It didn't take blood. It took color .
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. ex-load leech
“You wanted a load,” Kael whispered, his voice a rasp of gravel and grave-dirt. “Congratulations. You found the ex-load.” It didn't take blood
The designation was "Ex-Load Leech." Officially, it was a classified parasitic entity, a biological weapon engineered in a forgotten war. Unofficially, it was the last thing a soldier felt before their luck ran out. He’d seen the aftermath—a tank crew found perfectly
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.