The forests of Taiwan stretched vast and wild from the air. However, as serene and endlessly green as they looked from above, beneath the emerald canopies, the trees bore scars of ionized burns and shrapnel, forever marking the trees with the cruelty of humanity.

  Meanwhile, in the air, the gunship “Artemis” cuts through layers of cloud and atmosphere, as its engines thrust it forward to its destination, the New Taipei Megalopolis. Clad in markings of America and the platoon’s insignia, Artemis slowly moved its load in the sky.

  Inside the gunship, the sixteen strapped semigods shift uncomfortably. Some clutch their plasma weapons, others play with their claws and tendrils. Meanwhile, the demigod clones sit perfectly calm. Too calm for a human.

  Smith stands near the cockpit hatch, his skin layered and armored with the god-bone. He stares towards the crew, watching them. He knows for sure their first deployment will go terrible. Every first, even the Demigods of Death’s first try — will go terrible.

  And then, the radio cracks to life.

  “Artemis, you got 60 clicks before drop, all clear. DOD, see you on the ground.”

  The crew prepares their sidearms. Smith exclaimed.

  “Alright, everyone. The moment we drop there, no more distractions. Out there is hell, so make sure to follow your squad lead. Semis, don’t panic, you are all gods after all. And demis, make sure to keep contact with one another.”

  The platoon acknowledges.

  As the silent ambient of plasma engines and radio chatters hum, Smith rested as he slammed himself to the wall, legs extended outward. He takes a deep breath.

  He still remembers the day when he was first deployed, that day when many of his comrades died before even firing a single round. His mind began to wander, from memories of the war, to his childhood. His mind began to race, as he saw vivid memories of his tormented past.

  From the death of his father, to the abuse he had to endure, his eyes began to produce tears, actual tears. He ducks his face down, covering it. A futile attempt to hide his emotions.

  But suddenly, the silence breaks. A sudden hard jolt rattles everyone inside, as the lights began to flicker.

  “INCOMING PROJECTILE! — EVASIVE MANEUVERS! — EVERYONE HOLD TIGHT!” The pilot screams over the loudspeaker. Some of the semigods start to panic. Smith snaps back at place, realizing the danger. “What the fuck!?”

  From the same altitude, an enemy aircraft suddenly emerges to view. It began firing a green mass of plasma cells at Artemis. The aircraft began hurrying to the ground as its sides were torn and vaporized to gas. And suddenly:

  BOOM!

  The right hull erupts, as flames and molten metal explode and scatter into the bay, destroying the cargo hold. The semigods began to scream in fear and panic, as Smith began barking and roaring orders of preparation.

  Smith extends his tendril, uniting and tying them into a fleshy parachute. He roars, “BRACE YOURSELVES!”

  And then, it hit the canopy.

  -

  The Forests of Taiwan

  A young Smith curled up in a corner, covered in bruises and breathing rapidly, as yelling from another room can be heard. A clicking sound can be heard. Smith thought this was it. That final day of his life. He prepares for the worst.

  Nothing. Nothing came. Until that sound, the sound of a gunshot, terribly rang inside his ear, that awful sound. A scream can be heard.

  Smith’s eyes snap open.

  He coughs violently, as he slowly crawls his way from the smoking crater. His bone armor is cracked, his left arm is missing, and his uniform is tattered, but still clinging on to the flesh that was not his. As he stumbled his way out of the crater, the moonlight shined upon him and the trees.

  He began to mutter, his voice hoarse. “..Not this shit again.” He growled in pain, readjusting his regenerating bones back into place.

  He switches to night vision on his left eye, and thermal on his right. He scans for anything, anyone, maybe even the platoon. “They couldn’t have died yet.” He thinks to himself, while walking away from the crater and into the canopy.

  He continued to walk for miles, his reddish and spiked forearms radiating a pulsing glow of light. He covered his right cheek with his hand, slowly grabbing it and stretching it. He felt something, an abnormal growth. A scar.

  But Gods can’t have scars, can they?

  Nevertheless, he carried on. And just before he lifted another foot, he stumbled upon another crater. He felt hope — one of his men is still alive. He hurried and rushed to the crater.

  There, lies Specialist Sebastian Rivas, half buried in dirt, bleeding, and eyes filled and flickering lights of static.

  “Rivas! Rivas! Are you okay?” Smith sled on the crater, entering and approaching the half-conscious body of the semigod. He checked for any vital signs — heartbeat, breath, veins. He is alive. Smith took a breath of relief. Even if he knows the semigods can’t die, he would still worry.

