The city bus groaned to a halt in a place that smelled of wet concrete and distant decay.
Ren Sato was the last of the five to step down onto the cracked asphalt, the morning mist clinging to his threadbare jacket. Ahead of them, a figure of absolute authority stood waiting.
Hiroshi Watanabe was a monument in tactical gear. His mana-thread lined vest and light armor plates on his chest, forearms, and legs were not just equipment. They were a promise of a world Ren could see but not touch.
The war hammer propped against his shoulder, its head dull and heavy, was the symbol of his D-rank. Just one rank above Ren on the Hunters' scale. It might as well have been a mountain between them.
"Stay close. Don't touch anything that looks like it's thinking," Hiroshi said, his voice leaving no room for discussion. He turned and marched towards a prefabricated station where two officials in black-standard issue jackets lounged.
Hiroshi's team, Ren and his fellow E-ranks, shuffled towards an equipment table. This was the ritual.
They wore jeans, worn sneakers, and the desperation of men clinging to the bottom rung. Hunter gear was a dream priced in blood and yen, far beyond their reach.
On the table lay six repeating crossbows, their polymer stocks scratched and dirty with four arrows each, and a bundle of mismatched machetes.
Makato, the only one who ever smiled on these trips, slung an arm around Ren's shoulders. His grin was a slash of white in his tired face.
"Didn't think you'd make it, Ren. Rumor was you drowned in worm slime. Got a lungful of the green stuff."
A few hollow laughs echoed from the others as they checked the weapon mechanisms. One of the hunters, a thin man named Jiro, held up the allotted ammunition. Four bolts. His face tightened with a familiar, simmering rage.
"Four? Four bolts?" He turned on the officials. "This job pays less than ¥10000. Are you trying to get us killed out of stinginess?"
Another member, Kenta joined in, his voice sharp. "You're low rank too. You just got lucky, scored a desk in the government. Now you treat us like we're not even human?"
The air changed before the sound of footsteps did. A large, gloved hand closed around the back of Jiro's head, not with violence, but with an absolute, terrifying control. Hiroshi.
"If you have a problem with the equipment, you leave. The gate is that way." Hiroshi's voice was low, a stone grinding on stone. He released Jiro, who stumbled forward, pale. "You two complain every single time. Next ruckus, you're off my team. Permanently."
He surveyed the rest of them, his gaze a physical weight. "The officials have confirmed a low threat infestation. Mage support is en route to stabilize the zone perimeter. We go in. I handle the hostiles. You NPCs provide perimeter support and watch for flankers. When I extract the anchor core from the zone boss, we leave. Is that clear?"
Nods all around. His eyes, like chips of flint, landed on Ren. "And you, Sato. Stick to the formation. Do not wander. If you have a shot, you take it. No hesitation." He paused, and a ghost of contempt touched his mouth. "And for heaven's sake, don't lose to a damn goblin again. They're weak, but they're cruel. Never forget that."
The team's laughter was a brittle, nervous sound. Ren felt their eyes, a mix of pity and derision, land on him. He swallowed, the old, phantom itch of a scar on his forearm twinging under his sleeve. He just nodded.
A sleek black sedan purred to a stop. Two young men in designer casual wear emerged, yawning.
They collected silver staffs from the trunk, shared a lazy handshake with the officials, and took position before the shimmering, unstable air that marked the zone boundary. Without ceremony, they tapped their staffs together.
A sound like tearing silk filled the air. A white, swirling portal ripped open in reality, revealing a tunnel of oppressive darkness.
"Move," Hiroshi commanded.
They stepped through. The world dissolved into damp, frigid blackness. The air was thick with the smell of mildew, rotting meat, and something metallic.
Torches flickered to life in their hands, pushing back the gloom to reveal walls of slick, moss-covered stone.
They were in a sewer, or a catacomb. The light danced over the bones of small animals scattered across the wet floor.
A skittering, multiplying sound echoed from the darkness ahead. Then eyes. Dozens of small, red, hateful eyes.
A swarm of dire rats, each the size of a terrier, poured from a side tunnel. Fifteen, maybe twenty.
"Front line, volley on my mark," Hiroshi growled, not even raising his hammer. "Now."
The twang of crossbows was sharp and thin. Six rats squealed and went still. The rest surged forward, a tide of matted fur and gnashing teeth.
"Reload! Second volley!"
