Ethan knelt beside the darkening bloodstain, his fingers tracing its jagged edges. The metallic tang of iron filled his nostrils as he pieced together the inconsistencies in the Severed Specter's behavior.
"This doesn't add up..."
His combat boots scraped against the hardwood floor as he paced. Severed Specters were predators of opportunity - they killed, fed, and moved on. Yet this one had lingered for days, obsessively bouncing in this single spot like...
Like a dog scratching at a buried bone.
A cold realization slithered down his spine.
"It wasn't hunting Seraphina. It was searching."
With a thought, his right arm unraveled into hundreds of wheat-gold straw strands that hardened into drill bits. The tendrils shrieked as they chewed through layers of Italian marble tile and concrete subflooring, sending up clouds of gray dust.
CLANG!
The sound of metal on metal reverberated through the villa. Ethan's straw tendrils recoiled from what appeared to be a black lacquered box the size of a cigar humidor. Intricate relief carvings depicted a coiling dragon whose ruby eyes seemed to track his movements. The moment his fingers made contact:
[System Alert: Coiling Dragon Sealing Box Detected]
[Classification: Relic-Class Aberration Containment Device]
[Current Capacity: 3/3 Slots Occupied]
[Primary Function: Imprisonment and Conditional Control of Spectral Entities]
Ethan's breath caught in his throat. The implications exploded in his mind like flashbangs:
Controlled Aberrations: No Bureau report had ever confirmed successful subjugation of supernatural entities
Military Applications: An army of bound specters could reshape global power structures
Personal Arsenal: Three slots meant three abilities he could steal without system limitations
His hands trembled - not from fear, but the terrifying potential now cradled in his palms. The box's surface thrummed with dormant energy, its dragon motifs seeming to constrict tighter around the edges.
"This changes everything."
The Bedroom - Three Minutes Earlier
Seraphina's manicured nails dug crescents into her palms as the violent sounds from the living room abruptly ceased. The sudden silence was somehow worse than the earlier cacophony of shattering furniture and unearthly shrieks.
Her bodyguards had assumed defensive positions - one crouched behind an overturned dresser with her pistol's laser sight painting the door, the other pressing a trembling hand against Seraphina's back to steady them both. The CEO's custom silk pajamas clung to her sweat-slicked skin, the damp fabric doing nothing to conceal the frantic rise and fall of her chest.
"One minute seventeen seconds," the senior bodyguard mouthed, checking her tactical watch. No veteran of corporate security details would mistake the meaning - standard protocol dictated calling reinforcements after ninety seconds of radio silence during an active threat scenario.
A floorboard creaked outside.
Three sets of lungs froze mid-breath. The younger bodyguard's finger hovered over her trigger guard as the doorknob began to turn-
"Ms. Vale."
Ethan's voice, smooth as aged whiskey, sliced through the tension.
"It's done."
South District Ruins - Simultaneous Events
The abandoned pharmaceutical lab's crumbling facade offered no warning before its third-story windows exploded outward in a hail of glass and concrete. Five figures came catapulting through the smoke, their tactical gear smoking from energy burns no earthly fire could cause.
"Son of a-" The bearish man named Bear hit the pavement rolling, his Kevlar vest smoking where something had taken a literal bite out of the trauma plate. "I want the head of whatever desk jockey cleared this as a Class-D flesh target!"
Nearby, a petite woman with twin braids spat out a broken tooth. Her customized .50 caliber handgun - capable of stopping a charging rhino - lay in pieces beside her. "That thing ate three blessed silver rounds and asked for seconds," she wheezed, clutching a forearm bent at biologically improbable angles.
The team's lanky medic suddenly went sheet-white. "Where's the Captain?"
A beat of horrified silence. Then from within the ruins came an echoing scream that raised the hair on every neck - followed by the distinctive shink of Sophia Laurent's signature trench blades being deployed.
Sublevel B2 - The Nest
Inside the crumbling building, Sophia Laurent sprinted desperately toward the basement.
Though nothing visible pursued her, her expression remained grim—if anything, growing more severe by the second.
"Those intelligence bastards deserve to die for this colossal mistake!"
She bit back the urge to scream her fury aloud as she fled downward.
What was supposed to be an ordinary flesh-type aberration had abruptly morphed into a spectral entity.
Her team had paid dearly for the miscalculation.
They'd nearly been wiped out without even glimpsing their enemy.
Only her unique Awakened ability—barely sufficient to impede the aberration—had prevented total annihilation.
Now, her sole hope lay in her surviving teammates escaping to summon Bureau reinforcements. Her immediate priority was evasion—to avoid detection at all costs.
Within moments, she reached the basement level.
But as she crossed the threshold, her pupils constricted in shock.
The pitch-black space before her was alive with dozens of pairs of crimson eyes—all fixed intently upon her.
Out of the frying pan, into the fire.