Of Blood

The deck is chaos. Blood coats every surface, pooling around my boots in a warm, sticky mess. The smell of iron fills the air, so thick it clings to the back of my throat. Chunks of flesh and mangled body parts are strewn across the ship, grotesque remnants of what were once living, breathing people. A severed hand, its fingers twisted and broken, lies just inches away, twitching as if it doesn’t know it’s dead.

I’m trying to breathe, to think, but the oppressive stench and the carnage make it almost impossible. Every breath feels like inhaling death.

Beside me, Aarohi stands frozen. Her wide, glassy eyes flick to mine briefly, her blood-soaked uniform sticking to her trembling frame. The blood on her face isn’t hers—I can tell—but it doesn’t make it any less horrifying.

The other soldiers are no better. Some are retching over the side of the ship, others simply staring at the carnage, their weapons limp in their hands. Their fear is a palpable thing, choking the air, threatening to spread like wildfire.

I grab the microphone clipped to my chest and force my voice to steady. "Attention soldiers!" I shout,the sound sharp and commanding, cutting through the chaos. "DO NOT FALTER. BE CALM AND RATIONAL. I REPEAT, DO NOT LOSE YOURSELF!"

For a moment, my words seem to take hold. Some of the soldiers straighten, their grips tightening on their weapons. Aarohi blinks, her breath hitching as she grips her tablet tightly. But before we can regain control, a chilling voice pierces the silence.

"My my, what an ugly art. Though, I can’t say I expected much—the material was low quality, after all."

My head snaps up, and there he is.

Perched casually on the mast of the ship, he looks down on us like a predator watching cornered prey. His dark, sharp eyes gleam with sadistic amusement, and his lips curl into a grin that sends a shiver down my spine. There’s a terrifying ease in the way he sits, as if the carnage below is nothing but entertainment to him.

Every instinct in my body screams danger. My grip tightens on my weapon, my muscles coiling, ready to act.

"Who are you?" I demand, forcing my voice to remain steady despite the dread pooling in my chest. "Identify yourself! Are you the one behind this massacre?"

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The man tilts his head, as if amused by my audacity. "Huh? How dare you ask me for my identity before introducing yourself?" His voice is low and venomous, dripping with disdain. "Do you have a death wish, trash? Introduce yourself first."

I grit my teeth, suppressing the urge to snap back. "Major Varun," I state firmly, refusing to lower my gaze. "Commanding officer of this unit. Now answer the damn question!"

The man chuckles, his laughter cold and mocking. "Now we’re being civil. I guess I should return the courtesy." He stands, balancing effortlessly on the mast, spreading his arms theatrically. "I am Raktaka of Blood."

The name sends a chill down my spine. "Raktaka?"

"You don’t understand, do you?" His grin widens, his voice laced with contempt. "Expected from trash. Let me simplify it for you." His tone darkens, every word dripping with malice. "I am your death."

My jaw tightens, but I hold my ground. "Death? You think you can take on all these soldiers by yourself? Overconfidence will be your downfall."

He bursts into laughter, the sound sharp and grating, echoing across the ship. "Soldiers?" he sneers, his gaze sweeping across the trembling figures. "You call this pathetic lot soldiers? Delusional. You’re trash, Major, and the rest of them?" He gestures at the blood-soaked deck, his expression one of utter disdain. "They’re worse than trash. Not even good enough to make my artwork. See how ugly this one turned out?" He points at the gory stain where Benjamin once stood.

My fists clench. "So you admit it—you’re the one who killed Benjamin. What did you use? Some kind of advanced weapon? Is that the source of your arrogance?"

The man's laughter intensifies, growing more unhinged. "Weapon?" he howls, clutching his stomach as if the thought itself is ridiculous. "You think I need a weapon for low-quality vermin like you? How quaint! You can’t even begin to comprehend what I am, let alone how I do what I do."

"Then why are you here?" I demand, trying to buy time, to assess the situation.

Raktaka’s laughter abruptly stops. His expression turns ice-cold. "Didn’t I tell you already? Your death." His tone is calm, deliberate, and filled with a certainty that tightens the knot in my gut. He steps forward, and the air grows heavier with every move he makes. "And I’m growing bored, Major. How about I end this charade right now?"

Before I can respond, he lets out a guttural scream—a sound so inhuman, so raw, it shakes me to my core.

"FIRE!" I shout, my voice ringing out like a gunshot.

But instead of the crackle of gunfire, a wet, sickening noise fills the air—a sound like flesh tearing and bones snapping.

I turn, and the world freezes.

The deck has become a slaughterhouse. Blood erupts in crimson geysers, painting the ship in arcs of red. Body parts rain down, limbs and torsos ripped apart with horrifying precision. Intestines coil across the ground, steam rising from their exposed flesh. Severed heads, their eyes wide with terror, roll across the deck, leaving trails of blood in their wake.

The soldiers are gone. All of them. Reduced to mangled heaps of gore and viscera. The air is thick with the coppery tang of fresh blood and the stench of ruptured intestines. It’s suffocating.

Aarohi is still standing, but just barely. Her pupils are dilated, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Blood drips from her uniform in streams, pooling at her feet. She doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, doesn’t even seem to register the carnage around her.

And me? I’m still alive. It’s just me, Aarohi, and him.

The monster leans forward,still sitting, his expression calm, almost bored. "See what your actions resulted in, Major?" he says, his tone casual, as if discussing the weather. "If you’d surrendered, I might have made it less painful for you all. By killing you together, of course."

My breath catches as his lips curl into a sharp, menacing grin. He raises his hand, pointing a bloodstained finger toward Aarohi.

"It’s your turn now, little bitch."

I follow his gesture just in time to see Aarohi crumple to the ground. Her eyes widen in shock as a gaping, ragged hole blooms in the center of her stomach. Blood spills from the wound in thick, relentless streams, pooling beneath her as her body convulses.

"Aarohi!" "Aarohi!?" "Hey!!" "Aarohi"