The old military base had long since fallen into ruin, its rusted fences broken in places, its watchtowers leaning like tired sentinels that had seen too many battles. The cracked concrete walls were covered in dark moss, and the scent of decay hung heavy in the air. Once a stronghold of human resistance, it had now become the center of a brutal clash between the living and the dead.
The sound of gunfire, shouts, and the guttural roars of the undead echoed across the base and spilled out into the surrounding plains. Smoke rose from several burning vehicles, darkening the late afternoon sky. This was not the first time survivors had tried to take this place back—but it was one of the bloodiest.
Noctus stood on top of a broken barricade, his chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm. His black combat jacket was stained with blood—none of it his own. His eyes, sharp and dark, scanned the battlefield below. The wind picked up around him, swirling like a living thing, responding to his will.
To his left, Artemis dashed through the chaos like a silver flash, her white hair stained with red streaks, her fists and feet striking with lethal precision. She moved like a huntress on the prowl, weaving between packs of zombies, breaking necks, shattering spines, smashing skulls.
Everywhere around them, the undead swarmed. The regular zombies moved in massive, chaotic waves, their twisted limbs and rotting bodies pushing against one another as they surged forward, driven by that one endless, horrifying instinct—hunger. They didn't feel pain. They didn't retreat. And even when torn apart, many of them continued crawling, dragging themselves forward with broken arms and shattered bones.
The defenders—survivors armed with whatever weapons they could scavenge—fought desperately, forming makeshift lines of defense. Old machine guns rattled on rooftops, improvised explosives tore gaps into the zombie waves, and brave fighters tried to hold the perimeter. But every time a wave was beaten back, another emerged from the forests and ruined towns surrounding the base.
Noctus leapt down from the barricade, landing in the middle of a horde. His feet struck the ground, and a powerful burst of wind exploded outward, scattering the undead like leaves in a storm. He didn't need weapons. His fists and the tempest swirling inside him were enough.
He ducked under a zombie's claws, elbowed another in the throat, spun with a kick that shattered three skulls in a single motion. The air around him moved like a storm given flesh, his attacks fluid, relentless, and precise.
Nearby, Artemis let out a sharp cry as she slammed her foot down, creating a strong blow gust, crushing a zombie's skull into the concrete. Her movements were in perfect rhythm with Noctus's; they had fought together for days now, learning each other's patterns, covering each other's blind spots. Two living tornadoes tearing through the hordes.
"Left flank!" Artemis shouted over the noise.
"I see it!" Noctus replied, sweeping his arm. A gust of wind howled through the air, pushing a cluster of zombies away from the defenders trying to hold the line.
Despite their efforts, the situation was deteriorating. For every zombie that fell, five more seemed to appear. Ammunition was running low. The makeshift barricades were buckling under pressure. And the survivors' morale was beginning to crack.
Then it happened.
A sudden, guttural roar cut through the noise, deeper and louder than any of the other zombies' cries. It came from beyond the main gate. The air seemed to thicken with dread.
Two figures emerged from the horde.
They were larger than the other zombies, their flesh darker, tougher, their movements faster and more coordinated. Their eyes glowed faintly red. One of the survivors on the wall recognized them immediately and shouted, panic in his voice.
"Watch out! There are two high-level ones here!"
A ripple of fear spread through the defenders. High-level zombies were mutations—creatures that had evolved from the regular undead, becoming faster, stronger, and far more dangerous. Their presence could turn an already desperate battle into a massacre.
Noctus's eyes locked onto the newcomers. His pulse quickened, not out of fear, but out of instinctive readiness. Artemis landed beside him, her breath steady despite the blood smeared across her face.
"Those things," she muttered, "we'll need to take them out fast."
"Yeah," Noctus replied. "Let's move."
They didn't hesitate. The two of them launched themselves toward the mutants, their figures blurring through the chaotic battlefield. Zombies that got in their way were smashed aside like brittle twigs.
Before they could close the distance, the mutants opened their jaws unnaturally wide, and from their mouths erupted a swarm of black, writhing tentacles. The appendages shot forward like spears, tearing through the air with horrifying speed.
Noctus twisted his body, a blast of wind carrying him upward, flipping over the first wave of tentacles. Artemis dodged to the side, sliding under a whipping tendril that smashed into the ground, leaving a deep crater.
The tentacles kept coming, lashing and whipping wildly. Noctus landed on a toppled truck, the wind swirling around his feet as he jumped again, zigzagging through the air to avoid the attacks.
"They've got range," Artemis shouted.
"Then I'll break their line."
Noctus gathered the tempest within him, letting it surge through his veins. With an explosive burst of wind, he shot forward, faster than before, aiming straight for the mutants.
But just as he was about to close in, one of them released a piercing, otherworldly scream. It wasn't just loud—it was disorienting, like a spike driven straight into his mind.
The sound made him stumble mid-air, just for an instant.
It was enough.
The tentacles whipped around him like constricting serpents, wrapping tightly around his body, pinning his arms to his sides. The pressure was immense, crushing. He could feel his ribs creaking under the force.
"Damn it—!" He struggled, the wind flaring wildly around him, but the tentacles held firm, squeezing tighter, as if trying to crush him into pulp.
Below, Artemis shouted his name and leapt toward him, but another set of tentacles lashed out to block her. She was forced into a defensive dance, dodging and deflecting as best as she could.
Noctus's vision blurred for a split second. The sound of the mutant's scream still echoed in his head, disorienting, sharp, maddening.
And then—
It happened.
A stream of memories surged into his mind without warning.
He saw… a stormy sky.
He felt the roaring winds, the swirling cyclones, the raw power of the tempest coursing through him—not as Noctus, but as Cyclone.
The day he awakened.
He saw flashes of faces, two other figures beside him—Earthquake and Thunderstorm.
The moment of awakening, the birth of power, the unification that had defined the old world.
The memory was sharp and clear, overwhelming his senses even as the tentacles squeezed tighter. His heart pounded. The air around him trembled.
Noctus's body, trapped as it was, felt suddenly distant. His mind was dragged back to that pivotal moment in time, to the beginning of everything.
The battlefield around him seemed to fade, the sounds growing distant, drowned out by the howling winds of memory.
And in that suspended moment, as the mutants tightened their grip and Artemis fought desperately below, Noctus remembered.