  Suddenly, Rivas spoke. “East ridge.. moving.. 6.. not from ours..”

  Smith didn’t need to know what that meant. Hostiles nearby. He began to extend his six primary tendrils, all at once. He looked around. He sees it.

  Chinese Biomechs, six of them. Synthetic metal connected to living biological flesh. An abomination made by the most heartless of heartless men. A fight with these usually meant certain death for the staff sergeant. But now, he’s more than a staff.

  He’s a god.

  The biomechs opened fire, all simultaneously. Smith charges. In mid-sprint, he erupts his tendrils, opening them into shrieking maws. Shards of bone began ejecting from the maws, cutting down two hostiles instantly.

  One of them jumped at Smith, its cybernetic hands forming blades of pure synthetic steel. Smith comes in clutch, as his wrist blade extends from his right hand, and slices the cyberhand, leaving it tumbling down to the ground.

  Smith’s left arm, previously missing, regenerates in a blink of the eye, and ejects its own wrist blade, as Smith delivered an uppercut and pierced the biomech’s head from jaw to brain. Smith throws the corpse and let go of his blades, hitting another. The two remaining biomechs back down, as they reconsider their tactics.

  No time to think though, as Smith extended a bone-tipped tendril and impaled one of them right in the heart. The last one fired his gun, vaporizing chunks of Smith’s flesh, only for them to reform in the blink of an eye. Smith slowly approached the already terrified soldier, as he continuously fired, and fired. Until silence follows.

  Smith’s shoulders began to rise and fall, as he raggedly breathed in and out. Rivas was effectively stunned in place.

  “I didn’t know that I, or you, could do that.” Rivas lifts himself up from the crater. Smith gave a gentle smile.

  “We’re evolving, boy.” Smith aids Rivas to carry himself back up. “a.k.a. learning. Now come on, let’s find your friends.” They both began marching together, weaving between the forest floor against roots and broken machinery.

  -

  2 hours later

  On another side of the jungle-forest, a team of 5 demigods and semigods moved rag-tag against the forest floor. Every step forward involved hacking vines, fighting patrols, and carrying the wounded.

  “Have you detected anything, Andrew?” Ava asked the hulking demigod.

  “No, I do not detect any friendly units nearby.” Andrew responded with a deadpan expression. “It is highly likely that they are dead, injured, or unable to respond due to communication issues.”

  “Well that’s great.” Keiko slashed through another vine with her wrist blades.

  Meanwhile, Private Mikel Irizarry and Bryan Trelane guarded the rear, their wrist blades ready, and their sidearms charged with plasma cells. While Maria, known for her inhuman calmness, slowly fidgets her fingers, as a feeling of worry begins to appear.

  She didn’t felt what she felt, obviously. However she felt something odd in her chest. Like a growing fear and an instinctual detection of his location. Something told her that he was near.

  And then, another explosion. Gunshots of plasma, and the yell of flesh and steel. The platoon dropped themselves behind cover, raising their tendrils and weapons. Another biomech patrol emerges from their hiding spot — a six-unit it seems, clad in tungsten, steel and guns.

  “CONTACT! NINE O’CLOCK!” Bryan yelled out in panic.

  “Yeah, no shit man!” Irizarry activated his Vulcan Eye, firing molten lead and steel as they began changing directions mid-air in rapid and rag-tag movements. Suddenly, a biomech hurled a bolt of green plasma bomb. It struck Andrew in the torso, effectively severing him into five interconnected limbs, with his blood and meat beginning to splash into the other platoon members.

  Andrew ignored his very noticeable dismemberment, and immediately fired molten tungsten into the air, while he regenerates a new body. A spear-tipped tendril formed from the spine, and impaled a lunging biomech mid-air.

  Keiko fired rapidly with her plasma rifle, attempting a futile attempt at penetrating the armor of these horrifying creatures. Maria huddled the injured in a circle, forming a protective dome using her tendrils. They were outmatched, and already battered and tired.

  Until a howl bellowed through the jungle.

  At first, there was silence. And then — a storm of shards ripped through the forests, flying at supersonic speeds, tearing through the patrol’s biomechanical rear. They flew through the steel and flesh like paper.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Then from the trees, came Smith, clad in godbone armor and wrist blades, as he tears through the vines. Rivas followed behind, rifle aimed everywhere.

