Deviant: No Longer Human

Prometheus, the organization Isabelle worked for, operated impartial and ruthless, willing to borrow power from anywhere as long as it didn't disrupt their larger mission.

They weren't aligned with good or evil, simply focused on maintaining balance and advancing their goals.

This principle, of using any tool available, had given Prometheus an upper hand against all other organizations in the world. Acting as a neutral mediator between forces of good and evil, they were feared, respected, and untouchable.

Isabelle glanced toward the hatch where General Abel and his Hyperions had disappeared into the chaotic battlefield.

A storm was coming, and these creatures—these Skinwalkers—were about to learn the hard way what happens when you cross forces that don't play by the rules of good and evil.

As the pilot nervously monitored the scene on his display, the first sounds of gunfire and brutal combat erupted from outside.

______

HISS!

The back hatch of the jet fully lowered, revealing the nightmarish scene outside.

The Skinwalkers, twisted creatures of sinew and bone, clawed desperately at the metal frame of the jet, their bodies hunched over like starving wolves circling their prey.

Their eyes glowed a sickening yellow, filled with nothing but hunger and rage.

General Abel and the eleven Hyperions stepped out into the chaos like gods descending onto a battlefield of ants.

The moment they hit the ground, the air around them filled with bloodlust.

The first wave of Skinwalkers leaped forward, their limbs stretched unnaturally long, their claws slashing toward the Hyperions' armored figures.

THRUM!

A high-pitched hum filled the air as Abel's arm blades extended from his forearm, vibrating with lethal energy. He moved with blinding speed, slicing through the closest Skinwalker's torso with one fluid motion.

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SPLURT!

Flesh, bone, and viscera sprayed into the air like a fountain of blood, the creature's body falling into two mangled halves with a wet splatter.

The other Hyperions followed suit, their weapons humming to life as they tore into the Skinwalkers with brutal efficiency.

The screams of the creatures filled the air—inhuman, wails of pain that seemed to come from the depths of their twisted souls.

A Skinwalker lunged at one of the Hyperions, its claws aiming for the soldier's throat. But before it could even touch him, the Hyperion's arm shot out, gripping the creature by its skull.

CRUNCH!

With a bam, the soldier's gauntlet crushed the Skinwalker's head like an overripe fruit, blood and brain matter exploding outward in a burst.

"AAAAAHHHHHHH!"

The scream pierced the air, but it wasn't human. It was the agonized wail of a Skinwalker being torn limb from limb.

One of the Hyperions grabbed the creature by both arms and ripped it apart with a savage twist, its intestines splurting from its body like a bloody rope, splattering across the battlefield.

The ground was soon soaked in greenish blood as the Hyperions continued their slaughter.

The air was thick with the acidic smell of blood, mixed with the stench of burning flesh as plasma weapons carved through the creatures.

Skinwalker limbs flew through the air, heads rolled across the dirt, and torsos were split open like cattle in a slaughterhouse.

Kacha—

Splurt! Splurt!

The sound of bones breaking, flesh tearing, and the wet splatter of bodies hitting the ground echoed through the chaos, mingling with the unholy screeches of the Skinwalkers.

A Skinwalker, larger than the others, charged at General Abel, its mouth wide open, rows of jagged teeth gleaming in the dim light. It let out a horrifying roar as it lunged, but Abel was faster.

CRACK!

His foot shot out, meeting the creature's chest with a sickening crack as ribs shattered under the force of his kick.

BOOM—!

The creature flew back several feet, its body limp as it crashed into the mass of Skinwalkers behind it.

Without hesitation, Abel leapt into the fray, slicing through another Skinwalker with ruthless precision. His blade carved through its midsection, spilling its entrails onto the ground in a gory mess.

The creature's legs collapsed under it as it screamed, its body convulsing in the dirt before it was silenced by a quick stab through the skull.

The Hyperions moved like a synchronized storm of death, cutting through the horde with brutality.

One Hyperion grabbed a Skinwalker by the neck, twisting its head clean off with a sharp SNAP, before using its decapitated body as a battering ram to knock down another three.

Another Hyperion plunged a blade into a Skinwalker's chest, pulling it upward to split the creature in half from the middle, its upper body peeling away like a torn sheet of flesh.

SCREEEEH!

The screams of the Skinwalkers filled the air, their cries blending with the constant hum of the Hyperions' weapons.

"AAAAHHHHH! GRAHHHH!" The Skinwalkers wailed as their numbers dwindled, their bodies stacking up like mounds of butchered meat.

The ground was now a slick field of blood and gore, limbs and viscera littering every corner.

One Hyperion, his armor dripping with the green flesh of the fallen, raised his weapon toward the sky.

A barrage of plasma bursts shot into the air before raining down upon the Skinwalkers, vaporizing entire groups of them in an instant.

Their bodies disintegrated with a final, high-pitched shriek, the smell of burnt flesh wafting through the air like a sickening fog.

Inside the jet, the crew could only watch in silence. The sounds of the massacre seeped through the walls—flesh being torn, bones snapping, and the relentless howls of the Skinwalkers as they were slaughtered.

Isabelle, standing by the hatch, glanced at the data on the screen.

The count of creatures was dropping rapidly—thousands in mere minutes.

The Hyperions were doing what they were created to do: cleanse.

Outside, General Abel stood in the center of the carnage, his blade dripping with blood, surrounded by the mutilated bodies of Skinwalkers.

His evil smile, hidden beneath his helmet, grew wider as he surveyed the devastation.

"Clean up," he muttered into his comms. The remaining Hyperions moved methodically, making sure not a single Skinwalker remained alive.

The last of the creatures, no longer charging, began to retreat in fear—if they were even capable of such an emotion.

One attempted to flee, its broken limbs dragging it away in a desperate crawl.

But before it could make it more than a few feet, a Hyperion's foot came down, crushing its skull into the dirt with a squelch.

Puchi! Puchi! Puchi!

The battle was over, but the battlefield was a nightmare of blood and death.

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"Good work!"

Isabelle clenched her fists, her smile widening as she watched the massacre from the safety of the jet.

The scene outside was one of absolute carnage—Skinwalker corpses piled high, blood and entrails littering the battlefield like a work of art. Behind her, however, not everyone shared her enthusiasm.

The rest of the crew, clearly unused to this level of gore, stared out in disgust, their faces pale and tense.

"Are they even human?" Wang Xueying, pale and holding a hand over her mouth, approached Isabelle with a queasy expression.

She was clearly struggling to keep her composure standing in the middle of the sea of carnage outside.

Isabelle's expression barely flickered as she replied, "They are, but not the kind you'd see walking in the streets. To fight monsters, you need monsters..."