The Giants of Kandahar

It was 2002, during the height of the war. A Special Forces ODA team had gone dark and vanished without a trace in the mountains outside Kandahar. Another team was sent to track them down. The trail was cold until they started finding pieces of kit: ammo casings, broken gear, and signs of a firefight scattered like breadcrumbs up a lonely path.

Then they reached the cave.

It loomed like the mouth of some ancient beast, yawning wide and filled with darkness. Bones lay scattered at the entrance, gnawed clean. The soldiers, on edge, prepared to breach. A guy named Dan took point. Just as he stepped forward, there was a sound — like a guttural roar — and a flash of movement.

Thwack!

A massive spear pierced Dan’s chest, lifting him clean off the ground. His body dangled for a moment before slumping to the earth. Out of the shadows stepped it.

Thirteen feet tall. Flaming red hair. A wild beard that hung down its chest. Its six-fingered hands clutched a massive weapon, and its eyes burned like embers.

The soldiers opened fire, but the giant didn’t go down. It roared, rushing toward them at an impossible speed. The team unleashed everything they had for thirty agonizing seconds — M4s, SAWs, and even grenade launchers. The air filled with smoke and the acrid scent of gunpowder.