From Bakunin's shattered body, an oily, malformed mass—an amalgam of flesh and bone—formed directly above the man and hurled him away, pinning him for a brief instant before slamming him down with brutal force against the floor. The impact shattered the soldier's entire ribcage. His limbs snapped the moment they struck the ground, breaking along with the concrete beneath him.
"What the hell…?" one of the soldiers muttered, frozen between terror and confusion.
From the carcass, additional grotesquely mutilated forms began to emerge almost immediately, writhing with small spasms that rippled across their surface. The tissue undulated violently, producing an intense, almost rhythmic pulsing as thick smoke rose while the flesh seemed to regenerate.
A horrifying roar began to echo—growing, spreading like a chain reaction. Each person seemed to perceive it differently. It was almost… a call.
"Mom…" one soldier stared at the carcass, dazed, as if drawn to it. "…what do you mean I have to rejoin you?"
Abner turned toward the young man. He didn't know how to react as he watched blood slowly stream from the soldier's eyes, staining his already dirty, sweat-soaked face before trailing down and dripping onto his uniform, quickly being absorbed into the fabric.
Then the trembling began.
"Mh… mh…" the soldier let out strange, broken sounds, almost synchronized with the violent spasms wracking his body, as if he were about to vomit. Blood burst from his mouth in heavy sprays, spilling through the cracks of his already pale, cold lips.
"Hey—hey! What's wrong with you?!" another soldier shouted, watching his comrade collapse violently to the ground, as though all strength had suddenly abandoned him. He kept convulsing in a growing pool of his own blood—fed by his mouth, his eyes, his ears.
The boy's eyes turned a dark, murky red. Tears streamed down from the unbearable pain, instantly mixing with the blood.
Not a single scream escaped him. His throat was already liquefying.
Then came the chest.
Flesh and bone sloughed off almost instantly, boiling, releasing a stench so foul it revealed organs already rotten and withered—reduced to a bubbling, putrid slurry.
"No… that's not possible. Not here…"
The soldier dissolved within seconds.
And he wasn't the only one.
One after another, more than a dozen soldiers met the same fate—some in even worse ways. Bodies collapsed into liquefied flesh. The only "music" left was a chorus of desperate screams and grotesque gurgles, mixed with the wet, sickening sounds of pulverized meat and blood splattering against the ground.
Some watched their eyes melt into pale, viscous sludge. Others saw their entrails spill out from split-open bodies. A few didn't even have time to react, dying before their bodies could fully decompose—granted, in a twisted way, a more merciful end.
Within moments, the ground was carpeted with mutilated, distorted corpses.
Those who survived… didn't survive for long.
Their vision would never be clean again. Their souls were already damned.
Even the "eyes" of machines seemed horrified—processing, yet unable to comprehend how such a massacre could occur. This terror wasn't just about brutality or violence, but about its nature—its purpose.
And among those carcasses, there was no clear reason.
Only blood.
And that blood began to tremble—just like the bodies.
From it, something rose.
A new life.
Or the incarnation of death.
Limbs twisted, bones reshaped themselves into new forms. Arms fused with others. Legs followed. Eyes became irrelevant—only the mouth mattered: rows of sharpened teeth, the pure manifestation of a will to kill without needing to see.
Their bodies were skeletal. The black, rotting skin stretched over them acted as little more than a binding agent to keep their structure from collapsing. And yet, their bone claws were horrifying. Some bore horns—thick and massive, or thin and jagged. Others had deformed tails, short or elongated. Some grew spines, mouths embedded in their torsos, limbs of uneven length, nauseating asymmetries.
It was chaos.
And yet, monstrously perfect.
Abner had already understood.
"Uom…"
The horde of Ijo stared at the terrified soldiers—but did not attack. Instead, they gurgled, looking around like newborns just pulled from the womb, waiting for their bodies to fully form.
One of them turned its gaze directly toward Abner.
And Abner looked back.
The creature drooled blood and mucus, growling like a feral beast. Its throat vibrated violently with each sound. Their eyes locked for only a few seconds—but the intensity was suffocating.
Abner did not feel threatened.
He felt judged.
The Ijo didn't fully break eye contact. It seemed intentional—as if it wanted to intimidate him, or warn him.
As if to say: I know that you know. You'll be in the front row to witness what comes next.
Abner understood that much.
But he had no idea how.
There was no voice. No signal.
He just… knew.
Seconds later, the creatures began screaming again—louder than before, almost in unison—as they rushed frantically toward Bakunin's carcass. They moved like something completely unhinged, ignoring the soldiers entirely. Some even trampled over them, only to get back up and continue toward their destination.
They were drawn in.
Completely lobotomized—like receivers tuned to a signal only they could hear.
No one knew how to react.
Some fired. Some threw explosives. Some tried anything.
It was useless.
The Ijo were already devouring Bakunin's flesh.
One by one, in massive swarms, they threw themselves onto the still-living carcass, consuming it in a way that was both revolting and horrifying. They were packed so tightly, so consumed by a violent ecstasy, that they sometimes devoured each other—continuing even when it was clearly a mistake.
The humans could only watch.
The creatures tore themselves apart—breaking bones, ripping skin—yet continued, despite the agonizing screams, pushing further into acts so grotesque that even the most twisted mind could not conceive them.
Only a few soldiers vomited.
Most didn't even know how to respond.
One young soldier stared, unable to look away—as if forced to witness it. His heart felt like it was shutting down. A crushing pressure built inside his skull, as if caught between two massive steel plates. His vision dimmed, blurred—then turned red.
He collapsed.
Trembling. Freezing.
Unable to make a sound.
He didn't even try to stand.
But it didn't end there.
"Fucking Christ…"
Abner fell silent again.
The mass of flesh absorbed meat after meat, bone after bone. A shape began to take form as the creatures piled up and died. Legs emerged—powerful hind limbs and smaller, more fragile front ones. A long, armored, distorted tail extended outward, formed from the Ijo that, as they devoured each other, didn't simply disappear but fused together, welding into a single structure. Accompanied by their brutal, horrifying screams, an immense being was taking shape—one that still held "Hansen" beneath its grasp, leaving him unable to move.
The beast rose on those massive, curved legs, which still bore fragments of arms and limbs embedded within them. The same applied to its front appendages: there were many, but only a few seemed functional. Its jaws were no different—countless grotesque, twisted, razor-sharp teeth, yet only one true mouth capable of devouring, held together by strands and crude organic welds that seemed barely stable. Despite this, that mouth was nightmarish. From it erupted the most powerful roar ever heard. It shook the earth. It tore apart the surrounding vehicles. It caused internal organs to collapse within those who heard it.
Very few survived. Many died where they stood, blood pouring from every orifice. Their bodies were compressed, imploded. Their skin turned gray like concrete, as if they had been crushed under an immense, invisible weight.
Those who remained alive couldn't even understand why. They couldn't think. They simply couldn't. They couldn't even bring themselves to look at Bakunin, who, with those massive, wide, curved horns, once again stood as something godlike before them.
…LESS THAN 5 SECONDS…