When the Flux gate opened, the atmosphere that flowed through it was the first assailant... and certainly the most devastating. We don't yet know what it is in the air, whether it's energy, a fungus, or a parasite...

What we know is that it changed us.

In mere minutes, those who were exposed to high concentrations of the alien atmosphere were molded into aberrations from the deepest pits of hell. Gone was the spark from their eyes, their recognition of those whom they held dear. All that was left was flesh and metal. These Mutalists lumber aimlessly now, slaughtering their former friends and family as if they were pests. Growths sprout from their heads and arms, fusing their equipment and weapons to their flesh.

On camera feeds and in the shadows, one can hear them whispering. Calling for others, for survivors... calling them home.

It is customary for squadron leaders to carry rotary shotguns, but rank bears little weight to the influence of the Flux. Now, the rank and file have melded into one: a mass of death that seeks to create bodies for infection. The Manglers use their shotguns to obliterate any unfortunate enough to cross their paths, moaning and whimpering as they sow the seeds of carnage. The manner in which their limbs twitch as they attack almost seems like a part of them struggles against their overlords.

Killing them is a mercy.

They were meant to defend us from the worst of threats, but became our undoing. The Flux distorted them... fused them with some otherworldly organism that screams and sobs alongside the host. The Tandem patrols the halls and passageways now, wielding its chain gun as its two heads scan for anything still living.

The heads are always different, but strangely similar... like a long lost sibling of the host that's come screaming back from the void. When the host head speaks, the second head mirrors the words.

It's as if... it's learning our tongue...

They were the first from Beyond, garbed in bone and alien metal. Their screams shift through the air like light bleeding through fabric. Their weapons liquefy flesh, amplifying the suffering of their victims. Their arms are suited only for combat: one for their ranged rifle, the other a twisted hook that they use to eviscerate their victims.

They are the Braintroopers, but do not think them creatures of rational thought.

Their nature is that of only carnage.

I saw my friend fall to one of the zombies... he screamed for a second or two as I hid. I was so ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ scared... I couldn't even move as I watched him wriggle on the floor, blood spreading around him.

Then... then one of those flying things came. Jesus Christ... it hissed as it saw Michael lying there, like some kind of angry cat. Michael barely had enough time to cry out before it lunged at him and latched to his head.

I could hear his shrieks... bellowing inside the belly of that thing as it started to... chew on him. After he finally stopped moving, so did the thing. It didn't take long before they both started to change. Michael started puffing up, getting swollen and green like he was rotting. My god... the stench... I almost vomited.

Then Michael stood up, only it wasn't Michael anymore. Michael's head was replaced with that... that thing. That awful maw of teeth.

God save us...

They harvest the dead... those flying worm things. The "eggs" hatch them, they seek out corpses - or make them - and then latch to them so they can grow. What comes next is something not meant for human eyes. Hulking masses of muscle and teeth, these ape-like monsters represent the feral brutality of the alien dimension. The cavernous mouths cannot be filled; they eat and eat, often swallowing entire body parts whole. But they do not eat them all. There exists some kind of psychic connection with its kin.

It always leaves enough dead for new hiveteeth to infect.

Roger that... entering the lab now.... ♥♥♥♥, it stinks in here.

Sergeant, that glow... what are those things?

Hold up. They look... organic. They're moving. ♥♥♥♥, we need a quarantine in here.

Sarge... that one's shifting like hell. It's opening!

♥♥♥♥! Fire! Shoot now!

Christ! No! It's ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ flying! What...?? *Radio Silence*

And lo, the heart of Man knows much deceit. It knows of little else. But from beyond the Gate of Heaven, an angel did appear. It bore His message, wreathed in unsullied metal. An eye it bore, piercing through soul and flesh alike as it carried forth to bestow its blessed gift. For those fortunate enough to earn its touch, they too will feel the light flood their hearts.

And for the briefest of moments, they will see the face of God before He calls them home.

I never before had reason to fear a shadow. Though it haunts my every step, the darkness that lingers behind me had never given me cause for concern. Then, I saw the miasma of the Flux, and since then, I cannot sleep without a light upon my face.

These phantoms... these... Vespurs... they glide like birds toward their prey, snatching them up with talons of smoke that phase in and out of reality. Their calls are like faint whispers in the wind, like a lover pressed against your back as you drift in and out of consciousness... but you shall find no respite in their embrace.

Only death shall greet you. Tortuous, bloody death.

Beware the shadows.

I saw it. Right in front of me, I saw it. A whole ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ squad, wiped out in an instant by one of those things.

The medical room smelled of rot when they came in. Six men, armed to the teeth. I think it was drawn to the cadavers. That's why they had been called in. When it stepped out from behind the privacy curtain, it... it wailed. Not in pain, but like it was euphoric. It was... excited! The closest soldier barely had time to call it out before it lunged forward, its body pulsing and throbbing like... like some kind of infected boil.

The room shook from the explosion. There was no fire... only organs and... and noxious gas. The closest men to it were shredded like cabbage. They were the lucky ones...

The gas seeped into the others, into their exposed skin. They screamed and began tearing at themselves, ripping their flesh off like something was... inside them.

Metal and flesh... metal and flesh... together as one...

That which is unnatural: the fusion of cold and warmth, life and the non-living... it all exists as one in the miasmic vortex of the Flux. The intelligence that dwells beyond our world seeks to transform us, both human and artificial intelligence. The Cereberog possess merely small pieces of the Flux, but in that small piece, they are now a part of a larger purpose than they could ever achieve here.

All will be made whole. All will be brought home.

They float like hummingbirds, those balloon things! *laughter* Flitting back and forth, carefree and... and beautiful! Yes, beautiful!

*humming*...they mean well, you know. They frolic, just like children. They can't help the poison that seeps from their bodies... it's just the way that God made them! But you just look at how they fly away in fear when some thug tries to hurt them. They're just as scared as we are!

It is we who are the monsters, you know. Poison may seep from their bodies, but we... *laughter* we spew it farther and wider than they ever could...

The rumble of thunder herald its approach...

The scrape of steel... the bellow of rage and hunger...

Beware the Lummox, a knight of their kind. It tears through armor like parchment, drinks the blood of the dying like wine, and cleans its teeth with the bones of the dead. Like an enraged bull, it tears through even the ranks of its own kind, raining mortar and flail upon all who dare to stand before it.

And we are trapped inside with it, like a keeper locked in the animal's cage...

The serpent hissed into the ear of Eve, "Taste of the fruit, and you shall know what God knows." In that moment, Eve knew only temptation. In her child-like innocence, she surrendered.

They slither in the dark, probing for a way in. Even now, I can hear them. Every now and again, I catch the glint of their lifeless eyes watching me through the plate-glass window, their buzzing masks urging me to let them in... tempting me.

I must not give in... I must not give in...*sobs*

Heaven is a fantasy.

We were taught, those of us who still believe in such things, that when we die we will either be saved or damned.

The truth is so much simpler... yet no less terrifying.

We are slaves to the whims of ancient beings. They resemble fish... primordial fish that swim through the fabric of space and time. When the dead are plentiful, they feed in gluttonous joy.

How they do it... I shudder to even conceive how they can... but they call the spirits of the dead back to leech from them. I watched the corpses stand, even when mutilated beyond recognition. Friend or foe, it does not matter. These phantalects feast on the souls of the dead, ripping them from their god, and their eternal rest to slaughter once more.

Will add more when I have the time. Cheers!