The sewers beneath Neo-Seattle were a labyrinth of forgotten tunnels, some dating back over a century. Water dripped from corroded pipes, and the air was thick with the smell of decay and chemicals. Marcus's thermal-vision monsters detected traces of biological contamination—the Poison Garden's territory marked by invisible toxins.
"Environmental analysis," Marcus commanded quietly.
Beta-Five, one of the specialists he'd created for this operation, extended sensory tendrils that sampled the air. Through their connection, Marcus received data: seventeen distinct toxins detected, ranging from nerve agents to blood coagulants. Concentrations were low here but increasing as they approached the Garden's lair.
"Defensive measures active," Beta-Five reported in its grinding voice. "Toxin resistance at eighty-three percent effectiveness. Penetration inevitable with prolonged exposure."
"Then we don't give them prolonged exposure." Marcus checked his tactical display. According to Archive intelligence, the Poison Garden's main facility was three hundred meters ahead, accessible through a converted maintenance junction. "Gamma-One, Gamma-Two—breach protocol. Maximum aggression. We're inside and operational within sixty seconds."
The two Lord-tier monsters moved ahead, their massive forms somehow silent despite their size. Behind them, the strike force advanced in precise formation—Beta-tier monsters forming the core, Alpha-tier flanking, awakened-tier bringing up the rear.
They reached the junction: a reinforced door set into concrete, covered with biohazard warnings and rust. Beyond it, Marcus's monsters detected multiple heat signatures—twenty-three distinct individuals, most concentrated in what appeared to be a central laboratory space.
"Breach in three... two... one."
Gamma-One's gravitational manipulation tore the door from its frame, metal screaming as it crumpled like paper. Gamma-Two fired energy beams into the opening, preemptive strikes designed to create chaos before defenders could coordinate.
Marcus's strike force poured through.
The Poison Garden's facility was larger than expected—a network of converted sewer chambers transformed into laboratories, living quarters, and storage areas. The walls were covered in exotic fungi and plants, all genetically modified to produce various toxins. The air itself shimmered with poisonous spores.
And defending it were the Garden's members.
They reacted with impressive speed, powers activating immediately. A woman with green-tinged skin exhaled a cloud of paralytic gas that would have incapacitated normal humans instantly. A man touched a metal railing and it began corroding, acid dripping from his fingertips. Others manifested venoms, diseases, and biological weapons with practiced efficiency.
But they'd never fought monsters designed specifically to counter them.
Beta-Five and its four specialized siblings moved through the toxic environment without slowing, their enhanced resistance negating most effects. They struck like surgical instruments, targeting the Garden's most dangerous members first.
The paralytic gas user died within seconds, Beta-Five's claws tearing through her enhanced constitution. The acid manipulator managed to dissolve one Alpha-tier monster before Gamma-Two's energy beam vaporized him. Others fell in rapid succession, their specialized poisons ineffective against creatures built to resist them.
"Fall back to the inner sanctum!" A commanding voice echoed through the facility—female, authoritative, undoubtedly Hemlock herself. "Activate the emergency protocols!"
The remaining Garden members retreated deeper into the complex. As they fled, they triggered prepared defenses: walls of toxic mist, pressure-released nerve agents, explosive spore pods that filled chambers with lethal clouds.
Marcus's monsters pushed through, accepting losses. Three Alpha-tier creatures collapsed as concentrated toxins overwhelmed their resistance. Two Beta-tier monsters were slowed, their biological systems struggling to filter the overwhelming chemical assault.
But they kept advancing.
Marcus followed in the wake of his monsters, protected by their bodies and his own micro-monsters working overtime to filter his air and neutralize toxins on his skin. He could feel the poison trying to penetrate his defenses, could sense his micro-monsters dying by the hundreds to keep him alive.
*Acceptable losses,* he reminded himself. *I can create more. Keep moving.*
They reached the inner sanctum—a large chamber that had once been a water reservoir, now converted into Hemlock's personal laboratory. The space was filled with equipment, specimen tanks, and at its center, a woman in a customized hazmat suit modified with biological augmentations.
Hemlock.
