chapter 1

Snowfall is heavy at this time of the year.

The mountain range is pelted by hail and wintry gusts, forming blinding

torrents of white. Vision is limited as is distance – however steep the

footprints are imprinted in the snow, they’re covered not even a minute

later. It’d be difficult to tell left from right, let alone forward. The flakes

seem to cascade down endless miles and naturally, it is no condition for

travel.

The freezing cold is deterrence to a group of stragglers, six of them, holding

onto their equipment for dear life. A closer look at their black-clad uniforms

and assault rifles would reckon they’d be mercenaries instead, but

professionalism is hard to gauge considering the bulk of them are teeth-

chattering, teary-eyed folk.

There’s only one of them not following dress code. He goes in full winter

wear with a thick parka. His stature is that of an untrained worker, a rookie

that doesn’t belong with the rest of the team. He pushes a cargo cart slowly

uphill.

A voice is muffled amidst the storm. “It’s so cold…”

Another voice follows, no less miserable. “The colonel says we’re two

hours from destination.”

They’re quite young, all of them, with the eldest one in his thirties. The

youngest of the stragglers is a crimson-haired female whose baby face is

now stiff by the wind. Her hair is cut short and hidden halfway with aprotective helmet. Though she’s begrudgingly taking steps up the mountain,

her frame is not meek whatsoever.

She rotates her wrist, likely checking if her blood circulation has been cut

off from the sheer cold. Through her battered gloves are calluses on her

skin, the indications of rough training. It has been half an hour and no one

else delights to engage in conversation. The young woman is mumbling to

herself now and the young man is silent beside her. He’s a mere foot apart,

but the fogginess is misguiding.

In the burrows of winter, on a tall mountain peak, the six make their way up

and do not look back. A soft melody is hummed by a bulkier soldier ahead,

but it is drowned out by harsh winds.

The redhead almost wails. “I think it’s impossible to endure for two more

hours…”

The eldest man looks behind him and answers with a flashy grin, “Private

Li, don’t complain too—”

“Be on guard.” A sharp command cuts off all conversation.

The man stands in front of the entire group, his back tall and firm. Despite

the low visibility, he holds enough presence to make himself known. It’s not

so much his height nor the pitch-black uniform that contrasts heavily with

the scenery’s white, but rather his aura – magnetic but commandeering all

the same.

He crouches down and brushes away a patch of snow. On the ground is a

fleck of soot. It would be barely noticeable in most cases, but in such a

barren environment, it strikes off as odd.

This was recent debris,” the young man says with slightly furrowed brows.

“Hannes, scout our surroundings. Li Jiayun, provide cover for him. The rest

of you follow me…”

He remembers something else and then adds, “No… The gatherer should

stay behind. Unless you’d rather be eaten alive?”

A subtle smirk makes way to his face before he schools back to seriousness.

The man has quite the playful nature but on the field, he’s the most elite of

soldiers and an even more capable leader, bar none – or so he likes to think.

“I should hide?” The gatherer, the blue-collar worker who’s only here to

piggyback on the expedition, looks shaken. “I can’t see anything…”

“First time?” Somebody smacks him on the back. It’s the elder of the group,

Hannes, who is perpetually in a good mood. His dark brown eyes always

have a particular glint to them. “Buddy, the colonel isn’t joking when he

says you’ll be eaten. You folks from the inner city are not aware but…”

He juts a finger in the noon direction. “Against those things, none of us may

be a match.”

The gatherer squints his eyes but doesn’t find anything. “Where is it?”

“By the time you see it, you’d probably already be—”

A dark flash catches his eye and Hannes immediately backs away. The

predator, that creature moved so quickly it came in a blur. The raucous

shriek is all the forewarning before sharp claws drill their way forward,

missing the soldier’s ribcage by a harrowing centimeter.

“—dead! Yang Rong, two o’clock!”

Following Hannes’ shout is a torpedo of bullets and the man instantly kicks

the gatherer aside. Li Jiayun grabs the person by his collar and pushes him

up. The man is stunned during the crisis and she has to yell to get his

attention. “Get up and go!”