Another six bolts found homes. The remaining beasts closed the distance. Only then did Hiroshi move.
He took one step forward, muscles coiling, and thrust his hammer forward. Not a swing. A thrust. "Hammer Thrust!"
The air cracked. A visible shockwave, like heat haze, blasted from the hammer's head. It struck the remaining rats, and they didn't just die. They ruptured, a spray of black blood and viscera painting the walls and Hiroshi's pristine armor vest.
He stood, unshaken, in the center of the carnage. "Forward."
They moved deeper, a terrifying procession. They encountered two more swarms. Hiroshi dispatched each with the same brutal, efficient technique.
Ren watched, as he always did, with a mix of awe and hollow frustration. The power was immense, systematic. It was everything the Bureau promised and sold at a price he could never afford.
Then the growl came. It was not the chittering of rats. It was a deep, guttural rumble that vibrated in Ren's ribs. They swung their torches.
A dire rat, but grown to a nightmare. It was as large as a bear, its fur patchy and scarred, eyes glowing with a sickly yellow intelligence. The zone boss.
"Distract it," Hiroshi ordered, already crouching.
They fired their last bolts. The thick hide absorbed most, but the beast turned, snarling. It was enough.
Hiroshi leapt. It was an impossible vertical jump, powered by the same energy that fueled his thrusts. He soared, hammer held high over his head. "Hammer Crush!"
He came down like a meteor. The hammer connected with the beast's skull. There was a wet, final crunch, like a mountain collapsing on a melon. The giant rat's head drove into the stone floor, shattering. The body twitched once and was still.
Hiroshi landed, breathing heavily for the first time. Ren stared, imagining the sheer, concentrated force in that man's body. And he was only D-rank. What would higher ranks look like?
The team rushed forward, hope on their faces. This was the moment. The payout. They rolled the massive corpse onto its back.
Jiro drove his machete into the chest cavity to dig for the anchor core, the crystallized mana that stabilized these rogue spaces.
There was nothing.
And the zone did not collapse. The oppressive, unnatural atmosphere remained.
A cold dread trickled down Ren's spine. The dire rat wasn't the boss.
From the surrounding tunnels, more yellow eyes ignited. One pair, then three, then six. More giant dire rats emerged, saliva dripping from their maws.
The math was instant and horrifying. This was not a low threat zone. The mages had been catastrophically wrong.
Hiroshi's face, for the first time, showed something other than disdain. It showed calculation, and then, alarm. "Retreat! To the portal, now!"
If Hiroshi Watanabe said retreat, death was not just possible. It was certain.
They ran. The thunder of heavy paws and skittering claws filled the tunnel behind them, growing louder.
Ren's lungs burned. Makato was just ahead. Jiro and Kenta were to his left. The white glow of the portal appeared in the distance, a tiny star of salvation.
Ren's foot caught on a sunken stone. He pitched forward, the world tilting. The smell of rot filled his nose. He looked up to see a giant rat, jaws wide enough to sever his leg, lunging.
A hand closed on his collar and yanked. Makato, grunting with effort, hauled him up and forward. "Not today, hero!"
They sprinted. The portal was thirty yards away. Twenty.
A rat, sleek and fast, bounded over its brethren and landed with a heavy thud directly between them and their escape. They skidded to a halt.
In seconds, they were surrounded. The circle of gnashing teeth and glowing eyes tightened.
Hiroshi roared, a sound of pure fury. He had positioned himself at the rear guard. Now he charged toward the portal, toward the thickest cluster of beasts blocking the way. "Hammer Thrust!"
He shattered one. Two more leapt on him from the sides. His armor held, but the impact drove him to a knee.
A third rat darted in, and its teeth, glowing faintly with a familiar, sickly yellow energy, found a seam. They pierced the mana-thread lining. Hiroshi bellowed in pain, not fear.
Ren watched, paralyzed, as the strongest man he knew was overwhelmed. Black blood, his own blood now mixing with the monsters', splattered the ground.
Hiroshi ripped a fang from a rat's jaw and hurled it. It clattered at the team's feet. "Go, you stupid NPCs! That's an order! Hide until it's clear or the officials come! GO!"
They broke. Survival instinct shattered the paralysis. They turned and fled back into the consuming darkness, away from the light, away from the sounds of tearing metal and a dying man's grunts of effort that grew steadily weaker behind them.
They ran until the sounds faded, then hid behind a collapse of rubble, gasping for air. Makato met Ren's eyes. There was no humor in them now. Only terror.
