Chapter 1
At the turn of the century, the leaders of the world, consumed by insatiable greed, began preparing for war. Soldiers trained with feverish intensity, driven by promises of honor and glory on the battlefield. Nations enlisted women of all ages to work in factories that sprouted across the once-pristine countryside. Their hands, once soft, grew calloused from the relentless toil. Black smoke belched from chimneys, choking the sky and turning the clean air foul. Yet, for a decade, the nations of the world sat on tenterhooks, eagerly awaiting the chance to ignite the flames of war and feed their avarice. That chance came on a fateful day in June when Archduke Franz Ferdinand was assassinated, setting off a chain of events that would engulf the world in flames.
Two long years had passed since that infamous day, yet there was no end in sight for the war that had claimed millions of lives. Both sides stubbornly clung to the belief that victory was within reach, lured by promises of new lands, untold wealth, and glory reminiscent of knights and heroes of old.
“What a sophisticated web of lies these silver-tongued leaders have spun,” Elijah thought bitterly as he gazed across the desolate wasteland of No Man’s Land. His thoughts drifted back to the day he enlisted. He’d stood in the recruiting office, his heart pounding with anticipation, imagining the glories of battle. The reality had been far different—trenches filled with the stench of death, nights haunted by the cries of dying men. Yet, deep down, Elijah held onto the hope that if he could just survive, if he could make it home he might find some semblance of peace. But peace felt like a distant dream as he stood in the trenches. A shiver ran down his spine as the brisk autumn wind swept over the land, stirring the thick fog that hung just above them. The scent of smoke and decay clung to the air, and the barbed wire rattled ominously, like the echoes of a childhood nightmare.
“Anything?” came a voice from behind him, jolting Elijah from his thoughts.
“Nothing but the dead,” Elijah replied, turning to face the young man who had spoken—Jonathan, a childhood friend who had enlisted with him.
“Good. Hopefully, it stays that way.” Jonathan said, rummaging in his coat pocket before producing a crumpled carton of cigarettes. He sighed and tossed the carton aside. “Word is that command is sending us over this afternoon.”
“Again? God, the Germans just gassed the whole line yesterday. Don’t they know that stuff lingers?” Elijah’s voice was tinged with a mix of frustration and fear. He’d seen what the gas did—how it turned men into writhing, choking husks. He’d pulled off his mask too soon once, and the memory of the burning in his lungs still haunted him.
“I don’t think they care, Elijah,” the man said, extending a hand to help Elijah down from the cut-out and into the trench proper.
“Yeah, you’re probably right, Jonathan,” Elijah said, accepting the hand and stepping into the muddy trench with a squelch. “Though a boy can hope, right?” His mother had always told him he had too much of a soft heart for a soldier, and she was probably right. But hope was all he had left now, even if it was as thin as the letters he received from home.
“Well, it’s like my grandad always said,” Jonathan remarked as he climbed up into the small cut-out to peer out into No Man’s Land, “Hope in one hand and shit in the other, and see which one fills up first.”
A small smile flickered on Elijah’s face, only to disappear as a bloodcurdling scream pierced the air, drawing every man’s attention to the wasteland beyond the trench “Anything?” Elijah asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.
Jonathan shook his head. “Still nothing. Can’t see through this damn fog. Probably just some poor soul stuck on the wire,” he muttered, but Elijah noticed the tremor in his voice.
“Helft mir bitte jemand!” A desperate voice cried out from deep within the fog, causing the men in the trench to avert their gazes, realizing the cries were from a German soldier. The man’s pleas continued for hours, his voice growing more frantic as he begged for help, much to the annoyance of the men trying to rest before the impending attack. The German’s pleas gnawed at him, a painful reminder that the enemy was human too. But he couldn’t afford to dwell on it—not if he wanted to survive.
Hours passed, the German’s cries fading into the background as Elijah and Jonathan took turns watching the fog-shrouded no man’s land. Elijah’s mind wandered as he stared into the mist, the monotony of waiting nearly as unbearable as the thought of going over the top again. He thought of home—of the small bakery his family had run for generations, of his mother softly humming as she kneaded dough, and of his father sweating buckets as he stood in front of the old wood fire stove. He’d never see that small shop again, not the same way. Even if he made it back, the war had changed him in ways he didn’t yet understand.
As the day wore on, Elijah was about to suggest another switch when a large shadow shifted within the fog. It was a black mass, scuttling along the ground with unnatural speed. “John!” Elijah hissed, his heart racing as he unslung his rifle and slotted it into the firing hole. “We’ve got movement!”
Jonathan was beside him in an instant, his rifle aimed at the same shadowy figure. The rest of the men in the trench stirred, anticipation hanging thick in the air. Elijah’s hands shook as he trained his rifle on the shadow, his mouth dry. “Two o’clock, just past that crater,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart.
The shadow stopped as if it sensed their presence. Elijah held his breath, finger on the trigger. Suddenly, the German who had been crying for help let out another anguished scream, and the shadow snapped toward the sound. With terrifying speed, it rushed in the direction of the scream, vanishing deeper into the fog before either of them could react.
“What the hell was that?” Jonathan’s voice trembled slightly.
Elijah’s mind raced, but before he could form a response, the German’s panicked cries erupted again, more frantic than before, “Mein Gott, was ist das? Jemand! Helfen! Irgendjemand!” The terror in the man’s voice was palpable as he struggled against an unseen horror, his voice breaking as he begged for help. Then, abruptly, the screaming stopped. A deathly silence fell over the land once more, broken only by the wind and the rattling barbed wire.
