Chapter 7: Blood in the Code
By B.T. Knox · Helstalgia Volume 1
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My blaster lifted and locked onto the closest of the Jackals with absolute precision. The turrets continued to have difficulty distinguishing between the real Jackels, drones, and holograms, but thankfully, I could tell them apart.
I pulled the trigger, and the blaster recoiled in my hand, so I tightened my grip. Each shot landed clean and direct. Blood and brain matter splattered across the bazaar as four more Jackals hit the ground. One by one, their red dots flickered into Xs on my minimap. Dead and lootable.
The nearest Jackals were down, but that didn’t slow the others as they continued to weave through the defence systems, dodging and slipping between bursts of turret fire. It bought me just enough time to reassess the situation.
I turned to move behind the counter as more gunfire rang out above our heads. “Dante! The fuck are you doing?” My voice was barely audible over the chaos as I glanced down at the two men on the floor, still grappling with each other.
Dante’s hands were clenched around Kalen’s throat, his fingers tightening and knuckles turning white as he strangled him.
I grabbed Dante’s shoulder and yanked, trying to pull him apart—but he wouldn’t budge. Kalen’s arms continued to scramble, clawing at him and reaching for something as the clock kept ticking down. I pulled again, harder this time. “He could talk!” I shouted. “We could use him, he might be worth something!”
Dante’s head turned, and as our eyes met, I saw an all too familiar look flash in his. The look told me he was drowning; it took me there as well. The damned drowning was coming for me again.
“He’s done. He’s out of chances,” Dante growled. His voice was low, and his eyes burned with hate. His face flushed, and I could see the heat radiating off him.
My eyelids began to droop. My head suddenly felt too heavy for my neck. I didn’t argue with him.
There was a click, a hiss.
I forced my eyes to follow Kalen’s outstretched arm. His scrawny, arthritic finger barely managed to press an emergency button under the counter. A hidden compartment snapped open, but it was too late.
Dante clenched his teeth and tightened his grip.
Crack.
I could hear the sharp, wet sound as it sliced through the room, cutting through the din of gunfire and shouts. Kalen’s eyes widened, shock registering on his face. His fingers twitched one last time. His breathing ceased, and his arm fell limp, the dead weight hitting the floor.
I shook off the heaviness and peered into the now-open compartment that Kalen had opened. A rifle with three clips sat inside, waiting for me to loot. It was a standard semi-automatic rifle, but it fired only traditional bullets, not blaster fire, which was good enough for me.
I reached in and wrapped my hand around the grip of the gun, swiping the bullets in a practiced move I’d done so many times, it was more muscle memory than conscious movement.
The air smelled of burning metal and blood. It felt hot and humid, and the room suddenly seemed to close in on me; there wasn’t enough space to breathe.
I gripped the rifle tightly with both hands. My finger rested gently on the trigger. My breath came sharp, and my pulse hammered against my ribcage.
I activated “Dead Men Don’t Shoot Back.”
The rifle kicked back, slamming into my shoulder. It was them or me. First shot—head. Second Jackal, second shot—chest. Bodies hit the floor. I kept firing.
It felt genuine and authentic, but I didn’t feel entirely comfortable with it. I shook my head vigorously as if I could shake the words out of my vision. The floor trembled beneath my boots, and the walls quaked. Sparks and debris fell around me. It not only appeared to be a warzone, but it also felt like one. I continued firing.
One by one, they fell.
The power of the semi-auto rifle surged through my hands and up my arms through to my spine, every nerve wired hot and trembling. My vision narrowed, and the walls blurred. Metal rippled like water, disturbed by a stone being tossed into it. The stench of burning bodies filled my nose.
Gunfire. The recoil of the blaster. A flash from the muzzle.
Fire. Recoil. Fire. Recoil.
Nothing else existed as my tunnel vision tightened. No sound but the rifle. No feeling but the trigger. There is no world but war. I couldn’t see anything else.
