"Damn it—that hurts!"
Neptune gritted his teeth, clutching his bleeding leg. But he didn't have time to catch his breath—another explosion rocked the battlefield, flinging him through the air like a ragdoll.
He slammed into the mud, skidding across the wet grass.
Gasping, he curled into himself, coughing violently. His chest felt like it was caving in. When he finally looked up, his eyes scanned the field, and his expression darkened.
Wreckage. Corpses. Screams that blurred into the wind. The world around him was a shredded wasteland of smoke and ash, of blood-soaked mud and firelit sky.
Somehow, he was still alive in this hellhole. Seventeen years of war. Maybe eighteen? He honestly couldn't remember anymore.
"Pathetic. I don't even know my own age."
But really, what did it matter? He'd been born into this war, raised on its corpse-strewn fields.
He never had a chance.
The war against the Corrupted had raged for over two decades, with no end in sight. It began when Antarctica's ice finally cracked. Beneath it, researchers found a Gate—a doorway to another world the so called Aether. When it opened, creatures came out. The Corrupted. At the same time, some humans began to awaken something strange inside themselves—Cores. No one knew why or how, but Cores granted them powers not unlike magic. That was all Neptune understood. All he really knew.
Before he could fall deeper into thought, a strong hand grabbed the back of his uniform and hauled him upright.
"You still breathing, kid?"
A tall woman with sharp features and a wilder grin loomed over him. She wore the same standard-issue military gear as everyone else, but somehow made it look like armor meant for gods.
Her eyes—ice blue and cutting—glimmered beneath her wind-whipped black hair.
"Keep staring at the clouds like that," she rasped, "and you'll end up a pretty corpse."
'Wouldn't be the worst outcome…' Neptune thought but kept the words to himself.
He rolled his eyes and sighed.
"I'm fine, General Olivia."
She narrowed her gaze, inspecting him. His black hair was matted with mud and blood, his uniform torn and soaked. His face was pale, too pale. And then there were his eyes—one a deep blue, the other glowing with an eerie orange-yellow hue. A side effect of his Core. Probably.
Olivia finally looked away, eyes sweeping the destruction. Then she turned back.
"The final strike team arrives in ten minutes," she said quietly, voice low but steady.
"Be ready. This ends today."
Her gaze hardened. "Meet me at the western front."
Without another word, she turned, summoned a warhammer that shimmered with heat, and sprinted straight into a pack of Corrupted. The first one exploded on impact. Neptune exhaled slowly.
So this was it. The end of the war. The thought should've felt like sunlight breaking through clouds—warm, blinding, impossible. Instead, it sat in his gut like lead. No more orders. No more monsters. No more reason to wake up tomorrow. He stared at the distant horizon, at smoke rising like funeral incense.
What's a soldier without a war?
He tightened his grip on Dark Moon. Later. You deal with that later.
With a grim nod, he summoned Dark Moon, his Katana. Its obsidian blade shimmered with a faint turquoise light. Slightly curved, with a rounded tip.
He wiped the mud from his face—only to smear blood in its place—then charged toward the gunfire without a second thought. Ahead, five Corrupted were tearing through a squad of soldiers. They were massive—over two meters tall, their bodies like armored wolves twisted into grotesque parodies. Jagged spikes jutted from their backs, and their claws could rip through steel.
Neptune moved with almost inhuman speed. One creature turned, raised its claw—
Too slow. His blade severed its arm in a clean arc. The beast howled—then went silent as Neptune leapt upward and slit its throat.
A voice echoed coldly in his head:
[+1 Soul absorbed.]
No time to breathe. Four remained. He became a blur—dodging swipes, sliding through the mud, pivoting and striking with precise, mechanical elegance. A dance of death, honed through endless repetition. In less than a minute, they were dead.
[+1 Soul absorbed.]
[+1 Soul absorbed.]
[+1 Soul absorbed.]
[+1 Soul absorbed.]
He stood there, chest rising slowly. The corpses steamed in the cold air. The nearby soldiers stared at him. One finally stepped forward—a man in his late twenties, shaking but whole.
"No wounds, sir. Thanks to you."
Neptune nodded, forcing a tired smile.
"Good. Get back in formation."
He glanced at the fallen monsters.
'Let's see how many Souls I got…'
[Name: Neptune]
[Species: Human]
[Core: Soul Harvester]
[Core Rank: Mythical]
[Core Tier: 5]
[Core Abilities: Essence Drain, Soul Harvest, Collective Soul]
[Souls Collected: 408 / 1500]
"Just one soul per beast? Cheap bastards."
He sighed, scratching the back of his neck.
Only a small fraction of humanity possessed a Core. Each one was unique— its strength measured by Rank and Tier.
