The first corpse-creature lunged.
And then a hundred more followed.
Blue veins flickered like living circuitry beneath their pallid flesh as they poured off the corpse-mound in a tidal surge, tripping over each other, crawling over broken rails and shattered concrete, hissing in warped, layered voices.
"̴̛͉N̴̫̍e̷̺͐ẗ̵̤́ō̸͔… s̷̘̑h̶̪͑ǩ̷͉á̸̳…"
Netoshka fired first.
Three clean bursts split the skull of the nearest creature — but the hole only glowed brighter as the blue energy surged and rewove its bone structure.
Genrihk cursed under his breath.
"They're rejecting death. AGAIN. I cannot bind them!"
"Then STOP trying and START killing!" Rue shouted, mowing down a line of corpses as they ran along the wall like spiders.
The chamber erupted into chaos.
Taran's blade carved through a cluster of creatures, blue ichor splattering across the floor — but every chunk twitched, trying to pull itself back together.
Twila flickered through their ranks, her copies getting overwhelmed one by one as they were dragged down by dozens of clawing hands.
Zev shifted into half-Lycanwolf form, roaring as he ripped a corpse in two — only for both halves to crawl up his legs, trying to reassemble around him. Rue kicked them off and plunged her dagger into their cores.
Surgien threw a grenade.
"FRAG OUT!"
It exploded, sending bodies flying — but nothing stayed down.
The mound kept birthing more.
More.
More.
Zopi's voice cracked.
"There's— there's too many—!"
Netoshka's eyes darted toward the support beams overhead.
"Genrihk! Taran! Demo the ceiling! NOW!"
Taran understood immediately.
Just like Grimshire. The Decapitators. The same tactic.
"EVERYONE BACK!" he roared.
Alev hurled flames upward, catching the old wooden beams. Genrihk amplified the fire with necrotic energy, making it burn hotter, faster, greedier.
Cracks tore across the ceiling.
The corpse-horde surged again—
And the entire chamber collapsed.
BOOM.
An avalanche of stone and concrete crushed the creatures, the mound, and the tunnel entrance in a thunderous blast of dust.
A shockwave threw Netoshka and the squad backward. Rubble rained for seconds that felt like minutes. The chamber behind them vanished beneath hundreds of tons of debris.
Silence.
Heavy, choking silence.
Only their gasping breaths remained.
Rue wiped blood from her cheek.
"Tell me that killed them…"
Genrihk shook his head.
"Killed? No. Contained? Maybe."
Surgien coughed through dust.
"Let's… let's not wait to find out."
Netoshka steadied her rifle.
"Tunnels continue deeper. Move."
THE LOWER TUNNELS — THE BLUE LIGHT
The passage ahead descended sharply, walls narrowing into jagged stonework that didn't match any metro design — too old, too inorganic, too deliberate.
Circe shivered.
"My scanner's gone haywire. Something is interfering heavily. Strong energy signatures ahead."
"What kind?" Zopi whispered.
"Unknown. Not Wire. Not necrotic. Not electromagnetic. It's… older."
The tunnel opened into a long, slanted maintenance hall.
And at the far end floated a sphere of shimmering blue energy, trailing motes of light like drifting embers.
It pulsed once — like a heartbeat.
Taran tightened his grip.
"That thing's… watching us."
"No," Netoshka whispered. "It's guiding."
The sphere drifted down a side corridor.
The team followed.
THE ELEVATOR SHAFT --
The corridor ended abruptly at an open vertical shaft — an elevator long dead, its cables snapped and rusted. The blue sphere drifted downward into the darkness, illuminating steel framing and old safety rails.
Zev sniffed the air.
"Smells like… chemicals. And metal. A lot of metal."
Rue leaned over the shaft.
"Are we really going down there?"
Netoshka stepped onto the ladder.
"We are."
They descended for nearly two minutes.
At the bottom, the sphere vanished through a cracked metal door.
THE NEW HORIZON COMPLEX
The door creaked open.
Beyond it stretched a wide underground research facility — ancient, dust-choked machinery humming faintly with backup power. Rusted catwalks hung over broken reactor coils. Old holographic projectors flickered with static.
And along the walls—
Dozens of bio-containment cylinders, each containing a vaguely humanoid figure suspended in pale liquid. Twisted limbs. Elongated spines. Extra joints. Pulsating organ clusters. Empty eyes.
Rue whispered, horrified at the sight of the tubes.
"What… what ARE those?"
Circe swallowed.
"Mutated creatues. But not like modern experiments. Something older."
Genrihk pressed his hand against one of the tubes.
"These aren't undead. These are engineered."
A deep hum trembled through the room.
The central monitor lit up.
An elderly man's face materialized on the cracked screen — glasses crooked, scalp half-metal, one eye flickering yellow. His voice was a rasping synthetic echo.
"G̵͉͆r̴͉͝ë̴̫́e̸̖̍t̴̟̿i̷̫͊n̸̻̾g̴̠̃ṡ̸̤… survivors."
Netoshka and the rest reacted in a stiffened way as soon as the giant screen appeared before them.
"what theh hell... Identify yourself. Who are you?."
The old face smiled — a slow, unnatural smile.
"I am Doctor Adrian Kraustein. Lead researcher of New Horizons Corporation's Ninth Genesis Program. Architect of human advancement. Guardian of the Eighth Cataclysm archives."
Genrihk's bones ran cold.
"You… you're not alive."
"Correct."
A glitching chuckle.
"I am the uploaded consciousness of the man once known as Kraustein. This facility is my body."
Taran scowled.
"What happened here?"
The screens dimmed.
"A necessary evolution experiment… interrupted by catastrophe. My subjects — the Vitraspawn — were designed to adapt beyond human limitations. Superior musculature. Regenerative organs. Enhanced cognition."
The mutants floated motionless in their tanks.
Circe whispered:
"Vitraspawn… like the word vitra — 'altered life'."
"Indeed."
The lights flickered.
"And you, dear guests, have brought precisely what I need to restart the program."
Netoshka raised her gun.
"What the hell does that mean?"
"Fresh biological samples."
A sharp hiss echoed overhead.
Rue's eyes widened.
"Gas—!"
Green vapor smoke poured from vents across the ceiling.
Surgien covered his mouth.
"He's trying to sedate us!"
Kraustein's face distorted with static.
"Not sedate. Preserve."
Alarms wailed.
Every containment cylinder around them—
CLICK— HISSSSS—
—began to open.
Liquid drained.
Eyes flickered awake.
Claws scraped glass.
Kraustein's voice thundered through the room:
"Observation Log: Vitraspawn Release Cycle — REACTIVATED."
Netoshka chambered a round.
"B Team — FORM UP! We're fighting our way OUT!"
The first Vitraspawn stepped from its tube, dripping fluid, spine splitting like an unfolding blade.
It screamed.
And dozens more awakened.