The silence shattered suddenly with a guttural, unholy bellow—a monstrous sound that didn’t belong in this world. Elijah dropped his rifle, his hands flying to his ears as the noise enveloped him, seeming to come from all directions. It was as if the very earth itself was crying out in pain. The unnatural howl eventually subsided, and Elijah tentatively lowered his hands, the ringing in his ears slowly fading.
“W-what in the hell was…” he started, but an explosion cut him off, sending him and Jonathan flying backward into the trench. Elijah landed hard on the cold, muddy ground, struggling to get to his feet.
“Artillery!” Someone shouted as a barrage of explosions rocked the trench, sending dirt and wood splinters flying in every direction. Elijah rolled onto his stomach, watching in horror as men scrambled for cover or dropped to the ground in desperation. His heart sank when he saw Jonathan lying motionless, a large jagged piece of wood jutting from his neck.
Elijah crawled to his friend, his hands trembling as he yanked the wood from Jonathan’s neck and pressed down on the wound. His voice was raw as he screamed for help, but no sound reached his ears—only that relentless, hollow ringing. Jonathan’s hand found Elijah’s leg, clinging weakly. His eyes, once full of life and mischief, now darted around in a panic, searching for something in the dim light before locking onto Elijah’s face. Despite the pain, Jonathan’s lips curled into a smirk—the same mischievous grin that had gotten them into trouble countless times as kids. The sight wrenched Elijah’s heart, and he couldn’t bear it. He turned away, tears cutting paths through the grime on his cheeks, his voice breaking as he continued to shout for help that would never come.
Time lost all meaning as Elijah knelt there, desperately pressing his hands against the wound, as if sheer willpower could keep Jonathan alive. But when he caught sight of his friend’s eyes—now glassy, staring blankly at some distant point beyond him—he knew. Jonathan was gone.
Elijah staggered to his feet, staring at his hands, now drenched in blood. They shook uncontrollably. Jonathan was more than a comrade; he was a brother in every way but blood. They had grown up together, shared dreams of a better life, and now… Elijah felt a crushing sense of failure, as though he had let Jonathan down in the most unforgivable way. He should have been faster, smarter—something, anything to have saved him. But all he had done was watch his friend die.
Suddenly, firm hands gripped Elijah’s shoulders, shaking him back to reality. The grizzled veteran’s voice was muffled at first, but gradually it broke through the ringing in Elijah’s ears.
“Elijah! Are you hurt, son?”
Elijah shook his head, his voice barely a whisper. “N-no… I’m not. J-Jonathan, he… he got hit in the blast. I tried… I tried to stop the bleeding, but…” His words trailed off, choked by the lump in his throat.
The veteran’s gaze softened, a flicker of understanding passing between them. “There was nothing else you could’ve done,” he said, though his voice carried the weight of a truth neither of them wanted to accept. “But we need to get it together. Command’s sending us up and over, and we need every man.”
Fear clawed at Elijah’s insides, but it wasn’t just the fear of dying—it was the fear of living with himself if he survived this nightmare. But before he could say anything, the shrill whistle rang out, signaling the charge. The roar of men echoed as they climbed out of the trench, rushing headlong into the hell that awaited them. Elijah hesitated, casting one last look at Jonathan’s body, half-buried in the mud and debris. A fresh wave of guilt and sorrow hit him, but he forced himself to move, picking up his rifle and joining the charge. If he didn’t go, if he didn’t fight, then what had Jonathan’s death been for?
No Man’s Land was a nightmarish expanse, now littered with the fresh corpses of comrades. The ground squelched beneath Elijah’s boots as he ran, bullets whizzing past like angry hornets. He raised his rifle, ready to fire, but he had no sense of how far he’d come or how far he had to go. Nor could he see more than a foot in front of him due to the thick fog.
Suddenly, an artillery round landed just feet away, violently throwing him to the ground. Elijah tumbled across the muddy terrain, coming to rest at the edge of a large crater. His vision blurred, black spots threatening to swallow him whole. He tried to push himself up, but something grabbed his leg, yanking him back down. His chin struck the ground hard forcing his mouth to fill up with warm metallic-tasting liquid he knew to be blood. Panic surged through Elijah as he felt himself being dragged into the crater. He grabbed his rifle, swiveling to aim at his attacker, expecting to see a German soldier, but what he saw froze him in place.
It was no human—it was an amalgamation of flesh, with pitch-black eyes and a grotesque, triangular mouth filled with rows of jagged, broken teeth. Elijah’s heart pounded in his chest, terror gripping him as he pulled the trigger of his rifle. The shot echoed in the crater, and the creature recoiled, letting out a bone-chilling screech before slithering away. But it wasn’t alone. In the murky water of the crater, more of those things moved, feeding on the corpses of the fallen. Others eyed him hungrily like grotesque alligators half-submerged in the water.
Elijah’s mind raced, torn between the urge to run and the paralyzing fear of what he had just seen. Elijah ran as fast as his legs would carry him, abandoning his rifle in his frantic flight. He didn’t stop until he found a trench, leaping into it with a desperate hope that he’d find safety. But instead, he found himself surrounded by German soldiers, their rifles trained on him. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. This could be the end. But as he looked into their eyes, he found a strange sense of calm.
“This is still preferable to whatever fate awaited me in that crater,” Elijah thought, just before the butt of a rifle connected with the back of his head, and everything went black.
