Herald of death

Liam enters the warehouse, parking the SUV in its original spot. The truck is waiting for them in the middle, and Zoe is already swapping plates.

Exiting the car, Oliver grabs an instrument teaming with antennas. He opens the container's doors, scanning every inch of the armored transport.

Liam purposefully remains behind Ethan, stressed and sweating as he tracks his every move. Ethan notices but pays it no mind, simply keeping his motions slow and his hands in sight.

James starts a K12 saw and climbs inside the container. Sparks fly everywhere as he grinds the armored transport's door locks.

"What do you do with the vehicle once you're done looting it?" Ethan asks.

Zoe lifts her head from her work. "Scrap it for parts and sell them once we remove the serials. And we cut the body into chucks before gifting it to a scrap dealer who smelts them," she explains.

The armored transport's doors give up in an echoing metallic snap. A wave of diverse Ethers fills the warehouse, colliding with each other and creating turbulence in the air.

They all enter to see a collection of wooden crates. Opening them reveals dungeon stones, Ether crystals, and weapons carefully packed in plastic straw.

A dagger of intricate design attracts Ethan's attention. The spine of the obsidian-black blade is serrated like that of a harpoon. Touching it, Ethan thinks, 'Identification.'

Dark fate (Dagger)

This dark steel dagger extracts Ether from the creatures it wounds. The dagger turns the stolen Ether into dark Ether and releases it into the air.

This weapon has been enchanted with [Sharpness (D)], and [Durability (D)].

Seeing the window, Liam says, "Your share is the dungeon stones." His voice hints at restrained annoyance.

Ethan moves silently to the dungeon stones, quickly storing them in his haversack. Moving slowly, he checks every crate for more of them. Having taken all of them, he steps down from the container. "It is a pleasure doing business with you. Remember, not a word about me to anyone," Ethan threatens as he exits the building.

'Did he take the jammer?!' Zoe asks herself. She looks around, and her eyes quickly find the jammer and the radio on the SUV's ceiling. She secures them, along with her own, in their locker.

James drives the armored truck out of the container before parking it on an industrial car lift. As the others unload the crates, Zoe opens the hood.

The armored transport uses heavy parts usually found in fret trucks. She begins with the easily accessible parts and soon removes the battery, the engine control unit, and the radiator. Each piece is placed aside for James to anonymize. Zoe's hands move with practiced ease as she dismantles the complex machinery.

With a pneumatic wrench, she loosens the bolts holding the axle and suspension system. The heavy thuds of metal hitting the ground punctuate the air, mixing with the occasional spark from where James erases the serials with a grinder.

As the body of the truck becomes more skeletal, Zoe directs James to make cuts in the body with his K12 saw. Soon the chassis turned into pieces of metal scrap.

As night deepens, the warehouse grows quieter. The armored transport lies dismantled in pieces ready to be sold, meticulously organized on the warehouse's concrete floor.

"Engineering leveled up," the voice announces.

Oil and sweat make Zoe's skin stick with each movement. 'We just need to load the pieces in their crates, and then I can finally sink in my bed,' she thinks. As she moves to a set of empty crates, she feels her phone vibrate in her pocket. 'Dad' is calling. "I'll take this call, and I'll help you finish," she says to James, who's triple-checking every piece.

She answers to avoid the call going to voice mail, moving to a more secluded area. Liam is sleeping deeply on a chair, even though he should be keeping watch. She passes an elevated desk room in which Oliver is still working, hidden behind three screens. She quickly reaches a locker room once dedicated to the crew.

"Hey, Dad," Zoe begins, her voice steady despite the knots forming in her stomach.

"Zoe." Her father's voice comes through, weary and strained. "I wish I were calling with better news."

She leans against a cold metal locker. "How is she?"

There's a heavy pause, filling the air with tension. "Her condition has… worsened. The doctors say that the cancer has spread faster than they anticipated."

Zoe's hand clenches into a fist, her short nails still digging into her palm. "How bad is it?"

"They're adjusting her treatment plan, but… they are talking about quality of life now," he says.

Zoe's hand grips the phone tighter, her other hand removing the tears forming in her eyes. "I've got almost enough for the therapy. It's almost there; they can't abandon her now."

Her father sighs. "I know, honey, … I know. But the doctors are concerned that she might not be strong enough for it."

A long silence follows. She slides down the metal locker until she's seated on the cold floor. Her breaths are heavy and strained, each accompanied by a knot in her chest.

"I'm coming home. I'll try to be there tonight," she whispers.

Her father's voice softens, still filled with sadness. "Be safe, ok? There is no need to get wounded by one of those monsters."

"I love you, Dad," she manages to say.

"I love you, honey," he replies before the line goes silent.

