Chapter 3

Twelve Years Later

Year: 2022

Current Mission Location: Serbia

The world has changed worse, quieter, darker. But two names have endured every kind of hell they faced: Izagiri Amselman and Feona Leonhart.

Izagiri Amselman

Age: 22

Height: 186 cm

Weight: 91 kg

Traits: Cold and quiet, yet always knows what needs to be done. His body is riddled with old scars, but his eyes are as sharp as they were at ten years old.

Feona Leonhart

Age: 23

Height: 160 cm

Weight: 51.3 kg

Traits: Fierce and passionate, never able to stay silent in the face of injustice. Often acts as Izagiri's counterbalance and the only one who can make him laugh even in the darkest moments.

After the tragedy in Potsdam, they were rescued by a mysterious group while taking shelter beneath a rusty container truck, freezing and on the brink of unconsciousness. But the group wasn't military, nor any known national force. They were part of a secret organization operating beyond laws and governments—the Great Cleansing Organization, or G.C.O.

G.C.O. was no ordinary faction. They didn't demand oaths or blind loyalty. They didn't rule with iron fists. But they had one mission: to end the global outbreak in their own way even if it meant defying the world's powers. Within the organization, those who had lost everything were given one priceless thing: a chance.

Mission: Serbia, among the ruins of a once-living city.

Objective: Retrieve samples of a new type of Anomaly—more mutated, more intelligent.

The samples may be the key to a cure—or perhaps… a weapon.

After seven years of service, Izagiri and Feona had become top-tier operatives. Veterans of dozens of lethal missions, they'd cheated death more times than they could count. But fear had long since died. What remained was survival instinct and the bitter laughter shared between blood and flames.

In the frozen, silent forests of Serbia, Izagiri sat checking his gear. Not far off, Feona monitored a digital map, plotting escape routes in case of emergency.

"Target will arrive in two hours," Feona said, not turning around.

Izagiri nodded. His voice was heavy, cold. "If it's a new mutation, don't get too close. I'm not letting you become the next experiment."

Feona scoffed. "Well, maybe I'd be prettier after mutating?"

Izagiri glanced at her and raised an eyebrow. "You're pretty enough… for a zombie."

Feona shot him a glare, then threw her glove at his face. They chuckled quietly, the only laughter left in a world too tired to laugh.

But they both knew that laugh would soon be replaced by gunfire, the screams of Anomalies, and maybe… death.

But that wasn't new.

To them, the world was already hell.

And this hell had become their home.

They, Izagiri and Feona, were the two little demons born to fight within it.

And this mission… was only the beginning of something far greater.

Then, Izagiri lifted Feona with one arm like she weighed nothing. She gasped in shock.

"W-What the hell are you doing, idiot?! Put me down!" she shouted, flailing.

Izagiri chuckled. "Hahaha. I used to be the small one, and you always bragged about being 'older by a year.'" His tone was teasing, laced with nostalgia.

Feona smacked his head with her small fist, trying to hide the blush creeping onto her cheeks. Yet beneath her grumbling, she noticed something…

Izagiri's body had changed. He was no longer the annoying little boy she used to scold. He was tall now—broad-shouldered, his muscles clearly defined beneath tactical gear. For a second, Feona realized...

The brat had grown into a man she could depend on.

"I'm serious, Izagiri. Put me down…" Her voice softened, less forceful now.

But he simply smiled. "You used to protect me… now it's my turn. Besides, you're tiny."

"Hey!" Feona protested.

But she wasn't really mad. Because even though Izagiri's body and demeanor had changed… one thing hadn't—that smile. It was rarer now, no longer childish, but still warm and genuine. A smile that only appeared when she was around. Once cheerful, now faint—but real.

And in the cold ruins of Serbia, two people who grew up in hell… were still watching each other's backs.

They chuckled quietly. Even with the world in ruins, they could still share moments like this. And that was the reason they kept going.

Their footsteps echoed through piles of dead soldiers—men who once wore the same flag. The battle had ended recently. Blood still flowed from open wounds, weapons frozen in cold, lifeless hands. These men once fought to protect the world.

"We should go. Before they rise as Dread," Izagiri said, gazing at the corpses with eyes sharp, but mournful.

Feona didn't answer with words. She simply tightened her grip on her weapon—the click of it locking into place was loud in the silence. She nodded and moved forward, heading deeper into the heart of the haunted city.

Dread.

That was the name given to the beginning of this hell. Not mindless zombies like horror tales. Dread were the product of biological failure—human-made viruses mutating into something worse. They didn't wander aimlessly. They evolved. They learned.

And from the Dread came something even worse: Anomalies.

