Izagiri stood calmly in the middle of the ruins, surrounded by piles of debris and thin clouds of dust drifting through the air. The creeping footsteps of the Anomalies grew closer, echoing like a slow and inevitable rhythm of death.
He rolled his neck left and right
—crack— followed by a stretch of his wrists, fingers clenching and loosening like someone who just woke up from a nap and was about to start their daily routine.
"A familiar situation, huh, my beloved sister." Izagiri said casually, even though his eyes burned sharp, full of alertness and the thrill of battle.
Feona stood right beside him, one hand pulling up her hair and tying it quickly with a thin band, while the other hand gripped a curved dagger with a glossy tip.
"Yeah, my beloved little brother. Or… annoying?" she muttered while twirling the blade between her fingers, then stretched her waist left and right like she was warming up for a yoga session, despite the ten hungry deaths waiting right in front of them.
They stood back-to-back, like two poles spinning in a deadly rhythm. The Anomalies picked up speed, their breaths heavy, and the ground trembled under their crawling advance.
But in the middle of that pressure and danger, there was no fear. There was only
A performance. And the stage… was the hell they were about to craft themselves.
The faint whistle of bullets sliced through the air, like death whispering in their ears, as Izagiri lifted his AH rifle. With a single breath, he pulled the trigger. One, two, three shots and each bullet flew with heavenly precision. They pierced the Reaver Maw's bodies, hitting joints and weak points with surgical accuracy.
Feona wasn't about to lose. With light, nimble steps, she dashed to Izagiri's right side, her suppressed pistol creating a silent, deadly rhythm. Every shot she fired was a dance, bullets gliding soundlessly yet delivering brutal results, their headless bodies collapsing one by one as if cut down by an invisible hand.
Izagiri pushed forward, one hand still gripping his rifle while the other flicked mini-grenades designed to scramble the Anomalies' hearing sensors. Each small explosion carved out more space for them to move, and every opening was exploited without hesitation.
Feona slipped through the ruins like a shadow, her dagger flashing as it carved through the inner maw of the Reaver Maw's chest mouths. Her movements were nearly soundless, yet terrifying.
Bodies dropped one after another.
The ground was soaked in thick, pitch-black blood, and the air stank of rotting flesh burnt by magic-infused bullets. But Izagiri and Feona's steps never faltered.
They weren't ordinary soldiers.
They were the last hope.
And tonight… they were the butchers born from darkness.
Izagiri shot forward like a fired round, slipping past the pounce of two Reaver Maw at once. In a single fluid motion, he twisted his body and locked onto the creature's neck—though it had no head, the upper body could still be gripped like exposed ribs and torn-open shoulders.
With raw, ruthless strength, Izagiri jumped high, dragging the monster with him. A short spin in the air, and he redirected momentum, slamming the creature down with a thunderous BOOM! The ground cracked, dust exploded upward.
But the thing still writhed, growling from the gaping mouth in its chest.
Right then, Feona swept in like a streak of shadow. With trained precision, she slid toward the fallen creature and, in a single precise strike, drove her blade straight into the pulsing core hidden beneath its ribbed chest.
The creature spasmed violently, its whole body jolting as if trapped in its last brutal seizure, before finally going still. Black fluid burst from the wound, and the Reaver Maw died in silence, under Izagiri's sharp gaze and Feona's cold, clean efficiency.
"You're pretty tough, Reaper," Feona muttered as she pulled her blade free.
"If I'm not tough, who's gonna protect my beloved sister?" Izagiri shot her a crooked grin.
Feona snorted, but the small smile tugging at her lips gave her away.
They stood among rubble and pooling blood, their breathing steady despite the tension in their bodies. The smoke from their last shots slowly faded away, leaving behind damp air and the sharp metallic sting of iron.
Feona scanned the surroundings. "No more Reaver Maw… at least for now," she muttered, quickly resetting her ammo.
But their attention snapped toward the distance, where dark silhouettes began emerging from behind the ruined structures. A horde of Dread, creatures that once were human, dragged themselves forward in a grotesque swell. Dozens of them. Maybe more.
They couldn't see well, but they could hear.
