“Don’t tell my mother, ever

  Strap my rifle onto my shoulder

  Tear this heart out of me

  I cannot rest beneath the soil

  Sar?kam??, beneath the snow

  My Mehmet, buried under the frost

  With his love in his heart, his homeland engulfed in flames”

  Poyraz murmured the lyrics of a song he only knew because of his father. Just like many Turkish fathers, he was a man deeply in love with his country so Poyraz listened to many songs that would tell about hardships and wars his people went through the years. Yet, at that time Poyraz really couldn’t understand them. But now it was a little bit different.

  It was raining. Hundreds of raindrops smashed against his raincoat in a minute. His gear and clothing despite being secondhand and a size too big did a decent job of keeping him dry and warm but they were clearly not enough as with every second Poyraz could feel creeping cold clung to his very bones.

  He shifted in place, a desperate attempt at keeping himself warm and keeping blood flowing to his feet. A part of him was happy that it was this cold. If it wasn’t for his constant state of chills, Poyraz wasn’t sure if he could stay awake through this night watch.

  Life in wartorn Türkiye was difficult. The attacks of Horde had overwhelmed the already fragile state of the country, causing some parts to fend for themselves against the relentless onslaught of the bugs. Poyraz clicked his tongue. It was the same desperation that allowed him to be part of the army. Well, he wasn’t part of the army, at least not officially. Even if the country was in great peril, he was barely 18, and conscripting him and sending a youngling like him into the front lines would destroy what little integrity the Turkish army had left.

  The wind howled through the ruined city, carrying with it the scent of rain-soaked concrete and distant gunpowder. The claw marks etched into the destroyed buildings reminded Poyraz that the Horde never truly rested. Their chittering, alien minds had no need for sleep, no need for warmth. But he did.

  He flexed his fingers inside the damp gloves, rolling his shoulders to shake off the numbness creeping into his limbs. His rifle was strapped tight against his chest, the weight of it both a comfort and a burden. A lifeline in a world that had collapsed into chaos.

  Formally, he was part of a local volunteer militia that would only help army in non-combat duties like cooking and cleaning. Well, the reality was military needed people who hold a gun, follow orders, and not break down when the Horde came rushing in waves, a living tide of chitin and death.

  Many people who volunteered were not like Poyraz. They didn’t share his burning hatred and anger against the Horde. Many had no choice but to join as the only steady and safe food and shelter were distributed by the army. Poyraz would learn to understand those people in the future but for now he could only look down upon them. Not because he believed he was superior than them but because he saw them as spineless cowards who couldn’t lift against the bugs who destroyed their homes and killed their families.

  The rain continued to fall in heavy sheets, drumming against the makeshift tents like a relentless war march. Poyraz narrowed his eyes, staring at the biggest and driest at them. It was the Squadron Leader’s tent.

  Poyraz fucking hated the guy.

  Before this, he’d thought the stereotype of officers being arrogant, self-serving bastards was just an exaggeration. Oh, how wrong he was.

  The bastard hoarded supplies, taking the best food, the thickest blankets, and the cleanest water for himself while the rest of them fought over scraps. He barely even left his tent unless it was to issue orders or pretend he gave a damn.

  Poyraz clenched his jaw, fingers tightening around his rifle. He wanted to do something—anything—but what could he do? He was just another expendable volunteer, standing watch in the freezing rain while the so-called leader sat dry and comfortable. Honestly, a part of him just wanted to snap and shoot the bastard in the back like many of his comrades but he was sure he would be executed on the spot.

  He couldn’t die. Not yet. Not without wiping every single bug off this planet.

  Poyraz froze. He could feel something beneath his feet. It was faint, almost drowned out by the rain, but it was there. With a move that was more instinctual than logical, he threw himself to the side, rolling in the mud. He stood up quickly as water and mud clung to his skin, taking what little warmth he had but for now, he felt none of it as he stared down the massive worm-like creature poking its head out of the ground.

