"What… what is this?"

A Hayes soldier stared at the stretch of blackened earth before him, his face twisted with confusion. The ground reeked of something foul, an odor that clung to the air like rot, and the land itself stood in stark contrast to the desert around it. The difference was so abrupt it unsettled him.

It was like staring at a clean white wall only to see it suddenly sprout twisted growths and tumors.

Unable to contain himself, the soldier ignored his training and whispered to the others who kept their weapons at the ready.

"Hey… don't you think this land doesn't belong to this world?"

The other Hayes soldiers stiffened. They didn't want to admit it, but the same thought had been gnawing at them since the moment they laid eyes on this corrupted ground.

These lands didn't fit, it was as though some outside force had stitched them onto the world like a parasite feeding on flesh.

"Shut your mouth, 092. Maintain discipline!"

The sharp rebuke came from their captain, a figure in full combat gear with a strange roulette-shaped magical device strapped to his back.

"Analyzing worlds and uncovering rules is the duty of the magicians and scientists. Our role is simple: scout the terrain, record the conditions, and report back. Nothing more."

His tone left no room for debate.

The soldiers exchanged weary glances. One muttered under his breath, "Here we go again…"

Another sighed. "The captain's lecture…"

It was routine. Whenever someone broke discipline, the captain would launch into one of his long speeches. And, as expected, he began again, voice heavy with conviction.

"For the survival of the Hayes bloodline, for our inevitable conquest, we must abandon personal weakness. Emotion is a luxury we cannot afford. Our lives, our blades, our very breath! everything must be dedicated to the glory of—"

The soldier who had spoken first, 092, threw up his hands before the rant dragged on.

"Alright, alright! My fault, I get it! Blame me!" He managed a strained grin. "I'll lead the investigation."

The tension eased, and with discipline restored, the team pressed onward. Step by step, they entered the black earth.

Dozens of minutes passed before the captain's voice broke through the silence of their formation.

"092, report your status."

The squad had spread out in a broad arrowhead formation, each soldier separated by nearly a kilometer. To the untrained eye, it seemed reckless, but the Hayes soldiers had honed this method across centuries of war. It minimized casualties and ensured that, unless faced with a legendary-class foe, every scout had a chance to escape.

Hidden behind a slab of rock, 092 whispered into his device, his gaze fixed on a grotesque sight.

"I've found traces of native life here."

The captain's reply was immediate. "What kind? Describe its form."

"They appear to be… eggs. Or cocoons, maybe. Dozens of them." He hesitated, his voice uncertain. "The shells are black with red streaks. They're pulsing…like something's trying to claw its way out."

He adjusted the lens of his alchemical scope.

"Unlike normal larval creatures, there are no adults guarding them. No protectors at all. Just these things, left to fester."

A long pause followed before he added, "I'll get closer. I need to see how they hatch."

The captain frowned, torn, but finally gave his order. "Proceed carefully. We don't yet know what laws this world's lifeforms follow. Parasites, toxins, and traps, it could be anything." He then barked fresh commands. "All other units, regroup on my position. Be ready to support 092."

Acknowledgements crackled back one after another. "Understood." "On my way." "Moving now."

Meanwhile, 092 stepped closer to one of the cocoons. Its surface bulged and shivered at his approach, as if sensing danger. His grip tightened on the magic-forged blade in his hands.

The writhing grew more violent.

He swung.

The blade split the shell, ichor spraying across the dirt. A malformed creature spilled out, its body half-developed, eyes already open and glowing with malice.

Boom!

The ground shook as a deafening explosion erupted in the distance. The captain and his team froze. They knew that sound, the detonation of a magic weapon.

"092!" the captain roared. "What happened? Report!"

Only the ragged sound of breathing came through the device, broken by a wet, monstrous growl that raised every soldier's hackles.

"Answer me!"

Finally, 092's voice returned, but it was fractured, trembling with panic.

"Captain… they hatch too fast! Too fast! They come out fighting, full strength from the moment they're born! One of them…damn it! it bit my arm clean off!"

The soldiers stiffened as his voice rose into a frantic scream.

"They're evil! Twisted things, feeding on each other's bodies as they fight! I killed a few, but—no! No, they're swarming me!"

A strangled cry tore through the device.

"They've got me! They're…hah…they're not killing me. They're enjoying this, they want me alive. I can see it in their eyes!"

His voice cracked into despair.

"No, no… I won't let them. Die! All of you, die with me!"

Boom!

Another explosion tore across the land. Then silence.

The channel went dead.

Yet the silence carried weight. Through the device, the squad had heard it all, the laughter of demons, the screams of their comrade, and the sickening sound of cocoons bursting open, and the cruel voices of abominations mocking a lone man's agony.

The captain's hands shook as he clenched his weapon. His grief was short-lived, however, as a tap on his shoulder made him turn.

He froze.

