Andrew led Jack deeper into the stronghold, past the outer bustle and into a quieter section where the structures were more permanent, more deliberate. The noise of movement and conversation dulled behind thick, reinforced walls, replaced by a low, steady hum of activity, controlled and more focused.
Andrew pushed aside a heavy, patched curtain and stepped inside.
"Here," he said.
Jack followed.
The room was not large, but it was solid. A long table made from layered planks sat at the center, its surface scarred with cuts, burn marks, and crude carvings that looked more like maps than decoration. Lanterns hung from hooks hammered into the stone, casting a steady, amber glow that pushed back the maze's oppressive dimness.
Four people sat around the table.
They looked up as Jack entered.
Each of them… different.
The first was a broad-shouldered man leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. His armor was heavy, layered plates reinforced with jagged ridges that looked almost grown rather than forged. His presence filled the room, not through size alone, but through sheer weight of confidence.
"About time," he muttered.
The second sat opposite him: a woman with short, ash-blonde hair, her posture straight, precise. Unlike the first, her armor was sleek, fitted, designed for movement rather than brute force. Her eyes were sharp, analytical, already dissecting Jack before a word was spoken.
Beside her, a third figure leaned forward slightly, a thinner man, almost wiry, with restless energy barely contained beneath stillness. His fingers tapped lightly against the table, a rhythmic motion that suggested impatience more than nervousness.
The fourth did not move at all.
She sat at the far end, cloaked partially in shadow, her presence quieter, but not weaker. There was something unsettling about her stillness, like she did not need to prove anything because it was already understood.
Andrew stepped forward.
"Everyone," he said, "this is Jack."
A pause.
Recognition hit almost immediately.
"…Wait," the broad-shouldered man straightened slightly. "Don't tell me—"
"Jack Black," the ash-blonde woman finished, her eyes narrowing slightly. "The famous Major Black."
The room shifted.
Not dramatically.
But noticeably.
The wiry man let out a low whistle.
"Didn't expect someone like you to end up here."
Jack did not react. He did not confirm nor deny, just stood there looking down at them with an indifferent expression.
Andrew crossed his arms.
"He's awakened," he added. "Took down something nasty in the lake earlier."
He paused for a moment.
"A Leviathan."
That drew more attention.
The broad-shouldered man leaned forward now, interest replacing casual indifference.
"…Alone?"
"Yes."
A brief silence followed.
Then—
"Still doesn't mean much," the ash-blonde woman said calmly. "Surviving one fight is not enough."
The wiry man smirked slightly.
"She's right. Out there? One win does not make you useful."
The quiet one at the end of the table finally spoke, her voice soft, but carrying.
"Prove it."
Jack's gaze shifted to her.
"…How?"
Andrew smiled faintly.
"We were planning a hunt anyway."
***
They moved quickly.
The group—Andrew, Jack, and the four others—left the stronghold through a guarded passage, stepping back into the maze where the air felt heavier, more dangerous.
They did not speak much at first.
Until..
"Pick your weapon," the broad-shouldered man said, gesturing toward a collection laid out near the exit. Blades, axes, blunt instruments, crude, but functional.
Jack scanned them once.
Then chose a spear. Simple, effective and balanced.
The wiry man grinned.
"Going classic, huh?"
Jack did not respond.
They moved.
***
The nest was not far.
They found it by the smell first—a thick, rotting stench that clung to the air long before the creatures themselves came into view.
The terrain shifted as they approached.
The ground became uneven, littered with fragments of bone, human and otherwise. The walls closed in tighter, forming a natural enclosure that felt… wrong.
Then they saw them.
Dozens.
Small to mid-sized abominations, clustered together in erratic movement. Their forms varied, some hunched and others elongated, but all shared the same grotesque distortion of flesh and instinct.
"They breed here," the ash-blonde woman said quietly.
Andrew nodded.
"We clear it fast."
Jack's grip tightened slightly on the spear.
The creatures noticed them.
And the nest erupted.
They came all at once.
The broad-shouldered man moved first.
He stepped forward with a force that felt almost immovable, his arm swinging outward as one of the creatures lunged. The impact wasn't just physical, it was overwhelming. The creature didn't just get hit.
It was crushed.
His ability manifested not as visible energy, but as sheer amplified force, every movement carrying weight far beyond what his body alone should produce.
"Stay close or get out of the way!" he barked.
The ash-blonde woman moved next.
Her motions were sharp, precise, almost surgical. She didn't waste movement, didn't overcommit. Every strike she made landed where it needed to, her ability enhancing her perception to a level that allowed her to see openings others would miss.
Creatures fell around her in clean, efficient motions.
The wiry man blurred.
Not truly, but close.
His movements were erratic, unpredictable, almost impossible to track as he weaved through the chaos. His ability seemed tied to acceleration, not just speed, but bursts of momentum that let him reposition instantly, striking and vanishing before retaliation could land.
The quiet woman did move much. But where she looked, things happened.
Creatures staggered. Slowed. Hesitated. As if something unseen pressed against them, disrupting their coordination, weakening their movements.
Andrew fought alongside them, steady, controlled.
Jack watched.
Analyzed.
Then moved.
The spear became an extension of him.
At first, it felt normal.
Precise thrusts, controlled movements. Efficient kills.
Then—
Something shifted.
The air around him cooled.
Subtly.
The moisture in the environment responded—not dramatically, but enough.
His spear struck...
And the creature froze at the point of impact.
Not entirely.
But enough.
Jack stepped forward.
His movements sharpened, his ability weaving into his combat without fully revealing itself. He manipulated the conditions around him, not wildly, but precisely. Slowing enemies. Hardening surfaces. Creating brief moments of imbalance.
[You have slain...]
[You have slain...]
[Your kill...]
The fight escalated.
The numbers thinned.
But not fast enough.
More emerged from deeper within the nest.
Larger ones.
Stronger.
The team adjusted instantly.
They tightened formation, abilities overlapping, covering weaknesses, amplifying strengths.
Jack adapted with them.
Not perfectly.
But effectively.
Time blurred.
The ground became a battlefield of broken bodies.
And then, it went quiet...
Too quiet.
The remaining creatures retreated.
Not fleeing.
Making space.
Andrew's expression hardened.
"…Get ready."
The ground trembled.
A low, resonant sound echoed through the nest.
Something was coming.
From beneath.
The earth cracked.
Split.
And from the depths of the nest..
It emerged.
Massive and grotesque.
A towering form of layered flesh and chitin, its body pulsing with unnatural rhythm. Multiple limbs extended outward, each ending in jagged, bladed growths. Its head—if it had one—was partially submerged within its own mass, a writhing cluster of sensory organs that twitched and turned in all directions.
The Queen.
It didn't rush.
It rose.
And the moment it fully revealed itself, every instinct screamed. This was something else entirely.
Andrew exhaled slowly.
"…Now it gets serious."
Jack tightened his grip on the spear.
The air around him shifted.
Colder.
Sharper.
Controlled.
The real fight was about to begin.