Hybrids

With Captain Owen spearheading the assault, the tide was swiftly parted. The Flux barrier encasing him shimmered like a mantle of authority, repelling the acidic mist and deflecting stray projectiles with ease.

The closer they drew to the defensive perimeter, the more intense the battlefield became. Explosions erupted in their wake, searing light and kinetic shockwaves clearing entire waves of Abhorrents. Soldiers flanked Owen, fending off Fleshspawns with tight formation. Their advance was a coordinated push, unrelenting and clean.

Amid the haze of acid and smoke, Asrel stood holding the front. He sensed the surge of powerful Flux long before the reinforcements became visible and he instantly recognized it. His instincts screamed that whoever was approaching had reached at least the Harmonized Core stage. Possibly beyond.

Asrel dialed back the use of his hidden abilities, letting only known powers flare through. His movements became more conservative, disguising his true potential.

Then he saw him. A tall figure clad in reinforced armor, the pattern and emblem unmistakable.

'That must be Captain Owen,' Asrel thought, watching the man dispatch a Brute with a single explosive strike. He didn't know the face, but the raw presence matched the stories.

Owen's control over Flux was effortless. When the acidic mist surged too close, he simply extended his arm and let a controlled shockwave ripple outward, clearing the air in an instant. His battlefield command was precise, every motion wasted none of his energy, every movement served a purpose. It was a performance of refined power.

The tide had thinned, less than a thousand Abhorrents remained, scattered and disorganized. Asrel saw the opportunity and approached.

He raised a hand in salute. "Captain!"

Owen slowed, taking a sharp glance at the bloodied young man before him. "What's the situation in the site?"

"They're holding, but the other front is still swarmed. I took this side so they could focus their efforts there," Asrel reported calmly.

"Good work. Let's finish this." Owen gave a firm nod.

Together, the two forces pressed forward. Owen led the charge as they closed in on the gates of the mining site.

A lookout on the wall above cried out, "The reinforcements are here!"

Relief surged through the defenders. The gates groaned as they opened. Owen was the first to stride in, coated in dust and streaks of corrosive mist. Every soldier inside turned, snapping into salute the moment they recognized his emblem.

"Where's Captain Jenna?" Owen asked immediately, his voice cutting through the noise.

"Sir," one soldier stepped forward, urgency in his tone. "Captain Jenna is currently engaged on the northern front. She's fighting something… different. A hybrid Abhorrent."

Owen's eyes narrowed beneath his visor. "A hybrid?"

"Yes, sir. It's not like the others. We've never seen one like it."

Owen turned. "Looks like we arrived just in time."

"Some of you stay here and defend. The rest, come with me," Owen commanded, his voice leaving no room for hesitation.

The group split without delay. Those remaining behind quickly repositioned to hold the gate, while the rest fell in behind Owen, moving swiftly through the heart of the mining town. Asrel followed, eyes scanning the surroundings with quiet disbelief.

Just weeks ago, this place had been a rough cluster of ruins. Now it resembled a true forward stronghold. Reinforced barricades framed every street. Modular watchtowers stood tall above newly installed lighting grids.

They passed by teams of engineers and miners who had taken up emergency roles, hauling supplies, tending to the wounded, recharging weapon systems. Asrel noted their grim determination; even those not meant to fight were doing everything they could to support the defenders.

Owen didn't slow down.

He led them toward the northern end of the compound, where the walls loomed taller and the air grew heavier with the scent of burning flesh and ozone.

At the base of the wall, he called out, "Status?"

A nearby soldier turned, helmet scratched and armor scorched. "This side is being overwhelmed, sir. Too many hybrids. Captain Jenna is out there, holding them back."

Owen's expression darkened. Without a word, he marched up the nearest stairway to the top of the wall, and the others followed.

When they reached the summit, the full extent of the situation revealed itself.

The northern front was a storm of violence.

Fleshspawns surged in waves, clawing over one another just to get a chance at the defenders. Brutes hurled debris at the walls, and amidst the chaos, the true threat loomed, hybrids.

Twisted forms moved with inhuman speed and precision. Some bore multiple limbs, some emitted a hum like warped energy cores. Others had armor fused into their skin, with glowing runes pulsing faintly beneath it.

