Ex-load Leech Page

Then the void settled, burped once inside his chest, and went quiet.

Sergeant Kael Voss knew the name well. He’d seen the aftermath—a tank crew found perfectly intact, their faces frozen in mid-laugh, their bio-signs flatlined as if someone had simply unplugged their souls. The Leech didn’t kill with claws or venom. It killed by attaching to a host and draining the one thing no armor could protect: the will to live.

His mother’s face. Gone.

Kael didn't look away. He owed them that much.

He squeezed.

The smell of rain on asphalt. Erased.

Kael stumbled, his rifle clattering into the muck. The Leech was on him. He didn't see it—he felt it. A thing of translucent cartilage and needle-fine filaments, it fused to his cervical spine, its body flattening against his skin like a second layer of frost. It weighed nothing. And then the feeding began. ex-load leech

He had already died once.