The camp was silent, save for the whisper of the wind and the faint sound of dripping blood. Seventeen lay sprawled across the heap of lifeless bodies, his own breath shallow, his heartbeat faint. The pallor of death had almost claimed him.
But deep within him, something stirred.
Above his chest, just where his heart struggled to beat, a crimson dot appeared—a faint pinprick of light glowing against his pale skin. At first, it shimmered weakly, as though it might fade, but then it pulsed, gaining strength. Suddenly, from that single dot, tendrils of blood shot outward with unnatural speed.
They moved like living things, slithering across the bodies piled around him. The tendrils pierced the veins and arteries of the corpses, and a sickening, wet sound echoed through the air as they began to siphon the blood.
The crimson dot above Seventeen's chest grew larger, fed by the stolen blood. The more it consumed, the darker and thicker it became, pulsing rhythmically as though alive. The tendrils expanded their reach, latching onto every corpse within the camp. Beneath him, the blood-soaked earth began to dry as every last drop was drawn into the ever-growing dot.
Finally, the red mass hovered above Seventeen's chest, radiating an ominous power. It pulsed violently, throbbing like a second heart. Then, with a sudden flash, a second dot appeared alongside it—a blinding white light that contrasted sharply with the crimson orb.
The two dots hung suspended for a moment, their energies colliding and blending in a strange dance. Then, as abruptly as they had appeared, they plunged into Seventeen's chest.
Seventeen's body convulsed violently. His back arched off the ground, his limbs thrashing uncontrollably as the energy coursed through him. It was as if his very essence was being rewritten. His veins glowed faintly beneath his skin, pulsating with a dark crimson hue interspersed with streaks of white.
For hours, his body trembled and writhed, caught in the grip of this mysterious force. When the spasms finally ceased, Seventeen lay still, his chest rising and falling in deep, steady breaths.
When he opened his eyes, they gleamed with a faint red glow before fading back to their natural color. He sat up slowly, his mind clouded and his body buzzing with an unfamiliar sensation. Everything felt... sharper. The wind against his skin, the distant rustle of leaves, even the faint hum of insects—he could sense it all with unnerving clarity.
He looked around, confusion clouding his gaze. The camp was a wasteland of death. Bodies, now little more than husks, lay scattered around him. He staggered to his feet, unsteady but driven by an inexplicable urge to move.
He stumbled forward, stepping over the lifeless forms of his comrades, and walked into the woods. His mind was blank, his body moving on instinct. Every step felt strange, as though his legs were no longer entirely his own.
The forest was dense, its towering trees casting long shadows in the fading light of day. Seventeen wandered aimlessly, his steps dragging as if pulled by an invisible force. His breaths were shallow, his vision blurred, and exhaustion weighed heavily on him.
Unbeknownst to him, a ship was approaching, gliding silently through the skies above the forest. Its sleek metallic frame shimmered in the evening light, and the hum of its engines was barely audible.
Onboard, a woman sat at a console, her eyes scanning a radar screen. Her brow furrowed as a faint blip appeared on the display.
"Commander," she called out, her voice calm but firm. "We've got movement on the ground. Single lifeform, humanoid, roughly three clicks ahead."
The commander, a grizzled man with a scar running down his cheek, stepped closer to the screen. He studied the blip for a moment before nodding. "Take us down for a closer look. It might be a survivor."
The ship descended, its engines emitting a low hum as it neared the forest floor. Through the viewport, the woman spotted Seventeen, staggering through the underbrush.
"There," she said, pointing. "He's moving, but barely."
The ship hovered just above the ground, and a team of soldiers disembarked. They approached Seventeen cautiously, their weapons at the ready.
"Hey!" one of them called out. "Are you alright?"
Seventeen turned toward the voice, his movements sluggish and uncoordinated. His eyes, bloodshot and unfocused, met theirs for a brief moment before he collapsed to the ground.
The soldiers rushed to his side, one of them checking his pulse while another scanned him with a handheld device.
"He's alive," the medic confirmed, though his tone was tinged with confusion. "But his vitals are... unusual."
"Unusual how?" the commander asked, stepping closer.
"His heart rate is irregular, and there's some kind of strange energy signature coming from him. I've never seen anything like it."
The commander frowned but gave a curt nod. "Get him on the ship. We'll figure out what's going on once we're airborne."
The soldiers carefully lifted Seventeen onto a stretcher and carried him aboard the ship. The woman at the console glanced over her shoulder as they secured him in the medical bay.
"He's in bad shape," she remarked, her tone a mix of concern and curiosity. "What happened to him out there?"
The commander didn't answer immediately. He stared out the viewport at the forest below, his mind racing. "I don't know," he said finally, "but we're going to find out."
As the ship ascended into the sky, Seventeen lay unconscious in the medical bay. His body was still, but deep within him, the strange energies that had awakened continued to churn, their purpose yet unknown.
The ship sped away, leaving the desolate forest and the ruined camp behind. Unbeknownst to its crew, they were now carrying a young man whose fate would soon intertwine with forces far greater than they could imagine.