Dungeon Break Chapter 8 First Assignment (Patreon)

After their morning training concluded, the group of newly recruited youths found themselves once again inside the reinforced command tent.

Issei Hyoudou, Genshirou Saji, Zekka Miyamoto, Asuka Hanzo, and Mai Shiranui, the five of them gathered in front of the large operations table.The same map of Kuoh Town was spread out before them, now updated with fresh markings and newly circled danger zones.

Issei stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the others, the silence between them heavy. Saji was adjusting his jacket, his jaw set in a hard line. Beside him, Asuka checked the fit of her red scarf, her usual energetic spark replaced by a focused stillness. Mai remained a statue of poise, though her amber eyes never left the red circles on the map. Little Zekka, standing on her tiptoes to see the tabletop.

Colonel Akagi stood at the head of the table, arms behind his back, his sharp eyes scanning each of them, he didn’t waste time with a greeting, the harsh fluorescent overheads deepening the shadows in the lines of his face.

“I will keep this brief,” Akagi said.

Issei straightened his spine, his heart thudding against his ribs. ‘So this is it.’

Akagi’s finger tapped a cluster of residential blocks just three kilometers east of the park, the Miyama District. “These sectors remain 'Grey Zones.' Thermal scans are inconclusive due to the fires, but we’re picking up intermittent distress pings from several locations. We have reason to believe there are still survivors trapped inside.”

Issei’s chest tightened. He knew those streets. There was a convenience store there where he used to buy manga. 

“You will be deployed in small scouting units,” Akagi continued. “Each group will consist of trained personnel alongside one of you that ranges from JSDF rangers, Youkai, Shinobi, and Onmyoji practitioners. This is for all of you to observe and learn from more experienced individuals. Hopefully these will be low-risk scouting missions. Your objective is simple: locate survivors, assess threats, and report back. Do not engage enemies beyond your capability.” His gaze hardened. “Those will be your orders.”

The weight behind those words settled over the group.

Issei swallowed. ‘Low risk… yeah right.’

“Understood, sir,” Saji answered for the group, his voice tight.

Akagi stepped back, nodding to a nearby adjutant who held a clipboard. “You will now go to your respective units.” One by one, names were called and directions given.

—-----------------------------

‘Okay… don’t screw this up. First mission. First impression. Don’t die. Preferably in that order.’ Issei thought as he followed the soldier that would guide him to his group. The noise of the safe zone hit him again. Boots against gravel. Distant voices. The hum of generators. He was led toward a smaller staging area near the outer perimeter.

The soldier leading him stopped at a cluster of reinforced Humvees near the park’s eastern exit. Issei’s eyes widened as he took in the group waiting for him as the five figures stood out as three were in JSDF uniforms and the last two… definitely did not feel human.

Issei slowed slightly. ‘Okay… squadmates. Don’t say anything stupid.’

“Hello, my name is Issei Hyoudou.” He greeted with a bow.

The first soldier stepped forward. He was a mountain of a man, in his early thirties, with short black hair and a scar running along his jaw. His posture was straight, his presence firm with his JSDF uniform stretched tight across broad shoulders.

“Sergeant Daichi Moriyama,” He said bluntly. “Squad leader.” His eyes flicked over Issei once. “In this unit, you follow orders or you stay in the truck. Understood? Please try not to get in the way.”

‘Wow. Straight to the point.’ Issei snapped to attention. "Yes, Sergeant!"

“Good. Try not to make me regret taking a middle-schooler into a war zone.” Moriyama turned back to his gear, his dismissal sharp and cold.

“Don't mind him, kid. He hasn't had a decent cup of coffee since the sky broke.” Next to him stood a younger soldier, leaned against the hood of the lead vehicle, tossing a roll of athletic tape between his hands, probably in his early twenties, with messy brown hair and tired eyes. “Corporal Yuta Kisaragi,” He said with a small shrug. “Welcome to the meat grinder.”

Moriyama didn’t deny it.

The third soldier gave a short nod. He was older, mid-forties, with a calm face and graying hair. “Medic. Kenji Takahashi.” His voice was steady and grounded. “If you get scratched, see me. If you get bitten... Well, let's just hope it doesn't come to that."

