Deviant: No Longer Human

Back inside the jet, the atmosphere was tense with hurried activity.

"Should we open the hatch?" one voice called out, laced with urgency.

"What's the radiation level?" another voice followed, clearly concerned.

"Environmental pressure is stable, but... what 'is' this place? Is it even Earth?" someone muttered, half in disbelief, staring at the readings.

The crew rushed around, their movements frantic as the jet descended, landing softly on a patch of green grass.

The sight outside was almost surreal—lush, untouched by the devastation they had expected.

Everything about it felt alien, despite its serene appearance.

"Are we sure it's safe?" one of the crew members asked, eyes glued to the screen.

"Only one way to find out," someone answered grimly, hand hovering over the hatch release.

Thud!

The ground trembled violently beneath the jet, a low rumble that quickly turned into a seismic upheaval.

Tremble... Tremble...

Consoles rattled, and the crew exchanged panicked glances as the whole aircraft shuddered.

Just as the trembling began to worsen, the pilots let out a scream.

THUD!

A monstrous figure slammed against the cockpit windshield with a force that sent cracks spiderwebbing across the reinforced glass.

It was a Skinwalker, its pale face smeared against the glass, jaws wide open in a grin that was both feral and human.

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Its eyes glowed with a sickening yellow hue, full of malice, while its thin, sinewy body clung to the jet like a predator waiting to tear through the steel hull.

"WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!" the co-pilot screamed, heart pounding as the creature's claws screeched across the glass, leaving deep, jagged lines in their wake.

Before anyone could respond, more of them appeared. Dozens, no—hundreds—of these creatures emerged from the surrounding forest with horrifying speed, their twisted limbs moving unnaturally fast as they swarmed toward the jet.

Each one more distorted than the last, with elongated limbs, sharp, talon-like claws, and twisted faces that barely resembled the humans they once were.

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Their bodies slamming into the jet, their nails raking across the windows, desperate to get inside. The glass held... for now. But more and more cracks formed under the endless assault.

"They're going to break through!" one of the crew yelled, eyes wide with terror as the Skinwalkers flung themselves against the fuselage with thuds.

The metallic groans of the jet's frame echoed through the cabin, warning of upcoming disaster.

"Launch the autonomous defense system! NOW!" the commander barked, his voice barely audible over the noise outside.

In response, the hatch opened with a sharp hiss, and thousands of raptor drones ejected from the belly of the jet like a swarm of angry hornets.

The sleek, silver drones zoomed into the air, their wings buzzing with deadly precision as they fanned out.

Each drone was equipped with razor-sharp plasma talons and micro-missile launchers designed for maximum carnage in close combat.

They descended upon the Skinwalkers like a storm of metallic death.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

The first line of Skinwalkers were torn apart in a matter of seconds, shredded by the drones' plasma talons.

Limbs were severed, torsos were split in two, and heads were vaporized by pinpoint plasma blasts.

Flesh burned and sizzled as the drones unleashed their fury, cutting through the horde like blades through paper.

The once-green field became a battlefield soaked in the remains of the Skinwalkers, littering the ground.

But the horde was endless.

For every Skinwalker the drones decimated, two more appeared from the shadows of the forest.

Their shrieks filled the air, their bodies twisting and contorting as they leaped onto the jet, slamming their grotesque forms into the windows with renewed ferocity.

Cracks deepened, and the glass started to bow inward under the pressure.

One particularly massive Skinwalker, easily twice the size of the others, threw itself against the side of the cockpit, its claws raking furiously at the window as it snarled, yellow eyes blazing with hunger.

"They're *everywhere!*" a crew member cried, frantically tapping at his console. "We can't hold them off much longer!"

The drones, though coping, were beginning to falter. The Skinwalkers were too many. The drones cut through them in droves, but the horde seemed endless, their bodies piling up in a wall of flesh and bone around the jet.

"Commander, the drones are being overwhelmed!" a pilot yelled, sweat pouring down his face as he looked at the readouts. "They can't keep up with the numbers! Permission to ascend!"

Suddenly, the jet shuddered violently, tilting slightly to one side. Sparks flew from the cockpit controls, and alarms blared in the background.

The crew stared in horror as smoke billowed from the rear engines, the smell of burning metal filling the air.

"Engines are down!" another pilot screamed, his voice cracking with fear. "We're sitting ducks out here!"

Isabelle, her face drained of color, rushed to the cockpit, her voice taut with disbelief. "What do you mean the engines are down? Get away, let me see! — These engines can withstand a full blow of solar flares!"

The pilot, white as a sheet, turned toward her, his hands shaking over the controls. "T-They're gone… burst. We have no power. And we're completely surrounded by these...demons!"

Outside, the Skinwalkers howled in unison, their faces pressed against the cracked windows.

With no engines, no escape, and the drones being picked off one by one, the crew's hope began to dwindle.

Isabelle stood still for a moment, her eyes narrowing as she turned toward the squadron of soldiers sitting calmly in their seats, utterly unfazed by the creatures that surrounded them.

Clad in mechanical black armor from head to toe, the twelve soldiers appeared almost inhuman, their presence heavy with lethal precision and confidence.

"General, take the Hyperions and clear out all of these creatures," Isabelle said, her voice as calm with a hint of frustration.

General Abel unstrapped his seatbelt slowly, like a predator knowing its prey had no chance of escape.

His cold eyes met Isabelle's, and a wicked smile spread across his face. "With pleasure."

As soon as the words left his mouth, the black armor covering his body shifted.

Nanoparticles surged like a dark tide over his face, forming a sleek, predatory helmet that seemed to hum with hidden power. Behind him, the eleven Hyperions—his elite soldiers—moved in perfect unison, their armor following the same transformation, forming identical black helmets with glowing red visors.

"Open the back hatch," General Abel ordered, his voice metallic and distorted by the helmet.

The command was followed by the loud hiss of hydraulics as the back hatch of the jet lowered.

The eerie sound of screeching Skinwalkers echoed, but the Hyperions moved with the precision of machines, stepping out into the madness as if they were stepping into nothing more than a light breeze.

"..."

"..."

"..."

The crew watched in stunned silence.

There was something unnerving about the Hyperions' calm, their aura of invincibility making it clear they were on a whole different level than the rest.

Isabelle didn't bother watching them exit.

Instead, she turned toward the cockpit, her expression unreadable. "How many creatures are out there?" she asked, her voice cold and business-like.

The pilot quickly scanned the surrounding area. His hands shook slightly as the data poured onto the screen. "Around... seventy-one thousand, four hundred and nineteen in this region, ma'am."

Isabelle's face remained calm. "Good."

As far as she was concerned, that number was manageable.

The Hyperions weren't just regular soldiers—they were the elite forces from Athena's Cube, a research facility tied to the Order of Illuminati.