Night had fallen hard. The battlefield lay still, blanketed in smoke and silence, the scent of iron thick in the air. Amid the twisted corpses and shattered earth, Blitz stirred. His body ached, cold mud clinging to his skin. His chest rose and fell in slow, shallow breaths as his mind drifted back from unconsciousness.
A wet sound. Gnawing. Slurping. Blitz's eyes fluttered open.
He turned his head and gasped, paralyzed.
"H-Himmel...?" he croaked, voice a brittle whisper.
His comrade—no, the creature that used to be Himmel—was crouched over him, feasting. Teeth tore into Blitz's side, but Himmel's eyes were empty, sunken, feral. The blood dripping from his chin wasn't his own. It was Blitz's.
Adrenaline surged. Blitz's hand found the trench shovel strapped to his belt. In a desperate swing, he cracked it across Himmel's head.
The creature stumbled. Blitz drove the shovel down again—once, twice—until the nightmare stopped moving.
Silence returned.
Blitz stared down at Himmel's lifeless body, the shovel trembling in his grip.
"Wake up... Himmel...? Himmel! H-HIMMEL!!"
His voice broke into a scream, a boy's shriek, not a soldier's cry.
"No, no, no... What did I do?"
He sank beside the corpse, sobbing into the ruined soil.
Then—pain.
White-hot pain.
His skull throbbed like it was splitting. His eyes widened as the world around him bent and twisted. Blood poured from his pores as though his skin were melting.
"AGHHHHH! MY HEAD!! HELP ME!! AGHHHHHH!!!"
---
12 hours earlier – German trenches – 23 April 1916 – 11:48 AM
"Blitz... Blitz! BLITZ!!"
He snapped to.
"Y-yeah? Sorry..."
Albert frowned. "That's the fifth time today. You keep zoning out."
Blitz rubbed his eyes. "I'm just... tired."
Albert squinted. "Scared?"
Blitz hesitated. "N-no. I knew what I was signing up for when I lied about my age."
Albert snorted. "There's a girl in that young head of yours, isn't there?"
Blitz laughed despite himself. "You're delusional."
Before Albert could retort, a loud whistle tore through the air.
"ATTACK IMMINENT!"
Soldiers scrambled. Rifles were raised. Boots slammed into muddy planks. Blitz and Albert took position, waiting for the second whistle—the one that meant death or glory.
Then it came.
The second shrill cry.
A soldier nearby began to tremble violently.
"No... Not again... Please, God... PLEASE!!"
He turned his rifle on himself and pulled the trigger. His blood painted the trench wall.
Another soldier panicked and fled. Gunfire barked. A traitor's death.
Blitz watched it all, numb.
"Cowards," he muttered.
Himmel clapped him on the back. "That's the brave Blitz I know!"
They surged forward together. Bullets screamed through the air. Blitz found a hollow crater and ducked inside.
"Albert! Himmel! HERE!!"
Himmel slid in beside him, panting.
Albert almost made it.
A shot rang out. Blitz saw Albert's skull burst open, blood and brain splattering the mud.
"Albert...?" Blitz froze, tears filling his eyes.
Himmel slapped him. "Focus or you're dead next!"
He grabbed Blitz by the face, voice trembling.
"You said you wanted to see your mom smile again. To see your sister get married, remember? Then don't die, damn it!"
Before Blitz could respond, an enemy rifle aimed for his head—but a German tank roared in, blowing the French line apart.
---
Current Time – 24 April 1916 – 12:08 AM
He lay in the mud, soaked in his own blood. Paralysis gripped him. His body wouldn't move, wouldn't obey. But he was aware. He could hear. Feel. Think.
[If I could go back... I'd never lie about my age. I'd never come here. I'm pathetic.]
[They say grief has stages... Denial, anger, bargaining, depression... and acceptance. But where's the meaning? There's no meaning here. Just pain.]
---
3:04 PM – Same Day
Blitz awoke.
