DATE: 02/23/501 PC

  LOCATION: Intensive Care Ward – Bastion Gamma

  White. Everything was a blinding, suffocating white.

  Azazel "Zel" Nightgaze tried to draw a breath, but his lungs felt like they were filled with crushed velvet and needles. Every expansion of his chest sent a jagged spark of pain through his nervous system that made his vision swim.

  Am I dead? he wondered. Is the afterlife just a silent, white room?

  He tried to shift his weight, but a terrifying numbness gripped his limbs. He looked down—or tried to—and saw his body wrapped in regenerative bioshears, his left shoulder replaced by a complex mechanical brace. Then, he heard it. A soft, rhythmic sobbing from the corner of the room.

  Zel turned his head with agonizing slowness. Sitting in a chair was a woman in a matte-black tactical suit. Her helmet was off, resting on her lap, revealing Sara. Her eyes were red-rimmed and sunken, but when she saw his obsidian eyes flutter open, she gasped, dropping the data-pad she was holding.

  "Welcome back... Squad Captain," she whispered, her voice breaking as fresh tears spilled over.

  Zel tried to speak, but only a dry rattle emerged. Sara scrambled to her feet, her fingers trembling as she smashed the nurse's call button.

  Seconds later, the heavy door hissed open. It wasn't just a nurse who burst in. Mac, leaning on a cane, and Little Jim, looking slightly thinner but still massive in his black MGM fatigues, rushed to the bedside. Behind them, a medical droid whirred into action, scanning Zel’s vitals.

  "You arrogant, lucky son of a bitch," Mac grunted, though his voice was thick with emotion. He reached out, resting a weathered hand on Zel’s good shoulder. "You've been out for thirty-four days, kid. We thought the Core-drain had cooked your brain."

  Zel’s memory began to return in fractured shards. The Ogre. The impact. The feeling of flesh ripping under his blade.

  "The... squad?" Zel managed to wheeze.

  "We’re here, Zel," Jim said, his voice deep and steady. "We got you out. It wasn't easy. Mac used the last of our emergency MGMs to keep you breathing while we carried you through the Thicket. We all took a hit—crystallized lungs for the lot of us—but we had just enough juice to reach the gate."

  Mac nodded solemnly. "The doctors had to scrub your lungs three times to get the mana-glass out. You took the worst of it. If we hadn't brought those extra emergency supplies you insisted on, we'd all be statues in the Red Zone right now."

  Zel closed his eyes, the weight of the realization hitting him. They had stayed. They had dragged his broken, mana-depleted body through seven miles of hell, sharing their own life-support to keep him from turning into a crystal husk.

  "The mission?" Zel asked, his voice gaining a sliver of strength.

  "Success," Sara said, wiping her eyes and standing taller. "The data-drive was intact. Commander Blightsorrow verified the beacon and the map. But more than that... the salvage crews went out with a heavy escort two weeks ago. They found the Ogre, Zel. Or what was left of it."

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  She leaned in, her voice hushed. "You drove that sword straight through its heart. The CEOs are calling it the 'Miracle of the Gorge.' But for us... it’s just Tuesday."

  Zel felt a ghost of his old smirk touch his lips, though it hurt to smile. The numbness was starting to recede, replaced by a dull, manageable ache. He looked at his team—his Void Wolves. They were scarred, tired, and still recovering from the toxic mana of the Red Zone, but they were alive.

  "Thirty-four days..." Zel murmured, looking at the white ceiling. "I hope... you guys... filed for overtime."

  Mac let out a short, genuine bark of a laugh. "Rest up, Captain. The Bastion is waiting for its hero. But the Wolves? We’re just waiting for our lead to get back on his feet."

  DATE: 03/01/501 PC

  LOCATION: Private Medical Ward – Bastion Gamma

  The eighth day of Zel’s recovery marked a turning point. Thanks to his high-affinity Red Core, his body absorbed the mana-infused serums at twice the rate of a normal human. The "glass" in his lungs had been dissolved, leaving only a faint, metallic rasp in his breath that the doctors promised would fade.

  The door hissed open, and Commander Elena Blightsorrow stepped in. She wasn't wearing her usual tactical gear, but a sharp, high-collared military uniform. Behind her, Mac, Sara, and Jim stood at attention—a habit they were still forming in their new black fatigues.

  "You look significantly less dead than the last time I saw you, Nightgaze," Elena said, her voice cool but carrying a new layer of respect. She tapped a data-pad, and a holographic ledger projected into the air.

  "The mission results are finalized. The retrieval teams found the Ogre. It was a 'Great-Grade' Dual-Mana specimen. The Red Core we harvested is the size of a human torso—enough to power the entire Southern District for a decade. We also recovered a high-grade Green shard the size of a palm from its secondary gallbladder."

  Mac let out a long, low whistle from the corner. "That's... that's a king's ransom."

  "More than that," Elena replied, looking at Zel. "The Board of CEOs has authorized a total payout of 50 million credits. It is the largest single-mission bounty in the history of Bastion Gamma. After equipment deductions and medical fees, you and your crew are effectively set for life."

  Zel leaned back against his pillows, the numbers blurring before his eyes. Fifty million. It was enough to buy a penthouse in the Upper Spires, a fleet of transports, and enough mana-wine to drown in. But his eyes drifted to Mac's bandaged arm and Sara's tired face.

  "Keep the money in a squad fund," Zel croaked. "We’re going to need it for what’s coming."

  Elena nodded. "I’ve already processed the paperwork. As of this morning, Squad 4 is dissolved. You are now the 'Void Wolf Task Force'—an Independent Armed Group within the Bastion military. You have been assigned the Southern Barracks, a private facility with its own hangar and training deck. You have the authority to draft your own members, set your own rates, and choose your own missions."

  The room went silent, the weight of the promotion sinking in. They were no longer just a squad; they were a guild. A pack.

  But then, Elena’s expression darkened. The holographic ledger vanished, replaced by a list of twenty names, all crossed out in glowing red.

  "However," she began, her voice dropping an octave. "Your success is the only thing keeping the city from a total panic. The Iron Vultures... it was a total wipeout. Four of our most decorated veteran Hunters and sixteen of our best Red-affinity recruits were slaughtered in under ten minutes. They misread the Ogre's dual-affinity. They thought it was a standard brute and overcommitted their front line. When the Ogre triggered its Green-regeneration, they were trapped in the kill zone."

  Zel looked at the list of names. He had seen those men in the training halls—arrogant, powerful, and convinced of their own godhood. Now, they were just data points in a tragedy.

  "Twenty Hunters," Zel whispered. "That’s a hole in our defenses we can't fill with credits."

  "Exactly," Elena said. "The 'gods' of the Bastion have been proven mortal. The public is scared, and the Elves in the Spires likely know our frontline is weakened. That is why the Void Wolves must be ready. You are the only ones who have faced a Dual-Mana being and lived."

  She looked at Zel, her eyes piercing. "Recuperate quickly, Captain. You have a barracks to set up and a reputation to defend. The next time the gates open, the world won't be looking for the Iron Vultures. They’ll be looking for the Wolves."