URSUS, XXXX
[For the sake of consistency, previous chapters have been edited and updated. Also, there are a few messages at the end.]
"Goooooood morning, Ursus! This is Janosik radio; my name is Juro—but you already knew that—and I will be bringing you your daily weather forecast." A radio nearby broadcasted a boisterous and charismatic voice.
"Now, the weather for the southwestern landship cluster is at a 70% chance of heavy snow with a meagre rating on the current C.E.I., which stands for 'Catastrophe Exigency Index' for the little listeners out there." In the landships, the children would brighten up in reaction to being referenced by their favourite host, having their workload freed up as school was rendered inoperable due to severe snow.
"However, if you are planning to travel near the Bathoric region, be aware that an Imminent Catastrophe Warning is in effect. Now, instead of travelling near Bathoric, I heavily urge you to take a detour through—"
A passing mercenary silenced the radio with a swift press of a button, as the rest of the information that Juro had been ranting about soon became irrelevant to them.
Nearby, another one of Ferrok's mercenaries was rummaging through their current supplies.
"That should be the last one." He muttered as his hand pressed against the container's lid with a click. After checking their now-organised current stock of supplies in the back of one of their trucks, the mercenary hopped out of the back and down onto the snow with a soft crunch.
After glancing around, he sighs and reaches into one of his coat pockets, pulling out a bone-white case of cigarettes. And just as he was about to light it, a white blur sped past him, and the force that followed knocked everything out of his hand while sending him spinning. The result? A flurry of ruffled feathers, that's what.
"Everyooone~!" The white blur sped past the rest of the mercenaries around the new camp they'd set up for a quick, warm breakfast, a temporary luxury as contracts and clients seemingly dwindled.
They said something else, but the mercenary missed it due to the rapidly increasing distance between them. He didn't care, though, as he gazed down at the still-open case of cigars, facing directly into the snow.
"…FU—"
~⁕~
The sound of a curse reaches my ear. What the hell are they doing over there? I watched as a grey and white blur—oh, that's Gilliean running around at what seemed to be the same speed that knocked me over when we first met.
The trucks were stopped around a lightly wooded area; the abundant wood no doubt made for an optimal campfire to warm or cook food. Everybody was given tasks and jobs while waiting for the fire to be set up. I myself had to help unload crates for an inventory check.
Sparing Gilliean no mind, I returned to my task of unloading crates and supplies.
Some were wooden, some were metallic, but some were unusually smooth, made of some sort of light, glossy material. Their colours ranged from tan to green to black.
These ones probably contained weapons or sophisticated equipment. Not wanting to expose them to the elements, I carefully placed them near a mercenary who was tasked with going through its contents.
With a passing "thanks" from the mercenary, my attention was drawn to something else in the distance.
Gilliean, shifting excitedly in place, in front of the spear-wielding, cloaked woman from earlier, Gari, if I recall. She said a few hushed words to Gilliean, probably a greeting, but she was too quiet and far away for me to pick up on anything significant.
Thankfully, Gilliean wasn't as covert as Gari, because what he said next certainly surprised me.
"Gari, Gari! The beastboy will be telling campfire stories about him and the other world he came from!" Oh, you've got to be kidding me...
To nobody except Gilliean's surprise, Gari simply shook her head. Even with her muted words, it was apparent what she was saying.
"Gilliean, my boy, there's no way on Terra he's from another world."
"Of course there's no way on Terra; that's because he's simply from another world!"
At least, that's what I imagined their conversation to be if I could understand them from here, as Gari appeared to lose her "cool" and went full force with that accent of hers, and Gilliean's speech began to resemble the speed he can accumulate at full force.
Gilliean grinned triumphantly before zooming away, leaving a slouched Gari, who promised to see Gilliean as soon as the fire was ready. I didn't have to guess whether that was true; it was written in her body language.
I sighed and brought my hands up to rub my eyes. I probably slept for 4-5 hours last night. For some reason, after counting the remaining ammunition, the feeling of being watched gnawed at me.
None of the other passengers in the cramped truck appeared to be the culprit, but I knew something was wrong.
Suddenly, movement from the left—
"Hey hey, man! They're setting up the campfire; let's go!" Similarly to our first encounter, Gilliean body-checks me again, sending my back crashing into the snow.
"Goddamnit, Gilliean, why do you keep doing this to me?"
"Ehehe, sorry. I didn't expect someone of your build to fall down so easily!" Gilliean chuckled as he nervously rubbed the back of his head with an embarrassed grin.
…Just how much power is packed into this little gremlin? A hunter's physique is no laughing matter among ordinary men, but for someone so small as Gilliean to knock me down like that? Jesus Christ…
"Anyway, what the hell do ya want me for?"
