2. The Color of Pain
From the bunker to the command center, from the command center to the barracks, and so on, the night's blackness was punctuated by dancing flames. Some movement, ahead. Harry clutched on the large trigger. A gush of thick blazing plasma erupted from the flamethrower's end, consuming the creature in a matter of seconds. Left and right, more of them were coming, – an endless stream, – coming for him, out of the blue, – everywhere. As he fired, the bursts from his weapon brightened his surroundings, seemingly revealing dozens of them rushing out of the nearby flaming buildings. He did not know whether he was surrounded, or whether they just were the shadows, playing tricks on him, but he did not pause to reflect upon it.
In a pyromaniacal frenzy, he kept firing and burning. He did not worry about the plasma within the weapon, he had plenty of it to go around. But in spite of that, it stopped. Unsettled, he glanced at the gauges, and noticed, only too late, the towering levels of heat. He hurled it away reflexively when he felt the burns on his hands.
Something else — fast! Frantically, he tried to get hold of the machine gun strapped on his back. His hands were red, and a sudden pain stroke him as he grasped the cold metal.
But there was nothing left, he noticed as he held the gun at the ready, turning round and round in search for a target. There were only carcasses – about a dozen of them – scattered all around him. Huge cracking sounds filled the air: the structures yielding under their own weight: the thunderous rumble of their collapse shortly followed. It was a huge inferno. There was nothing left to do, but run.
He reached the pitch-black hilltop, panting, only finding his way thanks to pale remnants of moonlight, for he had turned his flashlight off, just in case. He turned around. The base was still burning, but it would soon be over. He paused to catch his breath, by the by dropping a few pieces of extra equipment which he did not want to carry any more. And when he raised his head to look at the other side of the hill, he saw it... There was no hope left — no hope at all.
The colony was but a shadow of its former self. Most of the constructions had been ripped open and bodies were scattered all around the place, – civilians. On the North side, to his right, the last bunker still stood, staccato flashes from bursts of Gauss rifles showing from the openings. He could just hear them in the wind.
A swarm of creatures stormed the bunker, cutting through the men stationed outside like butter. The Marines within resisted fiercely, but in the end, the automatic fire died as well. And there was silence.
One of the damaged buildings had caught fire, and it soon spread out. The blackness was engulfed in flames.
Even the silence burned out. Someone – something – was making its way up the hillside. Judging by the occasional sounds of claws clicking on the ground, Harry thought safe to assume that whatever was coming was hostile. He had nothing to loose. He fired the machine gun in the blackness, hoping to hit something.
Only when the ammo ran out, did the creatures come out of hiding. He stared at them in despair, almost paralyzed in fear. He grasped a grenade, and started to remove the pin, but never had the chance to do it. One of them pounced at him, and everything went black.
Blackness. See. Hear. No feelings. Only. Pain.
Harry's mind was confused, a thousand nervous signals reaching it all at once, giving contradictory information. It seemed like he could see, but he could feel neither his eyes, nor his eyelids; it seemed like he could hear, but there did not seem to be any sound at all; he felt nothing, but felt pain all the while. It seemed black, but then it was another color; he did not know which one, except that it must have been the color of pain...
"Embrace the swarm."
The dismal voice came out of nowhere, – and at the same time, from everywhere. It was all-powerful, overwhelming; he could not hide from it; it was just there. He started to panic, unable to feel his own body, or to move, – unable to hide, or to flee.
"You are but a shadow of your true self. Unleash your true potential. Embrace the swarm!"
It quickly became unbearable. He did not hear it any more, but at the same time, he could feel it being repeated. He did not know how much time: hours; days; weeks; months... Something was storming his mind, seemingly causing all-out destruction, increasing his sensations with each second past. He could not even think; just feel. The pain was exceptional.
He had reached a point where he could not on earth think it could possibly be any worse, when, all of a sudden, the pain started to go down, and up, and down, and up, always shifting from one extreme to another. It was even more powerful than before.
This time, though, something changed. His senses were coming back, if only gradually. He closed his eyes at once, as he felt an acute pain in them. He could move, but he could still not leave.
His surroundings were viscous. From what he had seen briefly, and felt, he thought he was bathing in a thick, gluey, green-yellowish substance of some sort.
Suddenly, he started convulsing. He felt the liquid within, as if drowning. Reflexively, his body jerked and his lungs had spasms, trying to eject the substance. At length, however, it all stopped; but he was not dead. Somehow, he did not need to breathe in there.
He noticed them: sounds. They were barely audible; muffled, from traversing the thick fluid. When he thought he had recognized them, everything went black again, but he had the time to see the fluid go, and feel his body falling on the ground. He had recognized them: Gauss rifle bursts.