  Poyraz quickly turned the safety off his rifle and fired three shots at the monster yet the only thing they did was leave three marks on the beast’s chitinous armor. Poyraz clicked his tongue. 3 bullets wasted. He grabbed the whistle hanging from his neck and blew it as hard as he could. He was sure that everyone in the camp heard the shots but he wanted to sure he warned everyone.

  He then grabbed his rifle and pointed at the beast. A hasty part of his brain urged him to shoot the creature yet he held on. Even with 7.62 caliber, he couldn’t hurt it. At least not from the outside but if it were to open its mouth…

  The worm opened its mouth before Poyraz could finish his train of thought. His finger went to the trigger but the grotesque sight of worm vomiting out countless smaller bugs sent him into a state of shock and disgust.

  For a moment, Poyraz’s mind went blank. It wasn’t just the sheer number of the bugs spilling out of the worm’s maw, nor the sickening sound of wet chitin slapping against the muddy ground—it was the realization that they had been completely caught off guard.

  How did this thing get so close without anyone noticing?

  The thought barely had time to settle before the smaller creatures—each about the size of a cat—began skittering toward him, their multi-jointed legs clicking against the ruins. His body moved before his mind could catch up. He squeezed the trigger, sending bursts of gunfire into the horde. The rifle kicked against his shoulder, spent shells falling into the mud, some of the bugs dying and stopping but it wasn’t enough. There were too many.

  A deep, guttural roar split through the camp. The other soldiers had heard the whistle. Floodlights flickered on, illuminating the battlefield in harsh, artificial light. Shadows stretched long and menacing over the ruins, distorting the forms of the monstrous tide rushing toward them. It wasn’t just the worm. More bugs with various shapes entered his vision.

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  Shouts rang out. Gunfire erupted from all sides. Someone screamed.

  Poyraz stepped back, keeping his rifle raised as he moved toward cover. His heart slammed against his ribs, but he forced himself to breathe through the panic. If he let fear take hold now, he was dead.

  The mud sucked at Poyraz’s boots as he scrambled backward, pressing himself against the half-collapsed wall of a ruined building. His breath came in ragged gasps, his fingers shaking as he slammed a fresh magazine into his rifle. The battle had erupted into chaos. Muzzle flashes strobed through the darkness, briefly illuminating the rain-slick chitin of the advancing Horde. Screams of the dying mingled with the inhuman screeches of the bugs, a grotesque symphony of war.

  The smaller bugs moved like a living flood, their legs clicking as they climbed over debris and the bodies of fallen soldiers with unnatural ease. Some were already inside the camp, weaving between burning tents and fallen sandbags. A few of them pounced on a nearby soldier, their needle-like mandibles tearing into flesh before he even had time to scream.

  Poyraz took aim and fired. The rifle roared, the recoil slamming against his shoulder, but he kept his shots controlled. One bug’s head burst like an overripe fruit. Another lost a leg and collapsed, writhing in the mud. But for everyone he killed, three more scuttled forward.

  A shape loomed in the darkness to his left. He barely managed to turn before a bug lunged at him, its serrated forelimbs slashing through the air. He threw himself to the side, feeling the rush of wind as the claw passed inches from his throat. Landing hard on his shoulder, he rolled, bringing up his rifle and firing blindly.

  Click.

  His heart nearly stopped. Empty.

  The bug recovered faster than he did, its mandibles opening wide as it prepared to lunge again.

  A shotgun blast tore through the night.

  The bug’s head vanished in a spray of black ichor, its body twitching before slumping to the ground. Poyraz whipped his head around to see a grizzled man standing over him, a pump-action shotgun smoking in his hands.

  “You waiting for an invitation to reload, boy? Get your ass up!” the man barked.

  Poyraz didn’t hesitate. He fumbled for another magazine, slamming it into his rifle with practiced movements as he got back to his feet. The man—one of the older veterans, by the look of him—kept firing, each shot reducing another bug to a twitching pile of limbs.

