Darkest of the color spectrum, pitch black, the colorless of the void, the hollowness of the abyss. The neverending fall, the landless world, the coreless planet with a bottomless sea. The color that does not reflect, that does not shimmer, not when it itself. As itself it is nothing, and thus nothing is itself. When observed in isolation, it is isolation, when it is contained it is the containment.

Yet when it is observed from further beyond its borders, it becomes a component of a greater painting; for it is defined when its borders are, the borders defined by where the black ends and the oceanic azure begins. The introduction of a different color transforms the darkness into its own, for the distinction between itself and the blue provides it an identity. That said, the azure surface itself isn’t precisely the most saturated or vibrant, instead it’s rather jaded and dim, not particularly lifeless but not youthful either.

While the actual appearance does not exude the sense of liveliness, the azure disk that has the black hole in the center is mobile at least within the white expanse that it sits on, a white perfectly oppositional to the darkness in the center, and the blue the mediator. Itself also colorless in isolation, both the black and the white would be in a way colorless even paired, thus it is the blue in the center that provides life to all three. Yet it is the white expanse that provides the perception of movement of the blue disk, which jitters like jelly, shaking almost shivering, for while it is definitely not that of a corpse it is steadied to a certain extent. It is disciplined, confined to one tight position although given little room to move, to examine.

For beyond the white sclera bordering the pale white skin, the sclera housing the azure iris which houses the black pupil, beyond of the furfuraceous hide just barely a shade away from pure white, just barely divergent from the white of the sclera, is the face of the man who marches forward, his truly white distinguished locks of hair swaying behind him.

He moves forward with silent steps, only the sound of the leather of his jacket wrinkling being the audible indicator of his presence, the leather grayed and aged like its wearer, wrinkled and beaten and yet still held together with tight bonds. The silver blends into the gray which blends into the black, although they are just various enough to draw a distinction to the keen eye much like said eye to the skin. The black hood sits behind the head, right against the white skin, connected to the gray jacket.

Behind the marcher are three others following his pace, although their footsteps are audible albeit softened with careful strides, for they move at a steady pace, not particularly crawling but not racing either. Their steps are suppressed enough to not be heard from across the floor, although they are by no means silent.

One of those marching behind is the woman in the black blazer and white tank top, the blend of a businesswoman and an engineer, of the mind and body, that is a mind trained and a body built. She follows close to the side of the leader, her green eyes sharp as her amber bangs rest over her head but parted from her eyes.

Another is the woman in the white hoodie that reaches down her legs, the carefree casualness amplified by the length of her pink hair not restrained or cut but let fully out. Although with an appearance so carefree she carries herself with the most unease, her head turning sporadically to examine her surroundings with her samely pink eyes without the same discipline as the leader, instead a loose cannon trying to fix its aim.

Lastly is the man in the brown overcoat that sits over his black jumpsuit stained with purple, the only to wield a physical weapon that being the strangely designed handgun with a makeshift aesthetic of exposed wires, which he keeps by his hip ready to raise at any moment’s notice as an experienced adventurer. His yellow eyes are sharp but eager, knowing the dangers that lie ahead but furthermore inviting them.

The three of them walk down the long corridor, following the leader whose body functions as the single source of light they have with them, a blue light that defines the neighboring walls which appear to have more intersections cut in than in the previous sectors. While the lack of strong lighting makes the native coloration of the walls difficult to examine, especially with the blue hue casted over them from the light, they do appear to have at least lacked any distinctive color of their own thus were likely white as they perfectly carry the blue shade.

Spread apart just enough to have needed space to retaliate, yet just enough to meet that criteria, the group remains still close together, moving huddled through the dark tunnels following the only source of light they had.

Each intersection passed, that light momentarily creeps down the two adjacent hallways, their reach climaxing upon meeting the very center of the intersection but then reducing past that point until full passing where it then fades into obscurity.

Yet only in the next couple seconds do they pass the next intersection, letting the light bleed out for a few moments again before once more fading. The corridors are built strangely like a maze, with so many passages diverging yet none of their destinations known. The only indicator for a direction is the leader who presumably knows the true route to escape, although while there may be a route carved out, that doesn’t precisely detail the path they’ll face.

Cold air inhabits the abandoned space without the power to provide light or heat. Even the active glow does not provide any warmth, rather it is a cold light that simply provides luminosity but without feel.

Thus the metallic floor is chilled, still regulated by the artificial atmosphere upheld in the campus, for without that the group would have been swept into the vacuum up before they could dive into the shaft down. The metallic property of the floor also does not cushion sound well, so even with the cautious pacing there are still reverberations made by every footstep permitted to emit audio.

Of course the silver shoes do not make a sound, and the black shoes behind make very little as they excellently stride in optimal motions to soften impact with the ground. The brown shoe is somewhat quiet, not as much as the other as while the one to walk is of course well experienced in moments that require stealth, there is still an inherent difference that lets some sound bleed out. Yet it is not nearly as loud as the one made by the white shoes, which are from the one who has the least experience in covert operations.

