The battlefield continues. Every passing second, a new life is stolen, snuffed out as if it never mattered.

How?

Why?

What are we?

I say 'we' because, even though I lack control, my eyes are dragged through the carnage my body—no, this 'thing'—unleashes. The massacre unfolds, each moment more grotesque than the last, and I am forced to witness it all. My comrades…

No, not comrades anymore.

They share one dreadful, unifying detail with me: a sword lodged into their hearts. I see them transform, each blade piercing flesh serving as a grotesque key, unlocking horrors beyond comprehension. Their bodies warp into monstrous forms, just as mine has, grotesque parodies of life that exist only to destroy. These beasts are mindless, their original owners long dead, eyes glazed over, vacant of any trace of the person who once inhabited them.

It is clear… Crystal clear that the souls of those bodies abandoned and ascended from them. I can see it right in their eyes!

But… why am I different? What did I do to be undeserving of ascension?

Why… The lifelessness in their eyes, the absence of humanity in their movements. Why am I still here? Why must I bear witness to this madness, tethered to a body that isn’t mine anymore?

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I want to scream, but my mouth isn’t mine to open.

I want to close my eyes, but the beast that stole my body commands them to stay open.

I want to cry, but my tears are lost, as dry and lifeless as the shell I’ve become.

This body, this unholy mass of shifting black and crimson, does nothing but kill—mercilessly, indiscriminately. I am a passenger, forced to watch as it crafts new atrocities with every passing moment.

At first, it slaughtered soldiers—people who were as frightened, as unwilling, as I was when this nightmare began. But… the slaughter doesn’t end with the people.

The lambs sent to this slaughterhouse—my comrades and I—have returned as demons from hell, wreaking vengeance on the living. Every warrior, every soldier, is torn apart in the most horrendous ways imaginable.

But when the battlefield runs out of victims, the creatures hunt anew.

Birds, elegant and fragile creatures, flitting through the carnage in futile attempts to escape.

That’s when it happened.

A mouth—a gaping maw lined with countless, endless teeth—emerged from a skyscraper-like neck, stretching impossibly high above the battlefield. The monstrous neck followed them, snatching a flock of birds mid-flight, and crushed them with a crunch so violent it felt like the earth itself recoiled. A sound that could make even Beelzebub abandon his feasts from disgust.

The trees are next. Gnarled claws tear through ancient trunks, shredding them into splinters. Some of the beasts turn to the sky, gnashing their ever-multiplying jaws at the clouds. They devour them, bite by impossible bite, ripping apart the heavens themselves.

The scene before me is one that could shatter a soul with a single glance. It’s a nightmare that makes you question the very fabric of reality.

This movie of carnage, this masterpiece of terror, can only raise one singular question now: Is the sun next?