  From his place, roots of flesh began to tear into the ground, splitting them into multiple pieces. From them, spikes of bone thrusted upward, tearing through the rest of the patrol, impaling them into the air. Screams, and then silence.

  “That’s one heck of a reunion, aye?” Rivas’s ears and eyes dart to the vines and the trees, attempting to pick up the remaining signals. Bryan, veins popping out of his forehead, laughed out loudly, trying to remove the sheer intensity of the adrenaline rush overtaking his body. Keiko reloaded, Andrew regenerated, and Irizarry fell to the ground, exhausted.

  And Maria?

  She just stared, not at the bodies. But to him, Smith Johnson. He was standing, godflesh writhing into place, battered, and missing an arm. Alive.

  “You alright, Maria?” Smith hurried over to her, mind engulfed in relief.

  “I..” Maria paused. She cannot form the correct sentences for this one.

  “You’re not hurt, are you? I felt you were..” Maria responded, at last.

  Smith blinked, and smiled. While everyone was reloading and checking the corpses, scanning for hostiles, the moment between them was quiet, and frozen in time.

  “I’m sorry, I should’ve come sooner.” Smith reassured her and placed a hand on her shoulder. A warm feeling spread through her godflesh under her skin. Somehow, it was… calming. It felt weird.

  And then, a shriek from above.

  “DRONE!” Bryan frantically clutched his rifle and fired straight at it. One shot landed and vaporized the machine into thin air, while a dozen others pierced through the night sky before vaporizing themselves.

  Irizarry facepalmed. “Seriously kid? That’s a whole lotta ammo wasted.”

  “One second, where the fuck are Badrick and Paul?”

  “Right here.” Badrick walked into the former battlefield, wearing a steel alloy helmet salvaged from one of the biomechs.

  “Had to steal ‘em to save ourselves.” Paul adjusts his stolen armor. “It looks quite funny, heh.”

  Paul does look quite hilariously off-putting, clad in tungsten chest plate and fancy wrist gadgets and shoulder-mounted guns, that barely fits him. “Commence assimilation protocol.” Paul imitates a robotic voice, a horrible attempt at that. He chuckled at himself. The team laughed. They were whole again.

  -

  Later that Night..

  The night loomed above the jungles and forests of Taiwan. The thick canopy gives off small clues of the moonlight, as the small clusters of light gently touch the ground. The wounded rested in the tents set up hastily. No fire is needed, as everyone has switched to Night Vision.

  Smith and Maria guarded the camp at an opening nearby, as the distant noise of others can be heard in the camp. Keiko tells her story of her family’s brutal incident that left her in shambles. Badrick declares his beliefs that he one day shall be a true, pure god. And Rivas’s concern with the safety of everyone.

  As they both stood, rifles and tendrils always tense, Maria slowly leaned closer towards Smith.

  “When you said.. that I was the most human, did you really mean that?” She was practically sticking onto him. Smith looked towards her for a long moment, then back at the wilderness.

  “I do, still am.”

  Maria nodded. The silence between them palpated a warm feeling in her chest that she couldn’t name. She can only whisper the words:

  “I’m glad you’re back.” She wanted to say more, but chose not to.

  Smith just stood there, watching through the dark forest. He didn’t flinch, he didn’t say anything. But he didn’t move either. He stayed there.

  He felt something radiating from his chest, that didn’t involve anything about his natural body mechanics. He slowly sat down, eyes slowly falling down. And suddenly, he was back in the void.

  Not long after, his memories appeared followed by the sound of a thick thud. Memories of a past he so desperately wanted to flee from. Memories.. he never wanted to remember.

  His eyes suddenly shifted from the black void to the floor of a living room—what looks like one. He looked around, his head lifted from the ground. It is a living room, he was correct. It looked awful, though. With peeled paint, flickering light bulbs. Looked straight out of a horror movie.

  Then, the sound of footsteps. Then shouting from the other room.

  “John, you’re drunk again, please for the love of God..” The voice of a woman, unmistakably. His mother perhaps.

  “For the love of what? Huh?” The voice of a man, drunk and slurred. Perhaps his father.

  And suddenly, a loud crash can be heard. Glass shattering. He flinched. He looked below once more. Towards his bent forearm, bruised and red. Smith pressed a hand on it. And then, the sound of a door slamming into a thick wall of concrete.

  The man, apparently his father, stepped into the room. He was in his late thirties, with a messed and dirty formal wear, body reeking of old sweat and cheap whiskey. He looked towards the huddled boy.