Issei relaxed slightly. ‘Okay… they seem nice.’ Then his attention shifted to the remaining two where he shivered as a faint mist curled around his boots.

Standing slightly apart from the soldiers was a woman who looked like she was carved from moonlight. She was breathtaking, long silver hair that shimmered like frost and eyes the color of a winter storm. She wore a specialized kimono that allowed for fluid movement, and a faint chill radiated from her skin. She then smiled gently. “I am Kuzunoha Hikari.” She said, her voice a soft, melodic chime that seemed to echo in Issei's mind. "A Yuki-Onna at your service. It is a pleasure to meet you, Issei-kun."

Issei blinked. ‘Whoa… beautiful, elegant, calm, super pretty and big Oppai. Wait, focus! This is not the time!’ He bowed quickly. “N-Nice to meet you!”

The final member of the squad cracked his neck lazily.

A massive man with dark, mahogany skin and red tribal markings etched across his bulging forearms pushed off from the truck. Two obsidian horns curved from his forehead, and his teeth were just a little too sharp to be human. He grinned with predatory amusement. “Name’s Gozu Arata,” he said. “Try not to die, kid. Paperwork’s a pain I don’t want to deal with."

Issei nodded quickly. “Y-Yes, sir!”

Arata snorted. “Don’t call me sir. I’m not that old.”

Moriyama crossed his arms. “So you're one of the blessed kids I heard about? The ones given gifts by a god.” There was no attempt to hide the doubt in his voice.

Issei felt that hit. “Yes sir. I possess something called a Sacred Gear.”

“He’s now part of the operation,” Hikari said calmly. “Which means we must work together.”

Moriyama exhaled slowly. “Guess orders are orders.”

Kisaragi leaned closer to Issei and whispered. “Translation: don’t die and he might like you.”

“I heard that,” Moriyama said flatly.

Kisaragi straightened instantly. “Of course you did.”

Moriyama slammed the rear door of the Humvee shut and then turned toward the small map in his hand. “Our assigned sector is Residential Block C-17. Reports of movement. Possible survivors or hostiles.” He looked directly at Issei. “Hyoudou, you stay in the center of the 'Diamond' formation. You don't move unless Kisaragi moves. You don't breathe unless I give you the signal. This isn't a game."

Issei nodded quickly. “Yes, sir.” His hand subconsciously tightening over his left arm,

Arata smirked, checking the edge of a massive, black iron club leaning against the tire. "He’s gonna run off the second he hears a girl scream. I bet twenty yen."

"I am not!" Issei snapped, though a small part of him knew Arata wasn't entirely wrong. ‘…Okay maybe a little if someone’s in danger.’

Hikari simply giggled behind the sleeve of her kimono. She then stepped closer, her hand resting lightly on Issei’s shoulder. Her touch was icy, yet strangely comforting, like a cool breeze on a humid day. “Do stay close,” she said softly. “And trust us to keep you safe.” Something about her tone made Issei relax.

“Okay.”

—----------------------------------

As the Humvee’s tires transitioned from the managed gravel of the camp to the buckled, glass-strewn asphalt of the city, Issei felt his heart hammer against his ribs with such force it felt like it might crack a bone.

The noise of the safe zone, the humming generators, the shouting soldiers, the crying children quickly fell away, swallowed by a heavy, unnatural silence that draped over the ruins of Kuoh like a shroud.

Ahead, the world was a jagged monochrome of grey dust and charred black remains. Buildings leaned at impossible angles, their windows staring down like hollow eyes.

‘This is it,’ Issei thought, his fingers digging into the fabric of his trousers until his knuckles turned white.

Flashes of the last twenty-four hours flickered behind his eyelids: his mother’s tear-streaked face as he told her he was going; his father’s heavy, silent hand on his shoulder; the way Ako’s voice had cracked when she begged for someone to save her. And finally, the image of Takashi-sensei standing alone before yelling for the attention of the monster.

Issei exhaled a long, shaky breath, the air tasting of cold ash and stagnant water. ‘I chose this. I’m not just a student anymore.’ He looked up, his gaze hardening as he caught sight of Sergeant Moriyama’s broad back and Hikari’s shimmering silver hair.  “I’ll do my best,” he whispered, more to himself than anyone else.