Monsters far removed from humanity, crossing the lines of nature into perfected predators—intelligent, fast, merciless. They killed not just out of hunger, but because their instincts told them to.

Izagiri and Feona knew each second in this city was a dance with death. But retreat wasn't an option. They were too deep. Too much blood had been spilled. Too many names carved into their memories.

Now, only they remained—with one goal:

Secure the mutation sample. And return—if they could.

Their steps echoed silently through crumbling streets lost to time. Neither spoke. A single sound could awaken nightmares.

Dread and Anomalies had one weakness: sound.

They were blind, but could hear a heartbeat from hundreds of meters away. Some Anomalies had evolved further, seeing in total darkness, but even so… sound was death's invitation.

For years, high-frequency bursts had been used to disable Dread momentarily. But Anomalies? They weren't so easily fooled. In fact, some responded with greater aggression, turning sound into a massacre trigger.

So G.C.O. took a radical step, fusing technology and ancient legacy: magic.

Not the fairytale kind, but a fundamental form of energy, sealed away by ancient civilizations and now refined with scientific precision. This magic was crystallized into energy cores, fused with gunpowder, creating bullets with stunning effects—nerve disruptors, mutation suppressors, and neutralizers.

From this fusion came the weapon that defined the age:

"Arbitrator Hope"

The weapon of Arbiters, the judges of humanity's fate.

Each Arbitrator Hope was equipped with advanced silencing systems, allowing for stealth operations. But more than that, it held a deeper meaning:

This weapon wasn't just for killing. It was a choice.

To protect the innocent or to slaughter for survival.

Izagiri slung his rifle over his shoulder, eyeing the faint blue arcane lens near its barrel.

Feona watched him silently, realizing the world had forged them not just into warriors, but judges.

And before them, the mission in Serbia wasn't just about retrieving a sample…

It was about proving whether hope was still worth fighting for.

The military vest issued by G.C.O wasn't just body armor—it was a hybrid of arcane magic and cutting-edge technology, engineered to shield the Arbiters in the hellscape of this world.

The fourth-generation vests now worn by G.C.O soldiers came equipped with bio-acoustic disruption features: a system designed to suppress the internal sounds of the human body—

– Heartbeats

– Blood flow

– Heavy breathing

—all manipulated through high-frequency illusions perceptible only to creatures like Dread and Anomalies.

To ordinary humans, the sound was nonexistent. But to those monsters, it was as if the soldiers had vanished from auditory existence.

This preventative measure wasn't just for mission success—it was a tribute to the lives of soldiers, even in failure. Because G.C.O didn't see its soldiers as pawns, but as the last flickers of humanity's hope.

And now, out of the ten operatives deployed to Serbia, only two remained.

Captain Izagiri Amselman, known in the underworld as the Reaper.

A young man standing at 186 cm, exuding a calm yet dangerous aura. On the battlefield, he was not just a sniper or a tactical leader. He was an executioner. In a prior mission, he slaughtered 87 Dread with his bare hands in a single night. Twisted necks. Shattered bones. All silent. All merciless.

Legends claimed his physical strength was abnormal—some even believed he was the first successful hybrid between human and magic.

Feona Leonhart, the Silent Killer.

Slender, fast, and deadly quiet. If Izagiri was a storm in daylight, Feona was a shadow in pitch-black night. She struck before her target even realized she was there. Armed with a modified Arbitrator Hope rifle for close combat and a small dagger inscribed with tissue-destroying runes, Feona was a nightmare for the unwary.

Now, these two walked back into the heart of Serbia.

Carrying not just the mission's burden, but the rage of fallen comrades and the unshakable belief that as long as they drew breath, no creature of darkness had the right to rule this world.

Amid the ruins of a silent, death-scented city, Izagiri and Feona crouched behind a half-collapsed wall. Before them crawled a monstrous creature, bloated and grotesque. Headless, with a chest gaping open like a mouth large enough to swallow the world.

Izagiri squinted and whispered, "That the one Miss Cessia mentioned?"

Feona shot him a glare. "Idiot. It's Professor Cessia," she hissed.

Izagiri shrugged casually. "She didn't want me to call her 'professor.' Said it made her feel old."

Feona scoffed, then whispered in a teasing tone, "Then call me your beloved big sister."

"Yeah, yeah… beloved big sister…" Izagiri muttered lazily.

Feona pouted and pinched his cheek. "Say it like you mean it!"

Even with death lurking just meters away, the tiny laughter between their whispers made the ruined world feel a little warmer.

Still crouched behind the dust-covered, moss-streaked concrete, Izagiri just smiled calmly as his cheek was pinched. What should have been a tense moment turned briefly lighthearted—just like it always was when the two were together.

