Miguel no longer remembered how he got back to the base.He only remembered standing in the middle of a ruin nailed down with blood and steel spikes, feeling utterly hollowed out. Later, someone dragged him out of the wreckage, loaded him into a vehicle, and brought him back to the base's medical wing... These scenes were like paper soaked in water—blurred, fragmented. All that remained when pieced together was a single conclusion—
Radiance Squad was gone.The captain was gone too.The light of the world had been snuffed out just like that.
"Do you want to see him again?"That was how the deal began.The man sat at the far end of the hospital room, wearing a well-tailored uniform. The insignia on his shoulder made clear his rank far exceeded that of a regular officer. But what was truly unsettling wasn't the insignia—it was his smile: relaxed, gentle, as if speaking to a student who had performed well.
"...Who are you?" Miguel's throat was painfully dry.
"Official titles don't matter," the man waved a hand. "You can think of me as the one truly responsible for this nation's 'risk management.'"
He casually flipped through the file in his hand and spoke in a flat tone: "Radiance Squad, wiped out. Sole survivor: you. By military law, you should be subject to investigation and accountability. But I think just 'investigation' and 'accountability' are boring rewards for a soldier who has served his country."
The man looked up, his gaze landing on Miguel's face, smiling as if tossing out a casual suggestion:
"So, I'd like to offer you an opportunity—an opportunity to pull your captain back from the other side of death."
Miguel stared at him, knuckles white. "...What did you say?"
"I can bring him 'back to life,'" the man said lightly. "Of course, not the kind of resurrection where he just brushes himself off and continues drinking. This is a different form—more stable, more powerful, more... suited to this era."
He closed the file.
"Provided that you undergo a mutation energy compatibility experiment."
The moment that sentence dropped, Miguel didn't even hesitate.
"All right."
The answer slipped out instantly, recklessly, almost impulsively.
The man blinked, then smiled wider: "So decisive. You don't even ask for the details?"
"You just do what you said," Miguel's voice was hoarse, "I'll take care of the rest."
The man stood, as if satisfied with a successful audition. "Excellent. Then it's settled."
The experiment day arrived faster than expected.
Miguel stood at the center of a laboratory with a high ceiling and cold lighting, wearing nothing but a thin experimental suit. All around him were consoles, monitors, and busy lab coats—everyone murmuring and adjusting parameters, as if what was about to go into the chamber wasn't a person, but a weapon being tested.
"Subject preparing for chamber entry," someone jotted down the time on a clipboard. "Mutation energy fluid confirmed stable."
The leader stood in the observation room above, looking down through one-way glass, still wearing that calm smile.
"Don't worry," his voice came through the speaker, "all you need to do is—survive."
The chamber door opened, the heavy metal grinding with a deep groan.
Behind the transparent wall of the chamber, thick liquid churned like molten glass—somewhere between dark purple and inky green. Miguel took a deep breath, stepped in, and lay down on the fixture. Cold metal restraints locked his wrists and ankles.
"Begin injection," the researcher's voice was emotionless.
The liquid rose from the bottom, bubbles colliding with his skin like tiny hands trying to burrow in. At first, it was just a sting, but it quickly turned into burning—every blood vessel, every muscle, every cell felt like it was set on fire.
The respirator pressed against his face, supplying oxygen, but couldn't stop the sob from rising in his throat.
He clenched his teeth, refusing to cry out.
—So what?—Compared to what the captain suffered, this pain is nothing.
"Mutation energy concentration rising, vitals temporarily stable." Someone was speaking.
The voice sounded distant, like through thick glass.
He didn't know how much time had passed. The lights on the chamber wall slowly shifted from soft blue to piercing red.
"Heart rate spiking!""Brainwaves showing abnormal fluctuations!""Cellular structure is disintegrating and rebuilding—these readings...!"
The chaotic reports tumbled into his ears like tangled threads, only to be torn open by even greater agony.