Upon reaching yet another intersection the leader suddenly sharply pivots to the left, his movements swift and short, the abruption catching the shorter woman in the back off guard although trailed with ease by the other further ahead who has been accustomed to the leader’s strangely precise movements. They all turn and continue down the left hallway, a decision made intentionally as navigation down the maze was much clearer with the guide.

There are no longer visible laboratories along the walls, rather they are entirely opaque with the same metallic surface as the floor. There are however the crevices of doors in the walls, revealing that there are at the very least rooms past, although they do not provide a glimpse into those interiors thereby constraining the group to the narrow tunnel they can move down.

Slender and bony fingers with the design shaped more skeletal than that of flesh, it is remarkable how steady the hand carries the firearm despite how seemingly frail it is and how bulky the weapon appears, as there is little effort of slimming its profile with the barrel being wider than the weapon’s back as each component gets wider towards the front, making it more top heavy which theoretically should be problematic yet there is no problemed reactions made.

The cylinder from the side isn’t much larger than the flasks being carried in them, although the size of the shell requires a dramatically large cylinder nonetheless. Although to call them shells is inaccurate, as they function more as magazines, carrying multiple rounds rather than encasing singular, unique rounds that each have their own extraterrestrial reactions. Still, without being stored in a more optimized space like the handle, their storage further adds bulk to the weapon as it consumes the middle of the arm.

While the fingers wrap around the thin handle where the trigger is –attached to the finger guards wrapped around by the copper coils– the thumb rests at the hammer above the small dimly lit screen, which is already pressed down thus primed to fire. For as gaunt and feeble its vessel is, there is an immortal strength that resides within, one steady and waiting to pull its trigger when the unsuspecting emerges.

Balled into a fist is the hand past the black blazer sleeve, perfectly tailored to reach just far enough down the wrist to perfect the balance of formality and agility. The green surgeon’s cuffs reflect the blue light with a somewhat glassy texture, like a screen woven into the fabrics.

In an atmosphere with such few signifiers of safety, the tension clings onto the body as the fist remains tight for any moment, the nails digging into the palm.

Down the hand a strange wave of microscopic golden panels flap down the palm and the fingertips, like an animal’s sensory response to threat, or rather the false alarm of high perception. The wave seeps back into the human skin of the wrist and hand, passing right over and leaving the fist still closed.

Not exactly in a fist but still tense, the fair skinned hand’s fingers almost compose a claw, the pink fingernails shimmering as outer casing of the rods.

The oversized white hoodie reaches to the palm, the cuffs nearly double the size of the wrist itself, leaving ample room for the chilly breeze to pass in and out. The cartoonish purple and green decals of sprinkles lay by the cuffs amongst the soft drawn bumps of the icing, although the pure white of the hoodie is somewhat grayed, its innocence tarnished.

Traveling down the vein in the wrist is a lightly radiating pink arc that crawls to the hand before fading into obscurity like a pulse, accompanied by a nearly inaudible mystical whoosh not human but something beyond reality.

While not wielding a physical firearm, the arid white hand’s fingers are shaped in resemblance to one, the pointer and middle finger stretched out and the thumb laying on top, the ring and pinky finger curled.

The surface of the skin almost resembles volcanic rock yet so white, the ravines drawn into the wrist and fingers digging into the stitching of the skin, the human fibers that were woven together by its predecessor and still managing to hold up despite the wear.

A gentle blue hue exudes from the skin same as the gray leather cuffs that cover the wrist, the sleeve split into two distinct sections with the upper half a brighter shade more akin to gunmetal and the bottom half the darker, once black. By the border streaks the single silver trail from all the way up the arm down to the cuff.

The leather up close is almost as wilted as the skin of the one dressed in it, for the jacket was like a second layer of his skin, at least worn so intimately it may as well would’ve been one. Both the clothing and the body have a similar texture, and in a way they almost blend together for that.

Through the leader’s eye is the darkness of the corridor past where the light touches, the one that doesn’t travel very far and casts a sharp shadow up ahead like a fog of war. In fact, it is perfectly clear when more of the hall comes into view, the distinction is just that strong.

Right at his feet the light is the brightest, then further ahead it dims and dims until far beyond there is nothing but the void ahead, and in that void is a standing silhouette of a man staring right back.

Immediately the leader’s eye expands wide with a sharp intake, and followingly he comes to a sudden halt, causing the other three behind him to follow suit but unsure of why.

They instinctively seek out those very answers by following his trail of sight, only for all of them to too dawn expressions anxious and wary, all of them frozen instantly into statues too cautious for movement.

Far down the maze, past where the gentle light touches, the silhouette just stands upright, although its posture somewhat leans to one side, its head tilted the same way. It is definitely a humanoid figure, although with strange rods along its legs and arms that bend with the loose joints.