A soft bed. Warmth. Gentle fingers stroking his face.
He opened his eyes.
"Mom...?"
His mother smiled, tears brimming in her eyes.
"Yes, my love."
Blitz sobbed and hugged her tightly. "I'm scared, Mom... I'm so scared."
She whispered softly, "What happened to my brave little Blitz?"
But something felt wrong. Her voice... was off.
He turned his head.
A knife. In his neck.
His mother's hands pushed it deeper.
"AHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"
He jolted awake, gasping.
The dream vanished. The warmth gone.
A nurse hovered nearby, cleaning his wounds.
"Where am I...?"
She smiled gently. "We found you in the mud. You were nearly dead. You're lucky to be alive."
He mumbled, "Himmel... Himmel..."
The nurse paused. "Who's that?"
Blitz sat up, panicked. "Was there another soldier near me? A corpse? Anything?"
She stepped back, startled. "No... You were alone."
Blitz's heart sank. "I see..."
---
25 April 1916 – 11:00 AM
In the trench, Blitz huddled alone.
[Things... are changing. My eyesight—I can see far beyond the trenches. My hearing—I hear everything. Even whispers. My legs—they carry me faster than any man. I can run to the enemy line and back in under a minute. That's not normal... right?]
[And the smell... Some people have this foul black smoke around them, like rot. But no one else sees it. No one else says anything.]
[And fear... Fear smells delicious. Addictive. The more scared someone is, the more I want to bite.]
Nearby, soldiers joked about the food.
Blitz sniffed.
[Chicken soup. The cook's still miles away... but I can smell it.]
He laughed quietly.
A friend nudged him. "Blitz... Blitz..."
"SHUT UP, MARCUS! You're too loud!"
"Alright, sorry, Mr. Sensitive."
"I SAID SHUT UP!"
Something snapped.
Blitz lunged.
Teeth sank into Marcus's stomach. He tore flesh, chewed. Warm blood filled his mouth. He didn't stop.
Then—clarity returned.
His hands, face, chest—drenched in red. Marcus lay twitching, a hole where his stomach used to be.
"W-what... WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?!"
A voice spoke behind him.
"How disappointing."
Blitz turned.
A high-ranking officer. But there was that smoke again—thick, oily, reeking of something ancient.
Before Blitz could react, a knife pressed against his belly.
The man smiled, predator-like.
"Fear. It's a beautiful thing. It keeps us alive. And yet... it turns us into monsters."
Blitz trembled. "Shut up... SHUT UP!"
He clutched his skull. Pain shot through him.
He yanked his own hair—watched it grow back instantly.
The man laughed. "How interesting."
"Who are you?!"
"Name's Hanz. I'm a thousand-year-old Fear Eater. And now, so are you."
Blitz froze.
"What...?"
"You're no longer human. When Himmel bit you—he replaced your stomach with ours. You're one of us now."
Blitz shook his head. "No..."
Hanz drove the knife deeper.
"Normally, new ones lose their memories, their emotions. But not you. That makes you dangerous. And nothing keeps a secret better than the dead."
"I'm... hungry."
Hanz raised a brow. "You're adapting fast."
He swung the blade—but Blitz moved. Fast.
A blink. A blur.
His arm morphed—a blade of bone and muscle. He slashed, severing Hanz's knife-hand.
Hanz laughed, watching it regrow. "Finding your specialty already? Knives, huh? Common, but deadly."
Blitz swung again—missed.
Pain returned, ripping through his skull.
"AGHHHHHHHHHHH!!"
His body changed. Sprouting blades—hooked, jagged. His speed multiplied.
Before Hanz could move, Blitz carved him apart.
The officer collapsed, helpless.
Blitz stood tall.
"Pathetic... But delicious. Didn't know parasites could feel fear."
He reached into Hanz's chest, tore free the pulsating, oily stomach—the parasite's heart.
He ate it.
The bitterness burned his throat.
He laughed.
"I'm insane."