The squad crossed the perimeter line. As the shadow of a collapsed overpass fell over them, the sun was blotted out, and the ruins of his home welcomed him back.

Just like that, the "Normal Life" of Issei Hyoudou ended. The first mission of the Red Dragon had begun.

—-----------------------------------

The Humvee’s engine hummed with a low, vibrating growl as it navigated the graveyard of Kuoh’s suburbs, tires crunching over shattered glass and broken asphalt. The world outside the reinforced windows looked terrible.  Buildings leaned at unnatural angles, some split open like cracked eggs, their insides exposed to the open air. Others bore deep gouges as massive claw marks were shown carved through concrete like it had been soft clay.

‘…I hate this,’ Issei thought, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his thighs. Yesterday had been a chaotic blur of survival, but seeing his hometown in the cold, gray light of morning was different. ‘This is way worse than yesterday.’

The vehicle slowed to a crawl before the engine finally cut out near a partially collapsed residential block. Sergeant Moriyama scanned the perimeter through the windshield. “We’ll stop here.” One side of the street was blocked by debris, while the other opened into a narrow escape route. “It’s a good position,” Moriyama muttered. “And a quick exit if things go bad.”

‘When things go bad,’ Issei corrected silently.

The heavy doors clicked open, and the squad spilled out into the stale, ash-laden air. The three soldiers moved first with practiced efficiency. Rifles were snapped into shoulders, safeties clicked off, and three pairs of eyes began a relentless sweep of the surrounding rooftops and shadowy alleyways.

Hikari stepped into the center of the street, her silver hair catching the dull light. She raised an elegant hand, her kimono sleeve sliding back to reveal skin as pale as marble. Her fingers traced a shimmering, intricate sigil in the air—a pattern of frost that pulsed once before rippling outward in a faint, sapphire wave.

A sudden, localized chill settled over the Humvee, frosting the glass slightly.

“That should suffice,” Hikari said, her voice a calm chime in the silence. “A concealment charm. It will discourage lesser creatures from noticing the vehicle here.”

Kisaragi lowered his rifle slightly, eyeing the shimmering air around the truck. “Discourage?”

Hikari’s smile was thin and ethereal. “Let us say… it makes the vehicle appear as nothing more than a dull, uninteresting rock to their primitive minds.”

“Really?” Kisaragi muttered, glancing at the Humvee. “Let’s hope the monsters really do lose interest.” He rubbed the back of his neck, sighing. “This is the first time we’re betting our lives  and relying on magic in an operation like this…” He looked at Moriyama. “If we lose the ride, we’re screwed.”

“And I am not walking civilians three kilometers back to base,” Takahashi added, his voice flat and practical.

Moriyama checked his watch and gave a curt nod. “Then we hope for the best and don't lose it.” His gaze hardened. He turned his gaze to the ruined buildings ahead, his face a mask of iron. “From here on, minimal noise. We sweep the structures, verify survivors, and tag hostiles. No unnecessary heroics. No engagement unless I call it.” His eyes flicked toward Issei, sharp as a blade. “And Hyoudou-san? Remember your place. Stay in the center. Stay in formation.”

“Yes, sir.” Issei answered

With a final check of their gear, the squad moved out, disappearing into the jagged shadows of Block C-17.

—---------------------------

The squad advanced through the skeletal remains of the residential block in a tight, defensive diamond.

Moriyama led the point with his rifle raised. Kisaragi held the right flank, his eyes tracking the upper-story windows. Takahashi guarded the rear, moving with quiet precision. Hikari and Arata glided along the flanks.

In the center of it all was Issei. Exactly where he was told to be.

The silence was heavier than the noise of the camp. Every crunch of glass under a boot sounded like a gunshot. Every swaying power line looked like a descending limb.

‘Don’t panic…’ Issei repeated internally. ‘You wanted this. You chose this. Just don’t screw up.’

They passed a car that had been completely crushed inward, as if something had stepped on it from above.

Issei’s stomach did a slow, nauseating flip. ‘What kind of thing is heavy enough to do that?’

A few meters ahead, the gray asphalt gave way to a dark, visceral stain, blood, a lot of it smeared thick against the brick walls, pooling in the gutter, trailing into the pitch-black alleyways.