While it has no color or even distinctive shapes on its body, it's very clear that it’s staring straight at the group, who all remain behind the leader, who stares straight back in silence, waiting still like a wanderer lost in a forest and having laid eyes on a bear. No sudden movements.

Steady and silent, the leader slowly raises his right arm up, aiming his fingers straight for the silhouette, his glare sharp as the hunter lifts his rifle.

The two fingers below the thumb all line up on target, still just as bright as the rest of the body with no visible excess charge just yet.

Behind him the others peer more keenly at the figure, mixed with dread and intrigue, for while there was certainly no relief to come at such an ominous entity there was still not an exact signal for immediate danger.

Then straight down the line of sight past the straight white thumb, the black silhouette suddenly straightens its posture, and takes one step forward with one leg while the other drags on the floor, making its first move.

An instinctual shiver waves past the leader’s arm, although he is quick to steady himself, his teeth just barely being exposed gritted as the relief of solitude begins to unveil.

Another step is taken by the figure, its other leg dragging against the floor almost limply, for its entire body is carried with a strange fatigue like that of a drunkard. Its head tilts once more, and it takes an additional step, inching its way towards the light. The rods along its legs bend at the knee, and while it’s very subtle, there’s a sound of almost a rusted mechanism with the bending.

Gradually the handgun of the gunslinger is raised, the arm bending but yet to make any declaration through aim. Its movements are anchored and stable, the finger resting on the trigger at just the slightest unit above tactile activation.

Past the raising weapon, the black figure continues a slow pace towards the team, its body shrouded in the darkness but gradually becoming braver with each stride.

Behind the leader, the green eyes of the cyborg transform golden from the emergence of streaks from the pupil to the edges of the sclera, and sharpen even more in an analytical expression focusing on study than panic. The golden rings inside her irises pulse and shimmer, the lenses of the camera.

Every dragged step moves the silhouette closer to the border of light, away from its own dark forest of safety, bold enough seemingly to move into view although at a sluggish pace, the rods moving with its legs as its footsteps mix with the mechanical bending of locks.

By the back of the group and staring with anxious pink eyes that begin to brighten as a bodily response to perceived danger, the mutant shuffles a step back as her heart throbs out of her chest, anticipating the slow burn of the creeping figure.

Past the raised and steady white thumb of the leader, the silhouette drags forth once more before breaking into a sprint with long exaggerated strides in an almost unhinged motion that propels it at inhuman speeds that dashes straight for the border.

Instantly the leader’s irises expand, and without further hesitation down his black sleeve to his hand where he holds aim of the figure, he jolts his wrist and projects a blue bolt with a loud bang straight into the darkness, instantly striking the target although without at all affecting its pace.

Immediately the cyborg’s eyes expand and her jaw drops as the leader instead sharpens his glare and grits his teeth, jolting his hand rapidly and firing a stream of blue bolts each with a loud roar that reverberates throughout the labyrinth as the gunslinger’s eyes also widen although rather than in pure panic it’s instead in realization.

While every shot made in the blue flurry hits the target, none of them even hold it an inch back as it charges straight past the border and leaps right for the leader, its entire body being lit up to reveal itself a blonde adult man dressed in a navy blue soaked in crimson with a dark exoskeleton of metal rods lined with needles plunged into the limbs and body, its eyes open and whited out and its jaw hanging wide open as it lunges its clawing hand.

Promptly the gunslinger raises his arm, aims straight at the head of the body, and pulls the trigger, firing a deep green radiating bolt that penetrates straight through the target, instantly melting the skull on first contact and leaving behind the acidic residue that rapidly devours the rest of the head in seconds, consuming the open brain and tissue.

Speedily Meditat takes a step back, allowing the familiar body to fall straight into the ground limp, defeated in a swift strike as the acid slowly comes to a stop after just barely hollowing out the head.

Horrified by the instant gore, Meditat fixates on the laying corpse, an exoskeletal spine from the remains of the head down the back where the rest of the rods that extend to the limbs protrude from, all of them injected into the body grimly.

What’s perhaps worse is that upon close inspection, the entire body appears to be terribly injured as it's smoked with burnt flesh everywhere, the whole lower left arm cleanly blown off with a gaping wound that slowly starts to pour blood, ending the trail that he notices to lead all the way back into the darkness.

He then promptly returns his stare back to the body, but in intrigue more to the shoulder that carries the epaulet of the white shield.

Once white that is, as the crimson pool reaches the badge, soaking its purity away as a morbid face stares back that from Meditat, who could recognize the badge in his first reactionary thought.

His fixation is caught by the sound of mechanical bending up ahead which he raises his head too, grabbing the attention of those behind as Ekitai also raises his gun up.

Far into the darkness past the edge of light, from beyond the walls creeps into view two other silhouettes one from each side, and both of them face the same direction, both of them also equipped with rods that cling to their arms and legs.