Zoe sits alone in the dim locker room, her phone slipping from her limp grasp to the floor. Tears stream down her face uncontrollably, her body shaking with silent sobs. The oil on her hands attacks her eyes as she tries to wipe away the tears.

Without turning on the lights, she makes her way to a shower. She strips off her work clothes, stained with oil. Turning on the shower, she steps in as hot water cascades down with high pressure. It envelops her in a warm embrace that calms her shaking body.

As the water streams down, Zoe's thoughts whirl. The hot droplets merge with her tears. She closes her eyes, letting the heat seep into her muscles, trying to wash away the frustration and helplessness. Her mother's health has been deteriorating for the past three years, yet this is the first time the realization of her final days' inevitability has hit Zoe.

After an eternity, Zoe's tears begin to subside. She remains in the shower long after the water has rinsed away the day's dirt. The shower suddenly shuts down without warning. The lights in the corridor disappear, and the sound of James' grinder stops.

'A fuse must have blown up,' she thinks. Reaching for a towel, Zoe wraps herself in its coarse embrace. Slipping into her clothes, she moves through the shadows, the only light coming from a slither of moonlight piercing through high windows. She turns on her phone's light, but it shuts itself down as the battery dies. 'Fuck.'

As she steps out of the locker room, Zoe's eyes adjust to the dimness. Her steps echo slightly. She remembers rather than sees the familiar environment.

Zoe reaches the main area, her eyes scanning around. Liam's barely distinct shadow sits in his chair. 'Still asleep,' she thinks. As she draws closer, the moonlight reveals Liam's face, his eyes wide open in a frozen gaze of shock. A dagger protrudes gruesomely from his throat, a pool of blood forming beneath him.

Panic claws at her chest. She whirls around, the shadows seeming to shift and whisper. Every sound terrifies her – the distant drip of a faucet, the skittering of a rat, her own ragged breathing.

She falls back, her mind racing. Oliver enters his room, illuminating Zoe's with his phone's light. A massive shape emerges from the darkness. It lunges at Oliver with terrifying speed. Oliver barely gasps before the creature's jaws snap shut around him, dragging him into the shadows. It was a grotesque dog silhouette of unnatural size.

Oliver's phone slides across the concrete floor. It spins, its light sweeping across the room in a wide arc. It briefly illuminates Oliver's head as it rolls away from his body. The severed head comes to rest with eyes wide open, staring at Zoe.

An explosion reverberates through the basement, sending vibrations up the walls and rattling the tools. A thick cloud of dust rises from the basement. James' agonizing scream pierces the chaos. The cry is abruptly silenced by a suppressed gunshot.

Zoe stands up, her hands covered in blood. She wants to run for the door, but the shape of the creature appears under the moonlight. The silhouette of a soldier materializes from the deeper shadows near the basement. The soldier is heavily geared yet moves in total silence. The creature joins him, shrinking down to the size of a normal dog.

The man levels his rifle at Zoe, aiming at her head. Her heart pounds, terror rooting her to the spot. Yet, as the moments drag, the expected shot never comes; she notices his trigger hand trembling. In a desperate act, Zoe rips the dagger from Liam's throat and hurls it toward the soldier. His dog intercepts it midair, growling as it approaches her.

The man gives no command, yet the dog halts, returning to his side. They both retreat into the shadows, leaving Zoe alone in the silence of the warehouse. After what feels like an eternity, she finally forces herself to move, sprinting from the building and into the safety of the night.

"The client transferred the seven hundred fifty thousand. Too bad you missed the last one," Tombstone says over the phone.

Perched high on an exposed steel beam within the shadowy expanse of the warehouse, Ethan surveys the scene below with detached calmness. Unnoticed by the cleaning crew, he watches as they methodically mop the blood-stained concrete where Liam's, Oliver's, and James' bodies had lain, now encased in black plastic wrappings.

Another individual is cataloging every item found in the truck before packaging them to send them to a N.E.S.T warehouse. Ethan returned most of the dungeon stones, but kept the dark fate dagger for himself.

Holding a dungeon stone, Ethan whispers, "I think I should go to the other world for a while. To gather more information."

Tombstone's microphone goes silent. After a minute, she responds, "We have many affairs that require your participation. However, most are on hold until we acquire more details. The higher-ups have agreed to give you two weeks."

"Thanks," Ethan replies before ending the call. He reclines against the metal beam, letting Russ crawl up to lick his face. "If I can't even kill without hesitating and shaking, we'll have big troubles," he murmurs to Russ.

Russ whines softly, cocking his head as if trying to understand.

"I need to get him out of my head, but I won't find how here," Ethan mutters. He stands, slowly descending from his perch with Russ by his side, exiting the building into the night.