post-apocalyptic · body horror · infection · survival · monster · slime · dark fantasy · horror
The world had known peace, but peace is always the first thing to die. Scientists promised the public the infection was contained, a minor anomaly under lock and key. In truth, their ranks were already halved, lost to the very pathogen they swore they controlled. Debates raged in secure rooms—was it a manufactured compound, or did it hitch a ride on something not born of this earth? One fact was undeniable: it would spread. This was no ordinary end. It brought devastation, yes, but the infection itself was a violation. Structures were either rubble or sheathed in a viscous, living slime that pulsed where it clung. People warped into famished, snarling husks. You learned to steer wide of the aberrant shapes—the crystalline cones, the hypnotic puddles, anything that felt wrong. Everythi…