangular sarcophagus of cold, rough steel. He winced, squinting his eyes shut as he tried to grit through the pain.
A canister of something landed against his foot. It began emitting smoke. Noxious, eyes searing. He held his breath and painfully shuffled forward. Soon, the air in the vent was saturated. Blitzo's eyes shut. They couldn't stop watering.
He kept painfully kicking his feet against the walls, sinking deeper into the metal cave, trying to move with his arms pinned to the side. His lungs stinged as carbon dioxide built up in his bloodstream. All he could do was keep going… holding on for as long as he could.
A grate below him. He desperately felt at its bars, its sides. Panic had started to set in. If he didn't get out, there was no way he'd avoid capture. He was about to take a breath, his lungs burning, begging him to inhale. His arms were stuck, so he mustered as much energy as he could into his only possible point of contact. His forehead bore the brunt of it, loudly slamming onto the grid of steel. The imp butted his head mercilessly against the grate. Again. And again. And again. Either he would break… or the grate would.
The latch that kept it closed snapped, and the serrated steel swung open. He tumbled down, and his fall was broken on a mound of some sort. It was room temperature, its texture and firmness unlike anything Blitzo had ever felt. The lungs finally had an opportunity. He gasped out, chest heaving, the burn subsiding. His eyes were tinged with red. At first, he couldn't see the contents of the mound. The confusion only mounted once he realised that the air he was pulling in wasn't fresh…
The putrid stench of wet copper hit the imp. The red in his vision was only complimented by the red of whatever was underneath him. He tried not to gag or cough, suppressing that dire urge with every iota of his will. As he straightened himself up in the pile, he took one of its component pieces out and lifted it up to the light. It consisted of two separate pieces connected by a joint of some kind, and the joint collapsed down to a ninety-degree angle. The item was not manmade but severed from something bigger. Something organic.
He was holding an imp's arm.
As his vision cleared and he began to focus on the body part, the epiphany washed over him. He hurriedly dropped it back into the pile before frantically inspecting the mound. It wasn't just arms. It was legs. Torsos. Heads. They all lie severed, dried blood caking the amputation points. Reds, whites, blacks, the yellows of perpetually opened eyes. The morbid display was haphazardly gathered inside a large, neck-height, clear plastic container. It was cemented to the floor.
His pulse thumped in his ears, and his eyes widened. He tried not to focus on them, yet the flashes of yellow drew him in. Faces drained of blood, eyes unfocused, staring off a thousand miles, mouths permanently stretched into various forms of anguish. These were all people… yet now they were motionless, defiled.
The doorknob of the room began to rattle. Attempts at getting it open. No success. The things on the other end opted for alternative methods. The sound of hardened leather sole hitting the steel door, near its lock, echoed into the morbid carvery.
Blitzo jolted at the sound, snapped out of his shocked daze. His eyes darted around for any escape. The only ways in were the door that was being kicked in and the vent he dropped out of.
The demon took a deep breath. He had to steel himself for what he was about to do. Horrifically, he began clawing his way into the mound. Parts were lifted out and placed on top, the smell of copper only intensified, and as he draped himself with the corpses of his fallen brethren, he tried desperately not to gag, to cough, to scream. He buried himself in cadavers that, themselves, were stripped of the rites of burial.
The door was kicked open and the fireteam of humans chucked something in. It clanged and clacked on the concrete floor before a loud bang, muffled by the bodies, cracked out. The four began pouring in, boots crunching against the ground. All of them seemingly stopped in their tracks. "…what the fuck?"
Fireteam Gamma looked at the pile of impish body parts. They lowered their rifles. A few seconds pass before the team leader addresses the pyramid of muscle and skin. "…that's-" He roughly swallowed, clearing his throat. "Okay, okay… we have a job to do. Let's just..."
"…" The fireteam stood silent. It wasn't clear from behind their masks what they were feeling. It wasn't even clear if they were human. The only sign of disturbed psyche was when one of the soldiers started heaving. They sprinted out of the room, unsealing the mask around their face, taking their helmet off, and spewing out the contents of their stomach.