The gatherer is frozen in fear, however, and just when he’d steeled himself

to hide behind a boulder, his vision is blocked by a cougar-like creature the

size of a truck. Its features are grotesque enough to make him vomit –

protruding eyes, fur like daggers, scaly abdomen. Its body may be in the

shape of some feline, but it has to be a fusion.

The head bulges out in pulpous ways. Its ears are oozing white liquids and

even those ears don’t suit its form. The mutation has formed a chaotic thing,

like different animals melting into its body.

The man opens his mouth to scream but crimson claws pin him against the

rock. His death was not a painless one but that’s how they all go – eyes

opened wide, blood spurting from the orifices, guts ripped out.

They’d been trained for this or perhaps they have some immunity, for none

of the soldiers bat an eye before engaging in combat, completely

disregarding the gatherer. Grimy fangs sink down on the deceased man’s

body, and the squad does not hesitate to shoot the creature down. It only has

an effect to some extent.

“These cheap bullets!” Hannes curses during reload. “Sending us out with

limited ammo is just telling us to die!”

“Sergeant Hannes!” A soldier lands a shot to its temple and the creature

staggers back. Still alive but more obviously crippled. “Shoot its back! It’s

forming wings!”

“Nice shot!” The man grins. “You’re a real talented kid. No wonder the

colonel took you in. A few more years and maybe you’d be able to scratch

my ankle.”

“Ah…” Li Jiayun is flustered. “Thank you, Sergeant…”

“Don’t flirt in front of my face!” yells a handsome young man, the colonel,

as he fires a bullet straight at the creature’s back. It ruptures a spot above

the front arm, breaking its scales and eliciting a loud roar. The mountain

almost shakes at the intensity of the sound.

Hannes clicks his tongue in dissatisfaction and roars back, “Yang Rong,

you’re too pent up! How can this even count as flirting?! This little kid is

not my type at all – let me tell you, I like an omega with pretty eyes, plush

lips and a big—holy fuck! Watch out!”

Yang Rong quickly flips over to the side, arms tucked inward so as to block

the blow coming his way. There is little hesitation in his movements –

there’s a reason why he’s a wartime colonel. His body is lean but firm,

muscular in all the proper places. The dodge is too close for comfort,

however. As the beastly thing rushes for a kill, the colonel pulls a full-tang

knife from his belt and slashes upward.

Putrid liquids splash from the creature’s neck, dotting his black jacket in

whites and blood red, sweeping right past the insignia on his chest.

His fast reflexes do not leave him unscathed, and he grunts before finally

prying the beast off. Nails have torn through his clothes, leaving three

ragged stripes of blood.

Hannes takes the final shot and sloppily blasts the predator’s head off. Yang

Rong sighs as the rest of his team rush up to inspect his injuries. While

Hannes is examining the corpse, Li Jiayun and the other two young soldiers

quickly unload their med kits.

“Are any of you injured?” the colonel asks as he haphazardly slaps a

bandage on his chest – more so for decency than anything else. “Let me

check.”

“Worry for yourself first, Colonel Yang.” Li Jiayun makes a noise of

frustration and she slumps onto the ground. “I’ve lost track of how many of

these things we’ve killed.”

“I am worrying for myself,” Yang Rong replies as he brushes snow off his

boots. “If any of you were bitten, I might have to shoot you myself.”

He says it like a jest, with his lips curving up and all, but there’s more

hidden in his forest green eyes. They’re of an uncommon color, some shadebetween jade and steel blue. They’re also a lot paler when the light catches

at certain angles – like now, when he has his head tilted upward, smirking

in that carefree way he always does.

As a person, he can be considered overbearing and quite often irritating.

But as a leader, he’s hard-edged, firm and most importantly, capable. He

scrutinizes his men with eaglelike intensity, not missing even the smallest

of papercuts.

“Old man Hannes, show me your hands.”

The sergeant shrugs, holds out both palms and allows his commander to

check. Safety precautions are always a drag, but it’s protocol they’ve

learned to follow after too many incidents. Seeing that Yang Rong is

appeased, the older man wraps an arm around his shoulder and says with

his most greasy voice, “If you care for a more thorough body inspection, I

can undress for you.”