  “Fucking mutt.” The man muttered. “Do you hear me, jackass?” The man grabbed Smith’s arm.

  And the sound of a thick thud once more.

  His eyes saw another memory. At a metal lunch bench, under a blue sky. He looked toward his tray, filled with nothing but rice and beans, the best he can buy. A pair students appeared from the right, walked past, and kicked the tray into the air, spilling the rice and beans all over his body.

  “Hey, Johnson, what’s it like being an emo? Don’t you ever use that shit mouth?” One of the students mocked and accused him.

  “Nah bro, he’s too busy being sad to even fucking talk, what a loser!”

  Smith just stared downward, ignoring the world as if he’s on autopilot.

  Another thick thud, and his eyes flashed into another memory. He looked toward a wooden desk, worn out from excessive slamming. A recruiting officer sat across from Smith, looking through his files.

  “Hah! Drafted, I see? Too bad, kid, you’re in for a bad time.”

  And finally, he was in the void, once more. And for a split second, peace was found, and then:

  His eyes saw a different world again, as they snapped open back into reality. He gasped for air, breathing hard and rough. He heard the noise of someone stirring in their sleep. He looked around. Everyone in his tent was asleep. He muttered a noise, barely audible.

  “You’re supposed to forget all that shit..”

  But he hadn’t, and he never would.His eyes saw a different world again, as they snapped open back into reality. He gasped for air, breathing hard and rough. He heard the noise of someone stirring in their sleep. He looked around. Everyone in his tent was asleep. He muttered a noise, barely audible.

  “You’re supposed to forget all that shit..”

  But he hadn’t, and he never would.

  He stepped out from the tent slowly, as the night air brushed a cool sensation against his skin. The world is dark, and asleep. He switched to night vision, and scanned the surroundings. Then he saw him. Barely distinguishable, Sergeant Alpha-1 ‘Andrew.’ Sitting on a cut log just beyond the perimeter openings, eyes fixated on the stars above him.

  He remained expressionless, such is the case for the least human out of the trio. However, he noticeably looks different. His armor has retracted back into his skin, showing off his broad muscles nearly popping out under the standard-issued military shirt. Smith decided to approach.

  “Sup, Andrew? Didn’t expect anyone up.” As Smith arrived at Andrew’s position. Andrew slowly glanced back towards Smith.

  “I heard your pulse spiking up. Your breathing has changed. And yes, I remained awake.”

  Smith chuckled, and sat down on the log beside him. The two men looked upon the stars. Andrew spoke once more.

  “I don’t sleep, not yet. I have started to feel what missing sleep feels like.”

  “You tired now? That’s new.” Smith responded.

  “No, it does not give me any physical effects upon me.” Andrew paused, before continuing. “But there have been times I felt.. dull, and as if I am missing something. Especially at times when I am alone, or when it is quiet.”

  Smith stared at him, that large body-frame being hugged tightly by the shirt. That was something he’d never expect Andrew to say.

  “That ain’t tiredness, son. That’s called loneliness.”

  “What is loneliness?”

  Smith paused for a moment. For a man whose entire life was unseen, unwanted, unloved and felt loneliness everytime, he didn’t quite knew what to say about loneliness. He answered.

  “I don’t know either, man.” He paused. “It’s that empty feeling when you’re alone, or never noticed by anyone. When you got nobody to turn to.”

  Andrew tried his best to understand that. It sounded like something only humans would know.

  “Is that normal, sir?”

  “Heck yeah, especially when it’s night, and we’re at places like.. here.”

  They sat in silence for a while. The occasional noise of the wind gave quite a nice ambience to it. Andrew spoke once more.

  “I had a moment today. Bryan was stuck under a downed tree. I pulled him out. I did not wait or calculate. I just moved. Like it was instinct.”

  “Good instinct there, son.”

  “Afterward, he called me a nickname. ‘Andy.’ I liked the nickname.”

  Smith smirked. He sounded like a toddler learning idioms, with an adult body.

  “Andy, huh? That’s a nice one.”

  “Smith.. Do you remember anything from before? Before the war?”

  Smith’s body tensed up. The recalling of memories in his dream still gripped the back of his mind.

  “Yeah, a lot. Sometimes it just beats me up at night. My brain still remembers, and it fucking hurts.”

  “Do you wish to forget them? The memories?”

  “Used to. Now it’s probably the only thing that makes me.. human.”

  Andrew nodded. He didn’t understand what he said. But he tries to anyway.

