A/N:
Hello everyone! I'm still new at writing, so your patience and support mean a lot. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and any comment or feedback is always welcome.
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Pain was a data stream. A torrent of screaming, red-hot information flooding his neural interface. Spartan-001 dragged himself through the oppressive gloom of the 15th floor, his left arm hanging uselessly, a dead weight of fractured bone and mangled armor. Every step was a fresh wave of agony, a grinding protest from his shattered humerus that his suit's auto-injectors could only dull, not erase.
His HUD was a nightmare of critical warnings. The spiderweb cracks on his visor distorted the world into a broken mosaic. His energy shields were gone, the generator offline. The Mjolnir's structural integrity was in the red, the advanced alloy of his gauntlet bent and twisted into an unrecognizable shape from blocking Ottar's final, cataclysmic blow.
"Cortana, status," he grunted, the words forced through clenched teeth.
"We're in bad shape, Chief," her voice was devoid of any humor, a cold, clinical report. "The arm is a mess. I've sealed the worst of the armor breaches with the hydrostatic gel layer, but it won't hold against any real pressure. We need to get back to base. Now. You're vulnerable."
He knew she was right. Without shields and with his mobility compromised, even a pack of War Shadows could become a legitimate threat. He holstered his Sidekick and unslung the MA40, cradling it in his one good arm. He was a wounded wolf, but a wolf nonetheless. The journey back to the surface was a tense, agonizing ordeal. He moved through the shadows, every flicker of movement a potential threat, every distant roar a new variable. He bypassed monster packs, using his knowledge of the terrain to avoid contact, his stealth now his only true armor.
Hours later, the heavy metal hatch of the workshop hissed shut behind him, the sound of absolute safety. He stumbled into the center of the bay and stood there for a long moment, the adrenaline finally draining away, leaving only the deep, throbbing ache of his injuries. With a groan of straining servos, the maintenance frame's clamps engaged, and the armor was removed piece by piece. When the mangled gauntlet and chest plate came off, the sight was grim. The black Mjolnir undersuit was torn, and the flesh beneath was a swollen, brutalized mess of dark purple bruising.
"On the medical table," Cortana commanded, her avatar already interfacing with the base's medical systems.
He obeyed, lying down as a diagnostic arm scanned his body. "It's a clean fracture, but a bad one," she analyzed. "The force of that impact… it's a miracle it didn't just amputate the arm. Applying biofoam and a stabilizing cast."
A hiss of cold followed as the regenerative polymer encased his arm, the blessed numbness finally washing over the raging pain. As the biofoam hardened, the Spartan closed his eyes. He had survived. But survival was not victory.
"Pull up the combat data," he ordered.
A holographic replay of the duel filled the room. He watched the silent, brutal ballet of violence from a dozen different angles. He saw his own fist connect with Ottar's jaw, the biometrics flashing to show the G-forces involved. He saw the plasma grenade detonate, the thermal imaging showing the catastrophic tissue damage it had inflicted. And he saw the final, world-ending collision.
"Ottar's ability, 'Beast Rush', is a full-body enhancement," Cortana narrated, isolating the red aura around the Boar. "It's not magic in the traditional sense, like a spell Riveria would cast. It's a biological overclock, a manifestation of his Falna that pushes his physical stats to an exponential degree. Speed, strength, durability… everything is amplified. That's the power of a Level 7."
"The Overshield was a direct counter," the Spartan noted, watching the golden energy absorb the impossible blow. "A temporary, ablative layer of pure energy. It matched his output for exactly 0.8 seconds before catastrophic failure."
"A gift from the system," Cortana mused. "A reward for not backing down. And it came with a hell of a prize package."
The mission completion screen appeared before him, its text a welcome sight.
[NEW MISSION COMPLETE]
[MISSION: Survive an encounter with an Alpha-Level opponent]
[DESCRIPTION: You were tested by the pinnacle of this world's power and forced a stalemate.]
[REWARD: +50,000 System Points, System Function [Armory/Store] Unlocked, New Schematic available for unlock: [Energy Shielding (Overshield)].]
"The Armory," the Spartan said, the word laced with satisfaction. With a thought, he accessed the new function. A vast, categorized library of technology appeared in his vision, schematics for weapons, armor, vehicles, and support equipment, all neatly organized. Most were locked, but now he had a clear, tangible path of progression.
