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墨書 Inktalez
Jelo sat in the dilapidated jeep, the vehicle bouncing so violently that he could barely steady his frail body. He gripped a gun that was far too large for him, the cold metal feeling heavy in his palm, causing him to tremble involuntarily. Each time he pulled the trigger, the powerful recoil struck his shoulder like a heavy punch, sending waves of pain through him as if his bones were about to shatter.
Around him, the young soldiers wore expressions of terror and confusion on their youthful faces. The guns they held were too heavy for them; each shot brought agony, yet this pain seemed to numb their original rationality. As the jeep jolted along the uneven, muddy road, these children fired aimlessly, gunshots ringing out as bullets flew everywhere, as if the entire world was gradually disintegrating under this chaotic barrage.
The sounds of gunfire and the frantic screams of his companions echoed in Jelo's ears. His heart raced violently, and he felt a suffocating pressure in his chest. He turned to look at the child soldiers beside him; their eyes sparkled with a frenzied light. The uncontrolled shooting and roaring filled Jelo with an indescribable fear. Had they gone mad? How had it come to this?
He couldn't comprehend what was happening or why these children, who were of similar age to him, had descended into such a frenzied state. They were supposed to be learning in school and playing with their parents at home, not wielding guns and firing wildly on this war-torn land.
Jelo felt an overwhelming sense of isolation; he did not belong here. This chaotic and insane battlefield was not his home. Yet at that moment, he could not escape or flee; he could only let himself be consumed by the storm of war, sinking into madness and fear alongside his companions. He longed for an answer, but all around him were gunshots and pained groans. All he could do was grip tightly onto that gun that felt so out of place in his hands, trying not to lose himself completely in this endless chaos.
Suddenly, the voice of the leader crackled through the intercom inside the cramped vehicle, filled with rage and fury: "Damn it! Shoot faster! You are warriors of Black Rope God! Chosen warriors!" This voice reverberated within the small cabin like a powerful current, instantly igniting everyone's emotions.
Beside Jelo, Adu, Ian, and Flash reacted as if driven by some invisible force; they suddenly became exhilarated. A fervent flame ignited in their eyes as if they truly felt called by what the leader referred to as "the chosen." The three shouted in unison: "For Black Rope God!" Then they crazily pulled the triggers without caring that their shoulders and arms were becoming numb from the recoil. Bullets rained down outside as if they wanted to shred everything into pieces.
Morgan, sitting in the driver's seat, was also swept up by this fervent emotion; his eyes sparkled with excitement. He gripped the steering wheel with his frail hands. Although his height barely allowed him to see over it to gauge the road ahead, it did not diminish his madness. He shouted hoarsely and excitedly: "Warriors of Black Rope God! Chosen warriors!" Each shout was filled with enthusiasm and frenzy as if he truly believed he was a warrior chosen by some mysterious power.
Jelo looked at these young soldiers beside him; their transformation left him utterly incredulous and even somewhat horrified. With just one command from their leader, these children who were once like him had plunged into madness as if they had suddenly become different people. Their faces were marked with fervor and determination; their desire for battle and identification with being "chosen" filled Jelo with deep fear.
He could not understand why those who once played and laughed with him now seemed so foreign and terrifying. Their unreserved fervor and reckless behavior made him feel as though he had been isolated in an entirely different world. He saw Adu, Ian, and Flash's twisted expressions and heard Morgan's frenzied shouts; his heart trembled.
This war seemed to have not only stolen their childhood but also fundamentally changed them inside. Jelo began to fear—not just the battle itself but also these companions with whom he had once shared joyful moments. They now appeared as completely different individuals consumed by some mad faith, transformed into machines born for war.
Jelo felt as if his world was collapsing around him. He couldn't comprehend any of it, nor could he find any solace. He could only stare blankly at everything around him, feeling himself being swept into a mad storm by an irresistible force, unable to grasp anything that could save him.
The chaos inside the carriage escalated, gunshots and shouts blending together as if tearing the entire world apart. Amidst this turmoil, the oldest among them, Ian, suddenly turned to Jelo, glaring at him with fury. His face was smeared with dust and sweat, and his eyes glinted with madness.
“Jelo, for fuck's sake, get serious!” Ian shouted, his voice filled with harsh reprimand and dissatisfaction directed at Jelo.
Startled by the sudden outburst, Jelo froze, unable to react immediately. However, in that instant, his gaze met Ian's, and he was struck by a horrifying vision—within Ian's eyes, it seemed a black worm was crawling through, long and eerie, exuding an indescribable sense of terror. The black worm slithered through Ian's pupils as if corroding his very soul.
This terrifying scene hit Jelo like a bolt of lightning. He collapsed in the carriage, his eyes wide open, completely engulfed by fear. He tried to scream, but it felt as though something was blocking his throat; no sound escaped him. His heart raced violently in his chest, as if it would burst at any moment.
Seeing Jelo's reaction only fueled Ian's anger further. He quickly crawled over and grabbed Jelo by the collar, pulling him up and slapping him hard. “What the hell are you doing? Focus up, Jelo! Your behavior is going to get us all killed!” Ian's voice thundered in his ears, each word striking Jelo like a heavy hammer on his heart.
Jelo felt a burning pain on his face, but compared to the physical pain, the fear brought on by the black worm was far more profound. He shook his head, trying to wake himself from that dreadful illusion and concentrate on anything else but the worm. Yet no matter how hard he forced himself to focus, the inescapable sense of dread still clung to him.
The black worm seemed to have taken residence in his mind; it no longer existed solely in Ian's eyes but appeared to have crawled into his brain itself, writhing deep within his thoughts and leaving traces of darkness and decay. Every time he closed his eyes or attempted to concentrate, the image of the worm would resurface, making it impossible for him to escape or ignore.
This bizarre sensation pushed Jelo to the brink of madness; he couldn't tell if it was reality or hallucination. Yet that deep-seated fear felt so real that he sensed himself slowly unraveling. In this chaotic and frenzied battlefield, an irresistible darkness was consuming him from within, and he could do nothing but struggle helplessly against the tide of fear.
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