The hangar bay hummed with the sound of the VTOL engines warming up. Commander Zog stood by the ramp, holding a sleek, cylindrical device that pulsed with a faint orange light. He tossed it to Instructor Jod, who caught it with one hand.
"We are rewriting the books," Zog announced, his voice grim. "The encounter in the North proved that the standard Class system is becoming obsolete. These things are evolving too fast. So, we are establishing the M-Rank Protocol."
"M-Rank?" Max asked, adjusting the straps of his tactical vest.
"Mutation Rank," Zog clarified. "If you see a Guut that moves like a human, thinks like a general, or uses weapons... it is an M-Class. We need to know how they are changing."
Zog pointed at the device in Jod's hand. "That is a Genetic Siphon. If you kill an M-Class, stick that into its core before it disintegrates. We need a sample of its essence."
Jod inspected the device, sliding it into a pouch on his belt. "Understood. But Commander, if I'm babysitting Squad 5, who handles the new intake? The fresh recruits are soft. They'll break without supervision."
"Don't worry about the nursery," Zog grinned, his single eye glinting. "I've made a call. I'll assign a... specialist to break them in. You just make sure these four don't get themselves killed on their first field trip."
"Yes, sir," Jod nodded. He signaled the team. "Load up. Wheels up in five."
The Watcher on the Roof
As the VTOL blasted out of the hangar, kicking up a storm of desert sand, the scene shifted to the highest point of the Southern Training Centre.
Standing on the edge of the obsidian roof, overlooking the departing ship, was a figure dressed in a pristine HPF officer's uniform. The wind whipped at their coat, but they stood perfectly still.
If anyone had looked closely, they would have screamed.
The figure had no face.
Where the features should have been—eyes, nose, mouth—there was only a swirling, viscous layer of violet-black shadow. It rippled and flowed like liquid smoke, identical in texture and color to the Void energy Max summoned.
Slowly, the shadow parted near the bottom, forming a jagged, unnatural smile.
"Go on, little vessel," a voice whispered, though it didn't come from a throat. It seemed to emanate from the air itself. "Grow fat on the darkness.
The figure raised a gloved hand in a mocking salute as the VTOL disappeared into the horizon. Then, the shadow expanded, swallowing the figure whole, and they vanished into thin air.
Into the Dark
Inside the transport, the mood was a mix of adrenaline and terrifying awkwardness. The team sat strapped in their bucket seats, the vibration of the engines rattling their teeth.
"So," Edy yelled over the engine roar, tapping his knee nervously. "A giant black dome covering a city. Anyone else thinking what I'm thinking?"
"That it's a strategic blockade designed to cut off communications?" Malina suggested, checking her gauntlets.
"No," Edy grinned weakly. "I was thinking it looks like a giant chocolate pudding. Maybe the Guuts are just intergalactic pastry chefs."
Eren snorted, the tension breaking slightly. "If it's pudding, I'm eating my way to the center. I bet I can finish it in three seconds."
"If you eat a Guut construct," Max added, forcing a smile, "I'm pretty sure you'll get indigestion for the rest of your life. Or turn into a shadow-zombie."
"Worth it," Eren laughed, though his leg was vibrating so fast it was blurring.
Even Jod, sitting near the cockpit cleaning his combat knife, cracked a small smile. "Keep the jokes coming. Humor reduces cortisol. Fear makes you sloppy. Laughing keeps you alive."
Max looked out the window. The jokes helped, but the knot in his stomach remained. He touched the hilt of his standard-issue sword (Zog had taken the claymore back for repairs). He felt the Void inside him, reacting to their destination. It wasn't hungry yet. It was... expectant.
"Approaching Drop Zone," the pilot announced. "ETA: One minute."
The laughter died instantly.
Max looked out the viewport. The endless desert had given way to the coastline. But the ocean wasn't visible.
Blocking the horizon was the Dome.
It was colossal. A perfect hemisphere of pitch-black energy that stretched for miles, swallowing the entire city of Oakhaven. It blotted out the sun, the sea, and the sky. It didn't reflect light; it absorbed it.
"It's huge," Malina whispered, her data-pad flashing red. "Sensors are reading zero thermal output. It's absolute zero inside there."
