Where The Ground Trembles

Blood Flows At Antietam - 04

Before the men could even move, the strange figures continued to emerge from the widening rift, stepping out with a terrifying physicality that made Davis' heart lurch. They were no shadowy apparitions—these were creatures of flesh and bone, towering over the men with grotesque, muscular bodies. Their skin was slick and pale, stretched tightly over bulging, unnatural forms. Horns jutted from their heads, and their eyes glowed an angry, malevolent red.

Whitlock stood frozen, his eyes wide with terror. "Corporal... what are they?"

Davis had no answer. These weren't Confederates or any kind of enemy they'd prepared to face. He glanced at Whitlock and then at the creatures again, their heavy footfalls making the earth quake beneath them. "Doesn't matter what they are," he muttered. "They bleed, they die."

But the creatures didn't move like men. They moved like predators. One of them stepped onto the battlefield with a massive weapon—something like a cross between a club and a blade—slung over its back. Its chest heaved with a guttural snarl, and its eyes locked on the soldiers scattered before it like prey.

"Hold the line!" Dawson shouted, trying to rally the men. His voice cracked under the strain, and Davis could hear the fear in it now.

A few soldiers fired, their shots ringing out across the field. The bullets hit the nearest creature, tearing into its flesh, but the hulking brute barely flinched. Blood spurted from the wounds, thick and dark, but it only seemed to enrage the thing. With a roar, it charged.

"Fall back!" Davis bellowed, his voice rising above the din. "Get to cover!"

The soldiers were already moving, panic spreading through the ranks. Davis grabbed Whitlock, pulling him back as the monstrous creature smashed into the front line, sending men flying with a brutal swing of its weapon. Bones crunched, men screamed—it was chaos.

The ground beneath them trembled again, but Davis didn't have time to care. He pushed Whitlock toward the rise, his heart pounding. "Get to the hill!" he shouted. "Now!"

The creatures were relentless, tearing through the lines with terrifying strength. Each one was more monstrous than the last—some had jagged tusks and thick, leathery hides, while others bore spiked armor, their massive hands crushing anything in their path. Davis had never seen anything like it. This wasn't war. This was slaughter.

As they reached the base of the hill, Davis glanced back. The creatures were advancing, their thunderous roars filling the air as they ripped apart men and earth alike.

Whitlock was gasping for breath beside him, his hands shaking as he clutched his rifle. "Corporal, what are we going to do?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper over the chaos.

Davis didn't answer right away. He didn't have one. All he knew was that they had to keep moving, or they'd be torn apart just like the others.

"We hold," Davis said, more to himself than to Whitlock. "And we kill as many of these bastards as we can."

As the remaining soldiers tried to regroup, the ground shuddered violently again. Davis steadied himself, watching as another rift opened not far from where they stood. More of the creatures poured out, their weapons gleaming in the dim light.

Davis felt the weight of what was happening settle in his gut, but there wasn't time to dwell on it. The creatures—demons, that was the only word that seemed to fit—moved with a speed and savagery that no man could match. Around him, the Union line was breaking, men scattering as the monsters tore through them with a force that defied reason.

As Davis and Whitlock scrambled up the rise, Davis looked for Lieutenant Dawson. The officer had taken position near the top, barking orders at the men to reform, to dig in, but his voice was being swallowed by the chaos. More rifts were opening across the battlefield, and from them, more demons emerged—hulking, brutal things with thick hides and gleaming eyes.