Gunmage

The sun blinked out like a candle snuffed by a phantom hand, plunging the world into an unnerving, absolute darkness. 

For a heartbeat, silence reigned–thick, oppressive, almost tangible.

Then, the sea, which up till now had resisted even the faintest glimmer of light, erupted in a lurid, bioluminescent red.

It pulsed with an unholy glow, casting grotesque shadows that danced and writhed across the ship.

It was as if they had stumbled into the domain of something vast, something ancient. The air itself grew heavy, charged with a palpable sense of dread. 

They could feel it – they could feel its crushing gaze bearing down from the inky blackness above.

Someone was watching. Something was watching.

Don't look up! Pure, primal instinct screamed.

Some, clinging to the frail shield of logic, ignored it. They craned their necks, seeking a rational explanation for the impossible darkness. 

Their reward was instant and horrific. Skulls imploded, as if crushed by an invisible fist, brains exploding outward in a shower of gore and bone fragments. 

Their bodies crumpled, collapsing in on themselves like puppets with severed strings, becoming grotesque heaps of flesh and blood.

Fear, raw and paralyzing, seized everyone.

Everyone except Marcus. He remained locked on Lugh, a relentless predator in this suddenly alien landscape.

Lugh barely had time to react before Marcus lunged. Fear clamped down on his chest, raw and suffocating, but he moved on instinct, stumbling backward as his heart hammered against his ribs

He drew out a pistol, the one he had stashed away since day one, and fired at Marcus, desperate to slow him down.

It didn't work.

The bullets struck home, punching neat holes in Marcus's flesh. But the wounds seemed to be meaningless. Marcus, his face a mask of cold indifference, acted as if he felt nothing, continuing his relentless pursuit, blood oozing from the bullet holes like thick, black oil. 

Lugh emptied the magazine, the gunshots echoing strangely in the unnatural silence. But, it was useless. His back hit against a bulkhead.

He was cornered.

Marcus, now a grotesque tapestry of blood and bullet holes, his arm twisted at a sickening angle, pressed on, a horrifying parody of human determination. 

Just a few feet from Lugh, his legs finally gave way. He slumped to the deck, his outstretched arms twitching, eyes glazing over, losing all sentience.

Lugh's breath came in ragged gasps, his earlier composure shattered.

'Stay calm, Lugh, stay calm'

He forced himself to breathe, to think. 

He looked around. And then he saw them.

The deck was populated by statues. Soldiers, moments before engaged in mundane activities, were frozen in place, their expressions fixed in whatever action they had been performing. 

Through his desperate struggle with Marcus, through the deafening gunshots, they had remained utterly unresponsive. Not reacting, not breathing. As if time had forgotten them.

And then all at once, they moved.

Every single head on the deck snapped towards him. 

Every pair of dead, lifeless eyes, locked onto his body.

"No. No, no, no," Lugh whispered, his voice trembling. He spun on his heels and ran, the silent horde shuffling after him.

"Over here!" a voice hissed. He looked up to see Sergeant Sparky, her face twisted with terror, eyes filled with anxiety, she held open a service door. "Come on!". 

Lugh didn't need to be told twice. He scrambled towards her, his feet slipping on the blood-slicked deck.

The silent wave of pursuers were gaining on him, their movements disturbingly precise and uniform.

Lugh nearly crashed into the stairwell, taking the steps three at a time. His pulse thundered in his ears.

Reaching the top floor, he sprinted towards the door. He knew his movements were clumsy and inefficient. He knew he needed to control his breathing, to focus.

But, terror had seized him, making rational thought almost impossible. 

He had just about reached the door when the world lurched violently. Was it gravity that had shifted? Or had space itself been inverted?

Lugh couldn't tell. All he knew was that he lost his footing, falling sideways, or perhaps downwards, towards what was now his left, or was it right?

"F***!"

He screamed, flailing wildly, his fingers grasping at empty air. He was inches from plunging into the blood-red sea when his hands snagged on the ship's railing.

The sea! It remained below, untouched by the cosmic horror that had warped everything else. The sky, however–

Don't look left!

The warning screamed inside him, more desperate than before. He gritted his teeth, refusing to disobey. He couldn't look. He wouldn't look.

Above him, Sergeant Sparky was clinging precariously to a doorway, her face contorted with fear and desperation. 

With a Herculean effort, he hauled himself up, scrambling onto the inside of the railing. She had done same and was now kneeling on the wall of the ship's interior, looking down at him, her eyes wide with terror.

Lugh glanced right. Some of the transformed soldiers had clung to the ship like insects on a glass plane. They were inching closer, their blank faces devoid of expression, their dead eyes fixed straight ahead. 

Which, to him, was left. Left was the swirling sky. Below was the sea. They were looking at the sky!

A fresh wave of terror clawed through Lugh's chest. He understood now.

But that knowledge didn't help him at all. He still had to escape them.

With a desperate burst of strength, he leaped, his right hand finding purchase on a narrow groove in the floor-turned-wall.

He pulled himself up, finding another precarious handhold with his right hand. 

With no footing, his arms trembled in protest, his strength rapidly failing. 

He strained, lifting himself higher, but this time there was nothing to hold onto.

There was a ledge a short distance to his left, but he couldn't use that one. His wrist was still injured, it would be unable to bear his weight.

Exhaustion began to set in.

He was going to fall.

He was going to–

"Hold on, kid, I'm coming!"

He looked up and saw Sergeant Sparky, abandoning the relative safety of her perch, descending the warped deck towards him. 

Hope flickered within him.

Then…

"Sergeant, look out!"

It was too late. A cluster of bound crates, ripped loose by the cosmic upheaval, came crashing down. The first crate barely missed her. The second did too. The third didn't.

It struck her squarely in the skull.

"Nooooo!!" Lugh screamed. He watched, as her fingers, once gripping the metal, went slack.

She tumbled across the deck, her body impacting the twisted metal rails with a sickening crunch, before plummeting into the crimson sea below.

Lugh stared, numb with horror. It was over. He was losing his grip, his strength spent.

Even if he somehow managed to stay on the ship, the horde of imhuman soldiers would soon be upon him.

That was when he heard a voice, calm and steady amidst the chaos. It cut through the madness like a blade.

"Grab on, kid."

Lugh looked up.

It was the captain.