She was younger than Marcus expected—maybe thirty, with dark hair visible through her suit's transparent face plate. Her arms were covered in scales that glistened with venom, and her eyes had a reptilian quality. Beside her stood seven of her most elite members, all in similar protective gear.
"So you're the one behind the monster attacks," Hemlock said, her voice amplified by her suit's speakers. "I wondered who was bold enough—or stupid enough—to hit the major organizations. Apparently, it's a child."
"I'm offering you the same choice I've offered others," Marcus said calmly. "Join me or become materials. Your expertise in toxins and biological weapons is valuable. I'd prefer to recruit you."
Hemlock laughed. "Join you? I've built the Poison Garden over eight years. I have contracts with three international terrorist organizations, supplies to five different villain groups, and a reputation that keeps the Hero Association wary of confronting me directly. Why would I work for a teenager with pet monsters?"
"Because those monsters are about to kill you, and working for me is better than being dead."
"Arrogant." Hemlock gestured to her guards. "Kill him. Capture the monsters if possible for study."
The elite guards attacked with coordinated precision. They'd clearly trained together, their abilities complementing each other. One released a cloud of spores that induced cellular breakdown. Another manifested a venom that attacked nervous systems. A third manipulated diseases, causing rapid necrosis in living tissue.
Against normal opponents, they would have been devastating.
Against Marcus's specialized monsters, they were merely challenging.
Beta-Five absorbed the spore cloud using its biological filters, then redirected the concentrated toxins back at the guards. Two died immediately, their own poisons overwhelming them. The disease manipulator managed to rot through one Beta-tier monster's armor before Gamma-One's gravity field crushed him into the floor.
The remaining guards tried to flee, but Alpha-tier monsters cut off their retreat. Within ninety seconds, six of Hemlock's elite were dead or dying.
Only Hemlock remained, backing toward a emergency exit.
"Wait," she said, her confident tone cracking. "Wait. You said recruitment. I accept. I'll work for you."
Marcus studied her. Hemlock was a brilliant biochemist with venom generation abilities that would be extremely valuable. But she was also someone accustomed to independence, to being in control. Could she adapt to serving under someone else?
*She survived eight years in Neo-Seattle's underworld,* Marcus calculated. *That requires pragmatism. She'll comply as long as she believes it's her best option for survival.*
"Drop your weapons. Remove your helmet. Kneel."
Hemlock hesitated, pride warring with survival instinct. Then, slowly, she complied. She set down the various toxin dispensers attached to her suit, removed her helmet revealing her face fully, and knelt on the laboratory floor.
"I pledge my service," she said, the words clearly difficult. "The Poison Garden's resources and expertise are yours."
"Swear it on your life. Break your oath, and you become a monster. Understand?"
"I understand. I swear on my life."
Marcus approached and placed his hand on her head. Through his micro-monsters, he injected a specially prepared compound—not enough to transform her, but enough to mark her. If she betrayed him, he could activate the dormant cells and begin conversion remotely.
"You're marked," Marcus said. "Betray me, and the transformation begins immediately. You'll have approximately five minutes of horrific pain before you become something that serves me absolutely. Clear?"
Hemlock's reptilian eyes widened with fear, but she nodded. "Crystal clear."
"Good. Now tell me—how many of your members survived?"
"I... I don't know. Twenty-three were here when you attacked. Most are probably dead."
Marcus checked with his monsters. Final count: nineteen Garden members killed, four captured alive including Hemlock. The four survivors all had C-rank or higher abilities related to toxins, poisons, or biological warfare.
"You have four subordinates left. I'm giving you a choice: rebuild the Poison Garden under my authority, or I absorb everyone and integrate your abilities into my monsters. Which would you prefer?"
"Rebuild," Hemlock said immediately. "I can make the Garden more effective with proper resources. We can synthesize compounds you couldn't create otherwise, develop biological weapons tailored to specific targets."
"That's what I thought." Marcus pulled her to her feet. "You'll maintain the Garden's external operations—continue your contracts, maintain your reputation. But twenty percent of your profits go to me, and you provide compounds on demand when I need them. In exchange, you get protection and access to resources you couldn't acquire independently."
It was a generous offer, more generous than Hemlock deserved. But Marcus needed specialists, needed people with skills his monsters couldn't replicate. A subordinate organization was more valuable than absorbed corpses in this case.
