Verusa Island – Tupaya Police Post – Operations Room – 5:47 p.m.
The chalkboard was full—grid maps, red Xs, time blocks. The overhead fan creaked on its slow rotation, barely fighting the tropical heat. Officer boots tapped against the tile floor. Rifles were being cleaned. Drones tested. Tactical vests strapped on.
Agung stood over a topographic map of Bukit Lengu, pointing at a barely marked curve of terrain.
"There's an old smuggler's tunnel here," he said, tapping the faded lines. "Southwest of the hill. Behind a collapsed greenhouse—what's left of Suryana's experimental herb farm. The locals say it connects to the hotel's lower level—probably the old wine cellars or service quarters."
Kato raised an eyebrow. "How reliable is that?"
Agung's eyes flicked up, calm and sharp. "I spent last night decoding shipment manifests from when Mahesa imported construction supplies. Two extra crates of limestone. No building permit covered that much stone. It went somewhere hidden."
Inspector Damar crossed his arms. "And you want to send six men through a tunnel that may or may not be stable?"
"We don't want to," Agung said flatly. "We have to. If someone—or something—is watching the tree lines or old main roads, we need an entrance they won't expect. This gives us stealth."
He looked around the room. "Gear up. Load for containment, not kill. This isn't a war. It's a surgical sweep."
Somewhere Deep in Bukit Lengu – Grand Suryana Compound – 5:47 p.m.
The moon hadn't risen, but the woman didn't need light. She stood on a stone balcony overlooking the tangled forest of Bukit Lengu, the jungle stretching far and black beneath the bleeding horizon.
In her hand, a crystal glass shimmered with a red liquid—thick, dark, clinging to the curves like syrup. Her eyes narrowed at nothing and everything. The wind teased her midnight-black hair, long and silky, combed to flow like ink behind her.
Her dress was a statement: obsidian black with a deep red lining, slit high along her right thigh like a whisper of danger. Her legs were smooth and toned, perched in matching black-and-red heels that clicked lightly against the marble. The fabric hugged her hourglass figure without mercy. The neckline plunged with elegance and boldness, just enough to show the line between her breasts—a line that commanded attention and kept it there.
She smiled faintly. The kind of smile that made silence feel too loud.
"They'll come through the tunnel," she said, voice smooth as velvet dipped in poison. "Southwest entrance. 0400 hours. Six men. One drone. Standard field formation. Their leader is the one with the clever mind… Agung."
Behind her, five men stood in a perfect line. Black suits, black shirts, black ties. Dark sunglasses, even though the sun was dying and there was no need for shade.
One of them spoke. "Shall we intercept, Madame?"
She tilted her head slightly. "No. Let them in. Let them see what they've come for. Let them count how many we've become."
She sipped from the glass. Licked a trace from her lower lip, pleased.
"We've reached five hundred and thirty-two now," she murmured. "And tomorrow, we'll add six more."
The men said nothing.
Her eyes flicked back to the jungle, lips curving in anticipation.
"Verusa Island is waking up. They just don't know it yet."
Ten minutes had passed since the first message.
Ten minutes of pure agony.
Ethan lay twisted on the hospital bed, body slick with sweat, teeth clenched so hard he thought they might shatter. His pulse thundered in his ears—until it didn't.
Then came the red light again, burning through the dark like a scar across his vision.
[RESTRUCTURING: 15% COMPLETE]
[Begin adaptation sequence.]
And then—
The fire hit.
A raw, searing pain tore through his gut like he'd swallowed lava. His spine arched involuntarily. His fingers clawed at the sheets. It was as if every inch of muscle, every bone, every cell, was being melted down and forged anew.
[RESTRUCTURING: 27% COMPLETE]
[Muscular reconfiguration initiated.]
He bit his tongue trying not to scream, but the taste of blood flooded his mouth anyway.
His muscles spasmed uncontrollably. Bones popped. Ligaments stretched and snapped back like tightening cables. It wasn't just pain—it was violence, happening inside him.
[RESTRUCTURING: 49% COMPLETE]
[Nervous system override successful.]
[Warning: Human pain threshold exceeded.]
Ethan's vision flickered. Colors inverted. The ceiling was pulsing. Shadows danced along the corners of his vision. He didn't know if he was awake or hallucinating—but it didn't matter.
He was burning alive.
[RESTRUCTURING: 62% COMPLETE]
[Immune system erased. Blood toxicity tolerance: MAX.]
[Undead traits stabilizing.]
His breathing slowed unnaturally. His body felt cold—no, numb—but the pain remained, somehow outside of him now, as if he could feel his old self dying and watching.
[RESTRUCTURING: 83% COMPLETE]
[Skeletal reinforcement complete.]
[Reflex calibration: 126%]
He fell back onto the mattress with a shudder, vision clearing into focus for the first time. No beeping. No echo. Just silence.
And then, the final notification blazed crimson.
[RESTRUCTURING: 100% COMPLETE]
[Classification: Lesser Undead – Type: Adaptive]
[Human attributes: Overwritten.]
[Warning: Further evolution pending.]
Ethan exhaled—slowly. Controlled. His chest rose, but he didn't feel the usual fatigue. No burning lungs. No muscle aches.
His body had changed. He could feel it in the way his senses sharpened… the way the darkness no longer seemed threatening, but familiar.
Then the final line appeared.
[Evolution Path: ACTIVE]
[At 50XP, you will undergo your next transformation: Fledgling Rebirth.]
[Warning: Survival is not guaranteed.]
Ethan wiped the blood from his lips and sat up straight, chest heaving, still catching up to what he'd just survived. His reflection in the window stared back—calmer now, colder, more focused. Not quite human.
He smirked.
"Fledgling, huh?" he muttered.
Then cracked his knuckles.
"Guess we're just getting started."
[Time remaining before dungeon arrival: 23h:49m:08s]