"Campfire! Cool stories! Campfire Stories! Cool Campfire Sto—" No, why are you acting like a child. Stop that.
"Now listen here, I gotta keep unloadin' these crates, so ya better stop before I—Wooahh shit!"
I'm getting fucking violently dragged by my feet through the snow! "Aghh shit, everything's white! Why are we even going so fast!?"
I try to tell Gilliean to fuck off in protest, only to realise it was a big mistake when a generous clump of snow finds its way into my open mouth, effectively shutting me up for the remaining minute of hell.
Eventually, the dragging stopped, and I found myself on all fours, blue scarf on the ground, expelling the freezing cold that filled the entirety of my mouth as Gilliean patted my back with a smile. The ongoing flame of the campfire and the sun overhead made the snow a blinding white as my hands patted it away.
"Ya—" It seems that not all the snow has left my body, as my sentence was interrupted by coughing.
After I finish coughing, I twist my body into a sitting position before someone lifts me up to my knees and adjusts the dirty grey felt bowler hat on my head. Right there, I'm met with Gilliean's face, only an inch away from mine, continuously spewing words out of his open latch. By the time I snapped out of my recent vertigo, I finally understood what in Sam Hill he was saying. It was more. Fucking. Questions. I couldn't help but 'smile'!
"What's the most thrilling fight you've ever been in? What's your favourite weapon to carry? Were there any legendary outlaws or beastboys you looked up to or considered your role models? Are you lonely—"
Wrapping my hand 'gently' around his face, I kindly said the nicest thing that came to mind at that moment.
"Shut up, shut up, shut up! Shut up! Shut the hell up, boy!"
A pregnant pause was reached within the near vicinity. Peace at last, until I realised I was holding the boy's purple face tighter than that of a poor rat. Letting go, I try and fail to calm myself down completely.
Taking another breath in, I start uninterrupted this time.
"O-kay ya cacklin' jaybird. Do I need to remind ya that I'm the one who suggested that I answer everything at the next campfire? However, I absolutely cannot do that if ya keep rattling enquiries off like a damn Banshee or keep repeatedly cutting me off before I'm even able to say one word."
He nods silently in apologetic embarrassment. And I look around to see who has gathered for this brief spectacle. However, there appeared to be a mixed reaction. On the one hand, many people seemed to enjoy this stage play and are grinning anywhere from smugly to lightheartedly. The others, however, not so much, as they really seem to hate my existence right now. Including that girl who was giving me that look back on the truck. Christ on the hill—that is a lot of hatred. If it weren't for this crowd, I'm sure we would have already started fighting to the end of the rails by now.
Sighing, I wiped the snow from my bandana before retying it around my face. A quick glance behind me reveals that the person who helped me up and adjusted my hat was none other than Ferrok himself. So it was not just the crowd that kept a fight at bay, then.
"As bothersome as Gilliean's actions towards you are and as surprising as it is for you to calm him down, the answers to those questions do pique my interest." Ferrok's stoic demeanour ironed the crowd's backs as he spoke. He ordered one of the many colourful mercenaries nearby to bring him a chair.
However, when the chair arrived, he did not sit in it. Except, much to my surprise, he motioned for me to sit in it instead.
"With what you have told me, I am sure what you are about to say next will necessitate a seat." Ferrok pushed the oddly shaped chair closer to me. "It is not the most comfortable option, but it is the only one we have right now."
"Huh, well, I suppose it'll do." Thinking about it now, I am not sure when it started—the Corruption, as everyone else called it.
I've got a clear idea as to what it does to a man, that's for sure.
"I guess I'll start with the beginning, or as much as I know. Please do pardon' me if I start rambling about small details or common theories, if you will…"
~⁕~
No one knows for sure when or where it started. And it didn't take long at all for it to spread throughout the more rural bayous of Louisiana. Diseases and bacterial infections were especially common in damp, bug-ridden areas, but it was obvious that the epidemic going around was no ordinary plague. The Corruption—to the alarm of the people—spread quickly. Too quickly.
That wasn't the only thing they noticed.
What they initially thought was the flu developed into a painfully slow descent into a state of mindless insanity characterised by extreme anxiety, paranoia, nightmares, and hallucinations so real that they were tangible and could even be seen in mirrors.
In addition, the longer the victim was infected, the more of a threat they posed to those around them. The deep-seated and spontaneous rage, as well as promises of vile and bloody acts, ensured this.
The behaviour of the infected grew worse and worse until… Well…
If the mind and body were two separate entities, then helplessly watching your body do unspeakable things to the ones you treasure most would be a fate worse than death.