Issei suddenly stopped. “…Ugh—” His hand clamped over his mouth. The smell didn't just drift to him; it hit him like a sledgehammer. It was the scent of rotting iron, copper, and sweet, cloying decay.

“Oi,” Kisaragi whispered, his rifle shifting toward a nearby shadow. “Kid? You see something?”

Moriyama glanced back, his eyes sharp and unforgiving. “What is it? Report.”

Issei swallowed hard, forcing the bile back down his throat. His eyes were watering. “Sorry… it’s just the s-smell…”

The squad paused. All eyes, human and otherwise, landed on him.

“Ever since I absorbed that yellow orb… or monster orb.” Issei grimaced, his nose twitching involuntarily. “My sense of smell is, it’s become too much. I can smell the blood. It’s everywhere. It feels like I’m drowning in it.”

Hikari’s icy gaze sharpened, a faint mist rising from her shoulders. Takahashi frowned, his professional mind kicking in to understand what he means. “Heightened senses, huh…”

Kisaragi scratched his cheek. “Sounds useful… and absolutely horrible at the same time.”

“Mostly horrible right now,” Issei muttered weakly.

Arata, however, let out a low, rumbling chuckle. “Well, well…” The horned youkai stepped closer, clearly interested. “That’s not a bad ability at all, kid.”

Issei blinked. “Huh?”

“Tracking by scent,” Arata said, tapping his nose. “Plenty of beast-type youkai can do it. Hell, some can track a target across kilometers.”

Moriyama’s eyes narrowed, his tactical mind already pivoting. “Can you differentiate the sources? Or is it just one big mess?”

Issei hesitated. “…I don’t know.”

Arata crossed his thick arms. “Then now’s the perfect time for a crash course.”

Issei stared at the Oni in disbelief. “Right now?!”

Arata shrugged, his sharp teeth glinting in a smirk.“Better than later when something’s trying to eat you.”

“…Fair point,” Kisaragi muttered, keeping his eyes on a nearby rooftop.

Arata leaned down, his presence towering over Issei. “Listen carefully. You’re overwhelmed because you’re taking everything in at once.” He tapped his own head. “What you need to do is filter it.”

“Filter…?”

“Yeah,” Arata said. “Ignore the old smells. The dried blood. The dead stuff. Focus on what’s fresh.”

Issei frowned. “Fresh…?”

“Living beings smell different,” Arata continued. “Blood too. Fresh blood has heat, movement, life in it. Old blood is just… residue.”

Hikari nodded slightly. “He is correct.”

Arata’s grin widened. “A beast-type friend of mine could tell species, gender, and even how scared a target was just from one sniff.”

“That’s… that’s impossible,” Issei breathed.

“Not entirely. I heard that dogs are capable of this exact thing. The main reason for why they are trained for rescue operations.” Takahashi said as he remembered several trained dogs that are part of the JSDF.

“Welcome to new possibilities," Arata said.

Moriyama cut in, his voice a cold command. “Can you do it?”

All eyes turned back to Issei. The pressure was instantaneous. But Issei tried and took a slow, deep breath, then another. ‘Okay… focus… just like with mana training with Master Abe.’ He closed his eyes briefly and the world of scent crashed into him again.

Rot. Ash. Cold iron. Sour decay.

‘No,’ He told himself. ‘Filter. Push it away.’ He forced himself to focus and separate the smell, layer by layer. He visualized the scents as layers of colored smoke. He pushed the heavy, grey fog of the old blood aside. He ignored the black soot of the fires. He searched for the "fresh scent" Arata mentioned.

Layer by layer, the world peeled back. Dead. Dead. Old. And then something else, faint, sharp and different.

“…Wait.” Issei’s eyes snapped open. “I— I think I got something.”

The squad tensed in unison. Rifles were raised; Arata gripped his iron club.

“Direction?” Moriyama asked.

Issei turned his head slowly. “…That way.” He pointed toward a narrow street between two leaning apartment blocks.. “It’s…fresh blood.”

Silence.

Moriyama nodded once. “Good work. We’re following Hyoudou’s lead. It’s better than wandering this maze blind.” He shifted his rifle and gestured to the front. “Hyoudou, you’re on point. You’re our radar now. Guide us.”