I had lost track of how many I had killed. The count didn’t matter, though, as I kept firing, the bodies piling up.
My rifle emitted a hollow, metallic click as the magazine emptied. The muzzle steamed, and heat radiated into my hands. Smoke coiled in front of my face. The room was dense with smoke and blood—a warzone.
As I reached for another clip, a hand seized my arm, stopping me from reloading. It felt stiff, tight, and alive. Before I could react, I was yanked, my body twisting with the force. I snapped to the side just in time to see a fist hurtling towards me: a solid strike straight to my face.
Crack.
Pain exploded behind my eyes as my vision flashed white. The room swirled as my balance shattered, and I collapsed. I hit the ground hard, my back flat against the cold floor.
The last Flux Jackal.
I ran out of bullets, and my guard dropped when I tried to reload. I don’t know if he crept up on me or used “Slipstride” to warp the distance. It didn’t matter because his boot came next.
The brutal, piston-like strike aimed straight for my ribs was fast and precise, like a hydraulic battering ram on a factory line. I managed to anticipate this and rolled out of the way. The kick whistled past me, and I could feel his balance shift.
My body moved as I lunged. Pure adrenaline drove me on instinct. I caught the Jackal’s leg as he righted himself in preparation for another kick and yanked hard.
He lost his balance completely this time and staggered forward. I surged upward, my hands latching around his throat.
Tighter.
His body jerked, and his hands flew up to claw at mine. His nails raked my skin, but I barely felt it. My grip was iron. Unbreakable.
His gasps turned to choking. He bucked, thrashed, and fought.
It didn’t matter as I tightened my grip.
His boots thudded against the floor. His hands clawed at my arms, reaching for my face. His body spasmed. His breath rattled. The same sound. The same fucking sound as the boy on the holo-train. His hands continued to claw at my arms. In the last moment before his body went slack, our eyes met. I saw that young boy’s eyes staring back at me.
It was too late. The drowning consumed me entirely.
The Flux Jackal’s struggles slowed and ultimately came to a halt. His body slumped against mine, dead weight pressing into my chest.
I didn’t let go. Not yet.
His eyes were still wide open and frozen. I stared into them. It didn’t matter if life was left in them or not. He was no longer a man but just a thing beneath my hands.
As I pressed harder, I felt something give. The body twitched in aftershock, like a broken machine short-circuiting in its final moments.
I kept crushing—despite him being gone—not because I wasn’t sure if he was dead, but because the act itself kept me afloat. Crushing his neck was the only thing holding me together.
Incredible strength flowed through my arms like nothing I had ever felt before. Bone turned to pulp under my grip. Skin stretched and tore.
My fingers slid deeper, coated in a thick, hot, viscous fluid. The last remnants of the Jackal’s throat gave way, collapsing inward. I didn’t want to stop. I wanted nothing left unbroken.
I felt consumed by the act. The visceral breaking of his neck pulled me out of my drowning. The control I had taken by taking his life was the only thing keeping me from slipping under—trading my life for his.
Blood spilled from the wreckage where his trachea used to be, thick and dark as old oil. It pooled in my hands, soaking into the cracks of my fingers, clinging to my skin as if it didn’t want to let go.
I didn’t let go, either. Not yet.
I held my grip tight, feeling the warmth seep into my palms and acknowledging what I’d done. Letting it settle. Sink in. I didn’t wipe my hands clean; I let them bathe in it.
The holo-train. The boy. His gasping breath. That same wild, panicked look right before he went still. Before I made him go still, his wide eyes stared back at me. But this wasn’t that boy. It never was. This one was a Flux Jackal. At one point, even if I had never met him, he was still a brother to me. He deserved to die, and now he’s dead.
A non-skippable notification appeared front and centre in my vision.
“Titan’s Grip?!” Feats were not easily unlocked. Until now, I had never received one or heard of anyone else doing so. More notifications filled my screen, and I swiped them away again—there was no time for that.
There was only time for survival.
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