NEW TEAM
Chapter 57
New team
He stepped into the familiar space that was the practical class hall.
The air hadn't changed—stale, metallic, buzzing faintly with distant machinery—but everything else had.
IAM's eyes swept over the hall, this once-overlooked room carved deep into the heart of the hold. A place that used to feel noisy, full of tension and motion, but still warm in a way he hadn't appreciated until it was gone. Now, it felt too wide. Too hollow. A skeletal shell of what used to be. The light above flickered once, and he noticed it cast five shadows that were no longer there.
He inhaled softly, gaze dropping to the floor.
Beside him, Kepa raised an arm and pointed silently to the left hallway.
"This way," he said. His voice was steady, but his eyes told another story. Slightly red. Glossy.
IAM wondered if Kepa had cried earlier. If he had hidden it somewhere in a corner of the base, in silence.
He didn't ask. There were some things you didn't need to say aloud.
IAM gave a small nod and followed.
Their boots echoed together in rhythm, a quiet beat across the polished steel floor. Every step forward dragged more of the past behind them. When they reached the group in the designated meeting area, IAM's pace slowed.
His eyes landed on a new cluster of figures waiting ahead.
His new team.
There were five of them in total.
As they drew closer IAM noticed a strange look in thier eyes....
Three Descendants of the Elf: two women and one man. The women stood close each other, both with pale skin and sharp angular features. One had long brown hair tied into an efficient braid. The other wore her raven-black curls in a loose ponytail that bounced with each movement. Two other women stood slightly off to the side, the Descendants of the Sorcerer. One had a black bob, with light brown skin and the other with a long brown hair that reached her back, she had a tall stature.
The elf descent man stepped forward confidently.
He looked to be in his late twenties, with a neatly buzzed haircut that revealed a strong browline and the faintest scar over one eye. His brown eyes were warm but calculating. He carried himself like someone who'd never slacked a day in his life. At six feet tall, with a frame built on lean muscle and posture sharpened by experience, His face was unremarkable in the way that made him oddly approachable—brown eyes, steady gaze, and a faint, polite smile. He offered his hand.
"It's an honor to meet a survivor of a Devil. And at the novice level too... that's almost unheard of."
IAM's expression cooled slightly.
There it was—the look. He realized now what the strange looks in their eyes had been. That mixture of curiosity and distant awe. The look people gave celebrities they'd only heard about in whispers.
Recognition.
It was the kind of look people gave when they'd heard stories. When someone's name arrived before they did. It wasn't personal—it was mythic. Detached. Like staring at a photograph of someone who'd lost everyone and still lived.
A mix of amazement. Curiosity.
And ignorance.
It felt wrong. It felt… shallow.
They weren't there. They hadn't seen it. And yet now he was branded by it, whether he wanted to be or not.
IAM didn't want to be a myth. He didn't want to be known for surviving something he still didn't understand. He didn't feel brave. He didn't feel strong. He just felt… guilty.
But he bit his tongue.
This was his new team. First impressions mattered. He couldn't afford to start on the wrong foot.
"How do you know about that?" he asked, voice low. "I thought it was supposed to be kept secret."
A flicker of something passed through the man's eyes—surprise, then understanding. He gave a short laugh, stepping back politely.
"About thirty minutes ago, they made an announcement," he explained. "Said a Devil had breached one of the perimeters. They calmed everyone down by telling us three elite teams swept the ten-mile radius. Cleared it out. We'll be allowed to return to missions in a few days."
IAM frowned slightly. That was strange.
He had no illusions about what they'd seen. That attack hadn't been random. There had been method behind the madness. Timing. Precision. And yet they were going to send teams back into the field after a single sweep? Especially with the hidden threat... But again maybe there was something that IAM was missing.
"...Oh. I see," IAM said finally.
The man nodded. "My name's Jason, by the way."
"IAM. Nice to meet you."
Jason turned, gesturing casually to the others. "That's Liora," he pointed to the black -haired elf descendent , who inclined her head silently. "And that's Amie." The black-haired elf gave a small wave.
"Those two," he said, pointing to the Sorcerer Descendants, "are Mirin and Taye."
Mirin was short and slender, with a serene look, her black bob framing her face . Taye stood, her arms crossed, her long hair trailing faintly behind her like smoke.
Jason turned back. "This is Team 267890."
IAM gave a nod to each one, offering a respectful greeting. They didn't say much in return. They were watching him the way people watched something they didn't know how to handle yet.
Jason clapped once, suddenly all business. "So—I've looked over your file, IAM. And I've made a decision. Given your range and your combat ability, I want you in the rear guard. Your role will be cover and overwatch. Our team doesn't have a dedicated healer, so you'll be that support layer between the rest of us and whatever's coming. Gun ready. keep an eye out for any backline threats."
IAM nodded. That made sense. It wasn't glamorous, but it was important. And honestly, it suited him just fine.
It would take a while to get used to this new group, but… he would have to try.
One Week Later
IAM stood a few miles from the Hold, his new team arrayed ahead of him.
They were in the Deadline again.
Not far now.
Everything was quiet. Not the terrifying quiet of before—just the stillness before action. His team was preparing.
IAM crouched behind a warped ridge of blackened grey stone, eyes narrowed as he watched the sight in front of him .
The Deadline stretched around them like a graveyard. Dead fog. Cold wind. The sky above choked with clouds that hung too low, pressing against the world like a lid. A soft, unnatural clicking echoed in the distance—the sound of creatures skittering over stone, not quite alive, not quite born.
Spawnlings.
IAM and his team were miles from the Hold, deep in the Deadline again. This was their first real mission together. And IAM's first time facing a Deadline creature since… since that mission.
He hadn't forgotten. He could still hear the wails. The tearing. The screams.
He blinked. Shook it off. He hadn't forgotten but the pain had faded.
He breathed through his nose. Steadied his heart.
Ahead, Jason gave a low whistle and raised a hand signal. They were moving into position.
The spawnlings had gathered—eight of them, bone-thin things with jagged limbs and crooked movements. They made no sound other than the clicking. No mouths. Just holes. They looked like some form of spiders. They were blind only making their way around by vibrations from their clicking.
IAM exhaled. Slowly.
This was it.
His first battle with the new team.