POV: Michael
The sky was the color of bruised steel, layered with dense clouds that threatened rain at any moment. The kind of sky that always seemed too quiet before something terrible happened.
The helicopters had dropped them off half a klick from the perimeter, fading into the clouds as quickly as they'd come. Now, seventy-eight DARKOM operatives—fully geared and silent—moved as one through the forest.
Night vision goggles flicked on with soft hums. The world turned into a sickly wash of green and black. Trees loomed like watching figures. Every snap of a branch or shift of leaves put nerves on edge.
Michael stayed near the rear of Group Three, rifle secured to his chest. Finger resting near the trigger. Every step was practiced, silent.
Sergeant Steve's voice crackled through the comms. "Eyes up. No mistakes."
POV: Briefing Room – Hours Earlier
The underground room had been filled to the last seat. No one spoke. Everyone knew when Baines stepped into the room that something serious was about to be said.
He stood like he always did—immaculate posture, hands behind his back, eyes scanning the room like a blade measuring its next cut.
The only light came from the tactical holograms projected in front of him.
"This mission," Baines said, voice clipped and cold, "is designated Operation Black Sunder."
A low shift of boots echoed in the room.
"It is the largest deployment in this organization's history."
Michael sat toward the back, still and unreadable.
"We've identified five Class-B demons in Sector 7G. One of them is a mimic-type—it can replicate itself. Copies are illusions but close enough to fool most sensors. One is heavily armored—resistant to all conventional ammo. One manipulates high-frequency sound. One is built for piercing—spiked limbs designed to shred armor. And the fifth…"
He paused, then tapped the display. It flickered over an incomplete profile. "Unknown. Likely the alpha."
Murmurs buzzed for a split second before dying out.
Baines continued. "You're being deployed in six teams, each led by senior operatives. Your goal is simple—eliminate all threats. Capture one alive if possible. But if you die, make sure it's with purpose. God's plan does not accommodate hesitation."
His eyes scanned the room once more.
"Dismissed."
Present – Forest
"Target zone in visual," Steve's voice murmured.
Michael scanned through the trees.
The terrain shifted the deeper they went. The bark on the trees looked diseased, coated in glowing patches of fungus. The soil had turned darker—slick, almost oily. Something deep in the earth pulsed with demonic energy, faint but constant.
Every branch creaked too loudly. Every gust of wind felt like a breath against the back of the neck.
Then, it happened.
A scout near the front—Jackson—twitched violently, convulsed, and hit the ground with a thud.
Then the forest exploded.
Something lunged out of the underbrush. Thin frame, jagged limbs, crimson skin, blades for arms. Its eyes shone like molten metal.
It sliced through two more operatives before anyone moved.
"AMBUSH!" Steve shouted.
Gunfire followed.
Muzzle flashes stung the shadows. The sharp crack of rifles echoed through the trees. Bullets tore bark from trunks. A scream rang out. Then another.
POV: Squad Two – Evie
Evie dropped behind a splintered log, boots skidding through wet soil.
"What the hell—"
She didn't finish the thought.
Hovering above the trees was something barely humanoid. Long-limbed. Floating. Its jaw split open unnaturally wide.
It screamed.
The air around her shook—soundwaves rippling so hard they nearly cracked her goggles.
"Soundcaster!" someone called out.
Evie didn't hesitate. She switched to the white-tipped suppressor rounds and aimed.
Two direct shots.
Center mass.
No effect.
Then came Michael's voice through the comms—calm, direct: "Aim for the throat."
She adjusted, fired once more.
The round struck under the jaw. The thing's head snapped back—and it crumpled, silent.
Evie exhaled sharply, adrenaline buzzing through her chest.
POV: Michael
He moved through the trees like a ghost, heart steady.
But they were already losing.
From his position he could count six bodies—DARKOM operatives. Group Five had gone silent. Squad Two was retreating in bursts.
The mimic hadn't even shown itself.
"Left flank!" Steve shouted.
Michael pivoted just in time to see a brute demon charging through the brush. Muscle packed under dark red hide. Huge claws. Hunger in its eyes.
Three controlled bursts from Michael's rifle slowed it. Not enough.
Steve moved in from the side, blade flashing, and slashed deep across the demon's chest.
It screeched and collapsed, flailing in the leaves.
"Regroup!" Steve barked. "Fall back to Ridge Two!"
Only a dozen followed.
POV: Demon Scout – Tharnak
Tharnak perched in the upper branches of a dying tree, crouched low and grinning.
Pathetic.
The humans screamed and scrambled like animals. They thought their weapons made them strong.
They hadn't even seen the real enemy yet.
Except one.
Tharnak's nostrils flared.
That one, near the rear—his blood smelled different.
There was something old in him.
Something buried.
'Interesting.'
POV: Michael
They reached Ridge Two—a narrow elevation between jagged hills, overlooking the smoking battlefield.
Of the thirty assigned to their sector, only ten remained.
Four of them were badly hurt—dragged by their comrades, bleeding through their armor.
Steve knelt by a rock, syncing his map with the satellite feed.
"Squad One—gone. Squad Six isn't responding. Squad Four is pinned. We're surrounded."
Michael crouched beside him, breathing slow.
"We're being funneled."
Steve nodded grimly. "They're herding us. Trying to split us up."
He looked up, locking eyes with Michael.
"If you get separated—don't come back for us. Clear?"
Michael didn't answer. Just gave a single nod.
Steve understood.
Then—
BOOM.
The explosion ripped through the ridge. Fire arced through the trees. A shockwave burst through the brush.
Michael's ears rang.
The howl that followed wasn't just noise.
It was presence.
Power.
Something arrived.
Michael pushed up from where he'd hit the ground, vision flickering.
Far across the battlefield, shadows moved.
One figure stepped into view—tall, pale-skinned, with shifting outlines.
It split into three. Then five.
Then ten.
The mimic.