Nevertheless, the Louisiana Event got severe enough to warrant the need for the American Hunters Association. Nobody truly knows exactly when the organisation was formed. Even if its legacy seems to be nothing but silence—a world freed from the inhumane, the monstrous, and the cannibalistic is what they strived for, and they planned to do the same thing in Louisiana too. To many Hunters, the AHA was simply the organisation that provided money for completing contracts. Whether there was something more sinister at play, the world will never know.
It had only been a couple of months since I signed up to be paid for partaking in culling the malicious entities. They claimed I had some kind of natural immunity to the effects of the Corruption. With this knowledge, many short, intense expeditions into the hunting grounds were undertaken.
But, no matter how impervious some Hunters were, the Corruption's influence would eventually catch up with them.
I was Damned. Well, I was going to be Damned, and to get rid of the effects that had been inflicted upon my body, I had to seek out and absorb the wellspring rifts that bloomed with positive energy to counteract the negative.
I didn't make it.
The memories are hazy, but after a single slip-up, two bullets designed to take down an elephant completely decimated my being.
~⁕~
"…and then I woke up in that village. I assume they found me unconscious nearby and decided I was an easy target or something." I finished. The fire that burned vaguely reminded me of the single moment before my death.
…
"So are we supposed to just believe that? I mean, how do we even know this stuff is true?" One of the mercenaries that were listening in had her hands around her face, clearly bored and sceptical towards the retelling of my knowledge and experience.
"Like, seriously, this 'Corruption' that you speak of literally sounds like a zombie apocalypse." The colourful merc began stretching her arms as she harped on.
Another mercenary spoke up in acquiescence to the first one. "Yeah, I agree, this all seems a bit too far-fetched, doesn't it?"
Gradually, murmurs of agreement spread around like a wave over the crowd.
Ferrok stayed silent, his posture unreadable. A few mercenaries shot a few glances towards him, as if waiting for a judge's decision.
I didn't give him a chance, however. And even if he wasn't going to make a 'choice', I pushed myself off of the chair and panned my gaze into everybody's eyes. "Alright then, I fail to see where I ought to care whether ya'll believe me or not, but a deal is a deal. I'm going now."
As the words left my mouth, my thoughts turned to what I should do next. I wasn't going to seek out Gilliean, and I hoped the opposite wasn't going to happen either.
…
Maybe I was a little hasty back then, but if they don't believe in the literal living nightmares I have lived through, then so be it.
The sounds of the fire and the crowd in the background muttered as an idea formed in my mind.
Since I'll be with this group for the foreseeable future, I might as well get a better understanding of what we have at our disposal. Sure, having over a hundred rounds of ammunition was all I really needed to know, but learning what and how to use newly acquired tools and consumables is also important.
I walk up to the back of a truck with the goal of rummaging through containers instead of carrying them for the convenience of mercenaries.
Examining the lower door of the truck, I find a small rectangular hole with some kind of handle. Pulling on it proved the right thing to do as the door gave way and revealed a neatly stacked hill of multi-coloured containers.
…Heh, I am not sure why, but looking at these crates reminds me of looting the armouries of Maw Battery or Wolfshead Arsenal. Many of the crates of ammunition were in near-perfect condition back then, so if there was a shortage of ammo, those were the places to look.
I drew the nearest container towards me, which resembled a case due to its much thinner form, robust angles, and length. That didn't matter much, however, because the whole thing was massive. The case was the same colour as the storm, a cold grey, with two black latches on one side that kept it closed. I stopped paying attention after realising they weren't in English. Two words were written on the glossy surface. There were some standard letters, but there were also some unusual ones, such as a small reverse capital N. I stopped paying attention after realising that this was in an entirely different language, but I did wonder what they meant anyway.
Towards the corner of the case was a yellow rectangle that was stuck to the surface, with a symbol that depicted some sort of rocky object with a bunch of sharp angles and a hollow square in the centre, along with some tiny words.
I couldn't discern what it truly meant, and there isn't anything else written or illustrated here that would indicate that whatever is in here is fragile or dangerous, so I'm going to play it safe anyway and open it with care.
Flipping the latches open, it opened up and revealed…
Oh, uh…
I expected a gun, but instead, it was a metallic, curved object—it was some kind of bow that was really long. A longbow…
…
Anyway, after I got over my initial confusion, I realised that what distinguishes this bow from others I have seen is that it appears to be entirely made of metal. It was somehow light for its size, and the cold sensation of the material pricked my hands, but the rough callouses dampened the sensation.
My hand reached for the bowstring and—!?
I grunted as the string refused to budge more than an inch. Even with an extra two fingers, I could not get more than three inches of pull with even my entire arm. A line of red marks on the folds of my fingers painfully shows me how much strength I put into my attempt at pulling.
I'm no expert at bows and arrows, but the design seems too well made to be intentionally hard to pull. Was this an innate skill issue or just a compatibility issue? At the end of the day, I think it's best to leave this for another day.
