Location: Seoul Undergrid – 7:30 AM
The city above had already vanished, buried beneath concrete and distance. Down here, in the blood-wet labyrinth of forgotten industrial veins, it was no longer Seoul—it was something older, colder.
A warzone waiting to wake up.
Ryoji's boots hit the wet steel of the underpass as alarms died out behind them, swallowed by the distance and dust. Aiko stumbled after him, Miura bringing up the rear, blood streaked across her forearm. The tunnel stank of rust and oil. Every echo came back wrong, twisted.
They were still descending, and it felt like the deeper they went, the more the rules changed.
Aiko whispered, "Do you hear that?"
Ryoji stopped.
He did.
A scrape.
Metal on stone.
Not footsteps.
Talons.
Miura raised her rifle. "They found us again."
Ryoji growled. "No. Not 'they.' Him."
The underpass lights blinked.
Once.
Twice.
And then the darkness came alive.
A blur dropped from above. Too fast for human eyes. It landed ahead of them with a seismic thud. Exosuit black as obsidian, gleaming faintly with crimson circuitry that pulsed along its limbs like veins. Its faceplate was faceless, save for a vertical slit that glowed with red intelligence.
Ryoji's jaw tightened. "That's the Alpha."
A voice echoed, warped through static:
"KILL ORDER CONFIRMED. PRIORITY TARGET: RYOJI KAI."
And then it moved.
Like a missile launched from hell, the Black Division Alpha lunged forward. The force of impact slammed into Ryoji before he could react, hurling him back into a steel pillar. Metal snapped. Blood sprayed.
Miura shouted, "Engaging!" and fired—three bursts.
The rounds hit.
The Alpha didn't stop.
It twisted mid-run, rebounding off the wall, using gravity like a weapon. Its gauntlet sliced through the air—Miura ducked just in time, her rifle grazing its shoulder. Sparks exploded, but the armor held.
Aiko screamed, ducking behind an old support beam.
"Ryoji!" she cried.
But he was already moving—barely.
Cracked ribs. Dislocated shoulder. Pain was an old friend now.
He pulled a throwing knife from his boot, hurled it mid-roll. It struck the Alpha's knee joint.
A pause.
A flicker.
It stumbled for a fraction of a second.
Long enough.
Miura launched a flash charge.
The grenade exploded in blinding white.
Ryoji surged forward, catching the Alpha off-guard—driving a blade up into its side, pushing until he hit reinforced bone. He twisted, carving through synth muscle.
It roared.
Yes—roared.
This one wasn't a full machine.
It was worse.
It was still part human.
That made it angrier.
The Alpha retaliated, elbowed Ryoji across the face, breaking his nose instantly. The second strike knocked him back. A third—he barely dodged—shattered the ground where he had stood.
This wasn't a duel.
It was a slaughter.
Aiko reached out—and the Seal on her arm pulsed again.
The glyph shimmered beneath her skin, and the air shifted.
Time bent.
Just slightly.
Enough that the Alpha froze. One step too slow. One movement too delayed.
Ryoji capitalized.
He rose, nose broken, ribs screaming, and moved with deadly intent.
Knife in one hand, short blade in the other, he danced in close—dodged, rolled, twisted behind the Alpha's guard.
Blade slid beneath the spine plate.
Metal met flesh.
The Alpha shrieked.
Its head snapped backward. Blood sprayed from its mouth—a hideous mixture of human red and cybernetic black.
And still—it kept fighting.
"You die," Ryoji hissed. "You're not the Reaper here."
The Alpha twisted around—
Only to find Miura's pulse rifle inches from its helmet.
"Smile," she said.
BOOM.
A direct plasma shot to the faceplate.
The Alpha's mask cracked—fractured into shards.
They saw its real face beneath:
A man.
Or what remained of one.
Eyes burned out. Face twisted in permanent agony. Neural wires embedded in the jaw, mouth sealed shut by surgical scar tissue.
But one tear leaked out.
Just one.
Then it fell.
Dead.
Finally.
Silence.
Not total—but enough.
Miura exhaled. "That's one of them."
Ryoji wiped blood from his mouth, coughing.
Aiko knelt beside him. "You're bleeding—"
"I've been bleeding for years," he said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Help me up."
She did.
Then the ground shook.
"Now what?" Miura asked.
Keisuke's voice buzzed through the comms, warped by static.
"Two more Black Division operatives inbound. You need to reach the tunnel junction—now. I've opened the gates. You've got three minutes before they're on you."
Ryoji spit out blood. "Then we fight our way there."
They moved, sprinting through the winding corridor. Pipes hissed steam around them. Lights flickered from old generators still trying to die. The tunnel narrowed—then widened into a chamber full of support pylons and scaffolding.
And that's when the others arrived.
Two Black Division agents—twins in death.
One carried twin swords that vibrated with high-frequency resonance.
The other moved without touching the ground—hovering slightly, propelled by silent jet systems embedded in his spine.
"This is where we die," Miura muttered.
"No," Ryoji said, stepping forward.
"This is where they do."
The second wave hit harder.
Faster.
Each strike from the sword-carrier sparked against Ryoji's knives. His arms burned with fatigue. Pain laced his every step. But he didn't fall.
Miura ducked, dropped low, fired from prone position. Her bullets clipped the jet-propelled twin—but the armor deflected them.
"Switching to disruptors!" she shouted, flicking open a panel on her vest and grabbing a cylinder marked D-ZERO.
She hurled it.
The grenade hit mid-air.
EMP burst.
The hovering twin dropped instantly, flailing.
Aiko screamed as the sword-wielder closed in on her—but Ryoji intercepted, knives flashing in deadly arcs.
One blade caught the enemy's wrist.
Another drove through the ribs.
The twin screamed—not mechanical this time—human.
But he didn't die easy.
He stabbed back—catching Ryoji in the thigh.
Ryoji didn't scream.
He pushed forward.
One final thrust—
Into the heart.
Dead.
Miura crushed the last one's neck beneath a rebar pipe, twisting until it cracked.
Silence fell.
Real this time.
Breathless. Raw. Earned.
They limped toward the tunnel gate.
Behind them—nothing but blood and metal.
Keisuke's voice returned.
"You made it. Barely. Get into the undergrid. I've sealed the tunnels behind you. For now—they're not following."
Ryoji didn't respond.
He simply walked.
Each step a promise.
Each drop of blood a price.
Aiko looked back once—at the bodies, at the ruins of what chased them.
"Are they all dead?" she asked.
Ryoji shook his head.
"No. Not all."
Because the Black Division wasn't finished.
And neither was the war.
To be continued in Chapter77...