In horror Meditat and Kokei stare ahead, both of them disturbed by the unnerving familiar yet inhuman entities moving their way.

Both of the silhouettes far in the distance begin to start limping towards the light, but they then quickly speed up their pace into sprints, also charging straight for the group as their rods make more mechanical clicks.

Frozen up at first, Meditat can only stare as Dana strides in front of him, aiming her open right hand ahead as her fingers bend backwards and expand into the golden conal cannon that transforms in a second, the grates sharpening all along the shell before then flaring gold and firing a volley of golden bolts in rapid fire like a machine gun.

Innumerable golden bolts fly into the darkness, and a majority of them hit and yet again neither of the figures are brushed back, instead unharmed and unobstructed to reach the border in terrifying speeds of seconds before both of them are revealed yet again as men dressed in the same navy uniforms attached to the same exoskeletons, although with different faces as one of them has a scruffy beard as a man in his thirties and the other is freshly shaven even at the head as a young adult just emerged from teenhood. Both of them lunge forward and throw their arms, their jaws gaping open and their white eyes glaring wide.

Forthwith Kokei raises both of her arms and squeals as her eyes and hands light up, projecting pink electric arcs from her fingertips that sparkle and shine as they crawl to and wrap around the two bodies, suspending them in an instant still above the ground, stuck in pose.

Now forced to stare straight at the horrific sights to find that the man with the scruffy beard has a huge gash along his face but far worse the shaven man has a gaping hole in the side of his torso gushing guts, Kokei shrieks as Ekitai takes action with another swift aim and fires a pair of magenta bolts one into each of the men’s gaping mouths, and not a second later countless magenta needles emerge out of their skin all over their body and render them limp thereafter.

Both electric holds fizzle out and dissipate as the pink arcs stop producing from Kokei’s fingers, allowing both corpses to then drop onto the floor by the pile that has already been made. Both bodies spark again pink as Kokei glances at Ekitai who glances back, only for both of their attentions to be caught by the sound of mechanical clicks from the same direction ahead.

Dana’s eyes revert to their human green after the rings splinter into streaks that then crawl back into her pupil and vanish, and after she turns to Meditat and explains in a shaken voice, “Our concussive neutralizers won’t work on them.”

“Yeah, how can you concuss something that’s already dead,” forthputs Ekitai as he steps forward and brings his handgun in front of himself, swiping on the interface under the hammer in preparation for the next set.

Staring straight ahead to find three more silhouettes far in the darkness, Ekitai taps on his screen to activate a bright light that shines straight from his barrel, first hitting the metal floor in a concentrated beam rather than the point light emitting from Meditat.

He advises somewhat callously yet in genuine sincerity, “They’ll only stop by destroying whatever weird puppet strings they got going on, but your little love taps aren’t going to do that. I know you love your men in blue, but I don’t think we can do much worse.”

He then raises his handgun straight at the three silhouettes, shining the yellow light on them which reveals their bodies of more men, one of which is missing the entire knee and instead only has the metal rod supporting his weight albeit with a clear limp.

Facing down the approaching horde with a sharp yellow glare, Ekitai asserts in a raspy but serious voice, “Come on Meditat, you’re not killing them, and I won’t lie but I sort of want to get off this rock if that’s fine by you.”

Behind him Meditat frowns while staring down the same direction, clearly torn in retaliation knowing the lengths needed to be taken for success.

Bright and visible, the three young men limp their way towards the group, with the other one having his entire right shoulder blown off, and the third one with a gaping hole straight through the right eye that left a red tear down the cheek.

“If it helps, I think they’d prefer to be put down than stay like this, don’t you think?” mentions Ekitai as the men begin to make haste into a charge.

Instinctively Meditat opens his mouth to argue, his eyes sharpened into an aggressive fighting glare, and yet with his mouth gaping open no sound comes out for no rebuttal can be formulated in time.

Instead he then slowly closes his mouth shut and turns his head to the side in defeat, frowning once again at the troublesome case.

Beside Meditat, Dana faces forward and breathes a gentle disappointed sigh, lowering her head and slouching her body forward. Her left hand turns gold before growing out into another cannon, and as reinforcement her body slightly raises a few inches as her legs turn to metal, the royal ridges and diamond indentations of her exotic golden hide.

She then turns her head to Meditat before hesitantly following, “He’s right…their vitals indicate that they’re long gone already, there’s nothing to protect. I feel bad disgracing their corpses too…they should be buried as much in one piece as possible…but they’re not going to stop. He’s…taken that choice from them,” as in the distance the mechanical clicks and footsteps grow louder and become much faster as alert to another charge.

She then returns her stare ahead at the threat and aims her arms forward, pointing her weapons at the corpses as the grates flare golden before unloading a rapid burst of fire.