Issei froze, his heart skipping a beat. “…Wait, what? Me? In the front?”

“You’re the one who can 'see' the target,” Moriyama said simply. “You lead. We cover. Move out.”

Issei swallowed. “…Y-Yes, sir.”

For the first time, Issei Hyoudou stepped out of the center. He moved to the front of the diamond. He stepped into the unknown, his nose twitching as he chased the scent of life through a city of death.

‘Please,’ He prayed silently. ‘Let us find someone alive.’

—--------------------------------------------

As they followed the thin, metallic scent, the squad moved through the third-floor corridor, boots crunching over broken glass and scattered plaster.  The air in the hallway was stagnant, but as they neared the end of the hall, a draft from the half-torn door brought a scent that made Issei’s stomach lurch.

Sergeant Moriyama raised a fist. The squad halted instantly. “…Clear it,” He ordered under his breath.

Arata and Kisaragi flowed into the apartment first, weapons raised, sweeping the entrance in practiced arcs before stepping inside. The others followed, slower.

The apartment was torn apart. Furniture lay overturned, splintered. Deep gouges carved across the walls, cutting through paint and into concrete beneath. Blood was everywhere, splashed high, smeared low, streaked across the floor in frantic patterns that told a story no one needed explained.

“Watch your footing,” Arata muttered, stepping over a broken table. His grip on his weapon tightened slightly.

Moriyama’s eyes moved fast, scanning. “…Drag marks,” He said quietly, pointing toward a hallway. Dark streaks led deeper inside. “Something was pulled. Or tried to be.” No one needed to say which. 

They moved and searched room by room, until they reached a door at the end of the hall, blocked from the inside. A dresser had been shoved against it, its wood cracked from the strain.

Moriyama knocked once. Firm. “We’re JSDF!” he called. “If anyone’s inside, please respond!”

Silence.

“Stay back!” An adult female voice shrieked. 

Moriyama’s expression didn’t change, but his voice softened just slightly. “We’re here to help. If anyone inside is hurt we have a medic that can help. Please, open the door..”

There was hesitation. Whispering. The faint scrape of wood shifting. Then the dresser dragged aside with a harsh, uneven sound.

There was a frantic whispering, then the agonizing screech of the dresser being dragged across the floor. The door opened a mere crack, and a kitchen knife—shaking violently—shot into view. The woman holding it had eyes so bloodshot they looked like cracked porcelain, but as her gaze drifted from the rifles to Issei’s young face and Hikari’s serene expression, the fight left her all at once. The knife clattered to the floor.

“…P-people…?” she gasped, her knees buckling.

Behind her, the room came into view. A man lay propped against the wall, shirt soaked through with blood. His breathing was shallow, uneven. One arm hung limp at his side, the other pressed weakly against a wound that had already bled through makeshift bandages. Two children, a boy and a girl, were huddled in the corner; the girl was staring at nothing, her eyes far too old for her face.

Takahashi moved before the door was even fully open. “Make room,” he commanded, already snapping on latex gloves. He knelt by the father, his hands moving with the efficiency of a machine. He peeled back the makeshift bandages, and even the hardened medic’s jaw tightened. “…Deep lacerations. Possible internal bleeding. He’s lucky his adrenaline hasn't cut out yet,” Takahashi muttered, reaching for a pack of hemostatic gauze.

The father’s eyes fluttered, trying to focus on Issei. “…Kids…” he rasped, his voice a dry wheeze.

“They’re fine,” Takahashi said, his voice a tether to reality. “Stay with me, eyes on me.”

Meanwhile, Moriyama approached the mother, lowering his center of gravity to appear less threatening. “What happened?”

The woman’s breath hitched. Hikari stepped in, her presence bringing a supernatural chill that seemed to numb the woman’s rising panic. “It’s okay,” Hikari said gently. “You’re safe now. Tell us.”

The woman nodded shakily, eyes flicking back toward her husband. “A-after the earthquake stopped,” The woman began, her voice trembling like a wire. “Something came over the balcony. It wasn't an animal. It moved… wrong. It was too fast for us to give it a good look”

Issei felt a cold sweat break out on his neck.

