The sound of boots echoed through the concrete hall, rhythmic and heavy. The air smelled faintly of freshly spilled blood. Somewhere deeper in the facility, alarms chimed and flickered green—signaling high-clearance access.

Two recruits stood at the entrance to the underground corridor, whispering nervously as they caught sight of the figure emerging from the lift.

"Who's that?" one muttered. "He's covered in blood…"

The other swallowed hard, eyes widening as the man stepped into view.

Even among the hardened members of Silent Dawn, his name carried weight.

He walked slowly, black armor glinting under the dim lights—jagged plates pulsing faintly with molten lines that looked alive. The fusion of his body and his contract, which he named the Juggernaut at Kain's suggestion, made him appear more like a war machine than a man. The faint aura of death surrounding him silenced every voice within earshot.

"That's Ronan," someone whispered, almost reverently.

The new recruits stiffened. Eyes sparkled with awe. A few even stepped aside instinctively as he passed.

He ignored the attention. The current Ronan was a far cry from his former cowardly demeanor. The only thing those here knew was that he had been part of the very first batch of recruits and was the top performer after selection, gaining a powerful contract and even awakening a gift.

Rumor had it he was once a martial arts champion from the eastern province who'd fallen ill with a muscle-eating disorder that left him frail. Now, however, after becoming a beast tamer, his figure had nearly tripled in size—burly and muscular, utterly transformed from the sickly man he once was.

He'd just returned from a mission—one of the hardest missions issued to date—and even through exhaustion, his steps carried purpose. Behind him came three others from his original batch of recruits.

The girl who had contract a giant hound during his ceremony followed last, her contract dragging a massive crate wrapped in thick restraints. Whatever was inside shifted slightly, producing a dull thud.

Ronan's armor shimmered faintly, plates retracting with mechanical precision as he deactivated the fusion. The jagged blackness peeled away, revealing a tall young man beneath, his once-timid expression now hardened and unreadable.

They moved through the corridors of the lower facility, nodding to passing operatives. Most saluted. A few just stared.

Thanks to the cultivation method Kain had left behind—designed by the World Tree itself—the progress of those in the earlier batch of recruits had been staggering.

In less than two months, many of their spiritual power had climbed to red-grade, some to the peak only a hairsbreadth away from orange-grade. Ronan in particular felt as though he may break through within the month.

Perhaps it was the technique's efficiency, or perhaps their single contract and not needing to condense more stars that allowed them to bypass bottlenecks that slowed others.

Whatever the reason, Ronan was no longer the shy recruit trembling in Kain's presence. He was now the example every new member was told to follow.

They reached the lower restricted sector—a long hallway lined with runic seals and reinforced doors. A team of guards stood waiting. The moment they saw Ronan's somewhat famous armour obtain from fusing with his contract, they stepped aside without question.

At the far end stood Darius, arms folded, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. Beside him was Malzahir, his entire body wrapped in his usual toxin-proof attire, and further back, Garret, Miya, and Lira—all leaders of different divisions.

"You're back earlier than expected," Darius said, voice even.

"The target tried to run," Ronan replied, his tone flat. "Didn't get far."

The crate behind them trembled faintly.

"Bring it in," Darius ordered.

The girl with the hound snapped her fingers, and the creature obeyed, dragging the crate forward with a guttural grunt. A few clicks later, it was placed inside the nearest containment zone.

Malzahir gestured toward the inner corridor, his muffled voice rasping through the fabric covering his face to prevent his toxic gift from affecting others. "Follow me."

They proceeded through a reinforced doorway that led to one of the facility's deepest levels. The air grew colder, heavier. Rows of cells lined the walls, each inscribed with complex formation markings designed to suppress aura.

Ronan's newest teammate—a tall man still panting from the journey—unlatched the crate and stepped back.

The lid creaked open.

Inside sat an old man. Frail. Thin. Harmless-looking. His eyes were sunken, his skin pale, his hands trembling faintly as he looked around.

Anyone else would have accused them of cruelty—of disrespecting the elderly and bullying someone who clearly posed no threat.

But the moment the old man's gaze met Darius's, a flicker of something dark passed between them. The air in the room tightened.

Without hesitation, one of Ronan's teammates grabbed the old man by the collar and tossed him into an empty cell. The door slammed shut behind him, locking automatically with a chime.

