SWARM

The Griffin War

                              Chapter 1

4:30 p.m. February 16, ad 29247.

The twenty-two years old soldier is silenced by what he sees around him. And he removes his combat helmet. "It's happening so fast," he says in his native tongue that used to be spoken from two dominant cultures, centuries ago. To the young soldier, these are continents oblivious to its existence from the east and west of the globe. The paled face with large eyes can only explain his kind has been living deep from the ocean abyss far too long. He has a white flat line on top of the head that is shaped as a mohawk and a gray metallic object under his nose to control his breathing. Impending from the dark city underwater to a great extent, making his lungs too thin to breathe the thick humid air on earth's surface. Without the device, his lungs would explode. 

His name is Moran, and he just got off a jet ski that travels by hovering above the ocean. They have been no match against the beasts on the sea, and he and his fellow soldiers plan to hit for the shores for cover. Only to be surprised it's much more present to see his men are no longer fighting but running away. And the beasts have no mercy. In desperation, they struggle with whatever they can find: sticks, knives, the butt end of their guns, or rocks. Some still have ammunition, but it is no match against the beasts.

Moran sees his men being lifted up and then exploding in the sky. Blood rains down, followed by thick dense of smokes. The gruesome beasts have the rear end of a giant lion and the front of a giant eagle. Their entire body has feathers like scales of steel, arms with menacing talons, legs with sharp claws, and they swarm the landscape and the sky. The beasts are Griffins, and they haul the soldiers into the air. Some carry the men to their nests while others eat them on the fly and then drop the leftovers to the ground.

Like most of his men, Moran is out of ammunition, but he and his men have suits explicitly designed for the last reserve. It may seem disturbing for the ordinary soldiers, but it has become their ultimate weapon. They learned many years ago that carrying suicide bombs into battle has its advantages. The bombs work automatically and detonate by itself once the soldier reaches a particular stress level or with a command planted within the contact in their eyes; also gives their nocturnal eyes the accurate measure withstanding the earth's surface nights and days. The bomb suit has a failsafe against friendly fire that has reached the final upgrade up to the extent of a much massive link of thunderclouds. Feathers fall like snow, and blood rains from the thick smokes.

A ditch where a bomb just exploded strewn with the body parts of a Griffin. The rest is blackness and blood that spreads wide where Moran jumps down with Igor. The same hybrid tongue has spoken. "Where's Hector?" Igor yells.

"What?" Moran replies, and his ears still ringing.

"Hector! Where's Hector?"

"I'm still in one piece, brother!" Hector says as he clambers into the ditch.

Igor turns to his back. "You're alive!" Igor exclaims.

Hector embraces Igor and then Moran.

Moran still in a state of shock over what is happening around him. "We're losing men so fast!" He says. It's been a while since the previous war, the long training has become useless. What more that we could have missed, I was prepared for this Moran thought. He looks and watches the sky as more of his comrade explodes in the air and killing Griffins, we didn't.

"Don't be afraid!" Igor puts his left hand on Hector's right shoulder. "This is it brother! We have to do this; we have to."

Moran thinks it's all happening too fast and didn't expect to think quick enough before he plans heading back to the abyss. I have to do this. The regression is now far from home and staying for the fix.