“The kids screamed,” she continued, looking at her husband. “I couldn't move. But he… he grabbed a chair. He fought it. He pushed it back toward the window.” Her hands shook. “It ran. But not before…”

“…Before it tore him open,” Takahashi finished quietly, his hands covered in the man’s lifeblood.

Silence settled heavily in the room.

“You did the right thing staying put,” Moriyama said, his tone final. “Moving in the streets now would have been a death sentence.”

The woman gave a hollow nod. “We didn’t have a choice…”

Across the room, Issei crouched near the kids, offering a small, awkward smile. “…Hey,” he said, softer than usual. “You guys did good. Real good.”

The younger boy sniffled, wiping his nose on a dusty sleeve. “Will Tou-san be okay?”

Issei hesitated for half a second. Then he nodded. “Yeah. Takahashi will take care of your dad.”

“Will the monster come back?” The older sister asked while trembling.

“Don’t worry, the monster is gone.” Issei reassured the girl.

Arata leaned against the wall nearby, arms crossed, but his eyes stayed on the hallway, alert. “…For now,” he muttered under his breath.

Takahashi finished securing the bandages, tightening them carefully. “He’ll make it to the perimeter if we move now.” He said. “But he needs proper treatment soon.”

Moriyama nodded once. “Then we should move.” He looked at the team. “We’re extracting them to the Humvee. Tight diamond formation. Arata, you take the point. Kisaragi, rear guard. Takahashi and Hikari, support the father. Hyoudou, stay with the kids.”

No one argued.

They moved quickly but carefully, Moriyama and Arata taking point, and Kisaragi covering the rear. Takahashi and Hikari supported the injured father between them, while the mother stayed close, one hand on her children at all times.

Issei stayed near the kids, keeping them close as they stepped back into the blood-stained hallway. They were halfway to the stairwell when Issei’s nose twitched. The metallic scent of the father’s blood was there, but beneath it, like a low-frequency hum, was a chorus of other scents.

“…Wait,” Issei said, his voice sharp.

The squad halted. Moriyama’s rifle snapped toward a shadow. “What?”

Issei turned his head, his eyes narrowed as he processed the sensory overload. “I think there’s more,” he said slowly. “The blood… it isn't just coming from this room. I can smell it in the apartments above us and in different directions.”

A long silence followed.

Moriyama’s jaw tightened as he looked at the bleeding father and the traumatized children. He checked the street through the stairwell window. “We prioritize this family,” he said firmly. “We get them to the safe zone first.” His gaze hardened slightly. “Then we come back hopefully with more people and vehicles.”

His gaze hardened as he looked at Issei. “Keep that nose sharp, kid. If those 'other' smells start moving, I want to know yesterday.”

—-----------------------------------

As the squad moved slowly and carefully down the ruined street, the injured father a heavy weight between Takahashi and Hikari.

“Almost there,” Takahashi muttered, tightening his grip as he helped carry the injured father forward.

Issei moved alongside the children, keeping close. Then he stopped. The squad was less than fifty meters from the Humvee when the air suddenly changed as his nose twitched. Beneath the heavy, metallic tang of the father’s fresh wounds, a new scent surged into Issei’s nose, a suffocating wave of old, dried blood and acidic rot. 

“…Wait.” Issei croaked, his voice cracking with sudden dread.

Moriyama didn’t even look back, his eyes fixed on the direction of the vehicle. “What is it, Houdou? We don’t have time to waste.”

Issei stopped dead, his head swiveling as he frantically processed the sensory overload. “I suddenly smell a lot of dried blood,” He said slowly. 

“Kid, look around. If you haven’t noticed, blood is kind of everywhere.” Kisaragi sassed, trying to keep the situation less tense.

“I know but this is different. For some reason it just suddenly got stronger.” Issei explained.

Arata’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not normal.”

Issei’s expression darkened. “…And worse it’s moving right for us!” The words had barely left his lips when the sound reached them, a rhythmic, slapping of meat against pavement, growing into a thunderous gallop.

The squad pivoted in unison, rifles snapping up, and then they saw them. At the far end of the debris-choked street, a gray cloud of dust exploded.

