The sterile hum of fluorescent lights illuminated the stark corridors of the military base's medical wing. A thick air of grief and silence hung like a fog through the halls, disturbed only by the intermittent beeping of vital monitors and the quiet shuffle of medical personnel. Soldiers and medics moved in grim tandem—some pushing stretchers bearing bodies swathed in blood-soaked bandages, others murmuring prayers or reports under breath too low for comfort.
Inside Bay 7, the atmosphere was heavier. Lieutenant Sato sat slumped on the reinforced steel cot, his uniform shredded and dirtied by blood, both his and his men's. A bandage wrapped around his ribs rose and fell with shallow, pained breaths. His left arm was immobilized, dark bruises webbing his skin beneath the wrappings. But it was his eyes—wild, glassy, and distant—that betrayed the deeper damage. The trauma was no longer just physical.
The door hissed open.
General Yoshi Matsuda entered, flanked by two aides who remained respectfully outside. Clad in full uniform, his presence carried the cold edge of authority. But his eyes narrowed not with dominance—but with concern. And something darker. Rage buried beneath military discipline.
"Lieutenant," Matsuda said quietly.
Sato stood—or tried to. Pain screamed through his side, and he winced but saluted stiffly with his right hand. "Sir."
"At ease," the general said, stepping forward. He stood at the edge of the cot, hands folded behind his back. "The medics say you're stable. That's good."
Sato said nothing, eyes falling to the floor.
Matsuda's gaze was sharp. "I need a full report, Sato. I want to hear it directly from you. What the hell happened down there?"
Sato's throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. The words seemed to claw their way from his throat. "It was... It wasn't a dungeon anymore, sir. Not in any form we've studied. It was a slaughterhouse."
He looked up, eyes bloodshot. "We pushed deep past the fourth rift threshold. The terrain—it changed. Massive stone chambers, unnatural gravity, ambient dungeon energy thick enough to suffocate us. But then… then we found the throne room."
General Matsuda's brows twitched. "Go on."
"There was a rift—an active rift near the throne itself. Then it appeared. A hooded figure, humanoid in form, but… not human. We couldn't identify him. It spoke to us like we were nothing. It was playing a game."
"And the creature?" Matsuda asked coldly.
Sato's jaw clenched. "The scorpion-spider hybrid burst through. We lost half the infected team in the first thirty seconds. Exoskeletal monsters poured through like insects flooding from a hive. Our task force—my men—they… they never stood a chance."
He closed his eyes. "Genghis Asura unleashed everything. His full transformation, his team—they were monsters in their own right. But even then, we were overrun. It wasn't a fight, General. It was a message. That thing… it let us live."
General Matsuda remained silent for a moment, letting the weight of the report settle like a blade on stone.
"Do you believe the hooded entity is intelligent?" he asked.
"Yes," Sato rasped. "Highly. Sadistic. It offered us a choice—serve or die. Asura spat in its face. I tried to stall. We were nothing to it."
Matsuda's features tightened. His knuckles whitened behind his back. "We've lost too many. We've underestimated this anomaly for the last time."
He turned toward the door, then stopped. "Rest, Sato. You've done what you could. But prepare yourself. This… war, or whatever this is, it just shifted into a new phase. And now, we're all playing by rules we don't understand."
He walked out, boots echoing through the sterile hallways.
Inside Bay 7, Sato leaned back, exhaling shakily.
From the window, the moonlight cast long shadows across the floor—as if echoing the darkness that had followed them out of that dungeon.
---
The fluorescent lights above the training room buzzed faintly, casting sterile illumination across the spartan expanse of concrete and steel. The space was cavernous, designed to withstand the strength of mutants, exosuits, and experimental combat trials. But now, it held only one occupant.
Genghis Asura stood shirtless in the center of the room, his towering form soaked with sweat, muscles twitching beneath his scarred and regenerating skin. Deep gashes that would have crippled normal men were already sealed by the writhing pulse of his mutant cells. Steam rose from his shoulders as his body vented heat from the exertion. His breathing was measured, but his eyes burned with a wild edge—an inner war that hadn't yet quieted.
He threw a punch at the reinforced dummy across from him—an impact that detonated with enough force to fracture concrete. The dummy slammed back, sparking from the embedded kinetic sensors. Another punch. And another. A blur of primal strength and precision. Yet no matter how many times he struck, the images wouldn't fade.
The throne room. The hooded figure. The rift. The monsters.
And the hybrid.
His knuckles halted inches from the dummy, trembling. Not from fatigue, but from memory. Genghis gritted his teeth and pulled away, staggering back, his legs briefly unstable.
He hadn't told anyone—wouldn't tell anyone—but for the first time in a long while, he'd felt it. Terror. Real, visceral, soul-draining terror.
The scorpion-spider hybrid had been a nightmare of bone and chitin, its intelligence far too human, its cruelty too deliberate. Genghis remembered its scent—acid and rot—and how it had batted aside his comrades like insects. Even now, his heart raced just picturing it. His breath caught. His hands, capable of tearing metal apart, shook.
The door to the training room hissed open.
General Yoshi Matsuda stepped inside with his usual composed stride. He didn't speak right away. He simply observed.
"No rest for the monsters, Asura?"
Genghis turned slowly, wiping sweat from his face. "Rest is for the dead, General. And they're already buried."
Matsuda stepped closer, hands clasped behind his back, his face unreadable. "I watched the footage. The throne room. The hybrid. What you did to keep that thing at bay saved lives. I'm not here to commend you though. I want your thoughts. Candidly."
Genghis paced for a moment, then stopped, staring at his hands. "We underestimated the dungeon. That wasn't just an anomaly. That was an ecosystem—organized, predatory, intelligent. And that thing..." he looked up, meeting the General's gaze. "That hybrid wasn't just a beast. It was a guardian. Or worse, a message."
Matsuda frowned. "From the hooded figure?"
"Or whatever controls it. That thing wasn't alone. That was a warning shot." Genghis walked over to the reinforced wall and slammed his fist against it, cracking the panel. "We went in thinking we were the hunters. We were prey, Matsuda. Barely tolerated prey."
Matsuda nodded slowly, the weight of the statement settling like lead.
"Do you think the entity will act again?"
Genghis gave a low chuckle, but there was no humor in it. "It's already acting. We just haven't figured out how yet. And the next time it does, I'm not sure we'll be able to crawl back up here."
The General stood in silence, absorbing the gravity of Genghis Asura's words. The truth was clear. What they had encountered in that throne room had changed the game entirely. And whatever the next move was, it would come swiftly, and without mercy.