Everyone started at Tier 7. Feed it enough Corrupted, and it grew stronger, with each Tier higher you gain a new Core Ability.
Tier 1 was the top because no one had ever reached it. Corrupted followed the same system. Even Tier 7s could kill you if you weren't careful.
Neptune wiped his blade and turned west. Just a few hundred meters to go. Then it would be time. The war would end. Hopefully.
Neptune hesitated for a moment, then set off toward the Western Front. The world around him was dead—just endless mud, twisted corpses, and scorched earth. Not a tree. Not a stone. Nothing but rot and ruin. Once, this land had been the icy expanse of Antarctica. Now, it was just another battlefield.
Hell on Earth.
Lost in thought, he eventually reached his destination—and grimaced. The Western Front was the worst zone of all, directly facing the Gate itself.
He raised his eyes. The wasteland stretched on for hundreds of meters, but then it stopped abruptly—cut clean by a massive cliff. Carved into that cliff was the Gate. A dark monument to everything humanity had lost.
To his right, Neptune spotted a small, improvised tent flanked by two grim-faced soldiers. They stood at attention, guarding the flap like statues. With a blank expression, he walked toward them and stopped.
One of the guards narrowed his eyes. "What do you want, kid?"
Neptune rolled his eyes—not because he wasn't recognized as a General, but because he was still being called a kid. But he had to admit that he was probably one of the youngest generals.
'Do I really look that young? I'm seventeen. Or eighteen? …Whatever.'
He pulled a small emblem from his pocket—smooth metal, marked with the seal of a General.
"I'm General Neptune," he said, suppressing a faint smirk.
The soldiers blinked, stiffened. Their eyes widened in realization.
"O-oh—my apologies, General Neptune!" the man stammered, visibly embarrassed. "The other Generals are waiting inside."
They stepped aside quickly. Neptune ducked into the tent. Inside, a simple wooden table sat at the center, a large tactical map spread across its surface. Three chairs surrounded it—two already occupied. General Olivia sat with her arms crossed, her sharp blue eyes scanning the map. Across from her was General Dalton, a tall man with short, dark brown hair and a lopsided grin. The moment Dalton spotted Neptune, he lit up.
"There you are!" he laughed. "Thought maybe one of those Corrupted bastards ate you."
Neptune gave him a nod. "It's good to see you too, General Dalton."
Dalton gestured toward the empty seat. "C'mon, don't be shy. Take a load off."
Neptune slid into the chair and turned his attention to the map. It showed all of Antarctica. Almost 98% of it had been reclaimed by human forces.
Except for the final 2%—the area around the Gate. And today, they were going to take it back. But there was a problem. The Gate was completely surrounded by Corrupted. Dozens of them. Maybe more. Dalton leaned forward, tapping a finger against the map. His grin faded.
"The plan looks simple on paper," he said.
"In five minutes, a full-scale airstrike will hit this zone—designed to wipe out the lower-tier Corrupted. Once the bombardment ends, we move in."
He looked up. "We finish what's left." It sounded easy. But it wasn't.
Neptune's grip on the table tightened. The creatures that survived the airstrike would be Tier 5 or higher. Abominations. Monsters. He swallowed hard. His Core was Tier 5. Fighting multiple enemies at that level?
He shivered. Dalton's voice lowered. "But that's not the real problem."
He paused, then spoke the name. "The Gatekeeper."
A chill swept through the tent. It was the strongest Corrupted humanity had ever encountered. A towering, near-mythical entity that had slaughtered entire battalions.
"As soon as the airstrike hits," Dalton continued, "it's going to come through the Gate. And when it does… we'll be facing destruction on a scale we've never seen."
The room fell quiet.
Then Olivia spoke. "It's Tier 3. Rank: Legendary. We'd be walking into a death sentence if we tried to fight it alone."
"Rank Legendary... ."
Neptune swallowed.
Ranks were simple, you gain it as soon as you form a Core, it's sheer luck which one you get. There were five Ranks in total; Rare, Epic, Mythical, Legendary, and Divine. Eventhough Neptune was one of the luckier ones with the Rank Mythical, he couldn't even hope to stand a chance against a corrupted abomination with the Rank Legendary.
Neptune glanced at her. "So we're not?"
She shook her head. "Commander Silvius will be joining the battle."
Neptune exhaled. Commander Silvius.
One of humanity's greatest warriors. A Tier 3 Core bearer—Rank: Legendary. Same level as the Gatekeeper.
But even so… he was still human.
And the Gatekeeper was anything but. Power alone wouldn't be enough. But with the support of three Generals? There was a chance. Dalton stood and rolled his shoulders.
"The clock's ticking. In a few minutes, it's all-out war. Throw everything you've got at that bastard."
He flashed a grin. "Let's end this." The three Generals stepped out into the cold wind and began their march toward the Gate.