At some point, while they had listened in horror, countless cocoons had risen around them, sprouting from the corrupted ground like tumors. Each one bulged and pulsed with life, ready to burst.

The captain's blood ran cold.

They were surrounded.

The moment the demon cocoons appeared behind them, the Hayes squad froze in horror.

The shells pulsed and writhed, their black-and-red patterns shifting beneath a slick coating of twisted mucus. They looked like tumors torn from some diseased body, their grotesque forms searing into the soldiers' vision.

Every heartbeat seemed heavier. Every breath felt like a hand tightening around their chests.

There were too many.

Far, far too many.

"Captain…" one soldier stammered, voice trembling. "What do we… what do we do?"

The captain's jaw tightened. "Prepare to fire! Suppressive barrage! we break through before they hatch!"

He forced strength into his voice, and the squad clung to it like drowning men grasping driftwood. But even as he barked orders, the captain knew the truth.

Escape was a faint dream.

The cocoons covered the land in every direction. Their sheer number alone had already sealed the squad's fate. At best, their final act would be to transmit intelligence back to headquarters,proof of what awaited on this corrupted soil.

He lied to his men because there was nothing else he could give them.

Better they believe in survival than collapse into despair.

Yet 092's final cries still echoed in his mind. That torture and the gnawing hunger in the demons' voice.

The captain's grip tightened around his weapon. Better to die on our feet than be broken for their amusement.

His blue-purple eyes flared with a hard light.

"Fire!"

The squad unleashed their weapons in unison. Explosions thundered across the blackened ground. Dozens of cocoons burst apart in a spray of gore and ichor. But victory lasted only a heartbeat.

Across the hills, countless others began to rupture at once. The hatching had begun.

Far away, within the fortified command post, the roar of alchemical machines filled the air.

"The Blackstone squad's data has been uploaded."

"Commander, southeast jungle intelligence is ready for review!"

Streams of reports flashed before the Hayes commander, glowing letters and images projected into his sight by the relay crystals. Maps, biological studies, tactical notes, even recorded combat footage, piece by piece, the framework of this new world came together.

More reports flooded in. "Broken Blade squad, southwest intel complete."

"Rust squad, northwest intel..."

The commander processed each with mechanical precision. A war map was forming in his mind, routes and weak points piecing together like a puzzle. This was what his people excelled at: turning knowledge into conquest. For centuries, war had been their trade, their craft, and their way of life.

But then, the operator at the relay machine froze. His eyes widened at the scarlet text flickering across the crystal display.

"Commander…" His voice cracked. "Rust squad, wiped out. Their channel destroyed."

The commander barely glanced up. Sacrifice was the price of war. Scouts fell; others pressed forward.

But as the data packet loaded, his indifference shattered.

Static filled his vision. Then chaos rang.

"Da-da-da!" Weapons fire. "Aghh! It's eating me alive!"

"Captain! Save me!"

The screams bled together with the thunder of detonations.

The images came next. First-person feeds of soldiers dragged screaming into the dark, their bodies split open, organs glistening as they were strung like trophies across jagged rocks. Little demons swarmed over them, shrieking in joy, clawing, biting, and laughing as they tore flesh from bone.

They weren't just killing.

They were reveling.

The commander's hand clenched into a fist. These things were no soldiers. They were evil distilled into flesh, mockeries of life that delighted in cruelty for its own sake.

Even his hardened heart, tempered by endless campaigns, recoiled. This world was beautiful, lush, untamed, and brimming with untouched resources. And yet, festering in its shadow, creatures like this existed.

Like Mold on a cake. Corruption in paradise.

For the first time in years, the commander felt disgust.

"…."

He stood in silence for a long moment, then drew in a slow breath and spoke.

"All units. Prioritize the northwest sector."

The command center fell silent.

"In that direction lies the most formidable threat we have faced in this world. A breed of monsters that feast on despair itself." His voice sharpened to a blade's edge. "Pass down my orders."

The officers leaned forward, awaiting his decree.

"First, deploy the Death Bombs. Burn the black earth clean."

"Second, dispatch heavy armor and infantry. Exterminate every local creature. Leave nothing alive."

His eyes burned with cold fury.

"We will show these abominations the power of our science and sorcery. We will grind their twisted laughter beneath our boots and drown their cruelty in fire."

His voice rose into a snarl.

"They will learn the fear of the Hayes! They and whatever abyss spawned them will kneel before our might!"

He raised his arm. "Commence the assault."

The order rippled through the camp. Engines roared and Artillery arrays lit up the skies.

Moments later, fire rained down. Chemical shells streaked across the horizon and slammed into the corrupted desert. Explosions tore through the cocoons. Smoke and poison spread like a choking tide, turning the black earth into a wasteland of ash and chemical burn.

The Hayes had struck back.

But in their fury, they had drawn the attention of someone else.

From the depths of the abyss, a pair of eyes opened and turned toward the battlefield.

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