Broken Soldier Novels & Stories

The reinforced structure held for a fraction of a second, the gold brightening, tightening, straining— Then it failed. Bone collapsed beneath his grip with a sharp, splintering crack, both arms breaking inward at once, the twin blades falling uselessly from fingers that no longer obeyed. The scream tore free of the soldier’s throat, raw and involuntary and cut short as Apollo moved. He lifted him. Not with effort. With inevitability.

"I wanna know," "Alright, mates, I lost four friends on the same day, I don't think I have told you before but I am an ex-soldier, well I had to retire early because of the said incident that killed my friend, I watched them get burnt alive and I couldn't do a thing, I was the only one that survived the attack," He explained sadness was taking over him. "Oh God, that's horrible,"

Dark Soldiers’ Base – Med-Bay Observation Deck The sterile white of the medical bay was a stark contrast to the grimy chaos of the warehouse. Through the thick glass, we watched a team of doctors and medical drones work on Amy. She lay on a central table, surrounded by glowing holographic readouts and whirring machines. The two puncture wounds on her neck were covered with a clear bio-gel, but a dark, web-like pattern was already spreading under her skin, creeping toward her jawline.

So I returned, determined to save as many lies as I could. I went to the camp to check on some other wounded soldiers as I knew I couldn't sleep with a guilty conscience. But something strange happened then. A young soldier had a severe wound on his arm, one that wasn’t healing as it should, despite another healer's efforts. He was tossing and turning in pain, his claws hurting others instinctively when they tried to apply medicine to it.

My whole body felt like it had been rearranged by a particularly enthusiastic toddler. Every muscle screamed in protest,and the metallic tang of blood filled my nose like a bad roommate. Gross. Brock materialized out of nowhere, looking like he'd been dragged through a hedge backwards. Typical. Super soldiers never get a scratch, do they? "Hey," he rasped, his voice rougher than sandpaper. "You okay?" I managed a weak smile. "Yeah, just peachy. You know, the usual – a few bumps, bruises, the lingering fear of rogue-induced death…"

The other young man quickly went over to help him. Both of them were drenched in blood, looking both miserable and famished. The soldier codenamed Ridge was bleeding from one thigh. A bullet had pierced right through it, and the wound was now infected. His breathing was rough, and he did not move much as he lay in the stream while his comrade kept on pulling at him. "Berserk, go… Leave me and go. They’ll be here soon."

Charles, a German soldier patted Aiden's shoulder lightly when he saw Aiden was loading some of his things into his black backpack inside the tent. “Hmm, I hope so too. But not in an atmosphere of war like this, once in a while I want to see you relaxing on the beach." Charles hit Aiden's shoulder lightly while laughing ridiculously at Aiden's joke. Indeed being a mercenary or sniper like them could never dream of a vacation. Even to meet family members is very difficult. So most of the mercenaries or snipers assigned to conflict areas are single people, who have broken personalities without a soul, because they are required to lose their humanity while on duty.

Finally, they could get him; if not, he will die by himself eventually. Colonel Zakariah stood amidst the bustling chaos of the hospital, his eyes scanning the sea of wounded soldiers with a mixture of sorrow and simmering anger. Each face bore the scars of battle, a stark reminder of the relentless conflict that had consumed their lives and shattered their bodies. As he moved through the crowded wards, his mind churned with thoughts of vengeance and retribution, his heart heavy with the weight of responsibility that rested upon his shoulders.

The room changed. She was standing now on the ruins of the Zurich compound—though not as it had ever been. Burned. Empty. Shattered glass like scattered memory. A single beam of sunlight cut through the ceiling, illuminating a pile of ash in the center. Her boots crunched over it. But when she looked down, it wasn’t ash. It was bone. Tiny fragments. Teeth. Ribs. Fingers. Voices echoed faintly around her. Familiar. Not words. Just fragments. Torin’s laugh. Jessica humming. Eleni saying “not yet, not yet, not yet”.

I shoot one after the other, on a rampage. He shakes his head vehemently. That bastard. How could he do this to his own son? I clench and unclench my fists. "When was this?" My heart accelerates to an erratic rhythm and it's as if he identifies the traitor before I do because it knows. It already knows the answer. The soldier grits his teeth. "10 or so years ago," he replies. My heart beats so loudly I'm afraid it will burst out of my chest, scared that every single man in this room will be able to hear it cry out. In victory, in defeat, in madness, and delight.