"Hey- hey! Private, get back here- oh, for fuck's sake." The team leader pointed to another of his comrades. "Go cover his ass!" The grenadier let out one brisk nod before rushing outside, into the liminal.
The team leader and the rifleman. Two humans in a tight room with a pile of corpses. The non-commissioned officer looked up at the grate now dangling down. "…he's in here. No way he isn't."
Both of the soldiers pointed their rifles at the container. The rifleman pitched in. "What do we do? Should we chuck a grenade in there?"
"You got one?" Something shouted on the other end of the NCO's earpiece, and he winced. A few seconds pass. Lingering silence. The team leader chimes in after a bit. "No grenades."
"What? The thing's in there, that's-"
"They power the portals with this shit, and they don't want to scrape it off the ceiling." As the rifleman took a breath to interject, the team leader stopped him. "Before you make a smart comment, Corporal…" He points to the camera. "They can see us."
"…I'll call for backup."
"Yeah, probably for the best."
The rifleman pressed a button on the radio attached to their test. "Command, this is Fireteam Gamma. Requesting backup, the subject's in-"
A loud crunch of a solid boot hitting plastic. The door into the open-top container strained against its attachments. The rifleman panicked, immediately going for his weapon, while the radio screamed a reply. Another forceful impact. Another. Whatever was on the other end kept slamming against the entrance, hinges cracking, the surface denting outwards.
"JESUS CHRIST!" The rifleman desperately tries to reach for the radio with one hand, the other with his rifle raised. He succeeds at nudging the button with one of his fingers. "IT'S IN THE FUCKIN' MEAT ROOM, SOMEONE GET OVER HERE NOW!"
The door's hinges break open and a vast pile of gore tumbles on out, blackish-red fluids leaking onto the floor. The reaction from the fireteam was immediate; the triggers of their rifles were pulled and, in a puff of smoke and a raucous sound, they fired. Over and over, they filled the corpses with bullets, lead against meat, detritus flying out of the samples. Before they knew it, they were out.
Silence once again fell on the fireteam. It was at this moment they realised their mistake. They feebly opted to correct it, hoping the entity on the other end wouldn't notice. One reached for their pistol. The other released and dropped the magazine of their rifle onto the floor.
Ka-klink.
The entity made itself known. It was covered in red, its yellow teeth razor sharp, its screaming dissonant. The limbs it had hid under were cast aside effortlessly, thrown to the wall, the ground. As it rounded the corner of the plastic wall, exposing itself, the silver glint of something held in its hand glared against the lenses of their masks.
The imp leapt at the team leader. The human's holster was unbuttoned, but he had no time to withdraw his pistol. Teeth sunk into exposed flesh, and as the entity pulled against the neck muscle, it eviscerated the human's vital structures. Crimson spurting out of the new mutilation, his blood pressure cratered within a couple of seconds, and he collapsed to the floor.
The rifleman had already committed to loading their rifle. Where was the magwell? Why were his hands shaking? The team leader's gibs, ejected forcefully from the entity's mouth, hit the front of the soldier's mask, completely clouding his vision.
The tumult within the MDT's sample room did not escape the notice of the other two soldiers. They heard thumps, gunshots, screaming. The grenadier, still heaving, his face pale, was in no condition to fight. The automatic rifleman knew this. "Tony… hey! Hey!" The corporal slapped the private a couple of times. "Get out of here. Call for help, just…" He looked to the floor. Blood had begun leaking out from underneath the door. "…just go. Now!"
As the grenadier slowly stood up and stumbled down the hall, the automatic rifleman pointed their belt-fed weapon at the door. The discord grew quiet. The telltale sounds of a staple gun. Ka-chunk. Ka-chunk, ka-chunk. The soldier's heart fluttered feverishly in their chest, a pit deep in their stomach. The sounds changed in quality. One quieter metallic sound before a clatter of steel against concrete.
Two seconds passed. A green, handheld, pineapple-shaped object rolled onto the hallway floor.
By the time the soldier turned to run, it was too late.