The impact from the Reaver Maw earlier… was more than enough to serve as their dinner bell.
"They're closing in. Slow reaction, but strong instincts," Izagiri said, calm as ever, eyes already calculating distance and possible escape routes.
"Their hearing… way too sensitive," Feona replied, gently pulling Izagiri back toward a narrow, shadow-choked alley.
"Looks like we should get moving before the party starts," Izagiri said as he reattached his suppressor and checked the injector he'd brought earlier.
They retreated slowly, no rush, no panic. In silence, the two G.C.O shadows slipped back into darkness, leaving behind a trail of death and preparing for whatever came next.
Night began to fall, draping the world in a near-impenetrable black. Their footsteps were quick but controlled as they moved deeper into the dense forest. Wet leaves and branches brushed against them, whispering softly, almost drowned out by the overwhelming quiet.
Izagiri took the lead, AH rifle ready in his hands. His eyes were sharp, scanning every shifting shadow between the trees. Feona followed right behind him, her movements swift and near-silent, pistol always angled to the right, ready for anything that lunged at them.
This forest wasn't a friendly place.
They both knew that.
But compared to being swarmed by dozens of Dread, the darkness of the woods felt more like a protective ally.
"How far do you think the extraction point is?" Feona whispered, voice barely audible.
"If Cessia's coordinates are accurate… about two kilometers northeast," Izagiri replied without slowing his pace.
Amid the silence, faint sounds began to creep in from the distance. Like rustling… or breathing.
They halted, slipping behind a massive tree trunk for cover.
Feona turned slightly, eyes sharp. "We're not alone in this forest."
Izagiri gave a single nod and raised his weapon. "Whatever it is, we end it fast. We're not dying here."
Then they moved again, silent, shadowlike, slipping deeper into the forest's darkness, where far more than trees were hiding.
A thin veil of mist descended from the towering canopies, clouding their vision and muffling the sound of their steps. The air grew thick with the damp scent of wet earth and decaying leaves. In the distance, low groans and dragging footsteps echoed, dozens of Dread still roaming, sniffing the air, searching for the disturbance that had awakened their predatory hunger.
Izagiri darted a glance to the right, mapping the terrain in seconds.
"Take the path around to the right," he said—calm, but firm.
Feona nodded without hesitation and followed, moving as smoothly as a shadow. They avoided branches, stepped over dry leaves—everything for one purpose: silence.
They ran along a narrow trail carved by massive roots and thick underbrush. The sky's light barely broke through the canopy, turning the forest into a grim labyrinth.
"We can cut through using that rock ledge ahead," Izagiri said, pointing toward a natural stone wall hidden among the foliage.
"I hate cliffs," Feona muttered, but she still moved forward without a hint of reluctance.
They had no choice but to keep going. The Dread they left behind had already started drifting toward the site of the earlier fight—time was running thin.
But one thing was certain: both of them were trained to walk through hell.
And tonight, the forest was just another small hell to cross.
As they reached the moss-covered stone wall, their pace slowed. The distant groans of Dread echoed faintly—far, but close enough to remind them the clock was ticking.
Izagiri crouched slightly, bending his knees. He brought his hands together, forming a foothold.
"Go, Feona," he whispered with steady certainty.
Without wasting a second, Feona stepped back, took a short running start, and leaped onto Izagiri's palms. In an instant, he boosted her upward with all his strength. Feona soared, caught the edge of the cliff, and pulled herself up with feline agility.
Once at the top, she crouched low, scanning their surroundings. Her weapon steady, her breath held, her eyes slicing through the shadows.
"Clear. Come up," she whispered.
Izagiri climbed, and Feona quickly extended her hand. With one strong pull from her, he reached the top. The two stood side by side again, breaths steady, eyes sharp as they gazed ahead.
But suddenly, the sharp clatter of loose stones tumbling down the cliffside echoed through the trees—loud, crisp, impossible to ignore.
Both of them snapped their heads back.
"…Great," Feona muttered under her breath.
From below came the growls, the frantic footsteps, the scraping of twisted bodies. Hundreds of Dread—once wandering aimlessly—now all lifted their heads at once, then shifted direction. Their hyper-sensitive hearing locked onto the sound instantly.