Running towards the light the uniformed men are met by the barrage of golden bolts, although rather than simply absorbing their harmless effects the bolts penetrate straight through as lasers and leave marks in their bodies with the points of flesh and metal being chinked.

While they try to run straight through the gunfire, their bodies collapse within seconds of the rapid fire, far short of their targets as smoke sizzles out of the metal spine and skeletal implants.

After watching the three guards go down, Ekitai begins to start pacing again down the hallway, stepping around the corpses that lie right ahead of them and making his way back into the darkness.

Dana follows close behind, and after a reluctant whimper, Kokei does too as pink sparks flicker off her fingers.

Last to remain still, Meditat just watches in disbelief as Kokei shouts, “I’ll try to see what I can do…but I don’t know how useful I’ll be.”

In silence with a shut mouth Meditat just frown while Dana responds in a heightened voice of desperation, “Don’t worry, if you can hold them off that’ll more than help.”

First to lead yet now at the back of the line, Meditat watches as the footsteps start to grow quieter the further the group gets, watching them spring into action on their own, fighting in a way he wasn’t. His azure eyes shimmer as he acknowledges that he had come here to save them, and he had made his entrance grand only now to falter when the mission truly started. Beneath the gilded grandeur was nothing, for he knew the others were reluctant too, even Ekitai had some remorse in his tone, and yet the experienced warrior just stood still.

More gunfire can be heard from ahead, both the distinctive liquidy sound of Ekitai’s handgun and the laserfire of Dana’s cannons, and amongst them are the electrical discharges from Kokei’s body. All of them acting together, off on their own, while the leader just stands back and watches helplessly.

He lowers his head and shuts his eyes as though unable to bear the reality being pushed down on him. His facial muscles tense up, his jaw sharpening the same as his cheeks, and his mouth opens to expose his gritted teeth from the frustration of the ultimatum.

Racing down the hallway, the sources of light now come from: the directed flashlight emerging from Ekitai’s barrel which wave up and down as he sprints, temporarily stabilizing for him to fire a differently colored bolt; the sudden flares of flickering lights from Dana’s cannons upon firing bursts made sparingly given the intensity of just a second of blasting; the constant pink sparks of arcs emerging out of Kokei’s body most of which are directed ahead at those that are then gunned and dropped, allowing the three to keep on moving.

An intersection is approached by the three, and from all sides crowds of corpses creep out in sprints, moving in irregular and flimsy patterns as some of them from the side slide out and fall to the floor before hastily clinging on all fours and pouncing up to their feet in recovery like hounds.

Golden tentacles protrude from Dana’s back and take aim at the horde before unleashing more golden fire as waves of pink electricity swarm the corpses.

Upon being wrapped around by the pink arcs, the corpses freeze perfectly in place, one of them familiar with long brown hair in a bun and their entire body scorched and charred, although that state is worsened when it’s shot by a radiating red bolt that causes its entire body to burst into more open flames that consumes the other surrounding horde, melting their corpses away as well as the metal of their exoskeletons.

As the bodies drop to the floor and incinerate away, Ekitai resumes his run down the hallway, followed closely behind by Kokei and Dana as Dana’s tentacles autonomously aim and fire on corpses in the other halls.

From one of the corridors races out Ekitai straight into a strange open lobby where three other hallways intersect, forming a T intersection in the wide area that converges on a dark wall, the first end they’ve found to the maze which Ekitai comes to a stop to as Kokei and Dana emerge out of the hall too.

Both Kokei and Dana slow down to a stop as Ekitai glances at the other two dark tunnels, for it seems they’ve reached a fork and the two women start to examine both options too, the pace slowing down as they get time to breathe.

The convergence has a space about the size of a street intersection, leaving them ample space to amble around as they examine the other two passages, Dana facing one same as her tentacles as if they too are examining while Kokei and Ekitai inspect the other.

While the three try to make a decision, Kokei’s body suddenly jolts in a shiver and she instinctively grabs Ekitai’s upper sleeve, tugging it as she steps back and exclaims in despair, “Wait wait!” to which Ekitai’s eyes widen and he steps back too, which draws in Dana’s attention only to find that from within the passage they were watching, corpses begin to slowly creep in –their bodies puppeteered by the exoskeletal systems that control their limbs with rods all stuck out of the spine implant like some hideous mechanical virus.

While Dana faces the creeping horde with disturbed shock, her tentacles remain facing the other hall before they strangely wave like an organic response, to which Dana turns back around to the tunnel only to find multiple corpses dragging themselves out into the open, walling them in.

Instinctively Dana turns back to the direction from which they came, striding forward in preparation to retreat the dead end, only to instantly halt with a skid of her metal claws on the floor after finding more figures emerging from the shadows of the third hall, for more had come from their direction.