Compared to the southern battle, this was something else entirely.

Owen's jaw tightened as his gaze locked onto one of the hybrids. Its skin shimmered with a dark iridescence, and something about its movements triggered an old memory.

"Those bastards…" he muttered, voice laced with fury. "What are they up to now?"

He leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "These hybrids… they have characteristics of a Darkling."

The name seemed to hang in the air.

Asrel glanced at Rook beside him. "What's a Darkling?" he asked, voice low.

Rook shook his head, eyes still on the battlefield. "I have no idea. Never even heard the term."

Asrel frowned, gaze flicking back to the enemy lines. If even Rook, an experienced Diver, had never heard the term, then it wasn't public knowledge.

'So there's more to this war than they're telling the people…'

Below them, Captain Jenna danced through the battlefield like a blade in the storm. Her attacks carved glowing arcs through the hybrids, but even she was being pushed to her limit.

And for the first time since Asrel had awakened in this future, he felt the weight of something larger, an enemy far more complex than he initially thought.

"Some of you stay on the walls and hold the line!" Owen's voice rang out over the chaos. "The rest of you, drop down and reinforce the frontline. I'll push forward and link up with Captain Jenna to handle the hybrids!"

His orders left no room for hesitation. Within seconds, teams split into action. Those best suited for ranged combat dug in along the battlements, manning heavy rifles and turrets, while close-quarters fighters vaulted down to the blood-soaked ground below. Among them was Asrel who landed and moved without pause into the melee.

The northern battlefield was pure bedlam. Abhorrents swarmed toward the walls in endless waves, twisted Fleshspawns clawing over fallen kin, Brutes smashing apart wreckage to clear a path. But scattered among them were the true threats: Hybrids.

These monstrosities loomed taller, their forms both arcane and engineered, patchworks of corrupted biomass fused with darkened metal, glowing runes pulsing along their chests.

Asrel wasn't interested in watching from behind the line.

With his blade crackling faintly, he surged forward. Each motion was clean, every strike precise. His sword cleaved through Fleshspawns like parchment, cutting down swathes with arcing slashes. Every step he took cleared more ground, the bodies piling in his wake.

Around the walls, a key defense mechanism was in place, air-vent towers lined the base, blasting concentrated streams outward. These created buffer zones where the acidic mist dispersed before it could reach the Flux barrier surrounding the town. It allowed defenders to breathe and fire safely, preventing the acidic mist from weakening the wall's containment matrix.

But Asrel wasn't staying in the safe zone.

He pushed past it, straight into the contaminated field. Where the mist thickened and the ground reeked of decay, he advanced alone, blade flashing like a signal fire. The corrupted air clung to his tattered suit, and though holes in the fabric revealed flesh, he kept moving unfazed.

"Who the hell is that guy?" one of the reinforcements muttered, lowering his rifle for just a second. "He's not even wearing a helmet… and he's breathing fine in the mist?"

They had seen him before, briefly, but in the heat of battle they hadn't grasped what set him apart. Now, watching him stride through Miasma rich atmosphere like it was nothing, they began to realize this wasn't normal.

A few heads turned, murmurs growing.

Perched along the upper parapet, Lira chambered another shot into her rifle. Through her scope, she followed Asrel's movements, smooth, confident, untouchable. She didn't need to look twice to recognize him.

"That's Asrel," she called down, voice calm over comms. "He's Blessed. The kind that doesn't go down easy."

"Blessed with Miasma immunity?" someone asked.

"Something like that," Lira said. "Just don't get in his way."

Below, Asrel carved his path through the swarm with brutal efficiency, not just thinning the tide but drawing its attention. The hybrids noticed. Three of them turned his way, shrieking in distorted frequencies.

Asrel narrowed his eyes.

Asrel's eyes narrowed the moment the three hybrids broke from the tide.

Unlike the lumbering Brutes or erratic Fleshspawns, these were different, faster, and terrifyingly precise. Each one bore a distinct form: one had elongated limbs with bone-like protrusions, another was bulkier, hunched with thick armored plating, and the third moved low and serpentine, its limbs shifting unnaturally. But they shared one trait, veins of pulsing black energy coursing through their flesh, like a corrupted circulatory system illuminated from within.

