Archer White

Saying the battlefield had calmed had done little to manipulate the environment. This nightmare was embedded, like some ravenous tick.

The world around them shifted. Not an earthquake, but the ground beneath his feet breathed just the same. An idea birthed in real time. Hector turned to face the smoke, arm slowly stretched, a barrier between the dreaming soldier and his creation – and then it was gone. His hand remained protective. One, two, three he counted, before allowing his hand to fall.

“This is um… This is Hell, yes.” He turned to face the man once again. “But look where we are. Look. This house is whole. We’re away from the front. We’re safe. Both of us.”

He could stare at this man for… too long. He was doing it again. It was his turn to inspect. Would he have imposed himself in this world with the very injuries inflected? It could have been worse, but the dream was still fresh. The mystery churned his stomach.

Archer's face paled and he followed Hectors gaze to the farmhouse. It stood out in the empty field like an obelisk. Archer clenched both hands into his shirt at his chest.

That was not safer.

"N-no. We can't." He was breathless and grabbed Hector by the hand to hold him back. "We can't go in there." His lips trembled as he fought against his thoughts. What more could he say? "... they're still there."

There was no chance to question his reasoning, or who they were before the battle they had dodged made it's presence known. While most of the bombs before had whizzed over their heads precariously but too far away, that was no longer the case.

That painful high pitched scream of one heightened as it grew close and Archer grit his teeth in anticipation. "GET DOWN!" He warned before throwing himself over Hector's body to shield him from the crash.

The bomb dropped in a deafening explosion. Leaving an empty black hole behind. The tremors of it's blast rolled over the ground and changed it as it went. Sucking out the light and warm color of dirt and leaving behind shadow and blood. While soldiers had not been present in the field in front of the house, they were now and in pieces. Bits of skill melted as they screamed in agony. Crawling on what remained of an arm and dragging their torso while leaking organs. A horde of tortured souls screaming and heading for them.

Archer rolled off of Hector with a panicked scream of his own. Scooting himself on his backside across the porch to put as much distance between him and the soon to be casualties. They had no other choice! It was this-.... or become like them.

parting words (id in alt)

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