When the pain reached a certain threshold, the world blurred. He could no longer tell if he was screaming aloud or only inside his head.
And then, a voice rose slowly from the depths of the pain.
—You are weak.It wasn't someone else's voice. It was like his own, or maybe it came from far, far away.
—You can't do anything.
The liquid seemed to seep into his bones. Every inch of nerve felt like it was roasting. The scene began to shake and fracture. The cold metal surroundings faded, turning into a blinding white.
He opened his eyes.
In front of him was a scene he knew all too well.
Ruin.Collapsed beams, half-standing walls, scorched black marks left by fire.
His child self knelt beside a blurry figure, crying again and again until he was hoarse—and no one responded.
—See?—Back then, you couldn't do anything either.
That voice was almost cruelly gentle.
Blobs of shadow surged from the cracks of the ruins. They had no defined shape—twisted masses that sometimes resembled soldiers in boots, sometimes superiors watching coldly, sometimes gossips whispering behind his back.
"It's all your fault.""You're not strong enough.""You couldn't even save one person.""And now? Radiance Squad is gone because of you—"
The shadows swarmed him like a tide.
The first blow knocked him flat, chest punched like by a hammer, unable to breathe. The second, the third... Every hit carried the weight of failure—black words stamped on reports, overheard conversations outside barracks, blood dripping as the captain stood before the monster.
—You always arrive too late.—You're never strong enough.
"Shut up—!"
He gritted his teeth, pushed himself off the shattered ground, and swung a punch at the nearest shadow.
The punch was heavy, as if it carried all his rage. But when it landed, it felt like hitting air—his arm met resistance, but the shadow simply rippled and re-formed.
They knocked him down again.
In the hallucination, he rose over and over again, only to be knocked down again and again. The shadows didn't destroy him outright—they shoved, stomped, pinned his head down, forcing him to relive every moment he was "too late."
The captain's smile, the captain's blood.The squad members whispering after training, "Can we really do this?"The hidden pride in their eyes when they accepted missions in front of the command vehicle—
All of it trampled beneath the shadows' feet.
—You can't do anything.—You can't even protect yourself.—And you talk of "light"?
Outside, faint voices were leaking in from the real world—
"Subject's vitals dropping to critical!""Heart rate irregular!""Massive blank zones in brain activity—!"
"Sir," one researcher finally broke, "if this continues, the subject might—"
The one called "sir" cut in sharply.
Still with that composed, smiling tone.
"Continue."
"But—"
"I said continue," he repeated, like emphasizing a trivial protocol. "Add the squad captain's tissue sample to the solution. He came in direct contact with Shesha's blood and was heavily contaminated by high-level mutation energy—he already contains the 'bridge' we need."
Miguel jolted in the hallucination.
"—Stop!!"
His shout exploded in the ruins, but was drowned in mocking laughter from the shadows.
"You can't even save yourself, and you want to stop them?"
The liquid grew hotter, layer after layer boiling him from inside out. Something new was flowing in through his veins, carrying that familiar sting—it was the same scent he'd smelled in Zone S-03. Shesha's presence.
—What flows in you now isn't just your blood.—It's the remains of the "miracle" you failed to save.
The voice whispered like it was right next to his ear.
His childhood self knelt crying, his teenage self walked alone with a weapon, his Radiance Squad self ran across the battlefield with his team—these scenes tore off like scattered photos, pelting him.
The shadows multiplied.
"Give up.""Accept your fate.""Even if the whole world's power is poured into you, you'll still..."
"—SHUT UP!!"
He roared again, and this time the voice didn't feel like it came from his throat—it exploded from deep in his chest.
He stood. As his fist flew, even he could feel it wasn't the same strength as before—something ignited in his bones, muscles rewoven, nerves stretched to the limit.
This punch landed solid.
The first shadow scattered, dissolving into strands of mist.
No time to celebrate. The second one lunged.
He punched again.
Third, fourth, tenth, fiftieth...
Every blow came with tearing pain. He felt himself being dismantled from within—then reassembled, stronger, in the cracks.