Dark lines, sharp and deliberate, glowed faintly beneath their skin.

They moved fast and closed in on Asrel with eerie coordination. Unlike typical Abhorrents that charged without thought, these creatures flanked, feinted, and reacted. Their attacks weren't wild swings of rage but deliberate strikes.

Asrel reinforced his Flux barrier just in time to intercept a trio of crushing blows. Sparks erupted as the hybrids' limbs struck his shield, the impact forceful enough to vibrate the ground. Each hit was infused with that same black energy, a flickering, unnatural power that reminded Asrel of something long buried in memory.

"They're stronger than Brutes," he muttered, eyes scanning the rhythm of their movements. "Smarter, too."

He held back offensively for now, letting them hammer against his defense. He wanted to study them, feel out the source of this dark power, observe their patterns. The dark energy that surged through them wasn't overwhelming, but it was focused, compact. Not ambient like Miasma.

And yet, imperfect.

'Still unstable,' he thought, sidestepping a sweeping kick from the plated one. 'Experimental. Captain Owen didn't expect these. This is likely the first encounter with these hybrids.'

He pivoted, parried a strike from the serpentine hybrid, and planted his foot firmly into the armored one's chest to create space.

Enough observation.

Now, it was his turn.

Three knives, sleek, black, and laced with Chaos, rose from Asrel's belt and hovered in the air like waiting predators. With a thought, they launched.

The hybrids reacted instantly, each attempting to dodge. But the knives weren't ordinary projectiles, they twisted midair, bending toward the hybrids' trajectories, seeking them like bloodhounds. One struck clean through a plated chest. Another pierced the base of a malformed neck. The third embedded itself in the gut of the serpentine one.

Upon contact, Chaos bloomed.

It erupted like wildfire, tendrils of writhing crimson energy racing across the hybrid bodies, crawling into the seams between flesh and armor. The hybrids screamed. A low, vibrating wail echoed from their throats as their forms began to unravel.

Then, Asrel felt it.

Deep inside them, something pulsed back against his Chaos, three unstable cores. Compact, artificial and constructed from the same black energy coursing through their veins. He didn't hesitate. His Chaos seeped inward, surrounding the cores, binding and isolating them while the hybrid hosts disintegrated into mist and ash.

All that remained were the cores, glowing lumps of pure dark essence, hovering in the wake of destruction.

Asrel extended a hand. Tendrils of Chaos, fine, hair-thin threads glowing faintly with shifting hues, crawled forth from Asrel's outstretched hand. They wrapped themselves around the Dark Core like silk around stone, probing its surface, then burrowing inward.

As the Chaos invaded the foreign energy, Asrel's senses sharpened and he felt it.

It pulsed with a deep, unnatural rhythm. Its steady thrum was a quiet purity, something unmistakably refined. 

This wasn't like the magic of a Dark mage. This was closer to the primal foundation of Dark Magic itself.

In the Magic Era, wielding elemental power required a mage to be attuned to the element itself. Fire, water, wind, earth, each demanded understanding, harmony, and a conversion process. Mana had to be shaped, tuned to the appropriate wavelength, and only then could a spell be cast.

Dark Magic had followed the same rule. The caster had to channel Mana and force it into alignment with shadow and entropy, transforming it into Dark Mana through intent and mastery. But that process always relied on conversion, the transformation of one essence into another.

This Dark Core was different.

Asrel could tell immediately, it hadn't been converted from anything. It wasn't made from Mana. It was the source. It radiated the raw, undiluted essence of darkness, as if someone had torn it directly from the fabric of the void and caged it inside a vessel.

Compared to it, Dark Mana was a pale imitation.

And then Asrel felt it.

A thread a tether. Almost imperceptible.

Like the faint tug of a spider's silk caught in the wind, something within the core was reaching, or being reached.

It was subtle, hidden beneath layers of power, but undeniably there. The core wasn't inert. It wasn't just a battery of dark power. It was linked. Not to the hybrids. Not to each other. But to something distant.

Asrel narrowed his eyes, focusing.

Whatever this energy was, it wasn't acting on its own.