BREW

Team after team arrived at the scene, but they weren't even near the College of St. Cath when the nightmare became visible—bloodstains on the pavement, dismembered limbs strewn across streets, tattered clothing soaked in gore, and building wreckage like something had rampaged through without warning or mercy.

It looked like a scene from a post-apocalyptic film—but this wasn't fiction. It is reality.

All 11 teams under the Tondo Maharlika Vanguard Branch moved with caution. According to real-time intel, this attack came from a Level 3 anomaly—leader-type. These weren't just killing machines. They were intelligent, commanding lower-level anomalies like generals in a silent war.

The only advantage of encountering a leader-type is that they were usually territory-bound. They might expand their reach, but they rarely attacked random zones. It gave them time…barely.

Commander Merry ordered immediate containment.

"Barricade the outer perimeter," she said into the comms, her voice calm but firm. "Two teams per sector. No one's alone."

The protocol was clear: saving civilians was not the top priority. In fissure attacks of this scale, the goal was to contain, eliminate, or seal the anomaly. Anything less meant mass casualties.

Merry led Team 11 herself. Their task: infiltrate the zone, observe, and identify the core anomaly. The other 10 teams formed a loose ring, trying to choke off further expansion.

They rolled into the city in silence. The streets, usually packed with life, were eerily still. No crying. No alarms. No signs of struggle. Just…nothing.

It had only been 20 minutes since the fissure opened.

"If there's a living person here," Merry said, "they're not one of us anymore." Signing them a kill on spot order.

Maharlika protocol was brutal but necessary—no civilians survive Level 3 leader anomalies. Not unless they're Lucids. And if they were Lucid, they wouldn't be hiding.

Anomalies don't work like science. They sense souls. They see through matter. They break the rules.

Merry's earpiece crackled.

"Commander Merry," a distant voice said, "this is Vanguard Sampaloc. ETA: four minutes. Nine teams en route."

Merry nodded. Support was near. Reinforcement from another city would give them the manpower to hold this hellhole together—at least until main support arrived.

Then the scout team stopped cold.

They were blocked.

"Eyes front. Weapons ready," Merry whispered.

Ahead of them stood something grotesque.

A towering figure, nearly 12 feet tall, its body entirely wrapped in barbed wire, arms spread in an eternal crucifixion. Hundreds of nails pierced its flesh—but the blood didn't fall. It flowed upward, defying gravity. A nightmare made of torment.

No one spoke. Experienced hunters knew to not directly look at it.

"Leader-class. Killing rule unknown," whispered Jed, Team 11's captain. "It hasn't attacked... yet."

Merry stepped forward. She drew a scissors-shaped cursed item from her coat and slashed her palm. Blood soaked into the steel. It pulsed like a heartbeat.

A dark red machete with intricate carvings followed. Both weapons began to hum.

Then—a sound.

Flap. Flap. Flap.

A pigeon flew overhead, unaware.

The moment it came near the crucified man, it dried mid-air, bones collapsing to ash.

The team froze.

And then… they noticed.

The anomaly hadn't moved—they had.

"Shit… dimensional displacement," Merry muttered. "We're already inside its rule."

They were obviously closer to the target.

"ATTACK!" she commanded.

No turning back. The anomaly had already claimed them.

Jed moved first. A blur.

His body flickered—black trails of afterimage followed his every movement. He passed through wrecked cars like a ghost, covering 500 meters in just five seconds.

Two teammates stayed behind, setting up ritual defense circles, scattering pollen and salt into the air.

After some preparation

Merry lunged, her cursed scissors glowing a deep crimson, her bleeding hand still gripping the machete tightly.

Jed, now phantom-like, appeared right in front of the crucified anomaly.

He swung his cutlass, aiming to decapitate it in a single blow.

But the moment he neared—

His body locked.

His vision blurred. He saw himself… crucified.

Eyes stitched shut. Limbs torn apart. Screaming—but no sound came out.

The hallucination cracked only when ritual pollen scattered by his team reached him. The vision faded.

But his body remained frozen.

He tried to shift his gaze—and it worked. His limbs responded.

Jed slashed.

But the blade didn't land.

He was an inch close to the anomaly for unknown reason.

The handle struck first.

CLANG.

It was like hitting a steel monolith.

He felt the shock travel up his arm. He leapt back.

The thing hadn't moved.

Jed prepared for another combo strike—but deep down, he knew:

This thing hadn't even started fighting yet.