Dana stumbles backwards, all three of the passages now blocked by the slowly creeping horde of puppets, and her tentacles all move to take on different targets as she raises her own arms up. Ekitai also raises his handgun at the mob entering through the left passage as Kokei raises her arms at the group entering through the right while summoning sparks from her body.

Yet while all three prepare for combat, they slowly step backwards as they steadily lose more space, being pushed back and yet almost compelled to hold fire in knowing that the moment the crowd becomes aggressive they’ll pile over.

Although they can only stay steady for so long, as at once all three of their backs stumble into each other, forcing them in place with a stagger before they quickly recover their aim as more of the space is crowded from what seems like an infinite army of puppets all flooding into the increasingly tight room.

Ekitai moves his arm rapidly to switch aim as Dana’s tentacles thrash to do the same, and Kokei’s arcs start to crawl out of her body with directions although they just come to a stop by her side rather than shooting out.

Neither of the three move, yet all of the corpses continue to do with free reign, inching ever so closer to them, circling them, cornering them, consuming them before even going for the kill. Some of them miss entire lower halves of their bodies, only propped up by the skeletal frame of rods that let them move on stilts. Some of them do have their lower halves, parts at least, yet they’re very clearly severed from the body, only held together by the frame but with wide gaps bordered by open wounds.

More space is taken up, more the crowd packs denser into a flock, like the dirt itself moving to bury the trio. Within the range of a lunge, or even a slash, it was only a matter of waiting for one of them to simply decide to make an action before the storm swallows them, for the three are not the ones in control of the first move.

Crowding over any angle of sight the three have are the animated corpses, although only certain parts of their bodies move that being the arms and legs with a few joints along the back, but the head remains limp as the jaws gape open same with the white eyes of those not permitted the peace of passing.

They prowl towards the group, the human footsteps driven by the mechanical clicks, their bodies a horrific experimentation as the rods seize tight control of their movements helped by the multiple needles injected into their corpses along the frame, for there even are needles on the wrist and the back of the hand given there were such parts as some missed hands and arms entirely. A few miss the wrist but their severed hand is held by the rods, attached only by the needles plunged into their deceased flesh.

The three now fully cornered, one of the corpses at the front raises its hand sluggishly, ready to make the first strike that would certainly be followed with hundreds more, an irresistible swarm. As it holds its arm up, its open hand ready to slash, a bright blue flash of light flares from down the hallway behind it, specifically the one where the group entered from.

Congesting the large intersection lobby with movement only capable of brushing against more corpses given there being no free space, other corpses at the front raise their arms too live a hivemind to draw the first attack, the ones behind ready to pounce and the ones behind them too, all of them facing the three huddled together backs against one another, holding aim but knowing there would ultimately be no purpose in firing.

In the speed of lightning and with the crackle too, a blue bolt soars straight into the room from the other corridor, its bright fiery trail branching into countless smaller ones that splinter down onto the backs of the horde, specifically their spines.

At the head of the blue bolt which abruptly suspends in air, the Tempest reveals himself locks swinging, both hands to be projecting cables from his body in legion, all of them anchored onto a substantial portion of the horde, and with one swift raise and cross of both arms the cables rip out the spine implants from the mob, which with it comes the entire exoskeletal frame of the limb rods and its needles all of which drip blood from the sudden ejection.

All of the blue cables vanish from his hands, letting the implants rain chaotically around the intersection along with the Tempest who dives straight into the ground by the three with a body blazing blue, and on impact it erupts with an explosive wave of blue energy that propels all of the oppressing corpses backwards as his locks wave.

He then stands straight and raises both of his hands to the side, and in between the Vanguard and Alchemist as well as the Alchemist and Artificer appear translucent blue energy walls hovering in the air, shielding further protecting them as the corpses already begin climbing up to their feet, none of them seeming to derive any genuine pain and instead getting right back up as long as their bodies were able to be moved.

Before one of the clusters could stand upright however, the Alchemist aims his handgun and fires a burst of magenta bolts into one of them in the center, causing its body to erupt with a manifold of differently sized yet all large magenta spikes that penetrate through its neighbors, massacring them all in one swift shot.

Another few beside them who just barely evaded the spikes begins to limp towards them before freezing up from the surrounding of pink arcs projected from the Vanguard’s body, her hand aiming at them for better control, and in their frozen state they fail to resist against the siege of golden volley from the Artificer’s arm cannons that shred through their flesh and metal.

Yet in the moment of her focus, a corpse lunges at her with a slash for the throat, although its hand strikes instead the blue shield which reverberates with a ripple effect that calls to her attention, turning her sight to the puppet just as the Tempest’s aims a bit to its side and fires two shots in rapid succession–and while it was so fast that it was nearly incomprehensible to tell– the second catches with the first shot causing them to ricochet off each other and for the second to fly straight into the spine of the corpse.

He then turns ahead to a pack of more puppets charging at him with no apparent shielding of his own, although it was no need as he aims both of his hands and fires rapid shots into the crowd, shots that do penetrate their bodies straight down the center into the spine, not a single shot off target, not a single excess wound made.