In reality, the alarms screamed.
"Heart rate skyrocketing—why isn't it stopping?!""Brainwave fluctuations off the charts—readings exceed equipment limits!""Mutation energy assimilation rate... rising?! That's impossible—!"
"Continue," the leader's voice silenced the panic.
"But the subject could—"
"He won't die," the leader declared. "That kind of person doesn't die easily. He hasn't gotten what he wants yet."
In the illusion, the shadows finally retreated.
The accusations, ridicule, and cold eyes that had once suffocated him shattered under his fists like lies no longer permitted to exist.
"You said I couldn't do anything?"
Miguel panted, staring at the last remaining shadow.
"At the very least—" he advanced, step by step, "I can blow you to pieces."
He threw the final punch.
The shadow shredded into nothing. The hallucination cracked like glass, and blinding light poured in from the gaps, stinging his eyes.
He felt like he had been pushed out of deep water.
Outside the chamber, the red warning light let out a soft beep—and switched back to calm green.
"Vitals—stabilized?!""Mutation energy level holding in a fixed range... even showing rhythmic fluctuations?""Assimilation rate—seventy-eight percent... and still rising?!"
The researchers forgot to panic and just stared at the screen.
"It worked...""It actually worked..."
Someone couldn't help but look toward the observation room.
The leader stood calmly, hand resting on the railing, gazing down at the figure in the chamber. The corners of his mouth curved up, like admiring a long-finished masterpiece.
"Open the chamber," he ordered. "Let me see our newly born 'vessel.'"
But the chamber didn't wait for them.
"Alert! Chamber integrity compromised!""He's—he's—!"
The next second, a deafening explosion shattered all reports.
The reinforced glass filled with mutation energy fluid burst from the inside. Shards and liquid sprayed everywhere. Several nearby researchers didn't dodge in time and were cut or splashed, screaming in pain.
White steam rolled out from the chamber.
And from the steam, a figure slowly stepped out.
Miguel was still dripping with residue. His experimental suit torn half by heat and impact, faint glowing lines could be seen moving under his skin like forcibly inscribed circuits. His steps were shaky but deadly calm.
"Subject escaped chamber!""Activate suppression protocol—now!"
Someone slammed buttons, trying to start the emergency system. But after the energy storm, everything was malfunctioning—lights flickering, repeated errors.
"System failure!""Energy interference too strong—suppression disabled—!"
Miguel heard none of it. Or maybe he did—but didn't care.
He could feel his heartbeat—no longer his alone, something else beat with it. It burned, it stung, but also brought a sharp clarity.
He looked up, eyes locking on a single figure beyond the chaos—in the observation room.
—It's him.—He threw the captain into that tank.—He treated Radiance Squad as "test data."
"Why did you do this?"
The question boiled in his mind.
He walked forward, smashing aside anything in his way—tables, consoles, barriers. A straight line carved by brute force.
Someone tried to stop him: "Calm down! Subject, please—"
Miguel didn't even look. He grabbed the person and tossed them like they were hit by a truck—slammed into the wall and slid down.
Cries, alarms, metal crashes—all merged into chaotic noise. But he only saw one thing: the door to the observation room.
Two armed guards raised their guns. He rushed forward, twisted the first rifle up, kneed the man, and crashed into them both. The door burst open, echoing down the corridor.
He stormed in.
The leader didn't move.
He still stood there, the full wall of glass behind him, wearing the same familiar smile—not like a monster just smashed a high-risk energy chamber, but like a soldier returning from training.
Miguel grabbed his collar, hand clamped around his throat, slamming him against the glass.
Cracks spidered across the surface.
"Why did you do it?!"
His voice rasped, hoarse with fury clawed up from pain and illusion. "Who gave you the right—to treat him like—!"
The leader's breath was choked almost silent, but he still managed a faint smile.
Not a shred of fear.Only satisfaction—as if everything had gone exactly as he'd planned.