"I accept," Hemlock said. "But I need assurances. If the Hero Association comes after me—"
"They won't. They're too focused on other threats." Marcus showed her his tactical display with Operation Cleansing's details. "In three days, the Association launches a massive coordinated strike. The Poison Garden isn't on their target list. You're too small, too specialized. They're going after the major criminal organizations."
Hemlock studied the information with professional interest. "This is comprehensive intelligence. Where did you get this?"
"I have sources. One of them is precognitive." Marcus pocketed his phone. "Your first assignment: I need anti-toxin compounds for my monsters. They performed adequately tonight, but I want immunity, not just resistance. Can you synthesize something?"
"Given time and samples of your monsters' biology, yes. It'll take a week minimum—"
"You have three days."
"That's impossible—"
"Make it possible. Three days, or I find someone else who can." Marcus turned to leave, his monsters falling into formation around him. "Hemlock, understand something: I don't make empty threats. Deliver results, and you'll prosper under my organization. Fail, and you're just another resource to harvest. Choose wisely."
He left before she could respond, leading his strike force back through the toxic facility. His monsters consumed the nineteen dead Garden members as they went, harvesting abilities and biomass. The four survivors—Hemlock and her three remaining subordinates—were left alive but marked with dormant transformation cells.
By the time Marcus emerged from the sewers at 9:47 PM, he'd gained:
- Nineteen new ability sets related to toxins, poisons, and biological warfare
- One subordinate organization (Poison Garden remnants)
- Enhanced toxin resistance for all his monsters through absorption
- Critical biochemical expertise for future operations
Cost: Five Alpha-tier monsters lost to concentrated toxins, extensive damage to two Beta-tier creatures (but repairable), several thousand micro-monsters expired from environmental hazards.
Acceptable losses for the strategic gain.
---
Marcus returned to his laboratory at 10:30 PM and immediately began preparations for the next operation. His monsters needed twelve hours to fully integrate the newly absorbed abilities. He'd push them to six hours—not optimal, but necessary given the compressed timeline.
His phone buzzed with messages:
From Rebecca: *Heard about the Poison Garden. Clean operation. Two recruits from your strike want to talk—they're concerned about the pace.*
From Oracle: *The timeline is collapsing faster. Operation Cleansing begins in 68 hours. I'm seeing new branches—ones where you don't survive the first hour. Whatever you're planning, it needs to work perfectly.*
From Sarah: *Marcus, I'm really worried about you. Please call me when you can. Just to let me know you're okay.*
Marcus responded to Rebecca first: *Tell the concerned recruits that concern is for those who have time. We don't. They adapt or they're replaced.*
To Oracle: *Send me complete tactical analysis of the three S-rank heroes. Weaknesses, fighting styles, known limitations. I need to know how to survive them if they target me directly.*
To Sarah: *I'm fine. Just very busy with important work. Will call when I can. Don't worry.*
The response from Sarah came immediately: *You always say not to worry. That just makes me worry more. Be safe, okay?*
Marcus set his phone aside without responding. Sarah's concern was touching but irrelevant. He had approximately sixty-four hours before S-rank heroes began systematically eliminating Neo-Seattle's criminal underworld. He needed to grow strong enough to either hide from them or fight them.
Hiding seemed unlikely. His operations were too visible now, his monster attacks too widespread. Eventually, an S-rank would investigate. When that happened, Marcus needed to be ready.
He reviewed Oracle's intelligence on the three confirmed S-ranks:
**Celestial Judge** - Real name: Michael Torres. Age 34. S-rank hero for 9 years. Light manipulation, flight, enhanced durability. Can create "judgment beams" that ignore conventional defenses and strike at a target's "essence." Extremely dangerous, has killed twelve A-rank villains personally. Weakness: Overconfident, tends to monologue before finishing opponents. Also weak to darkness-based abilities that counter his light manipulation.
**Titan Force** - Real name: Sarah Chen. Age—
Marcus stopped reading. Sarah Chen. Same name as his friend. But this Sarah was thirty-one years old, had been a hero for twelve years, possessed super strength that let her lift over 500 tons and durability that could tank nuclear explosions.