Meanwhile, the grotesque creature continued to crawl, its movement jerky—like a spider with a gaping mouth ready to devour anything. Its flesh pulsed, like muscles that didn't know when to stop. The stench of rot stabbed at their noses.

Feona turned quickly, her voice low but sharp. "That's a Reaver Maw. A new type of Anomaly. Professor Cessia—uh, your darling Cessia—said it can detect air pressure from movement. So staying still isn't an option. We have to move gently."

Izagiri exhaled slowly. "Gently? I'm a human, not a silk ribbon."

Feona gave him a death glare. "Silk doesn't complain."

Izagiri stifled a chuckle, bowed his head slightly, and activated his vest's stealth mode. A faint blue shimmer appeared before fading again.

"All right, beloved big sister. Get ready to run if it starts chewing the ground," Izagiri teased.

Feona rolled her eyes, but her cheeks tinted pink. "You're such a... ugh. Focus."

The creature suddenly froze. Its breath hissed through slits of open flesh all over its body. As if it could smell fear… or presence.

And in that moment, the air stood still.

Feona tightened her grip on her weapon. Izagiri tensed.

In a world ripped apart by plagues and devastation, sometimes... a bit of laughter was the last remnant of being human.

Feona aimed with precision, then fired a round into the creature's leg. A small thump echoed. The beast didn't scream but it reacted wildly, thrashing with violent spasms like a wounded predator.

Without a signal, Izagiri dashed forward, a shadow come alive. He struck the creature with a powerful kick, then followed up with a blow to its gaping torso. In a brutal motion, he grabbed one of the beast's limbs and tore it apart by sheer force.

The creature convulsed, then finally lay still.

Feona lowered her weapon, blew a strand of hair from her forehead, and muttered, "Beating it was easy. Finding it? That's the real nightmare."

Izagiri chuckled softly, standing beside her with the creature's blood dripping from his gauntlet. Though they were used to it by now, the truth was undeniable this world still had no shortage of fresh horrors.

Izagiri reached out and retrieved a syringe from a special pocket in his bag. But the moment his fingers touched the cold metal, the air around them suddenly shifted.

The wind, which had previously whispered softly, now felt heavy and pressing—like something, or someone, was watching them from the shadows of the ruins.

Feona instinctively gripped her weapon tightly, her eyes silently scanning the surroundings. She remained calm, but her movements showed complete readiness.

"Izagiri, I've got a bad feeling. Let's move," she whispered, alert but steady. She glanced toward her partner, her eyes flashing a warning.

Izagiri gave a quick nod. "Alright," he replied tersely, slipping the syringe into its safety case. They moved at once not in haste, but with deliberate caution, like two hunters who knew they had become the hunted.

Their footsteps slowly descended the broken staircase into the streets swallowed by silence. The air grew denser, the atmospheric pressure felt doubled, and their instincts sharpened by seven years on the frontline of death, screamed wordlessly. Feona looked right, Izagiri left, and in a single shared breath, they continued forward.

But then, in the blink of an eye…

Izagiri moved fast. His hand pulled Feona's body toward him in one smooth yet forceful motion, wrapping around her tightly as he dropped to the dusty ground.

"Brakhhh!"

The earth behind them exploded from a heavy impact. Dust burst into the air, small rocks scattered, and a grotesque dragging noise like raw meat laced with rusted metal, echoed through the ruins.

Feona's eyes widened. "What was that—?!"

Izagiri turned quickly, eyes sharp, and remarked in a voice that was light in tone but tight with tension,

"Oi oi, no one told me Reaver Maws could team up."

The sight before them was a horror undefined: ten massive creatures crawling out from the shadows of the rubble, their hulking bodies shifting slowly with an ear-splitting squelch. They were all... Anomalies.

Each one shared a grotesque form—headless monstrosities with bloated, decaying flesh, and chests that split open into gaping jaws filled with dull, jagged teeth. Some of them dragged long, tongue-like appendages across the ground from within those chest-mouths, as if tasting for prey through the earth itself.

The atmosphere turned suffocating.

No wind. No sound. Only the low growls from those gaping mouths, and the trembling of the earth as they crawled forward.

Feona swallowed hard, scanning the path behind them but the exits were already being cut off.

"Izagiri, we're surrounded."

Izagiri slowly stood, pulling Feona behind him. His expression was calm, but the tension in his shoulders said everything.

"No wonder… No wonder they sent us, and no wonder we're the only two still alive."

This mission wasn't just a sample retrieval.

This… was a cleansing execution.

And maybe—the final test of trust from the G.C.O to the Reaper and the Silent Killer.