  “We’re getting overrun,” Poyraz said, panting.

  “No shit.” The veteran racked his shotgun again. “We need to regroup at the armory tent. If that big bastard tunnels under us again, we’re dead meat.”

  Poyraz nodded, following as the veteran led the way, firing off shots to cover their retreat. The camp was a war zone. Soldiers fought in small, desperate groups, using whatever cover they could find. Some held their ground behind overturned supply crates, while others were already trying to retreat toward more fortified positions.

  Then, from the edge of his vision, Poyraz saw something. His head quickly snapped in that direction, followed by his rifle but it was too late. The thing’s head snapped unnaturally toward the veteran soldier, its mouth splitting open in a vertical, insect-like grin. Poyraz was covered with blood as the veteran fell.

  The bug was not like others. It walked on two legs and had two arms, one of which held a spear-like stinger. The first thing that passed through Poyraz’s mind was “Hornet”. It took a step forward. Poyraz took one back.

  He swallowed hard and raised his rifle, aiming for the creature’s center mass. Breathe. Control the fear. His finger squeezed the trigger.

  A burst of gunfire cracked through the air, each shot slamming into the Hornet’s torso. To his surprise shots were effective on the creature as the impact forced it back, causing it to bleed a thick, white substance. It was almost like taking a humanoid shape caused it to be less durable but then why take this form?

  “Most effective hunters of humans are humans.”

  A pharase he heard before popped into his mind but he had no time for philosophical discussions. He was empty and the Hornet was still standing. He searched for an extra magazine but…

  “Shit.”

  Those stingy, cheap bastards only gave him a little amount of ammo. Poyraz eyed the shotgun lying on the ground as the Hornet lunged at him, its stinger eager to inject venom so potent a drop could kill ten adult men.

  Poyraz didn’t think—he moved. He threw himself to the side, feeling the sting of displaced air as the Hornet’s stinger struck where he had been a second ago. Mud splashed as he hit the ground hard, rolling with the impact. His eyes locked onto the fallen shotgun, his only lifeline.

  Poyraz’s fingers found the shotgun's stock. The creature lunged.

  He pulled the trigger.

  Click.

  Empty.

  “Fuck me.”

  Time stretched. Poyraz could see his death in the Hornet’s alien eyes. He raised the shotgun, barely blocking the stinger. The Hornet raised its stinger again but Poyraz managed to kick its legs, causing it to stumble and allow Poyraz to rise to his feet. With the power adreline gave to him he swung the shotgun like a baseball bat, hitting the head of the creature with 4 kilograms of solid metal again and again until it fell to the ground, then he kept hitting it.

  He straightened his back only after he was sure the creature was dead, his lungs burning and his arms heavy as logs. He had no time to rest, however, as when he looked ahead he locked eyes with another Hornet.

  Poyraz wanted to cry as the two-meter tall, 120-kilogram creature started to run towards him faster than Usain Bolt. Poyraz raised the shotgun but the impact was too much for him to handle. He was sent flying backward, somehow losing the shotgun as he rolled on the ground. He ignored the pain plaguing every inch of his body and stumbled for a weapon. His hand finally grasped the cold handle of a shovel. With a desperate yell, he swung the shovel in a wide, arcing blow. The metal collided with the creature’s head with a sickening crunch, sending splinters of chitin scattering. The Hornet staggered, its advance momentarily halted by the force of his strike.

  “Come on!” He barked, even as his heart pounded in his ears. He fumbled for another swing, forcing himself to keep fighting despite the overwhelming odds. The beast recovered swiftly, its stinger glistening under the harsh light as it lunged again.

  Around him, chaos reigned.

  …

  Poyraz lazily opened his eyes as someone called for him.

  “Hey, kid! Hey! Are you alive?”

  According to his aching body, yes he was alive.

  “You did all this by yourself?”

  Poyraz scanned the corpses of the bugs surrounding him with empty eyes. He could barely remember what happened.

  “I suppose I did.”