But still, what did that symbol mean to tell me? Was it trying to warn me of something? There wasn't anything else other than the bow—no arrows or bolts of any kind. There weren't any spiky rock-looking objects, which only confused me.
I sigh, slightly dissatisfied with my inability. That was a bit of a waste of time, but if that kind of resistance on a bow is the norm here, then I do not want to be on the receiving end of whoever wields it.
This would also explain Gilliean's speed in an unsettling way: people here are outright superhuman. While Gilliean can outrun a popped immolator, someone else may be able to hit harder than a sledgehammer with their bare hands, or even run up walls.
A shiver raced up my spine like a bounty in Dark sight. At first, I thought it was me thinking about the natives of this world, but it was actually something else.
It felt like a pull towards a particular direction… to the right… past the truck…
My feet crunched through the snow, occasionally sidestepping past blood and footprints. Reminiscent of my time back in the village, my eyes scan through the rough tracks of a body being dragged across the ground—in this case, the snow.
Speaking of snow, it has begun to fall softly, though I am not sure if it will intensify. If it is anything like rain, I do not want to be buried beneath it all.
I am eventually led to a person-sized mound of rocks, where there are a couple of small, browning red puddles of blood. As I got closer, the pull… the pressure became more intense.
Only now did I realise that I was almost hunched over the mound, hands clawing away at the stones and pebbles, my Dark sight having somehow activated already. Soft, rapid whispers flood my ears until—
crunch
My body must have turned the fastest it had ever turned in its entire life. My revolver was drawn and cocked directly at a woman, whom I recognised as the one from back in the truck. She wore a dark, metallic gauntlet on her right hand and held a spear that pointed diagonally down at the ground. With her grip close to the tip, the rest of the spear poked out from behind her, which added to her silhouette.
Staring me down, her blue eyes seemed to glow in the darkening environment, with thinning black slits for pupils. For a brief moment, her hauntingly beautiful eyes held me spellbound. Why am I so engrossed now and not when I first saw her in the truck? I noticed a tail behind her legs that looked like it belonged to a cat. It's low, and it's swaying slowly.
As I studied her, my bandana mask caught a drop of sweat that was dripping from the side of my brow, and that was when I realised—
Hold on, that spear is the same shape as… Wait, this woman… She's Gari!
"So this is how it is going to go," she said in the same tone she used to address me earlier with Gilliean when we first met.
"You… are going to tell me exactly what you are doing to that grave." Several slits in her spear lit up in a muted cyan as four evenly cut metal blades broke off and somehow began to orbit around the tip. Fuck… Taking my mind off of the current problem, I realise-
…That's a grave? Wait, what exactly WAS I doing? Having lost my concentration, I turned back towards the grave when something began pricking my hand—
Concertina wire!?
"What the fuck—!"
Bang!
Ah, fuck, my hand! Shit, where'd my gun go..!
I rubbed my shooting hand to ease the pain of being disarmed, and as I hastily dived down to retrieve it, my mind raced as I wondered why there had been no attempt to stop me until I looked up and around me.
First and foremost, there was an entirely new person who appeared to be the one who startled me. Their gored frame wrapped clad within bloodied and mudded barbed wire, it seems to have been done with deliberate tightness as to pierce skin. Each wrapping ranged from the makeshift crown of barbs down to their hands and feet.
But more importantly, in this very moment, she was clutching whatever animalistic ears she had in pain from the gunshot, which I will gladly exploit in the future. Snappin' around, I noticed Gari was in similar pain and discomfort as the rest of the mercenary group began arriving with shouts of alarm.
Gripping my gun tight in my off-hand and keeping a now sizable distance between the two, I couldn't help but feel a slice of relief. But for some reason, my subconscious was more drawn to a more concerning question that lay in the back of my mind,
"Just what in the sam-hell did y'all do to the little missy?"
And why is she deciding to attack me, of all people?
[Because of the censored nature of Wattpad and Fanfiction's r18 rules starting to be enforced. This story will be migrating to Ao3 as the main base. Don't worry, we will still be posting on this specific platform, but don't be surprised if you suddenly get a "This chapter is unavailable on the platform because of the snowflake tier rules and conditions''. Be warned, this story doesn't pull punches, and we really don't care if a dystopian death world hurts a random person's feelings, as true art is unapologetic in nature.]
[Also, Arknights is one fandom that falls victim to the age-old "isekai plot armour writing style". Well, there will not be "plot armour,", and the characters will not be forced to make dumb decisions in order to extend said plot. There will also be a few world mechanics that will be cut or altered in order to conform to reality and convenience.]
-Impurity/Eidolic/ican'tstickwithausername/not Alviunt]