The sounds of feeding from the portal direction ceased. Then, a new sound. The slow, deliberate sniffing of large predators on a scent trail.
They ran again. A choked scream echoed from a side tunnel as Jiro was pulled down. Kenta yelled, and the yell was cut short. Ren and Makato ran blind, their torchlight bouncing madly off the walls.
A junction. "Split up!" Makato hissed, and veered left.
Ren went right. He ran until his legs were lead, then stumbled into a small, dead end alcove. He fumbled with his torch, his hands shaking so badly he almost dropped it.
He turned it off, plunging himself into absolute, suffocating blackness.
Silence. Then, the sniffing. Close. It passed the alcove, moved on.
He waited an eternity in the dark, his own heartbeat a drum in his ears. He took a step foward to find a wall to brace against.
There was no wall. Only empty space.
He fell.
The drop was short but jarring, maybe eight feet. He landed on soft, wet earth, the breath knocked from him. Pain flared in his ankle. Gasping, he finally got his torch switched on.
The light revealed a small, subterranean burrow. Roots breached the earth walls. And at the edge of the circle of light, slumped against the dirt, was a figure.
"Makato?" Ren croaked, crawling forward. Had he found him? Hope, sharp and painful, lanced through him.
As he got closer, the details resolved. It was not Makato.
The creature was goblin green, with large, bat-like ears and sharp features. But it was taller, its frame slender and almost elegant.
It wore not rags, but a tunic of finely woven, dark fabric, now torn and muddied, with intricate silver embroidery at the collar. A cloak of deep blue was pinned at its shoulder with a brooch that held a dull, green stone.
It was clutching its stomach. Blood, a shocking, vibrant red against the green skin, seeped through its long fingers.
Ren scrambled back, his back hitting the earth wall. A goblin. Every instinct screamed. The scar on his forearm burned.
The phantom itch on his forearm became a sharp burn, memory supplying the sensation of serrated bone-knife teeth grating on bone. Courtesy of a goblin he encountered on a previous mission.
He remembered Hiroshi's words. They're weak, but they're cruel. Never hesitate.
The goblin coughed, a wet, human sound. Its head lolled towards him. Its eyes were not the blank, hungry voids of a monster. They were large, amber, and filled with a profound, intelligent pain.
It watched him, not with aggression, but with a weary, fading curiosity.
Ren's hands shook. He should finish it. He should pick up a stone and crush its skull. It was the rule. It was what Hiroshi would have demanded.
The goblin's breath hitched. A trickle of red spilled from the corner of its mouth. It was dying. Not in battle, but hiding in a hole, just like him.
"Hell," Ren whispered.
He ripped the bottom half of his t-shirt, creating a long strip of frayed grey cotton. He inched forward, every muscle taut. The goblin did not move, only watched.
Ren reached out, his movements clumsy, and pressed the fabric against the wound in the creature's abdomen, trying to stem the flow. The blood was warm.
The goblin's lips moved. Its voice was a dry rustle, its words shaped in a cadence that was ancient and formal. "Quare misericors es?"
Ren had no idea what it said. He just held the pressure, his eyes darting to the roof of the burrow, listening for rats. "Shh."
The goblin's eyes seemed to soften. With a slow, deliberate effort, it lifted a long-fingered, green hand. Ren flinched, but did not pull away. The goblin placed its palm flat against Ren's chest, over his heart.
A new phrase, stronger, laced with intention. "Te fortiorem faciam."
A jolt, like ice and lightning mixed, shot through Ren's core. He tried to jerk away, but his body would not obey. It was locked, rigid.
From the goblin's palm, tendrils of emerald light, bright as forge fire, seeped into his skin. They spread through him, mapping his veins with cold fire. He felt it in his bones, behind his eyes, in the roots of his teeth.
The world fractured into sensation. He could smell the iron in the blood, the loam of the earth, the distant, musky scent of the dire rats.
He could hear the drip of water three tunnels over, the frantic skitter of insects in the walls. The guttural calls of the rats above coalesced from noise into patterns, into something his brain desperately tried to interpret as crude, hungry language.
The light consumed his vision, flooding it with impossible green. The last thing he saw was the goblin's amber eyes, holding its gaze.
Its other hands slipped a small book into his pocket. Then the eyes closed. The hand fell.
And for Ren Sato, everything faded to black.