Boom… boom…
Sand and gravel rained down from above, scattering across the torn canvas like a dirty storm. Locke lay there, staring up at the gaping hole ripped through the tent, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and resignation. The tent had been set up at the base of a hill specifically for cover, but that protection now felt like a joke as enemy artillery pounded relentlessly overhead.
The German bombardment had clearly reached the American wounded camp, and there was no sign it would stop anytime soon. Each explosion shook the ground hard enough to rattle bones, and Locke could feel it reverberating through his injured body. His healing bones twitched and cracked under the strain, and a quiet unease settled deep in his chest. If a few more shells landed directly above him, he wouldn't need the enemy to finish him off—he'd be buried alive in this forgotten corner of the battlefield.
As someone who had already been declared dead once and dragged back from that line, Locke slowly turned his head and looked at the row of corpses laid out nearby. The sight made the corner of his mouth twitch faintly, though not quite into a smile. It was more like a grim acknowledgment of how close he still was to joining them again.
Another explosion hit.
The ground trembled violently, and the metal bed beneath him lurched upward, throwing his body into the air before slamming him back down. Pain shot through him, sharp and immediate, and for a brief moment, his mind went blank from the impact.
"…Oh, my god!"
A nurse rushed over in a panic, her boots slipping slightly on the dusty ground as she grabbed the frame of his bed. Without hesitation, she dragged him out of the damaged tent and pushed him toward the main treatment area, where chaos ruled unchecked. The sounds of shouting, groaning, and hurried commands filled the air, blending into a constant roar that rivaled the artillery outside.
She shoved his bed into a corner with an apologetic look, barely pausing as she caught her breath. "Soldier, how are you feeling now?" she asked quickly, though her eyes were already scanning the room for her next task.
"It feels bad," Locke replied flatly, not bothering to sugarcoat it.
Her expression twitched for half a second, then she forced a professional smile. "Doctor Richard will give you a second treatment shortly. Please wait patiently."
Before he could respond, she was already gone, disappearing into the swarm of wounded and staff without a backward glance.
Locke stared after her for a moment, then let out a quiet breath. He understood the situation—more wounded were arriving than could possibly be treated—but that didn't make it any less frustrating. Being forgotten in the queue for the dead had been bad enough, and now he was barely a priority even among the living.
He had expected strange circumstances after crossing into a new dimension, but this was the first time he'd ended up seriously injured and completely immobilized right at the start. The irony wasn't lost on him, and it left a bitter taste in his mouth.
The day dragged on under the relentless thunder of artillery. Time blurred together as pain, noise, and exhaustion merged into a single suffocating experience. Locke focused on the faint cracking sounds within his body, feeling his bones gradually knitting themselves back together. It was slow, but steady, and eventually, he managed to draw a deeper breath as the worst of the damage began to fade.
When Dr. Richard finally arrived, accompanied by the same nurse, Locke was staring up through the torn fabric of the tent at the darkening sky beyond. The doctor moved quickly, his hands already reaching out as he examined the bandages wrapped around Locke's leg.
He pressed down, then moved upward along the limb, checking for damage with practiced efficiency. Suddenly, his hand was stopped mid-motion.
Locke's grip tightened around his wrist as he stared directly at him. "Doctor, where exactly are you touching?"
Richard blinked, clearly thrown off by the interruption. "Soldier, I'm examining you."
"I'm fine there," Locke said evenly, his tone leaving no room for argument.
"…Alright," Richard muttered, pulling his hand back with a faint frown.
He shifted his attention to Locke's upper body instead, carefully peeling away the blood-soaked gauze to inspect the wounds. He expected to see torn flesh, signs of infection, maybe even worsening damage from improper treatment.
Instead, both he and the nurse froze.
The wound had already begun to close, the edges drawn together with unnatural speed. Fresh scabbing had formed where there should have been raw tissue, and the surrounding skin looked far healthier than it had any right to.
A flicker of shock passed across Richard's face, and the nurse couldn't stop herself from letting out a quiet gasp.
