The C-57 stealth carrier roared through the upper atmosphere, slicing through thick clouds like a blade.
Inside, Nam checked his harness and glanced at his team.
Lan tightened her gloves, her face calm but focused.
Minh was triple-checking his rifle, muttering under his breath.
Bao leaned back, chewing gum, seemingly relaxed—but Nam knew better. His eyes were razor sharp.
Across from them, the new operatives from Project Aegis prepared silently: an armored giant carrying a railgun, a cloaked woman murmuring incantations, a tech specialist adjusting a drone swarm.
Overhead, a giant tactical screen showed their landing zone: Siberian Wastes, Grid 47-Delta.
The landscape below was chaos—spiraling storms of black mist and twisted lightning. Trees were uprooted, rivers frozen mid-flow, the ground itself fracturing like broken glass.
Lan broke the silence.
"Looks like hell down there."
Nam nodded grimly.
"And it's only getting worse."
The pilot's voice crackled over the comms.
"Thirty seconds to drop zone. Good luck, godspeed."
The rear hatch opened, howling wind rushing in.
The whole plane shook under turbulence.
Nam stood, signaling the team.
"Final check! Radios green! Weapons hot!"
A chorus of affirmatives answered.
Without hesitation, Nam sprinted forward and leapt into the abyss.
One by one, the team followed.
The freefall was pure madness.
Winds ripped at them, and flashes of unnatural lightning cracked the sky.
Nam's altimeter screamed warnings, but he forced his breathing steady.
At 4,000 feet, he yanked the cord.
His parachute exploded open—only for a piece of debris, a chunk of black crystal, to tear through the canopy.
"Sh*t!" Nam cursed, fighting the spiraling descent.
Lan swung nearby, steering expertly toward a clearing.
Minh and Bao were right behind.
Nam managed to stabilize just in time, crashing hard into a snowbank.
He grunted, rolling to his feet.
"Status check!" he barked into the comms.
"Lan, down safe!"
"Minh, down, a little bruised!"
"Bao, down! I lost my gum though!"
Nam allowed himself a tight smile.
He scanned the surroundings. The landscape was utterly alien—glowing fissures crisscrossed the frozen ground, and the air shimmered with strange energy.
Suddenly, a loud, wet slurp echoed from nearby.
Nam raised his weapon, signaling silently.
Shapes moved in the mist—lumbering, wrong.
Pale creatures, half-formed, dragging spindly limbs.
Their skin was translucent, their eyes burning with alien hunger.
Minh swore under his breath.
"Contact."
Nam nodded.
"Engage on my mark."
But before he could give the order, a new figure emerged from the mist.
Not a monster—at least, not in the same way.
A human silhouette, wearing a black cloak marked with crimson runes.
A mask of twisted bone covered their face.
It was them—the masked enemy they'd seen at Site Epsilon.
The figure raised one hand, and the creatures halted, quivering.
Nam stiffened.
The masked figure tilted their head, studying Nam like a scientist might study an insect.
Then, in a voice that somehow echoed inside their minds, they spoke:
"You should not have come here."
Nam's blood ran cold.
Without hesitation, he raised his rifle.
"Open fire!" he roared.
Bullets ripped through the mist.
The creatures howled and charged.
The masked figure vanished like smoke.
Chaos erupted.