Dozens of Spinecrawlers. A pack of grotesque quadrupedal shapes sprinted low to the ground, their elongated forelimbs slamming against the pavement with unnatural force. Each step cracked asphalt. Their twisted, wolf-like skulls hung low, jaws unhinged far too wide, rows of jagged teeth glistening with thick, acidic saliva that dripped and hissed where it struck the ground. Their spines jutted outward in serrated ridges, bone spikes rising and falling with every movement. Torn flesh stretched across exposed muscle, twitching as they ran, as if barely holding together. And their eyes clouded, empty and hungry, locked on their movement.

“…Damn it,” Arata growled.

The ground groaned under the weight of the charging swarm. They were too many, and they were closing the gap with terrifying velocity.

“Sergeant, if we run, they catch us before we reach the humvee,” Kisaragi stated, his voice devoid of emotion, the cold logic of a soldier taking over.

“Tch. This is the worst possible timing,” Moriyama growled, his finger tightening on the trigger as his mind raced. ‘Too many. Too fast. If they reach us—’

Which meant one thing. They couldn’t outrun them. Not while carrying civilians.

“Sergeant, what do we—” Kisaragi asked but was interrupted.

“Go, I’ll handle it.” Arata said as he stepped forward, the heavy iron of his kanabo club scraping the ground. His red markings glowed with a dull, dangerous heat. His posture shifted, looser and heavier. “Take the civilians and get to the ride. I’ll turn these mutts into paste.” He said, not looking back.

Moriyama’s eyes narrowed. “Arata, don't be a martyr—”

“I said go.” He said with a final tone.

Then, “…Tch.” Hikari exhaled sharply, already glided up beside him, a faint, freezing mist beginning to swirl around her feet. She exhaled a cloud of frost, her silver hair fluttering in an invisible wind. “You’re not doing this alone,” She said, brushing a strand of hair back as faint frost began to gather at her fingertips. “Someone has to make sure you don’t get yourself killed.”

Arata snorted. “Worried about me?”

“Not even a little.” Despite the words, she didn’t move away.

Behind them, Issei stood frozen. His heart hammered violently against his ribs. His legs felt like lead, and his breath came in short, jagged gasps. The sight of the monsters, the way their flesh hung in ribbons, the way they shrieked, sent a primal terror screaming through his mind. He wanted to run. Every instinct he had told him to disappear.

‘That many…? There’s no way… we can’t.’ His hands trembled and his breath came shallow.

But then, he felt a small, trembling hand clutch his pant leg. He looked down and saw the two children, their faces pale with a horror no child should ever know. If he ran, they died.

‘…Damn it.’ His teeth clenched. “…I’m not running.” The words came out before he could stop them.

Arata glanced back briefly, one eyebrow raising.

Issei stepped forward, legs still shaking, but moving anyway. “I’m also staying.” Red light flared and the Boosted Gear materialized around his arm with a sharp pulse of power, the gauntlet locking into place with a metallic snap. His fear didn’t disappear but something else pushed through it.

(BOOST!)

Issei stepped up beside the Oni and the Yuki-Onna, his shaking hands clenching into fists.

Hikari glanced at him, surprised, then smirked faintly. “Well… guess we’re doing this.”

“Hyoudou, get back! Stop the heroics and move!” Moriyama barked, but he quickly realized the futility of the command. The lead Spinecrawlers were covering ground with terrifying speed; they would be on them before the injured father could even reach the Humvee’s door. His jaw tightened. “…Damn it.” Moriyama made a split-second tactical decision. “Kisaragi! Takahashi! Get that family into the vehicle and prep the engine! We buy you the seconds you need!”

“On it, Sarge!” Kisaragi and Takahashi hoisted the father, half-carrying him toward the safety of the armored truck. The mother meanwhile followed pulling her two kids with her.

“No stopping. No turning back. You get them inside and you do not engage unless necessary. Understood?!”

“Understood!” The medic and soldier continued pulling the family with them, fast, urgent and desperate.

Moriyama turned back to the others. “We hold them here.” Rifle raised, breathing steadying.

The pack was almost on them now. Thirty meters. Twenty.

Moriyama took aim and the staccato roar of 5.56mm rounds filled the street, picking off the lead spinecrawlers in sprays of black ichor. Beside him, Arata let out a tectonic war cry that seemed to shake the surrounding buildings. He swung his massive iron kanabo in a brutal horizontal arc, turning the first wave of monsters into a fine mist of shattered bone and grey pulp.