The Tempest’s attention is then turned to his other side upon finding the Alchemist fire a blue bolt into another mass’s feet, which explodes into a thick blue sludge that grounds all of them in place, allowing the Tempest an easy target which he takes without a moment’s waste in another rapid fire into the spines.

A stray reaches the Alchemist in that time and goes for a swing, aiming in between the shielding for a direct hit, although is suspended in place by a swarm of pink arcs that leaves it helpless to instead meet a point blank green shot from its very own target that melts its head in an instant.

While the room has not proper lighting, for much of the walls are still too dark to derive detail and the corridors lead into misty black abysses, there was never such concentrated light until now from the flickering of gold, the rainbow bolts following the yellow beam, the spread pink surges, and the blue bolts and constructs projecting from the bright point light of the source.

All four stay huddled together, backs forming a circle which they don’t leave even for a second as they’re still very much cornered, but no longer helpless as they gun down the flock while more continue to pour in through the three tunnels, seemingly endless waves from the collection of the entire facility’s staff.

Yet just as there’s no end to the horde, there is no end to the fire that meets them, for fiery explosions burst and through its flames reveal golden hail for the unsuspecting, more coming from above through the tentacles that shrink slightly but remain on guard to provide additional support.

A flood of puppets all charge straight for the Tempest head on, and upon noticing he curls his fist which begins to emit a bright blue shine greater than the illumination of the rest of his body, for the shine is not designed for light but rather it is only a byproduct from the excessive energy that is funneled into a single punch to the air in their direction which expels a wave of directed energy that blasts all of them backwards. Before their bodies can even hit the floor, the Tempest extends his pointer and middle finger from his fist and fires down on them midair, straight through the chest and spine, moving his arm in a swift sweep to meet all of them in perfectly timed executions.

Right behind that first flood immediately comes another for the same target, although again all of their bodies are thrown into the air, yet not by him but rather a coil of pink arcs emitting from the Vanguard who lifts them off the ground and tosses them back down the corridor, letting them pile on themselves as she steadily becomes more assertive in her actions, turning to another close flock and projecting another chain that wraps around them and tosses them into the air before then chaining it with a second swarm that locks them in place to be struck by a red bolt that bursts them in flames from a safe distance by the Alchemist who then rocks his handgun to the side, causing the cylinder to eject and expand to reveal all of the flasks inside, all of them nearly emptied as can be told by the clear casing.

Even with their backs to each other and no visible escape from the dead end, the team is remarkably safe, still unscathed despite the omnidirectional flood. The Artificer’s tentacles fire down on the corpses chasing at the Alchemist, letting him shake the handgun once which causes the locking mechanisms to loosen and relinquish all the empty flasks to drop on the floor for him to pull out more from his coat’s inner pockets, all of them filled with various vibrant colors which he hastily slots into the cylinder to refill before then rocking his handgun the other way, causing the cylinder to then slide back into compartmentalization inside the body and lock in just in time for him to aim at a closing in stray and fire a yellow bolt into its body which causes the entire corpse to burst into a thick gray slime which covers the reinforcing puppets from behind, solidifying in an instant and freezing them in standing to be shot down by a blue bolt from the Tempest’s one hand while the other focuses on another pack.

The distinct almost liquidy gunfire from the Alchemist’s gun, the screeching highly intense energy output from the Artificer’s cannons, the ethereally electric crackling and humming from the Vanguard’s swarms, and the pinpoint fire that sounds as if put through a suppressor projecting from the Tempest’s fingertips, all of it combines into a roaring concert of flames that topples the mechanical clicks and racing footsteps of the puppets brought to the ground in swift strokes.

Yet to the Tempest’s ears all of that fanfare abruptly fades into near silence upon the distinct sound of the clanging of chains, which instantly freezes his action and expands his once fiery glare into a petrified gaze, both of his arms lowering as his entire body locks despite the danger right in front of his eyes, for instead his focus and vision is moved down to the distant hallway straight ahead, where the swarm continues to pour into who are met by more rainbow and golden bolts among the pink arcs.

Although the fighting is very much ongoing, it all suppresses into white noise as Meditat just stares down the tunnel with a hanging jaw and gaping eyes, in the same lost expression as the corpses they’re fighting against.

His arms hang by his side as those very same clanging of chains reverberate down the tunnel straight into his ears, his irises pulsing from response, his locks brushing behind his head gently touched by the breeze.

Through Meditat’s eyes, he locks straight down the tunnel as more puppets chase straight for him down his line of sight, their bodies moving in unhinged haste as they push and trample one another like feral beasts, some trying to throw themselves back up while others continue to get trampled and kicked by their comrades. They throw their arms at him, at least commanded to by the mechanical movements of the frame, and only when their fingers are inches away are they put down by golden barrages. The heavy gunfire further destroys their bodies, slicing the exoskeleton and letting their limbs fly out chaotically: arms, legs, and otherwise.