“Not interested,” comes Yang Rong’s offhanded reply. “I’m desperate but

not for you.”

“Baby, I’m a huge catch.”

“The only thing huge about you is your body,” he replies. “All the nutrients

have supplemented your horizontal growth and not so much anything else.”

Hannes bats his eyelids and says, “I’m also huge in another region.”

Yang Rong seems to think about it before denying. “Not quite. In fact,

we’ve compared before and—”

“—Colonel.” A dull voice interrupts them before the conversation gets any

more unbearable. “We should crate the corpse and head to the nearest zone.

I’m losing my sense of smell.”

The mediator is a young soldier in his mid-twenties. He has on a

disinterested expression and first impressions would show he doesn’t caremuch for conversation – straight-faced, deadpan eyes, lips thinned into a

line. The only characteristics that would show some semblance of character

are his arched brows and the tiny scar above his cheekbone.

His name is engraved on the dog tag hanging out of his uniform: Yoo Seok.

He’s of Asian descent, as are most of the squad soldiers with the exception

of Hannes and partially Yang Rong, whose origins are still unknown –

unasked, really, because the matters of family are considered insensitive in

such times.

Yoo Seok is a little more than average looking, with extra points added due

to his height but also lost due to his stony exterior. If there were ever gossip

polls on the most attractive force in the seven continents, Yang Rong’s

would be the top contender – never mind that the number of combatants is

limited in the first place and that beauty standards are just a tad desperate.

This even includes Hannes Miller who might come off as a slovenly man

with his unshaved, prickly beard and his tangled brown hair that hasn’t been

washed for days. He shows signs of early aging due to this harsh lifestyle,

but his deep-set features were no doubt attractive in his prime years.

A low cough comes from Yang Rong and he gestures for Yoo Seok to go on

ahead, completely disregarding the fact that he and his sergeant were acting

like greasy old men.

Indeed, he ventures off topic occasionally, but the colonel is still convinced

he’s a great leader.

“The nearest shelter is twenty minutes northeast,” Yang Rong says as he

directs his men to take care of the creature’s corpse. “Pack it up and we’ll

bring it back to the Nexus.”

“What about him?” Li Jiayun motions to the gatherer’s body. “Are we

bringing him back too?”

“No.” Yang Rong approaches the dead man on the ground. His expression

is indecipherable when he examines the gatherer’s torn body. The woundsare already blistering and purpling from the cold. “We cannot transfer more

cargo.”

Yang Rong brushes a pile of snow onto the corpse, hiding the pools of

blood underneath, and then he says, “The report will be that he’s lost his

way in the beautiful peaks of the Arctic, buried by soft snow.”

“Ahh! Colonel Yang!”

A high-pitched shout holds the attention of everyone in the vicinity. The

person is a meek-looking young soldier with eyebrows perpetually

downcast. The inner corners are pulled up and together which makes him

look like a frightened fawn. It doesn’t help that his eyes and nose are bright

red from the cold. If not for the military uniform, the boy would be

mistaken for a young immature teen.

“Colonel Yang!!” The soldier treks the upward hill and continues to scream

to be heard. “There’s blood!”

“Huh?!” Yang Rong shouts as he zips his backpack. “Blood? Of course

there’d be blood! Idiot, is this your first time outside?!”

“N-No! I mean there’s blood—like, another type of blood!” He tries his best

to convey but the stutter and teeth chatter aren’t helping his case. He resigns

to gesturing wildly with his hands. “Like another person’s blood and it’s

leaving tracks down the slope. Right there!”

“Don’t think about it,” Yang Rong says disinterestedly. “Jiayun, tell him it’s

not our problem.”

Li Jiayun, who is forced to bear the brunt of the colonel’s irresponsibility, is

hesitant. She blinks her eyes rapidly. “Jae found something. I think it’s good

if we take a look?”

Yang Rong immediately seeks his next target. “Hannes, go and take a look.

Shout if you’re in trouble.”

He pats his chest before adding, conveniently, “I’m injured.”

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