Locke watched their reactions with mild amusement. He had anticipated this. With both the ancestral body and the Blood God physique working together, his regeneration was far beyond normal human limits. Healing like this wasn't impressive to him—it was expected.
Still, he knew this wasn't the kind of world where such things were easily explained away.
Richard reached out again, his fingers hovering over the healing wound as if afraid it might vanish if he touched it. His voice trembled slightly as he looked up. "This… such a large injury… how is it healing this fast?"
Locke answered without hesitation. "My blood clots faster than normal. I recover quicker than most."
Even as he spoke, a warning bell rang in his mind. This wasn't a world where superhumans casually walked around in the open. At least, not in any widely accepted sense. Drawing too much attention now would be a mistake.
He caught the glint of curiosity—no, obsession—in Richard's eyes and immediately tightened his fists.
"This soldier is almost recovered," Richard said suddenly, straightening up. "Check the others."
"Yes, Doctor," the nurse replied, though she glanced back at Locke one last time before following him.
As they walked away, Locke let out a quiet breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. For a moment there, the instinct to escape had almost taken over completely. He knew the military had already begun experimenting with ways to enhance soldiers. If he ended up on their radar as something worth studying, things would get complicated fast.
He wasn't naive enough to think he could fight an entire army. No matter how strong his body became, a barrage of explosives or a wall of gunfire would still end him.
Pushing those thoughts aside, he turned his attention to the rest of the tent. His ears filtered out the surrounding screams and cries, focusing only on what mattered. He had spent most of the day observing, but there was still no sign of anyone familiar.
"What went wrong?" he muttered under his breath.
The days blurred together as the cycle of war continued. Stretchers came and went in an endless procession, each carrying broken bodies that either returned to the fight—or were taken straight to the morgue. The brutality of it all intensified with every passing hour.
Three days later, after a final examination, Richard gave his verdict with a satisfied nod. "Soldier, your name is Locke, correct? Excellent recovery. After the war, you should come find me. I'd like to study what makes your body different."
Locke smiled politely, nodding along. "Of course. That sounds great."
Inside, he had already dismissed the idea entirely.
He accepted his gear from a nearby soldier—a compact submachine gun and five grenades—and stepped out of the medical tent without hesitation. Freedom, even in a warzone, felt infinitely better than lying helpless on a bed.
What he didn't notice was Richard watching him from behind, his gaze fixed and thoughtful.
…
Gunfire erupted around him, sharp and relentless.
Locke's ears rang with the intensity of it, but his enhanced senses quickly adapted. He dragged a lifeless body off the dirt embankment and took its place, raising his weapon as he leaned into the trench.
The gun kicked in his hands as he fired in controlled bursts. With his sharpened vision, he could clearly see each bullet tearing into enemy positions, watching bodies jerk and collapse in response. A strange excitement crept into him as the rhythm of combat settled in.
The battle stretched on for an entire day, from the pale light of dawn to the suffocating darkness of night. Locke moved with the rest of the American forces, advancing and retreating in a brutal cycle that never seemed to end.
Around him, soldiers shouted, cursed, and fought with everything they had. Watching them, Locke couldn't help but feel a flicker of admiration. It was no wonder so many people broke under the weight of war. The constant pressure, the explosions, the fear—it was enough to crush even the strongest minds.
Then came a new sound.
A deep, vibrating roar echoed across the sky, growing louder by the second.
Someone shouted, panic cutting through the noise. "German bombers! Take cover!"
Every soldier in the trench reacted instantly, diving beneath the dirt walls or scrambling into whatever shelter they had prepared. Locke followed suit, dropping to the ground as he scanned his surroundings.
There was only one nearby pit—and it was already occupied by a soldier curled up inside, trembling uncontrollably.
....
Join my exclusive P@treon community for 60+ thrilling chapters!
Link: pa*treon.com/MidnightWonder (Remove the *)
If you join now you will get 2 Chapters for free as well.
Don't miss out, join now!