Ethan stood before the wall of weapons, eyes scanning over rows of blades and brutal tools of war. Swords glistened with polished steel, spears stood tall and proud, and daggers rested in silence, their edges sharp as truth. There were maces with jagged heads, serrated sickles, even curved cleavers stained from battles long past. But one weapon called to him.
A golden axe.
Its surface gleamed under the cold lights, its curved blade etched with old patterns that pulsed faintly. The handle was wrapped in black leather, worn and torn in just the right places — like it had been used by someone who lived for bloodshed. It sat behind thick glass, untouched.
Ethan didn't hesitate.
He balled his fist and slammed it through the display. The glass shattered instantly, shards slicing into his knuckles. Blood ran down his wrist, but he didn't flinch. He lifted his hand, examining it — the red liquid curled and steamed, rising like smoke from a dying flame. It was glowing, crimson and eerie. His wounds sealed fast, leaving no scar, just a question hanging in his mind.
"Have I really changed this much?"
BOOM.
The vault door exploded inward.
A Bloodhound tore through, slamming its body into the steel until it buckled. The creature stormed in, fur bristling, fangs bared, eyes wild. Behind it, the howls of dozens more echoed down the corridor.
Ethan gripped the golden axe tight, lifting it from its stand. His lips curled into a sneer.
"Round two, you ugly mutts!" he roared.
The first Hound lunged, mouth wide to tear out his throat.
Ethan twisted his hips and swung the axe with brutal force — the blade sliced through the Hound mid-air, cutting it clean in half. Blood sprayed across his chest and face, the pieces of the monster thudding to the ground.
Another leaped. Then another.
Ethan moved like a storm. The golden axe carved through flesh and bone, each strike precise and unforgiving. Blood splashed in wide arcs, painting the vault in deep red. He crushed skulls, severed spines, tore through muscle like paper. Limbs flew. Screams died in choked growls. He didn't stop. He couldn't stop.
Ten down. Then fifteen.
He stood surrounded by bodies — twitching, bleeding, broken. His chest heaved. Blood soaked his hair, his arms, dripping down the axe like war paint. His grip was steady.
A notification blinked across his vision.
[HP: 9]
[XP: 23%]
[Strength: 16]
[Agility: 11]
[Endurance: 12]
[Charm: 6]
[Perception: 10]
[Instinct: 9]
Kato's eyes opened first.
He jolted upright, gasping, disoriented. The ceiling above him was old concrete, dimly lit by flickering red lights. The floor was cold, stained, and smelled like iron and rot. He wasn't in the tunnel anymore.
He looked around quickly.
Bodies. People — scattered throughout the room.
Agung lay beside him, unconscious but breathing. Kato reached over, shaking him hard.
"Agung!"
Agung groaned, red steam still rising faintly from his body as the last of his wounds healed. His eyes fluttered open.
"Where the hell are we?"
Kato didn't answer. He was already on his feet, scanning the faces around them. His breath hitched.
They were all there.
Every single person previously declared missing. Hikers. Postal workers. Fishermen. Hunters. Civilians. All of them. Sitting or lying around the room. Some against the walls. Some in corners. Most silent. They looked physically fine—but some looked dead inside.
Some stared ahead like statues. Others twitched or whispered things under their breath. But none of them looked at Kato. None acknowledged him.
Agung slowly stood, still processing. His thoughts drifted to the woman in the tunnel. Her presence burned into his memory.
"She was powerful," he muttered. "Fought like thunder—then bit like a cobra."
Kato moved among the bodies. That's when he saw her.
"Desra Jamil."
She sat against a column, arms wrapped around her knees. Pale. Silent. Eyes open—but empty.
He knelt beside her. "Desra… your family's looking for you. We're going to get you out, okay?"
She didn't blink. Didn't even seem to hear him.
Then he noticed Harun Saleh, slumped nearby. And next to him, a woman with tangled hair, barely whispering something to herself. Nadia Laksmi. Kato tried them too.
Nothing.
His voice cracked. "Hey. You're alive. You can still leave this place."
But the room stayed silent.
He remembered the headlines. Fishermen vanished without a trace. Postal routes abandoned mid-delivery. Hikers who disappeared into the mist.
A voice came from the shadows behind him.
"No one will listen to you."
Kato spun around.
From the dark stepped a boy—maybe seventeen. Calm. Too calm.
"They're here… but they're not themselves anymore," the boy said. "The longer you stay, the less of you remains."
Kato frowned. "But they're breathing."
"Breathing doesn't mean living."
The weight of the words hit hard.
Kato turned to Agung, who was still trying to make sense of it all. But neither of them had time to process.
Splatt!
A lump of raw meat slammed to the floor from above.
A woman shrieked, crawling across the ground like a starving animal. She grabbed at the meat with trembling hands.
Before she could take it, a man stepped in. He grabbed her by the neck and flung her across the room like she was nothing. She hit the wall with a hard crack.
Agung stepped forward fast. "What the hell's wrong with you?! That's a human being!"
The man turned.
His eyes were black. But the pupils—blood red.
He said nothing.
Just started walking toward Agung, step by step.
Back near the wall, the boy with Kato grabbed two tin cups and turned a rusted tap. Red liquid poured out, thick and pulsing. He held the cups steady and looked at Kato.
"If you want your friend to live…" he said quietly, "…you should jump in."
Then the boy stepped back into the shadows, vanishing without another sound.
Kato turned to Agung.
The red-eyed man's right arm began to twist.
Bones cracked. Skin stretched. Veins bulged. His arm swelled grotesquely, growing into something inhuman, monstrous, and ready to strike