For as long as I could remember, my purpose was simple: be cannon fodder.

  "Do not retreat! The bitch has almost exhausted her mana!" The voice of the commander, a middle-aged man I barely knew, cut through the chaos.

  That was our cue to attack. I gripped my oversized gun, nearly as tall as I was, and, along with the other soldiers my age, charged forward, relying on the human wave tactic. Our target: a massive creature, its body resembling that of an old, grotesque female.

  A deafening barrage of gunfire erupted. Without the monster’s mana to shield it, our bullets finally began to pierce its thick hide. Within moments, dark, viscous liquid—its blood—began to spill from the wound.

  "Keep firing! We’re almost there! After this, we’ll finally eat well!" The commander’s voice rang out, laced with eager excitement.

  The monster staggered, showing signs of weakening. But none of us could have predicted what happened next. The dark fluid leaking from its body began to glow crimson. With a horrible shriek, the creature expelled the blood like bullets, spraying the area before it fell dead.

  If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  Those of us nearby didn’t even have time to scream. The fluid splashed across us, burning through flesh like acid. The soldier in front of me exploded into a mangled mess, and the flood of liquid continued, slower now, but still unstoppable. It reached my legs. Before I could react, I collapsed, my legs completely gone.

  I could hear the distant sounds of cheering, the commander's face visible among the crowd, his expression smug and victorious.

  "Good job, everyone! For those of you who can still walk, check the others. As for the rest of you, start harvesting the materials. This is a big win!"

  That was the last thing I heard before I lost consciousness.

  When I awoke, the reality of it all sank in. I had no legs. Part of me wished I hadn’t woken up at all. Days turned to weeks and weeks to years. Despite my disability, I managed to survive, picking up odd jobs like working in the kitchen or helping tend to the wounded. It was the only way I could contribute without being a burden.

  Just when I thought I might escape my fate as cannon fodder, reality came crashing back.

  "Gale!" The commander’s voice was sharp. "I’ve got a mission for you. Consider it repayment for all the years we’ve spent caring for a cripple like you."

  I listened carefully, but it didn’t take long to realize his "important mission" was nothing more than a trap—a way to use me as bait for another deadly mission.

  I’d almost forgotten. My sole purpose, the only thing I was good for, was dying. I was just a piece of cannon fodder—one that should’ve been dead long ago. Now, I was fulfilling that destiny.

  "Did you get all that?" the commander asked, his tone impatient.

  I took a slow breath and nodded, forcing the words from my mouth.

  "I shall fulfill my duties, commander."