"What's his gift?" Garret asked.

Darius's smirk deepened. "Violent Frenzy. He used it on a school once—made the graduating class slaughter each other while thinking they were celebrating."

The air turned heavy. Even Ronan's hardened expression twitched slightly.

Malzahir stepped forward, checking the seals on the cell. "He'll serve a purpose, then."

They continued deeper, the flickering lights casting ghostly shadows across the floor. Ronan glanced through the transparent barriers of the other cells as they passed—and each one revealed a different person. Many that looked unsuspecting.

In the first cell was a woman with long silver hair and red veins spiderwebbing beneath her skin. She sat cross-legged, humming quietly to herself, though every so often the walls around her shivered as if struck by invisible hands.

"She's the Sound Eater," Miya murmured. "Gift lets her consume sound vibrations—voices, echoes, even heartbeats. She used it to silence an entire village—snuffing out voices and alarms so her accomplices could slaughter them with no warning. By the time anyone realized something was wrong, the dead outnumbered the living."

Further down, a hulking man pressed his forehead against the bars, eyes hollow. The runes flickered violently each time he twitched.

"That one's called the Mimic. Gift allows him to instantly learn and copy any spiritual skill that he sees—to a limit. A wanted ad for his capture was released after he had infiltrated a secure archive of high-level and forbidden spiritual skills and murdered all of the staff."

Garret spat on the floor. "Although human, these guys are worse than monsters."

Ronan didn't speak. His gaze slid to another cell, where a thin woman sat curled in the corner, a halo of ghostly light flickering around her head.

"She can completely rearrange others' physical attributes. Their face, height, weight, even unique identifying characteristics like dental records, finger prints and eye scans can't be used on those she tampered with," Darius said quietly. "Called Identity Sculptor. She ran an underground operation selling new identities to criminals and assassins. Moreover she herself has killed many, unfortunately all identifying characteristics of her victims have been altered so their families can't be contacted. Indirectly and directly over 500 deaths are linked to her."

Ronan exhaled, his breath misting faintly in the cold air. "And all of the others involved…?"

"Convicted and sentenced," Darius finished. "Now serving a higher purpose."

They stopped at a sealed chamber at the end of the corridor. Inside, a series of medical and spiritual apparatuses lined the walls—extraction rigs, formation matrices, and a central platform glowing faintly with shifting sigils.

"This," Darius said, spreading his arms, "is where we prepare for the future. Kain, before leaving, left an informant within the Black Dawn, and that person brought back crucial information—a method to extract gifts from the unworthy and transfer them to those who'll make better use of them."

Malzahir's tone was dry. "A sanitized way of saying 'we steal their power.'"

Darius gave a thin smile. "No. We repurpose it. Would you rather their abilities remain locked in filth?"

He pointed toward the old man's cell, where the prisoner now sat trembling. "If we use this power correctly, we can arm many awakened that actually have the means and desire to aid mankind in combatting the Abyss. That could mean the difference between survival and extinction."

Silence stretched. Even the air hummed faintly with the sound of the sealing formations.

Finally, Lira spoke. "And if the process kills them?"

Darius shrugged. "Then they die doing something useful for once in their miserable lives."

The lack of hesitation in his voice made even Garret grimace.

Ronan turned away, his fists tightening at his sides. He understood the logic. But he also wasn't sure this would sit well with Kain. Nor was he sure that this wasn't a slippery slope into them becoming just another version of the Black Dawn...

Unfortunately, they didn't have time to wait and hear back from Kain about his opinion. The abyss' arrival was breathing down their necks.

Still, Darius's words carried weight. Preparation for the Abyss meant sacrifices. Maybe this was simply one of them.

The old man's laughter echoed again, thin and bitter. "You think you can control what you take from me?" he rasped, voice trembling with mania. "Power is hunger, boy. It'll eat you too."

Malzahir raised his hand, and the runes flared, silencing him instantly.

Darius's eyes gleamed as he turned to Ronan. "Start the preparations and I will begin screening suitable volunteers. I want the first extraction complete by tomorrow. We'll see if the process truly works."

Ronan nodded slowly, expression unreadable.

But deep down, Ronan wondered whether they were truly making the world safer—or simply building a new kind of monster to face the ones still to come.

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