The world woke in shades of gray and the stench of rotting earth. Hashiba's eyes snapped open before the screaming started - some deep, animal part of him always knew when death was near. The roof beams above him groaned under unnatural weight.
"Mask-breath," Rin whispered from her cot, already reaching for her daggers. The air smelled like wet porcelain and old blood.
Then the screaming began.
The Pride-beast dropped through the rotting ceiling in a shower of splinters and rusted nails. Its limbs unfolded like a spider's, too many joints bending in too many directions. The cracked porcelain mask - once standard infantry issue - now fused to its face by pulsing black veins.
Lynn moved first. Always Lynn. His rifle barked twice, the muzzle flash painting the barracks in stark shadows. The first shot tore through the beast's shoulder. The second shattered its left kneecap. It didn't even stagger.
"Formation Delta!" Lynn barked.
Hashiba rolled right as Kaito went left, their movements drilled into muscle memory through hundreds of similar dawns. Amasu's shotgun roared from the doorway, peppering the beast's back with silver flechettes. The pellets burst like fireworks under its skin, each one releasing a puff of acrid smoke.
The beast turned its head - a slow, mechanical rotation - and charged Amasu.
Hashiba saw his opening. He planted one foot on the overturned cot and launched himself through the air, his cavalry saber singing as it arced downward. The blade bit deep into the beast's clavicle, black ichor spraying across his goggles.
It barely noticed.
A backhanded swing sent Hashiba crashing through the supply shelves. Glass vials shattered against his back, their precious contents - distilled memories, liquid courage, stolen time - soaking into his uniform. He tasted copper and regret.
Rin darted between its legs, her daggers flashing. One blade severed a hamstring. The other found the soft tissue behind its knee. The beast stumbled, its mask tilting at a drunken angle.
Lynn moved in for the kill.
His bayonet punched through the mask with a sound like breaking china. The beast shuddered, its limbs spasming in violent protest. Then Lynn twisted the blade, and everything went still.
For three heartbeats, no one breathed.
Then the corpse began to melt.
Flesh sloughed off bone in thick, black sheets, pooling on the floorboards before being absorbed by the hungry wood. Within minutes, only the mask remained - a broken, empty thing.
Kaito picked it up, turning it over in his hands. "This was Corporal Hasegawa's," he said quietly. "From the 9th."
No one replied. They all knew what it meant. Another comrade lost. Another enemy gained.
Lynn wiped his bayonet clean. "Check your gear. We move out in ten."
The mess hall hadn't been a mess hall in years. Now it was just four walls and a corpse of a roof, its ribs exposed to the sickly yellow sky. The squad sat in their usual formation - Lynn facing the door, Amasu by the window, Kaito and Rin back-to-back, Hashiba where he could watch everyone.
Amasu produced a loaf of bread from her pack - hard as stone and just as appetizing. She broke it into five equal pieces with her combat knife.
"Remember the bakery near East Garrison?" Kaito asked, gnawing at his portion. "The one that made those honey buns every Sunday?"
Rin snorted. "You mean the one that got shelled on Founder's Day?"
"Same one." Kaito's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Baker's daughter used to slip me extras when the officers weren't looking."
Lynn's hands stilled. A crumb of bread fell from his fingers into the dirt.
"I hesitated once," he said.
The air changed. Even the ever-present whispering of the walls seemed to quiet. Lynn never talked about before.
"It was early," he continued, staring at his wedding band. "First month of the war. They sent us to clear a tenement block - said it was crawling with Guilt-worms." His thumb rubbed circles on the rifle stock. "But when we breached... it was just people. Twenty, maybe thirty civilians. Huddled in the basement like rats."
Hashiba could see it unfolding - the dim cellar, the wide eyes, the way Lynn's finger must have hovered over the trigger.
"Captain gave the order. I raised my rifle. And then..." Lynn's voice hitched, just once. "A woman looked at me. She was holding a child. Not even crying. Just... looking."
The bread in Hashiba's hand turned to ash in his mouth.
"I lowered my gun." Lynn's knuckles whitened. "Captain shot her instead. Then the child. Then he turned to me and said, 'That's how wars are lost.'"
A beetle crawled across the table between them, its carapace gleaming like fresh blood.
"Next morning, the worms hatched in Camp Seven." Lynn's eyes were stones. "My wife was stationed there."
No one spoke. No one needed to.
Rin reached out and covered Lynn's hand with hers. To Hashiba's surprise, he didn't pull away.
Hashiba found Lynn in the barracks after nightfall, carving another name into the wall. The knife moved with methodical precision, each stroke a funeral rite. Around them, the ink-mold pulsed gently, consuming the older names at the edges.
"Taro," Lynn said without turning. "From the 7th. Good with explosives."
Hashiba studied the wall. Hundreds of names, maybe thousands. Half already swallowed by the creeping mold.
"You know it won't last," Hashiba said.
Lynn's knife didn't pause. "Nothing does."
Amasu burst in then, her boots caked with mud and something darker. "Found something," she said, holding out a child's doll.
It was a sad little thing - one eye missing, its dress stained with things Hashiba didn't want to identify. Amasu turned it over, revealing clumsy stitching along its side. Someone had tried to repair it.
"Kid's probably wormfood by now," Kaito said from the doorway.
Lynn stood abruptly. "Give it here."
Amasu raised an eyebrow but handed it over. Lynn examined it with unexpected care, his calloused fingers gentle on the frayed fabric.
"Refugee camp south of here," he said. "Might still have children."
"You planning to play delivery boy now?" Amasu asked, but there was no bite in it.
Lynn didn't answer. He simply tucked the doll into his breast pocket, right over his heart.
Hashiba looked away. Some things were too private to witness.
That night, Hashiba dreamed of Uragiri again.
But this time, the god wore Lynn's face.
"You know how this ends," Lynn-Uragiri whispered, his voice layered with something ancient and hungry. "You've always known."
Behind him, the walls of the barracks pulsed like a living thing. The ink-mold had spread while they slept, consuming entire sections of the structure. And in the spaces between the mold, Hashiba could see faces - all the names from Lynn's wall, mouths open in silent screams.
Lynn-Uragiri smiled. "We'll see you tomorrow."
Hashiba woke with a gasp.
Outside, the first drops of ink-rain were beginning to fall.
And from very far away, a child was crying.