"They know," Izagiri said calmly, though his eyes narrowed with focus.
Without another word needed, both of them spun around and sprinted along the edge of the cliff, weaving through the shadows of towering trees swaying in the night. Branches chimed softly as they slapped past them, and the muddy ground only splashed under their relentless speed.
"They can climb. If we slow down even a little—" Feona didn't finish the sentence.
"We're not slowing down," Izagiri cut in, cold and certain.
Their heartbeats raced against time itself, and behind them, the surge of the Dread became louder—like a rising symphony of death closing in.
Their footsteps fused with the night wind, slicing through the damp and suffocating dark of the forest. Wet leaves shivered as they bolted past, breaths held tight in their chests. Every step felt like a gamble between life and death. The only thing echoing in their minds was the steady, war-drum thud of their hearts.
Suddenly, Feona grabbed Izagiri's arm and yanked him down, pressing both their bodies behind a massive moss-covered tree.
"Sst… Anomalies," she whispered, barely audible.
Izagiri leaned forward just enough to see what she meant. In the narrow path split by ancient roots, something stood there.
A creature, towering nearly four meters tall. Its body was swollen, its flesh hanging in thick folds like half-melted wax. But the worst part—the revolting part—was its back.
Dozens of heads grew from it.
Each one crying, grinning, screaming, or gasping like it wanted to be saved. The heads twitched independently, sniffing at the air with weak, shuddering motions, as if each one still clung to its own miserable consciousness.
Izagiri quietly pulled a small scope from his pocket and adjusted the lens, focusing on the creature's "face"—if it could be called that. No eyes. Just thick, scar-red flesh. Yet its movements… were not wild. Not aimless.
It was listening.
Feeling vibrations.
"Same type…" Izagiri whispered. "Its hearing's dominant. Might be even sharper than the Reaver Maw from before."
Feona nodded. Her fingers brushed the switch on her vest, ensuring the sound-dampening module was fully active. There was no room for error. One sound—one snapped twig—and the thing would know exactly where they were.
They held their breath. Their lungs burned from the long sprint earlier, but any noise now could be suicide.
Feona pressed herself closer to the wide tree trunk, eyes locked on the towering abomination—bloated, dragging its heavy, muddy feet. On its back, the forest of tormented heads writhed and swayed, like victims forced into becoming ornaments of horror.
"You see that…?" Feona whispered so softly it almost wasn't a sound.
Izagiri nodded slowly, grip firm on the blue-tinted monocular. He observed through the leaves, watching for the one feature that mattered most: the eyes.
"No light reaction. No pupil shift… still blind. But—"
His voice thinned to a razor-sharp whisper.
"—it's too calm. It could probably hear a bird's heartbeat from thirty meters away."
"We need to circle around. One more falling rock or snapping twig and we're getting eaten alive," he said, voice sharp and low.
The creature—this new type of Anomaly they'd never seen up close—froze mid-step. Its whole body stiffened, like it was listening. Every head on its back twitched and shifted, sniffing, reacting to some faint sound far away.
Izagiri and Feona exchanged a quick look.
No time to waste. With a silent, precise hand signal, they slipped away from the monster, sliding through wet underbrush without a single misplaced step—vanishing into the night like ghosts.
Time felt suspended.
They waited in complete silence, breathing slow and controlled, the wind carrying the rank stench of the creature behind them. Tension pressed on their bodies like a weight, but neither moved, neither spoke. They were shadows—shadows even the darkness couldn't touch.
Their footsteps carried them deeper into the thinning forest. Dry leaves scattered beneath the faint breeze, telling them they were close to the extraction perimeter. Their breaths came heavy, sweat clinging to their skin, exhaustion creeping in, but the mission wasn't done.
Izagiri and Feona finally reached the extraction zone or what was supposed to be their rescue point.
But the sight waiting for them only made their chests tighten.
The place was destroyed.
Burned tents. Scattered debris. Dried blood smeared on the dirt. The air thick with smoke and rotting flesh. Not a single trace of life.
Only ruin.
Izagiri crouched near a shattered metal wall, fingers brushing the gouges and impact marks left behind.