*Coincidence,* Marcus decided. *Common name. No relation.*
He continued reading: Weakness: Limited ranged capabilities. If kept at distance, she's less effective. Also susceptible to internal attacks—poisons, toxins, anything that bypasses external durability.
*Hemlock's compounds might be useful there,* Marcus noted.
**Void Striker** - Real name: Unknown. Age unknown. S-rank for 6 years. Spatial manipulation—can create portals, cut through space itself, teleport short distances. Extremely dangerous in close combat. Weakness: Requires concentration for complex spatial cuts. Disrupting his focus with overwhelming sensory input reduces effectiveness. Also, his portals have a maximum size—nothing larger than a car can fit through.
Three S-ranks, each one capable of soloing entire villain organizations. If they worked together, Marcus would be annihilated in seconds.
But they wouldn't work together initially. Operation Cleansing was spread across twelve simultaneous strikes. The S-ranks would be distributed, handling the highest-priority targets while C and B-rank heroes dealt with lesser threats.
*I need to avoid being classified as highest-priority,* Marcus calculated. *Which means I need to appear less threatening than I actually am. Let them focus on the established villain organizations while I consolidate in the shadows.*
It was a delicate balance—grow strong enough to survive, but not so visible that S-ranks prioritized him over known threats like the Red Fang Syndicate.
His door opened. Void Raven entered, looking exhausted.
"Marcus, we need to talk about the pace," Rebecca said without preamble. "You hit the Scavenger Clan yesterday, the Poison Garden today. You're planning the Underground Railroad tomorrow. This is insane. Your people—our people—need rest."
"They'll rest when we're secure. Right now, we're racing against the Hero Association's response."
"I understand that. But pushing too hard creates mistakes. Tired soldiers make bad decisions. Your monsters might be tireless, but the human members of your organization aren't." Rebecca sat on a equipment crate. "Crimson Chain nearly collapsed during extraction tonight. Diana Foster is having panic attacks. Marcus Chen is questioning whether he made the right choice joining you."
Marcus considered this. He'd been so focused on the strategic situation that he'd neglected the human element. His monsters were extensions of his will, but his human subordinates had limitations.
"Fine. The Underground Railroad operation is postponed by twelve hours. Everyone gets rest." Marcus pulled up his timeline. "We strike at noon tomorrow instead of midnight tonight. That gives people time to recover."
"Thank you." Rebecca seemed relieved. "I'm not questioning your strategy, Marcus. You've proven yourself tactically brilliant. But remember: even the best strategy fails if your forces collapse from exhaustion."
She was right. Marcus had been pushing too hard, too fast. The compressed timeline was forcing aggressive action, but he needed to maintain force readiness.
"How are the new recruits integrating?" Marcus asked.
"Mixed. Hemlock is furious but compliant—she knows you have her marked. The three Garden members who survived are terrified but functional. Chen and Foster from the Scavenger Clan are questioning their loyalty. Shade is solid. Crimson Chain would follow me into hell." Rebecca smiled slightly. "I'm managing them, but it's like herding cats. Everyone has different motivations, different tolerance for what you're doing."
"As long as they follow orders."
"They will. But Marcus, consider this: you're building an army, but armies need more than just fear. They need purpose, belief in what they're fighting for. Right now, people follow you because you're powerful and terrifying. That works short-term. Long-term, you need them to believe in your vision."
Marcus pondered this. In his previous life, his experiments had failed partly because he'd worked alone, isolated, paranoid. This time, he had subordinates, resources, an organization. But Rebecca was right—fear alone wasn't a sustainable foundation.
"What do they need to believe?" Marcus asked.
"That you're building something better. That the world you're creating is worth the sacrifice." Rebecca met his eyes. "You talk about evolution, transformation, replacing the Hero Association's corrupt system. That's abstract. Give them something concrete. Show them what your new world looks like."
It was good advice. Marcus had been so focused on tactical operations that he'd neglected the narrative, the ideological framework that would bind his organization together.
"I'll think about it," he said. "For now, tell everyone to rest. Twelve hours of downtime before the Underground Railroad operation. Anyone who can't function by then gets rotated to support duties."