"First purchase," he stated, his eyes already locked on his primary target.
[ACTION: Unlock Schematic [Energy Shielding (Overshield)]]
[COST: -20,000 System Points]
[CONFIRM? [Y/N]]
He confirmed. The schematic was his. It was a technology that could turn the tide, a tool that could save the lives of his soldiers.
"A wise investment," Cortana approved. "But now what? You're on the bench for at least a week while that arm heals. And you can bet the ripples from that little earthquake are already spreading."
Two low-level adventurers, a human swordsman and his pallum partner, stared into the abyss. They had been drawn by the distant, earth-shattering roar, and what they found had frozen the blood in their veins.
The jungle of the 15th floor was gone. In its place was a crater, fifty meters wide, the ground scorched and melted into a glassy, black substance. The air still tasted of ozone and raw, untamed power. At the center of it all lay the two cleanly-bisected halves of an Infant Dragon.
"Gods above…" the swordsman whispered, his face pale. "What… what did this?"
His partner pointed a trembling finger at the far wall, where a single, massive impact point had shattered the solid rock. "Two of them," he squeaked. "There were two monsters down here."
They fled, their minds reeling, carrying a panicked, incoherent tale back to the surface, a story of a battle between gods that had melted the very stone of the Dungeon.
The official investigation team arrived an hour later. The Guild had cordoned off the entire area, but this was a matter that required a more delicate touch. The Loki Familia had arrived in force.
Finn Deimne stood at the edge of the crater, his thumb on his chin, his sharp eyes taking in every detail. Beside him, the tall, elegant form of Riveria Ljos Alf held a staff, her own eyes closed as she sensed the residual energies.
"The air is poisoned with it," Riveria murmured, her voice grim. "There are two distinct signatures, both of overwhelming power. One is familiar… it has the raw, untamed ferocity of Ottar. The other is… alien. Cold. Utterly without emotion, like a machine."
Bete Loga, the werewolf, was sniffing at the edge of the crater, his face contorted in a mixture of disgust and confusion. "I smell blood. Boar's blood, no doubt. But there's something else. Oil. Ozone. Burnt metal. Nothing natural. It smells… wrong."
Tiona and Tione Hiryute were staring at the bisected dragon, their usual boisterous energy replaced by a stunned silence. "To cut a dragon in half like that…" Tiona breathed. "The force… it's insane. Even for Ottar."
"He had help," Finn concluded, his gaze sweeping across the battlefield. "Or an opponent." He pointed to the shattered remnants of the petrified trees. "These weren't knocked aside. They were shattered. Used as weapons, as cover. Look at the ground here—scorched patterns consistent with an explosion, but Riveria, this energy isn't from a firebolt, is it?"
Riveria shook her head. "No. It's far hotter, more concentrated. Like holding the heart of a miniature star."
Bete suddenly barked, pointing to something on the ground. He picked it up gingerly. It was a small, brass-colored cylinder. A spent shell casing from the MA40. He held it up. "What the hell is this? It's not a magic item." He turned it over in his fingers. "It wasn't forged. There are no hammer marks... I don't know what it is, but it wasn't made by a smith's hands."
Finn took the casing, examining it with a practiced eye. He looked at the crater, at the bisected dragon, at the scorch marks. He saw the evidence of a tactical battle, not a simple brawl. He saw the use of terrain, of unknown weaponry, of a mind that met the Boar's raw power not with equal power, but with strategy.
Loki, their goddess, walked up beside him, her usual grin absent. "Well, Finn?" she asked, her red eyes narrowed. "What's the verdict?"
Finn turned to face her, his expression more serious than she had seen it in years.
"The rumors were true," he said, his voice low and steady. "There is a new piece on the board. One that can fight the King to a standstill." He held up the shell casing. "And it's not playing by any of our rules."
He looked at the Guild official standing nearby. "Seal this entire floor. Raise the city-wide alert to its highest level. Effective immediately."
The age of predictable threats was over. Something new, something unknown and terrifyingly powerful, was moving in the shadows of Orario. And nobody knew what it wanted.
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A/N:
Thank you for reaching the end of this chapter — your support really motivates me to continue.
I'm still an inexperienced writer, and English is not my native language, so any feedback or corrections are always welcome (as long as it's respectful).
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