More continue to chase head on, some getting shot down but others managing to pass some of the cracks at first before being hit instants later, yet still dangerously close as they slash at the air mindlessly before falling to the ground and being run over by more. Those on the ground are trampled and squashed, the heavy horde with such weight that they crush those underneath with the sound of bones cracking amidst the mechanical clicks. Corpses with entire missing arms and only hands recovered try to pounce, the rods letting their clawed hands attempt to reach before their foreheads explode from vibrant acidic bolts, although even before being shot their faces are dead anyway.

Yet none of that is paid attention to, instead it’s just the black end of the tunnel, where another echo of clanging chains enters through.

Although this time, that clang comes with the slightest of a crimson hue in the darkness, the faintest of red light above the horde.

Behind Meditat, the Vanguard steps back and projects a chain of pink electricity which catches a flock just a few feet from her face, having inched closer than comfortable. She tosses them backwards into the horde right behind, which collapses most of them all but one which climbs on its brethren and manages one close swipe which by instinct of the mortal human is blocked with the open right hand, the hand that does at the very least block the slash from the neck, but still is struck nonetheless which causes her to release a pained shriek that suddenly floods all of the surrounding sounds back to Meditat, turning his head her way and firing a blue bolt straight into the exposed implant on the puppet’s back.

The corpse promptly collapses from the hole in its implant with a burning blue edge, although even with it fallen Kokei still hyperventilates in pain, holding her right hand with her left, revealing it to have a nasty cut straight down the palm that immediately begins secreting crimson blood that drips on the floor.

Crimson, straight in front of Meditat’s terrified eyes, the liquid dripping down the hand over the corpses as Kokei whimpers in agony as Dana shouts to Ekitai, the two trying to continue holding back the horde but now with only half the team in the battle, meaning double the swarm to deal with.

Yet again Meditat’s attention is pulled from another clang of chains, moving his head hastily around back to the tunnel to find the crimson light spread much more, brighter, closer.

What’s more, while it is hard to tell from the density of the incoming horde, amongst the feral sprinting puppets there seems to be a sole silhouette just standing still in the hall, just like the former corpses, although this one doesn’t have the same frame.

Instead, draped on its back is a long jagged cape, and in both of its hands it holds viking axes that drag against the metal floor. Its body is entirely unlit, making its features unclear, yet it was more than clear enough what it was.

Shrouded in the distance and yet so close, Meditat gulps and stumbles back, knocking into the group namely Dana and Ekitai, the latter of whom turns to him and shouts in clear misunderstanding, “What are you doing? Hey, you can’t run out of ammo right?”

No attention is directly paid to Ekitai at first, as Meditat’s gaze just remains locked on the tunnel, his mouth open as his own heartbeat steadily creeps over the voices and gunfire, making it harder to perceive the rest of the environment, although the one sound that bleeds through is another clang of chains.

Down his very eyes, past the rapidly crowding army of puppets that swipe and slash savagely with untamed movements, the steady silhouette has now become closer, the crimson light now nearly bleeding out of the tunnel, the two axe blades grinding against the floor.

Without thinking, Meditat stumbles back again, breaking through the circle the team had formed and instead stumbling back towards the closed wall, which causes both Dana and Ekitai to face him now with Dana being the one to ask, “Medit, what’s going on?”

Unable to even speak, Meditat shakes his head and raises both of his hands, projecting three cables two from his right one attaching to Dana’s chest and the other to Ekitai, one to Kokei who’s still fixated on her gaping wound.

While unable to ignore the pain from her hand, Kokei is able to perceive the cable to which she mutters, “Huh..?” but to no verbal response.

Instead, Meditat huffs and glances back at the tunnel before turning around in the very moment that the horde of puppets leap on target and pile over, completely covering any sight of the four seemingly under the pile.

Mercilessly more pile on, swarming the one spot as they trample and kick each other, completely unsympathetic to their former comrades with the only parameter left motivating their body being the hunt of four lives.

Behind the huge pile of mindless drones, the dark silver shoulder shines from its own crimson glow, and in its movements the chains clang again.

More puppets charge out of the tunnel, arms flailing as they throw themselves into the heap, but among the frantic horde is the crimson devil who just stands still, its red devilish eyes flaring as its long black hair waves and rustles, its mouth shut in a ferociously determined glare that faces forward.

It stands still, facing ahead as a dusty fog and smoke spreads its way, creeping over the ground in a calm wave that consumes its legs as a gentle sizzle can be heard over the piling and clicking. As the fog passes the devil, the crimson light imbues itself into it, making it ever more unsettling. It just stands there, passive, the only one whose mind remains intact, whose will remains its own. Standing amongst the braindead horde who’ve lost not only their lives, but their purposes to serve a twisted evil.