⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀OMNI⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Chapter 58

First mission

IAM studied the spawnlings for a full minute, unmoving, his breath shallow as his eyes traced their movements.

He clutched the gun he had yet to name — a sleek, matte-black thing that fit his palm like it had always been waiting for him. The slightly extended barrel glinted under the gray sky, and the small red needle embedded in the trigger seemed to glow faintly, a subtle, silent promise.

It really was a beautiful weapon.

But beauty didn't kill. Accuracy did.

He let out a slow sigh. "Please… don't miss too much," he muttered to himself.

They were so small.

Each of the creatures scuttling ahead was about the size of a human head — bone-thin with sharp, jointless limbs and crooked, unnatural movements. They made no vocal sound. Only clicks. Mechanical, arrhythmic, and wrong. Their entire bodies looked skeletal, like they were made of dirty brown bones snapped together in mockery of life. No flesh. No eyes. No mouths. Just pits—holes—that pulsed faintly with a shimmer of something unseen.

They were blind. But not unaware.

Their navigation came from vibration—each click they made bounced against the terrain, giving them shape and distance. A sickening sonar.

Spawnlings.

The type didn't surprise IAM. But the fact that they were his first mission with this new team did. These particular spawnlings were considered mid-tier in their category—neither the weakest nor the worst, but far from harmless. With the levels being low tier, mid tier and high tier.

Deadline creatures often varied wildly even within their own ranks, but these were known well enough. IAM had studied them back during prep:

Blind, fast, agile.

Defensively weak, but ferociously cooperative.

And worst of all, they didn't attack physically at first.

They poisoned minds.

Through the holes in their bodies, they released a subtle, sickly invisible gas—mental venom. Not one that bled the skin or rotted the lungs, but one that whispered into your brain like rot. It brought with it thoughts not entirely your own—violent thoughts, lustful urges, suicidal impulses. It reached deep into the places no one liked to admit existed and amplified them.

A single spawnling's gas wasn't much. Barely noticeable to the trained. But together—stacking and compounding their effect—it could twist even toughest soldier into psychological chaos.

That was the real danger.

The chorus of voices they tried to put in your head.

IAM remembered the briefing:

The gas was far more effective on normal humans than on ascenders. But even among ascenders, the level of resistance varied. Masters and above were immune, but novices and even experienced ascenders could be affected if there were enough spawnlings working together.

That's why surprise mattered.

IAM looked toward Jason, who raised a hand—three fingers up.

The others were already tensing. He could see it: Liora rolling her shoulder quietly, Kepa adjusting his grip on his longsword, Mirin whispering something under her breath.

They were nervous.

Expected. Only Jason and Liora were experienced. The rest—like him—were novices. New. Unproven.

The countdown began.

Three.

IAM shifted his stance, his knees bending slightly as he engaged the mana-reinforced muscles in his legs.

Two.

The air thickened. Even without the gas, the psychic pressure of the Deadline hung like a storm about to break.

One.

IAM launched himself into the air.

With a controlled burst of force, he leapt up the two-metre rock he'd been using for cover, landing near the top with a slight stumble. The landing wasn't perfect—his balance slipped for half a second—but it didn't matter. He was up. Eyes sharp. Arms up.

Gun raised in both hands.

He didn't trust himself yet to fire one-handed. Not under pressure. Not with targets this small.

His grip was tight, his finger brushing the red needle. The gun clicked softly into place.

His target was the furthest of the spawnlings, isolated from the rest by just a few feet.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The gun roared.

The bullets zipped through the fog, tearing through the air like whispers turned into gunfire.

He watched as several rounds passed through the spawnling's clicking holes harmlessly—ghost hits—but most landed. The sound of cracking bone echoed across the plain. The creature spasmed violently, one of its limbs snapping backward as a chunk of its torso shattered under the impact.

But it didn't die.

IAM clicked his tongue in frustration, his jaw tightening.

I was going for the kill.

He ejected the clip cleanly—chkk!—and slammed another one in with a practiced motion.

No time to dwell.

He angled his weapon toward the next spawnlings. The others were already engaging. He couldn't waste bullets where swords and spears could do the job.

Jason stepped forward now—calm, precise. He raised his left arm, and the arm-shield attached to it unfolded slightly, glowing faintly along the seams. It was smaller than Kon's had been. Less imposing. But effective.

Jason's eyes flickered with energy—his Path activating.

A ripple of invisible force emanated from the shield, locking the group of spawnlings mid-movement. Their clicking faltered for a moment, bodies jerking like puppets caught in a jammed command loop.

"I can't hold them long!" Jason shouted. "Go—now!"

Kepa and Liora didn't wait.

Kepa moved first, a blur of muscle and rage, his long black sword gleaming under the gray light. Liora followed just behind, spear held low in a reverse grip—its double-edged tip ready.

They sprinted past Jason, closing the gap in seconds.

Kepa grunted, veins bulging across his neck and shoulders. His mana surged under his skin—his arms thickening slightly, every muscle tensing like a steel cable wound tight. The sword in his hands shimmered faintly, its edge glowing sharper than it should have by design alone.

He raised it above his head, steps slowing deliberately.

Meanwhile, Liora moved with surgical intent. Her spear darted forward—not to kill, but to pin. She struck through the spawnling's hole at the right angle, jamming the weapon just deep enough to freeze its wriggling mass.

Then she twisted her wrist and slid away—clearing the line.

Kepa swung.

A single downward strike. All weight. All rage.

The blade cleaved through the creature in a bone-crunching arc. The sound echoed like a breaking tree. The moment it split, the two halves shattered in midair—

Gone.

Not even blood. Not even residue.

Just absence.

The scattered corpse of the deadline creature in midair instantly disappears into nothing, it was instant, there was no theratics, just a blink and the corpse blinked out of existence like it had never been there in the first place.

It was almost unsatisfying in its suddenness—but Kepa didn't care. He let out a guttural war cry, the sound cracking from his throat as more veins crawled up his arms and neck. His breath steamed as he turned toward the next target, the blade already re-aligning.

Liora moved beside him without a word. Eyes narrowed. Ready.

They were in motion again.

And IAM, from his perch above.

His eyes stayed sharp. His fingers steady.

This wasn't over.

He had to stay focused as there was still more left.

He aims.