"This was hit recently…" he muttered, eyes narrowing as he followed the trail of destruction.
Feona stood beside him, pistol still gripped tightly. Her voice was low, tight with pressure.
"That creature…"
As if answering her, static crackled through their earpieces, followed by Cassia's voice, quick, urgent, but still composed in that way only she could manage.
"Izagiri, Feona. Leave the area immediately. It's compromised."
"You need to move north, coordinates 45.353°N, 19.845°E. Near the Serbian border. Helicopter inbound in thirty minutes. Make no noise. And don't stop."
They exchanged a quick glance and nodded. No words needed. They both knew that behind all that destruction… something was still out there. Watching. Hunting. Maybe already tracking their scent. Without hesitation, Izagiri and Feona sprinted north, chasing the last sliver of hope hidden in the darkness of the night.
They kept running, never slowing, as if breathing was optional and the only thing that mattered was the time slipping away. Between their ragged breaths and pounding hearts, one truth remained, they couldn't stop.
The forest began to change; trees grew sparse and the ground tilted upward. Every step came with razor-sharp alertness, because the Dread lurked all along their escape path. Packs of those creatures slipped out from the shadows, drawn by the crunch of leaves or the snap of a twig.
Bang! Bang!
Izagiri fired his AH rifle with cold precision, each bullet punching through a Dread's skull. Feona followed with quiet, controlled shots from her pistol, bullets hitting vital points and dropping the creatures without a sound. No pause, no doubt, every bullet was used with brutal efficiency.
"Move, Izagiri!" Feona shouted, yanking him back as a Dread crawled toward them from the left.
"I know! Watch our rear!" Izagiri snapped back, shooting a Dread straight through the eye, dropping it hard into the dirt.
Their bodies were exhausted, but their minds stayed razor-sharp. They knew a single mistake could mean death. Yet every bullet that hit its mark, every step bringing them closer to the evacuation point, gave them a flicker of hope.
The air grew colder, and the sky began to shift in color. They were close. But they also knew the real threat might still be waiting.
Their steps halted as they reached a wide clearing. The ground beneath them was damp, covered with thick grass untouched by humans for years. But that wasn't what froze them in place.
No rotor blades.
No metallic silhouette in the sky.
No helicopter.
Only silence… and then, footsteps.
They glanced at each other, slowly lowering themselves, and realized: dozens of Dread were walking past them, moving in a slow, eerie procession. It was as if time stopped, and the only sound brave enough to exist was their own pounding heartbeat in the suffocating quiet.
They stood in the middle of the horde, surrounded by grotesque creatures that could tear them apart in a heartbeat. Even the slightest movement, too loud a breath, a shifting foot, could mean their end.
Feona glanced at Izagiri, her eyes saying everything: Don't move.
Izagiri met her gaze with a calm look, but beneath that calm, he was ready to blow everything to hell if he had to.
Seconds crawled by like hours. The horde slowly crossed the clearing, each Dread passing by feeling like a blade sliding across the back of their necks.
But they stayed still, stayed unseen… praying the helicopter would arrive before everything descended into hell.
Suddenly, an explosion thundered in the distance, the direction of the city they had left behind. The deafening blast tore through the silence, shaking the ground and echoing between the trees.
The dozens of Dread that had been walking past them froze instantly. Their twisted heads turned in unison, bodies tensing like predators catching the scent of prey. Then, without warning, they moved, rushing toward the source of the sound, leaving the clearing in an eerie silence with nothing but the stench they left behind.
Feona let out a slow, relieved breath. Izagiri glanced up at the sky.
And that's when the sound of rotor blades reached them.
"Wuuunngggg…"
A military helicopter emerged from behind the clouds, descending toward the clearing. The wind from its rotors kicked up leaves and dust, forcing the two of them to shield their faces.
"Move!" a voice shouted from inside through the speaker.
Izagiri and Feona exchanged a quick look, then sprinted, climbing aboard with their weapons still firmly in hand. Their breaths were ragged, their bodies bruised and filthy, but for now, they were alive.
And from the air, as the helicopter pulled away, they looked down… realizing one thing:
What happened in that city… was only the beginning.