“Glaciate!” Hikari cried. She slammed her palms into the pavement, and a wave of absolute zero surged forward. The ground flash-froze in an eye-blink, turning the street into a treacherous mirror of ice. The charging Spinecrawlers lost their footing, their claws scraping uselessly as they skidded uncontrollably, sliding directly into the path of Issei’s glowing, red-hot fist.

The street transformed into a symphony of carnage as the first wave of Spinecrawlers continued charging forward.

Moriyama’s rifle was a constant, rhythmic staccato. Every time a spinecrawler tried to bypass the front line to reach Issei, a round found its eye socket or the soft tissue of its throat. “Keep your eyes front, Hyoudou!” he barked over the roar of gunfire. “Trust your flanks!”

Hikari moved with a lethal, chilling grace, her silver hair whipping around her like a halo of frost. As a cluster of five Spinecrawlers lunged toward her, she swept her arm in a wide arc. “Ice Thorns!”

With a sound like a thousand windows shattering at once, jagged pillars of ice erupted from the frozen pavement. The spears of frost were four feet long and sharp as obsidian, skewering the monsters mid-air. They shrieked as the ice pierced through their rotted bellies, their bodies suspended in a macabre display of frozen taxidermy. Those that survived the initial impalement found their limbs fused to the ground, howling as the supernatural cold began to blacken their flesh.

Arata was a whirlwind of brute force. He leaned into a massive horizontal swing, his iron kanabo whistling through the air before connecting with a Spinecrawler’s skull. The sound wasn't a thud; it was the sound of a burst melon hitting concrete. Bone fragments and brain matter splattered across the asphalt.

“Is that all you dogs have?!” Arata roared. He stepped into the heart of the pack, grabbing one creature by its serrated spine and slamming it into the ground with enough force to crack the street. He brought his club down in a vertical overhead strike, turning the monster into a flattened smear of ichor and crushed ribs.

Then, the gap in the line opened.

A Spinecrawler, smaller and faster than the others, skidded across Hikari’s ice, using the frozen corpses of its kin as stepping stones. It leaped over Arata’s shoulder, its unhinged jaws snapping inches from Issei’s face.

“Get… AWAY!” Issei screamed. He lunged forward, throwing a desperate, unrefined haymaker. His fist, encased in the glowing red armor, connected squarely with the Crawler’s chest. For a split second, the monster’s momentum stopped dead. Then, the creature’s ribcage buckled inward with a sickening crunch. It was launched backward with the force of a cannonball, tumbling fifty feet before crashing into a brick wall. Issei then stumbled, his arm felt like lead.

“One shot, kid? You’re gonna have to do better than that!” Arata laughed, though he moved instinctively to shield Issei’s left side, his club obliterating another Crawler that tried to capitalize on Issei’s exhaustion.

“I’m… working on it!” Issei panted, sweat stinging his eyes.

“Focus!” Moriyama yelled, his rifle clicking empty. He swapped magazines in a blurred, three-second motion. “Takahashi! Status!” He spoke to the walkie talkie.

“Civilians are in!” the medic’s voice crackled through the walkie-talkie. “We’re bringing the vehicle to you!”

“You heard the man!” Moriyama signaled. “Tactical retreat! Hikari, give us a wall!”

Hikari raised both hands, her silver hair standing on end as a massive blizzard began to swirl around her. “Frost Wall!” A ten-foot wall of jagged ice slammed down across the width of the street, momentarily cutting off the remaining pack.

“Run!” Moriyama commanded.

The four of them turned and bolted for the incoming Humvee, the engine roaring as it tore toward them. Issei ran harder than he ever had in his life, the adrenaline finally masking the dull ache in his arm. They dove into the back of the armored vehicle just as the first Spinecrawlers began clawing at the ice wall behind them.

The doors slammed shut. The world went silent, save for the heavy breathing of the squad.

Issei slumped against the metal wall, staring at his trembling hands. He was alive. The family was safe. He looked at the two kids, who were staring at him with wide, awe-struck eyes.

“Nice job, Hyoudou,” Kisaragi muttered from the front seat as the Humvee sped away. 

Issei simply leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes.

Done. Tell me what you think.