"I'll spread the word." Rebecca stood to leave, then paused. "Marcus, can I ask you something personal?"
"You can ask. I may not answer."
"Why are you doing this? Really. Not the evolution rhetoric or the strategic goals. What drives you personally?"
Marcus considered lying, considered the safe answer. But Rebecca was perceptive—she'd know if he was bullshitting.
"I failed in my previous life," he said quietly. "Spent fifty years trying to achieve something and died with nothing to show for it. I was reborn with a second chance and knowledge of what's coming. This time, I won't fail. I'll succeed, or I'll die trying. That's what drives me."
Rebecca's eyes widened. "Previous life? You mean—"
"I mean what I said. Take it however you want." Marcus turned back to his work. "Get some rest, Rebecca. We have a busy day tomorrow."
After she left, Marcus sat in silence, processing the conversation. He'd revealed more than intended, but perhaps that was acceptable. Rebecca needed to understand his commitment was absolute, his drive unshakable.
His micro-monsters reported from across the city: Hero patrols were increasing, response times decreasing. The Association was mobilizing, preparing for Operation Cleansing. Underground criminal networks were in chaos, organizations scrambling to prepare for the coming assault.
And in sixty-four hours, it would all explode into violence.
Marcus needed to be ready.
He spent the next six hours optimizing his forces, integrating the poison abilities into his monsters' arsenals, creating specialized units for different combat scenarios. By 5:00 AM, he had:
Three hundred forty-seven total monsters (thirty-five new creations)
Comprehensive poison/toxin capabilities distributed throughout his army
One subordinate organization (Poison Garden)
Twelve hours until the Underground Railroad operation
Sixty-four hours until Operation Cleansing
He allowed himself four hours of sleep, setting multiple alarms.
Marcus woke at 9:00 AM to his phone buzzing insistently. Multiple messages:
From Oracle: New vision. The Underground Railroad is more complicated than you think.
They have a protector—someone powerful who shields them from villain attacks. Proceed with extreme caution.
From Rebecca: Everyone's rested and ready. Awaiting orders for noon operation.
From Sarah: Are you alive? You haven't responded in 12 hours. If I don't hear from you by lunch, I'm coming to your house.
Marcus typed quick responses:
To Oracle: Who is the protector?
To Rebecca: Operation proceeds as planned. Final briefing at 11:00 AM.
To Sarah: Alive. Busy. Will call you later tonight. Promise.
Oracle's response came within seconds: I don't know who the protector is. My visions blur around them. Someone or something that disrupts precognition, similar to how you do. Be very careful, Marcus. This could be a trap.
Marcus felt cold calculation replace his drowsiness. Someone who disrupted precognition. Someone powerful enough to shield an entire organization. This wasn't a random criminal or vigilante.
This was a major unknown factor.
He descended to his laboratory and gathered his command team: Rebecca, Crimson Chain, Shade, Hemlock, and the other surviving subordinates.
"Change of plans," Marcus announced. "The Underground Railroad has a powerful protector. Unknown identity, unknown capabilities. We're going in prepared for worst-case scenarios."
"What does worst-case look like?" Crimson Chain asked.
"A-rank minimum, possibly S-rank. Someone who's been operating under the radar." Marcus displayed a map of the Railroad's known locations. "We'll approach with maximum force—both Lord-tier monsters, all seven Beta-tier, twenty Alpha-tier. If this protector appears, we retreat and reassess."
Hemlock raised her hand. "If you're expecting A-rank resistance, my toxins won't be ready. You gave me three days. It's been twelve hours."
"I know. We'll rely on overwhelming force rather than specialized weapons." Marcus checked his timeline. "Operation begins at noon. Two hours from now. Questions?"
"Yeah," Shade said quietly. "The Underground Railroad helps people. They're not criminals—they smuggle Nulls out of countries with mandatory service laws, help awakened refugees escape persecution. Are we really attacking them?"
"We're offering them recruitment first. If they accept, they continue operations under our protection. If they refuse..." Marcus let that hang.
"Then we kill people who are actually doing good in the world," Shade finished bitterly.
