The echoes in the tunnel amplified every sound, cloaking the air with unease. The steady drip of water was like a ticking clock, counting down the final seconds before disaster. The air was thick and heavy with moisture, reeking of rusted metal, blood, and impending death.
Dimitri led his elite team, armed and outfitted with special helmets and reinforced body armor. They moved with determined strides through the underground tunnel, entering through Door Two. His tense jaw betrayed him—even he could feel the lurking threat closing in.
A sharp crack, followed by the scrape of claws against stone, shattered the silence. The soldiers exchanged nervous glances, then a deafening roar erupted, breaking what calm remained. They activated the thermal vision in their helmets, scanning the darkness, hurling light sticks down the corridor.
"All clear, sir. Proceed."
But when they switched on their flashlights—nothing. Darkness.
"You're testing me, Varek," Dimitri thought, retreating back to the entrance. He shot down the drone that had just recorded them, watching it escape just before Door Two sealed shut.
"AGHH!" —The soldier's scream echoed through the tunnel like a death sentence.
Before Dimitri could react, a shadow lunged from the darkness, tearing the man down in a blink.
The grotesque figure emerging from the tunnel was more beast than man, its eyes blazing with rage, fangs dripping with blood. Dimitri watched, forcing himself to stay calm, as the soldier's trembling hand grew lifeless.
"Reload and fire! Don't hesitate!" Dimitri commanded, his voice steady amid the chaos.
The soldiers reacted instantly, throwing specialized grenades that exploded in corrosive clouds. The creatures howled as their skin blistered and smoked—but pain only drove them wilder.
"I'm not backing down, you bastards!" Dimitri roared, fueled by a blend of fury and fear. He hurled flash bombs, flooding the tunnel with blinding light. For a fleeting second, he thought he had the upper hand—until a panicked scream snapped him back to reality.
He spun around. The sight froze him: another soldier being torn apart, his body falling limp to the ground.
"Sir, if you order it—we retreat! The few of us left alive!" a soldier cried, voice cracking with panic. Nearly the entire squad had fallen in the blink of an eye.
"Cover your ears!" Dimitri ordered. The final grenades detonated, shaking the walls with thunderous blasts. Bright flashes revealed the lurking horrors. Still, the shadows pressed forward, driven by insatiable hunger.
From the depths, Salomon—the Nevri leader—watched the massacre with cold calculation. His silhouette remained still, eyes tracking every movement with lethal precision.
"If this is the best they can do... they've spent far too long basking in false glory," he murmured.
He gave a signal. In response, a massive beast emerged from the shadows—larger and more powerful than the rest. With a roar that rattled the stone, it lunged at Dimitri. He barely dodged its claws.
"This... isn't part of the project," Dimitri whispered, shocked to see that the lab-tested bullets had no effect. He fought to maintain control.
The flickering light on the damp floor revealed them: reddish-skinned, flame-eyed creatures. Gunfire barely slowed them. In a desperate move, several soldiers injected themselves with "Accelerator" serum—transforming into savage, erratic warriors. Their muscles bulged to the point of tearing, veins blackened, eyes flooded with blood. Power was instant... but so was death.
Sanathiel, the White Wolf, burst into the chaos. His claws slashed through creatures with deadly precision, his calm almost otherworldly.
"We need another way out," he said, turning to Skiller, who fought beside him, tossing aside what he had just crushed with his own claws. "These are irregular beasts—massive ones."
"You're still holding back your transformation? Impressive, White Wolf," Skiller replied, dodging a werewolf's swipe before slicing it down with his curved blades.
Sanathiel nodded, mind racing. "Aisha won't be able to resist—she'll come in. That's certain."
He grabbed the lunar medallion around his neck, clenched it tight, and yanked it toward his chest.
"This will stun them. They'll crash into each other. Hear me, Skiller."
Before Skiller could pull Aisha out, she grabbed Sanathiel's hand and squeezed it tightly. Her grip was warm—desperate.
"Just like old times, White Wolf," she whispered with fierce determination, blades still raised. "Just don't die."
Sanathiel closed his eyes for a beat, absorbing the moment. Then he released her hand slowly, certain this would not be the last time he saw her.
Outside, Aisha felt the emptiness in her palm as Sanathiel's hand slipped from hers. His warmth still burned on her skin—she longed to hold it a moment longer... but fate would allow no such luxury.
"I'll clear the path. You get her out—away from this ambush," Sanathiel told Skiller. "Find Aisha."
Even the light sticks couldn't fully pierce the tunnel's darkness. Flashes revealed a terrifying sight: reddish and brown-hued giants lurking in the gloom, eyes glowing with raw hunger.
The air stank of rust and burning flesh. The echo of screams blended with the wet sounds of torn bodies. There was no escape. Only blood. Only death.
Gunfire was useless. The creatures advanced relentlessly, draining fallen soldiers with terrifying ferocity. Desperate screams filled the tunnel:
"Get down!"
Before anyone could react, Sanathiel seized his father's lunar medallion, squeezing it until his own blood soaked into it. An intense blue light burst forth, flooding the tunnel with supernatural radiance.
"Vanish…" Sanathiel commanded, his voice resonating with a power that echoed through the stone.
The beasts, stunned by the command, reeled backward, crashing into one another, falling one after the next. The path cleared, though the air remained thick with the stench of battle.
Bathed in the medallion's blue glow, Sanathiel stood—a beacon of hope amid the darkness.
His footsteps echoed as he advanced, ready to face the shadows still awaiting him.
In the gloom, the shadows twisted and murmured in an ancient tongue. Sanathiel gripped his sword, the weight of destiny pressing upon his shoulders.
If this was to be his final battle, he would fight it as the Ebony Wolf... and the darkness would remember him.
His silhouette moved forward, wrapped in blue light—into the heart of the abyss.