The VTOL descended, landing on a highway overpass about two hundred meters from the edge of the Dome. The ramp lowered, and the hot coastal air rushed in—instantly chilled by the proximity of the shadow wall.
Squad 5 stepped out, weapons drawn. Jod took point, his relaxed demeanor gone, replaced by the lethal focus of a master assassin.
They stood at the edge of the barrier. Up close, the black wall swirled like oil on water.
"Masks on," Jod ordered. "We don't know if there's oxygen inside."
Max pulled his tactical mask over his face. He looked at his friends. They were terrified, but they were ready.
"Squad 5," Max said, his voice steady. "Let's turn the lights back on."
Max reached out and touched the black wall. The Void in his hand resonated with the barrier. The wall didn't repel him; it rippled, welcoming him like a drop of water returning to the ocean.
"Follow me," Max whispered.
And he stepped through the wall, disappearing into the dark.
The oppressive darkness of the Dome was heavy, pressing against their tactical suits like deep-sea pressure. It wasn't just an absence of light; it was a physical substance that dampened sound and chilled the bone.
"Communication check," Jod's voice crackled over the comms, though he was standing right next to them. "Signal is degrading rapidly. We have maybe five hundred meters of range before we go static."
Malina looked at her scanner, which was spinning uselessly. "The interference pattern is deliberate. The density of shadow particles here is 80% higher than the Northern District. We are effectively blind."
"Which is why we need to cover ground," Jod said, holstering his scanner. "We split up. Four sectors. I'll take North. Malina, East. Edy and Eren, West. Max, you take South."
"Is that wise?" Max asked, looking at the empty, silent streets of Oakhaven. "Splitting up in a hostile zone?"
"It's not wise," Jod admitted, checking his knife. "But Zog wants samples, not safety. If you see an M-Class, tag it, bag it, or scream for help. Move out."
The team dispersed, vanishing into the inky gloom. Max watched Malina's red thermal signature fade away, leaving him utterly alone in the silence.
Max moved South, his boots crunching softly on the asphalt. Oakhaven was a ghost town. Cars were abandoned in the middle of the street, doors open. Coffee cups sat on tables outside cafes, unfinished. There were no bodies, no blood. Just... emptiness.
As he walked, the Void inside him began to hum. It wasn't the aggressive hunger he felt around monsters; it was a low, magnetic pull. A resonance.
Here, the whispers said. Home.
Max stopped. He was standing in front of a massive, decrepit structure that looked completely out of place among the modern office buildings and shops. It was a looming, Victorian-era brick building with barred windows and ivy choking the walls. A rusted plaque by the gate read: St. Jude's Institute for the Mentally Afflicted - Est. 1918.
"Why is an asylum in the middle of the business district?" Max muttered.
Drawn by the pull in his chest, Max pushed open the heavy oak doors. They groaned, the sound echoing through the empty lobby.
Inside, the air was stale, smelling of rot and ancient chemicals. Max activated the flashlight on his shoulder. Dust motes danced in the beam. He walked through the hallways, passing empty nurses' stations and rows of rusted wheelchairs.
The pull led him deeper. Past the wards, past the offices, to a heavy steel door marked "Authorized Personnel Only - Basement Level".
The lock was busted—melted, actually, as if by acid or... shadow.
Max descended the stairs. The temperature dropped with every step. The basement wasn't a storage area. It was a dungeon.
Rows of iron cages lined the walls. But these weren't for patients. They were reinforced with strange, glowing runes—ancient HPF containment sigils.
Max walked down the aisle, his light sweeping over the cells. Inside each one lay a human skeleton, curled into a fetal position. Some wore tattered rags that looked suspiciously like old hospital gowns.
"What happened here?" Max whispered.
He stopped at the last cell on the left. The door was locked, but lying on the dusty floor in the center of the cell was a thick, leather-bound book.
Max gripped the bars. He couldn't reach it.
"Mist," he reminded himself. "Like the candle."
He closed his eyes, visualizing his body losing cohesion. He felt the familiar cold sensation as his flesh dissolved into violet vapor. He flowed through the iron bars effortlessly, reforming inside the cell.
He picked up the book. The leather was warm.
Max opened it