South District Ruins
The emergency beacon from Sophia Laurent's team had barely finished transmitting when the Investigation Bureau scrambled their response. Within eleven minutes, a C-Class Awakened—designation "Iron Vanguard"—was rappelling from a blacked-out helicopter onto the facility's collapsed roof.
This wasn't standard protocol.
C-Class operatives were Beihai's strategic reserves, deployed only when:
Casualty projections exceeded 50 civilians/hour
An aberration exhibited evolutionary traits
The Mayor's office received panicked calls from corporate sponsors
Iron Vanguard's insertion team hit the third-floor landing just as the building's interior lights flared crimson—the universal code for catastrophic containment breach.
The Impossible Swarm
Thermal scans had shown a single heat signature—presumably a rogue flesh-type. Standard sweep-and-extract.
Reality was worse.
The squad's point man rounded the first corridor and immediately triggered seven motion sensors. His helmet cam showed:
Phase 1 (0:00-0:03): Hallway empty except for rusted lab equipment
Phase 2 (0:04): The air shimmered like desert heat
Phase 3 (0:05): Seventy-three spectral signatures materialized
Identified Hostiles:
Spectral-Class
• Hungry Ghosts (Class-D): Emaciated figures with distended stomachs, capable of phasing through matter
• Wraiths (Class-C): Semi-corporeal entities that weaponized hypothermia
• Braid Girl (Class-B+): Legendary entity whose hair-strands could puppet corpses
Flesh-Class
• Rotten Corpses (Class-D): Reanimated cadavers spreading necrotic toxins
• Wandering Jiangshi (Class-C): Hopping vampires with knife-like nails
• Yin Hus (Class-B): Grotesque hybrids with vaginal maws spanning their torsos
The camera feed cut at 0:17 when something with too many joints dragged the operator into a ventilation shaft.
Aftermath
Iron Vanguard emerged ninety-three minutes later—alone. His powered armor's left pauldron had been chewed through, revealing bite marks that shouldn't exist on titanium alloys. The operative's after-action report consisted of three words before he collapsed:
"They're farming us."
By dawn, the Bureau had:
Arrested the entire intelligence division responsible for the faulty scan
Established a 1km exclusion zone under Martial Law Protocol 9
Deployed Class-A electromagnetic barriers around the perimeter
The last evacuees reported hearing something new from the ruins—a sound like a hundred mouths chewing in unison.
Seraphina Vale's Waterfront Villa - 5:23 AM
Ethan Cross slept like a man who'd fought a war. And won.
While Beihai's emergency sirens wailed in the distance, he sprawled across a guest bed bigger than most studio apartments, his breathing slow and even. The room smelled of sandalwood and gunpowder - a lingering reminder of last night's battle.
Downstairs, the villa's once-pristine living room now resembled a demolition site. The Italian marble floor had been reduced to gravel in a ten-foot radius around the impact craters. What remained of the furniture looked like it had been fed through a woodchipper. Most disturbingly, two perfect head-shaped indentations marred the steel-reinforced concrete wall, their surfaces glazed as if by tremendous heat.
Seraphina appeared in the doorway as dawn's first light crept through the shattered bay windows. She wore a La Perla chemise that cost more than most people's monthly rent - not that the delicate black lace did anything to conceal her trembling hands. The CEO who'd stared down hostile takeovers and shareholder mutinies now looked... fragile. Human.
"You're awake," she murmured, her voice still rough from last night's screaming. "I had the kitchen prepare breakfast. Unless you'd prefer to... rest longer?"
Ethan was already pulling on his jacket, his movements economical as a soldier's. "Appreciate the hospitality. Time to go."
Her manicured fingers caught his sleeve - warm, desperate. "At least let my driver take you. It's the least I can..." Her voice trailed off as she noticed the blood still crusted under his nails.
"Walk helps me think." His smile didn't reach his eyes. The unspoken truth hung between them: last night's victory had been a fluke. A misidentified aberration, a lucky break with the sealing box. The real nightmare was just beginning.
Villa Gates - 8:17 AM
The silver Rolls-Royce Phantom idled at the curb like a predator at a watering hole, its coach doors gleaming under the morning sun. Kael Stormcrest leaned against the hood with the casual arrogance of inherited wealth, his Brioni suit tailored to emphasize shoulders broad enough to make most tailors weep.
The 99 blood-red roses in his arms weren't just flowers - they were a statement. Each stem imported from Ecuador. Each bloom genetically modified to stay fresh for weeks. Each thorn carefully removed by hand, because even romance required risk management when you were worth billions.
The growing crowd whispered behind their hands:
"That's Linshi Group's crown prince..."
"...heard he bought out Tiffany's for his last girlfriend..."
"...why's he here? Did Seraphina Vale finally say yes to..."
Then the villa's armored doors hissed open.
Kael's practiced smirk died mid-sentence as Seraphina emerged - barefoot, wearing what was clearly last night's lingerie, her fingers lingering on some nobody's forearm. The stranger said something that made her laugh, actually laugh, and was that a fucking love bite peeking above her lace trim?
The roses hit the pavement with a sound like a neck snapping.