I Am The Swarm

If someone were bitten by a highly toxic creature, simply cutting away the affected flesh—or, as the commander had done, severing a limb—could stop the toxin from spreading further.

But the injured soldier hadn’t been bitten by anything, nor was his wound limited to a single spot. Given the density of the white smoke in the hall, it was as if he had been submerged in a pool of poison.

Thus, when the commander cut off the soldier’s left forearm and the medic rushed forward to bandage the wound, what he saw was horrifying. The severed stump was already beginning to corrode. Blood gushed from the wound, washing over the bubbling, rotting flesh. Even the medic, who had seen his share of life and death, found the sight unbearable.

More importantly, he had no idea how to treat such a wound. As long as it remained exposed to the white smoke, any attempt to treat it would be futile.

But given the current situation, isolating the wound from the smoke was nothing short of a pipe dream.

The medic turned to the commander and shook his head. The commander, realizing the futility, made a Moto gesture of seeking forgiveness, then drew a small pistol from his belt.

Bang! The injured soldier stopped struggling. The commander stepped forward, crouching to examine the body, trying to determine what had caused the attack.

After a moment, the commander stood up, but his legs gave way, and he stumbled backward, collapsing onto the floor. He didn’t get up again. Instead, he sat there, staring blankly, silent.

“Sigh…” After a long pause, he let out a heavy sigh.