"We do what's necessary for survival. The Hero Association doesn't distinguish between helpful criminals and harmful ones. Neither do we." Marcus met Shade's eyes. "If that bothers you, you're welcome to leave. But you know what happens if you do."
Shade looked away, jaw clenched. He stayed.
Good, Marcus thought. Loyalty born from fear and resignation. It's enough.
At 11:30 AM, Marcus's strike force assembled. This was the largest deployment yet—two Lord-tier, seven Beta-tier, twenty Alpha-tier, and fifty awakened-tier. Seventy-nine monsters total, nearly a quarter of his entire force.
If this went wrong, the losses would be catastrophic.
Marcus led them through the underground tunnels toward the Railroad's primary facility—a converted subway station that had been sealed off decades ago. According to Archive intelligence, the Railroad moved approximately fifty refugees per month through Neo-Seattle, charging modest fees and connecting them to safe destinations.
Noble work, objectively.
Completely irrelevant to Marcus's survival.
They approached the sealed station entrance at exactly noon. Marcus's thermal-vision monsters detected thirty-seven heat signatures inside—more than expected. Either the Railroad had grown, or they'd received warning and gathered reinforcements.
"Beta-One, attempt communication before breach," Marcus commanded. "Offer them recruitment terms. Give them sixty seconds to respond."
Beta-One approached the entrance and spoke with its grinding voice: "Underground Railroad. We offer you a choice. Join our organization, maintain your operations with our protection, or resist and be eliminated. You have sixty seconds to respond."
Silence. Then a voice from inside, amplified by speakers: "We don't work with villain organizations. Leave, or we defend ourselves."
"You have fifty seconds."
"We're not afraid of monsters. Leave now."
Marcus waited the full sixty seconds. When no acceptance came, he gave the signal.
Gamma-One tore the entrance open with gravitational manipulation. Gamma-Two fired energy beams into the darkness beyond.
And something fired back.
A beam of pure white light intercepted Gamma-Two's energy projection, canceling it out. Then more light erupted from inside the facility—not normal light, but something concentrated, weaponized.
Marcus's thermal-vision monsters detected a new heat signature emerging. Humanoid, but wrong. Too hot, too bright, too intense.
"Retreat!" Marcus commanded immediately. "Full withdrawal! Something's—"
The light intensified until it was blinding. When Marcus's vision cleared, he saw what had been hiding in the Underground Railroad's facility.
A woman stood in the entrance. She appeared to be in her late twenties, wearing simple clothing, but her eyes glowed with pure white luminescence. Power radiated from her like physical pressure.
"You made a mistake coming here," she said, her voice calm and terrifying. "The Underground Railroad is under my protection. Leave now, or learn why even S-rank heroes don't challenge me."
Marcus's tactical analysis screamed warnings. This wasn't A-rank. This was beyond S-rank. This was something else entirely.
"Fall back," Marcus ordered his forces. "Controlled retreat. Do not engage."
But it was too late.
The woman raised her hand, and light exploded outward in a devastating wave. Three Alpha-tier monsters were vaporized instantly. Two Beta-tier creatures were thrown backward, their armor cracked and smoking.
Marcus ran, his monsters forming a protective barrier as they retreated through the tunnels. Behind them, he heard the woman's voice: "Don't come back. Next time, I won't show mercy."
They fled, leaving behind the smoldering remains of his destroyed monsters.
Marcus didn't stop running until they'd put half a mile between themselves and the Railroad's facility. Only then did he check his losses:
•Three Alpha-tier monsters: destroyed completely
•Two Beta-tier monsters: critically damaged but recoverable
•Seven awakened-tier monsters: various damage
•Zero captured, zero converted
Total failure.
Rebecca appeared beside him, breathing hard. "What the hell was that?"
"Someone beyond S-rank," Marcus said, his mind racing. "Someone who shouldn't exist according to any classification I know."
"What do we do?"
Marcus checked his timeline. Fifty-eight hours until Operation Cleansing. He'd just encountered an opponent he couldn't defeat, couldn't analyze, couldn't understand.
For the first time since his awakening, Marcus Vail felt genuine fear.
"We don't attack the Underground Railroad again," he said quietly. "We avoid them entirely. And we hope they don't decide to come after us."