The Sergeant detonated from the inside out.
His blood—every last drop of it—erupted from his body in a single, horrific instant. He collapsed into a shapeless heap of shredded meat and bone.
Absolute, deafening silence followed.
Behind the glass, the commanders stood frozen—eyes wide, mouths agape. "My... My God..." one of them choked out.
But it wasn't over.
The nine remaining soldiers raised their rifles, their faces masks of pure terror. "Don't move!" one screamed. But one of them—a young, jittery recruit—had hands that wouldn't stop shaking. His finger twitched against the trigger.
BANG.
A single shot rang out, striking David squarely in the center of his chest. David looked down at the wound. Blood began to seep out.
Then, he collapsed to the floor.
"NOOOOO!" the Colonel roared in fury. He slammed his fist against the glass repeatedly. "Why did you do that, you idiot?!"
"I... I didn't mean to! I—" The soldier stammered, then suddenly froze.
His veins bulged beneath his skin. "No! No! This isn't—"
He exploded.
Then the second soldier. Detonated. The third. Detonated. The fourth, the fifth, the sixth... one by one, every soldier in the hall erupted from within. Blood sprayed the walls; bone fragments whistled through the air; flesh was torn to ribbons. In less than thirty seconds, ten men were gone.
Behind the glass, chaos erupted. "Get out! Now!" the Defense Minister screamed. The commanders scrambled for the exit, shoving one another, their screams echoing through the facility. They fled in a blind panic.
Only Colonel Petrovich and Dr. Volkov remained. The Colonel stared through the glass—now coated in a thick, sightless layer of crimson. He couldn't see what was happening on the other side.
But he could hear it. The sounds of wet explosions. The screams. The arrival of death.
"My God..." the doctor whispered, his face ghostly pale. "What have we done?"
The Colonel didn't answer. He simply... ran.
He sprinted through the corridors, his mind working at a frantic, manic pace. Sixty subjects. Are they all this powerful? All uncontrollable? If they all wake up... They had already administered the serum to nearly thirty individuals.
They will destroy everything.
He reached the lower laboratory. Scientists were fleeing, screaming as they scrambled toward the emergency exits. Sirens blared throughout the facility. "Evacuate! Immediate evacuation!"
But the Colonel didn't head for the exit. He ran toward the drug vault and tore it open. Inside were thirty syringes—thirty doses of the modified serum. It was all that remained.
With trembling hands, he shoved the syringes into a metallic briefcase. Then... he hesitated. He looked at the one in his hand. If I take this... I will become like them. Superhuman.
An explosion rocked the floor above. BOOOOM!
There was no more time to think. He raised the syringe and plunged it into his neck. He depressed the plunger.
The red fluid entered his veins. He felt it instantly. Heat. A fire burning from the inside out. Every cell in his body shrieked in agony. He fell to his knees, gasping for air. The world spun. The pain was beyond human endurance.
But he stood up. With sheer, agonizing effort, he gripped the briefcase and ran.
[Twenty-four hours after Heracles' transport — Secret-7, Siberia]
In the secret Russian facility where Heracles had once been held... the scene was hellish.
The once-pristine white corridors were now entirely crimson. Corpses littered the halls. Dozens of them. Torn. Crushed. Exploded from within. Blood coated the walls, the ceiling, and the floor. The stench of death hung heavy in the air.
In the center of the carnage, a single man remained alive.
He walked with a terrifying calm through the blood and bodies, as if taking a stroll in a park. Behind him lay the remains of Dr. Volkov—only his lower torso was left—and the twisted form of Alex, the Colonel's assistant.
Strangely... the blood on the floor was moving. It followed the man's footsteps. With every stride he took, the blood pooled beneath his feet, forming a liquid red carpet, as if it were serving him.
As if it were worshiping him.
The man stopped at the end of the corridor and turned slowly. He stood beneath the flickering fluorescent lights. His long hair, once white, was now a deep, clotted red—drenched in the blood of his victims.
And his eyes... they were the reddest of all. Glowing. Non-human. He let out a wide, horrific smile.
"Finally... finally, I am free."
His voice was raspy and broken, as if he hadn't used it in years. He looked at his blood-stained hands and laughed softly amidst the slaughterhouse he had created.
[At that same moment, the Colonel exited the facility]
The facility was engulfed in flames. Black smoke billowed from every vent. He reached a military Jeep, threw the briefcase into the back, and started the engine.
But his body was rejecting his commands. His hands shook violently. His vision was a blurred mess of colors. The vertigo was intensifying. I must... get out...
He slammed his foot on the accelerator. The Jeep lurched forward at a manic, uncontrolled speed, tearing through the facility gates. The road ahead was a treacherous, icy descent. He tried to brake, but his foot wouldn't respond.
The vehicle skidded, veering off the road.
"NOOOOO!"
The Jeep soared over the edge of the cliff. It plummeted, spinning through the air before slamming into the jagged rocks below.
CRASH.
It rolled three times before coming to a halt. Silence followed, broken only by the crackle of the burning engine and the soft fall of snow.
Inside the wreckage, Petrovich was still alive. Barely. Blood matted his forehead; his left arm was shattered; his ribs screamed with every breath. But his heart was still beating. It was beating far too fast.
He tried to move, but his body was a cage of pain. Then... a high-pitched whistling began in his ears, so intense it felt as if his brain were about to detonate. He screamed, clutching his head, unable to stop the sound.
The whistling intensified. He snapped his eyes open—they had turned entirely white.
"AAAAAAGH!"
A massive pulse of energy erupted from him.
BOOOOM.
The Jeep exploded. The metallic briefcase was hurled through the air by the blast, landing in the snow beside the flaming wreckage. It popped open. Only five syringes remained intact; the rest were shattered.
The deep red fluid spilled out, seeping into the white snow. It began to crawl.
Petrovich's body lay still. He was bleeding profusely, yet the fire from the explosion seemed not to touch him, as if the flames themselves were afraid.
The fluid on the snow continued to flow until it reached something buried beneath the ice.
Plants. Small, frozen shrubs, lifeless for months. But the moment the fluid touched them, they changed. Slowly at first, then with impossible speed. The dead green turned into a sickly, dark crimson. Tissues swelled and mutated. Leaves transformed into something resembling raw, flayed meat. Roots turned into pulsing, organic filaments.
Life had returned to them. But not the life this world knew.
A fleshy vine erupted from the ground, thin at first, then branching out again and again. It stretched toward the briefcase. It reached the five remaining syringes and crushed them, absorbing the contents through its pulsing veins like roots drinking water.
Then... it moved.
With terrifying speed, the fleshy vines tore through the frozen earth like knives. They sped away from the blast site as if they were searching for something... or someone.
Something dangerous had begun to change the world, and as of yet, no one knew.
To be continued...