  After a while, Smith decided to leave. But before that, Andrew stopped him for a moment.

  “Smith?”

  “Yeah?”

  “..I hope I become more human.”

  Smith looked at him. He smiled brightly, a genuine smile of happiness and pride.

  “You’re getting there, son.”

  -

  The Next Day

  The hot air of the afternoon hung in the air as the platoon released gallons of sweat, walking and cutting through vines and branches. They’ve been walking for hours now with no breaks or stops.

  Smith led the formation, guarding the front alongside Rivas and Irizarry, while Ava, Evelyn, Badrick and Paul guarded the center, Maria and Andrew guarded the rear, while Keiko and Bryan — who is battered and bruised, guarded the sides and edges.

  “Staff, I got signal disruption, like a jammed network or sorts.” Rivas suddenly spoke, as he turned on his comms system. “They ain’t like anything I felt before, though.”

  “What do you mean, Private?” Smith was confused. If Rivas says it’s weird, it’s got to be something, or so he thought.

  “They feel.. coordinated. Ain’t like the ones I detected before. More human.”

  “”Let me guess, splicers?”

  Rivas responded with a simple ‘yes.’ The cyborg menaces of Beijing are in the jungles. Smith deduces that they are close to the megacity, due to Splicers only being used in urban combat.

  “Alright, platoon. We’re probably near Taichung—” His words were cut off as a plasma round sliced his scarred right cheek, practically boring through the jawbones.

  “AMBUSH! TAKE COVER!” Bryan screamed as the jungle began exploding with the coordinated fires of plasma bolts. The Splicers emerged from their position, clad in chromium body and neural visors. They shouted rapid Mandarin battle codes, as they began closing in on the platoon’s position.

  Smith suddenly bellowed a roar, raising a fist, and out of it came his wrist blades and something else—a Khopesh, with a sharpened end and a fleshy handle. He ran towards a splicer, the splicer rapidly firing upon him, as Smith danced and moved through the flow of plasma.

  He jumped, and decapitated the only biological part of the man, as the splicer stumbled into the ground, lifeless. Another cyborg fired his shot, missing Smith but striking Irizarry in the arm, chopping his right.

  In response, Irizarry turned and threw an extended, spear-tipped tendril at the man, impaling it and throwing it into the wilderness. The cyborgs, though designed to suppress their emotions, were starting to get confused and worried. What on earth are they?

  The splicers moved together, slashing with melee weapons and firing with their guns. Ava pierced the ground, and from it, the roots began to extend once more, finding unfortunate cyborgs to impale.

  “Bro, this is so sick! Let me just copy that real quick.” Badrick and Paul began extending their own roots of doom, surprisingly able to impale two cyborgs and split them in half, revealing sinews of synthetic muscle and blood, chromium-plated organs, and the protected brain.

  The last Chinese splicer decided to commit a suicide attack, as he charged towards the platoon with his detonators ticking, before being tackled by Ava and Maria, both of who ripped the artificial spine of the cyborg, and throwing it to the air, rendering the self-destruct command useless.

  “Alright, that should it.” Smith brushed off dirt off his sleeves. “Let’s continue.”

  They continued walking, for three hours. There were smaller contacts, but not as major as the previous one. As the tree lines slowly disappeared and thinned into broken concrete and undergrowth, they finally saw it. Taichung.

  Overlooking from a shallow hill, they saw smoke rising from the borough’s rooftops, scarred and unstable towers, and roads cracked and littered with craters. Gunfire echoed in the deeper parts of the borough, as drones zipped through the sky. Truly, they were in for a ride.

  -

  Taichung Borough, New Taipei Megalopolis

  “Looks like a hospital. Or what used to be a hospital.” Evelyn brushed off the dust slipping into her sides. Her brunette hair shimmered in the light of the evening sky. “Looks like the outskirts’re abandoned.”

  Rivas closed his eyes, as he lashed a hand into the sky, then the ground. “Networks underground, can’t see shit above.”

  “It is possible that they are in the metros.” Ava looked toward the ground. “Survivors, Chinese guards, or worse.”

  “What could be worse than enemies below, anyways?” Bryan asked, nervously.

  “Biomech nests.” Smith replied.

  “Oh.”

  They began marching into the streets of the borough. However, something felt odd, as if they’re being watched by someone, or something.

  From a rooftop, concealed in layers of concrete, a guerrilla watched and studies them, as they slowly made their way into the city.