Kalina drove like the road owed her money—but she was good at it. Real smooth, barely any bumps, and she never missed a turn. She chatted away about her day—something about a missing ice shipment and a food fight with her pod-mates—while I expertly dodged every attempt she made to fish for personal info.

  Watching her pout every time I stonewalled her was... satisfying. Not because I enjoy bullying cute girls.

  Okay, no, it is that. But only because it’s Kalina.

  She’s persistent, nosy, and way too cheerful for someone who could rip a boat in half. And unfortunately for her, I’m as sealed as a military bck box. Meanwhile, I know her address, her favorite snack, and her entire 4 a.m. pylist. Sorry Kalina—better luck next time.

  The port loomed ahead—familiar, imposing, stained by years of ocean salt and anomaly residue. As we pulled up to the Hollow perimeter, I stepped out, visor down, persona engaged. The air here had that heavy taste—like static soaked in gasoline. Something was definitely off.

  A squad of operatives stood waiting. Organized. Tense. Armed.

  One of them broke from the group and approached me.

  “Executor Red, good thing you made it.”

  The voice was clipped, professional. Familiar.

  Zuikaku.

  Red skin, bck horns, and a sharp gre that could split titanium. She was an Oni from Section 1—lean and deceptively athletic, with the kind of compact muscle built more for fencing than brute strength. But I’d seen her swing an Odachi like it was a baton, and make shockwaves in the air doing it.

  Most people in her position would be out in the field more often. But Zuikaku preferred paperwork—probably because she knew how to weaponize bureaucracy better than half the armed forces.

  “Zuikaku. Didn’t expect this to be a joint op,” I said, voice deep and glitch-filtered. The sound of someone you're not supposed to know.

  She gave me a shrug that somehow looked formal. “Not really. It’s just us sweeping out the small fry so you can focus on the real threat.”

  I nodded once. No point wasting firepower on noise.

  “Let’s move.”Zuikaku’s voice was sharp and clean. With just a flick of her hand, her section split off and moved like a well-oiled machine—fan formation, optimal coverage, standard clearing protocol. Professionals.

  “It’s a newly hatched Corrupted Tank,” she said as we moved.

  That made me pause. I turned toward her, helmet reflecting her unreadable face.

  A pnned hatching. Figures.

  The higher-ups wouldn’t waste their resources on random anomalies. A Corrupted Tank is valuable—a walking weapon of war, intentionally grown like some grotesque crop inside a Hollow. You’d need flesh matter, high-tier ether catalysts, and a stable containment shell. That’s a lot of time and money just to raise a monster.

  But that’s how it works. Raise it. Study it. Weaponize it.

  And when it gets too big? Call someone like me.

  “It’s weak to fire and electric,” she continued. “Especially fire. Metal shell outside, raw meat inside. Heat it from the outside, boil it from within.”

  Perfect for my fme sword.

  Too bad I brought a sniper rifle.

  I sighed. “I’ll try.”

  Zuikaku gave me a side gnce, mildly surprised. But she nodded.

  We reached the arena—a wide clearing surrounded by cragged Hollow walls and flickering ether fog. And in the center, asleep and steaming faintly, was the Corrupted Tank.

  It looked like a twisted fusion of military tech and deep-sea horror—bulky armored pting shaped like a tank, four spider-like legs burrowed into the soil, and a main cannon that pulsed with dense ether energy. Its “face” was buried in the center mass—no mouth, just eyes that opened and closed in eerie rhythm, like it was dreaming.

  It wouldn’t be for long.

  “Master, let’s do this! Burn them all!”Elf’s voice chirped from inside the Bangboo, upbeat and hungry for action.

  I couldn’t help but grin behind the voice modutor. Her cheer was infectious. I felt my frequency rise—W-engine singing with heat.

  “Sure,” I said, lowering my stance.

  Time to wake the beast.

  Finger on the trigger, I whispered to the gun.

  The W-engine inside hummed to life, and Heat answered—fring in a vibrant glow as I poured raw anomaly energy into the chamber. The barrel shimmered, the glyphs along the length of the rifle glowing like molten veins.

  I pulled the trigger.

  The bullet tore through the air with a whiplike screech, leaving behind a fiery streak. It smmed into the dormant tank’s side—and exploded in a fsh of fme that licked across its armored body like a fast-burning oil slick.

  The Corrupted Tank roared awake, metal groaning, vents steaming, its body shifting violently. I didn’t expect to do damage—that wasn’t the point. The shot was calibrated to disrupt its anomaly bance, heating up its ether system to destabilize it.

  It worked. Just not fast enough.

  The creature leapt.

  Massive legs flexed and unched its bulk toward me in a lumbering arc.

  I fired again—aiming beneath its belly—and dove into a forward roll. My shot struck the ground just in time, triggering another pulse of fme as the monster nded with a thunderous crash behind me. The impact cracked the dirt and kicked up a burst of scorched air.

  “Move, move, move—” I muttered, springing to the side as a charged ether round shot past me, carving a molten scar in the ground.

  Fairy’s Bangboo burst from cover—a modified Fmerboo unit, armed illegally with a high-pressure ether-fed fmethrower. Fire bloomed in its wake, washing over the tank’s pting as it joined the offensive.

  “That’s right! Burn, burn, burn!” Fairy cheered, voice bright and cruel from the comms.

  Her fmes were the key—the fire anomaly buildup would spike faster with her help. The more we overwhelmed the creature’s resistance, the closer it would get to critical overheat.

  I slid behind a jagged outcropping and peeked over, rifle braced, cloak fring slightly with residual heat.

  Another shot. Then another.

  The gauge was rising—but slow. Too slow.

  “This is gonna take forever,” I muttered.

  The tank’s eye cluster fred open, and it began to charge again—more erratic, more aggressive. Good. That meant the system was cracking.

  I just had to survive long enough to break it.

  After several minutes of pying cat and mouse, I finally hit the anomaly threshold.

  The Tank shrieked—a guttural, reverberating sound—and fmes visibly began to cling to its body. The temperature around it spiked. I could see it—pockets of fire licking through the gaps in its rocky shell, the internal flesh starting to cook.

  Now we’re talking.

  “Weakness fully exposed. You're welcome,” Elf chimed smugly. “By the way, if we’re counting contribution rates… I’m pretty sure I just overtook you, Master~.”

  I nearly tripped on instinct.

  “You what?! That doesn’t count! I didn’t even use Nubia!” I fired mid-roll, my motions already clocked into the Tank’s pattern. I was reading it like sheet music now—one staggered foot, two-second charge windup, full body sm—easy.

  “Excuses! Don’t be a sore loser,” Elf teased, pure smug over the comms.

  Ugh. No. I’m not letting a glorified fmethrower-wielding Bangboo out-damage me.

  I snapped my rifle into position, eyes narrowing behind my visor.

  “HEAT—ON!”

  The weapon ignited. A chorus of fire roared along its frame as Heat surged into its Overdrive state. The entire gun shimmered—no, howled—like it was alive, fmes dancing along the barrel and vents.

  This wasn’t some fshy ultimate from a combat sim. This was the real thing—my innate signature.

  Every Ether user had one. A skill encoded deep into their core frequency that activated when they hit their decibel maxima—a personal breaking point of soul and strain.

  Mine? Overload.

  I didn’t just fire bullets now—I unched infernos. The rifle’s internals strained under the power, burning hotter than regution ever allowed. If I’d used Rubia or Nubia, it would’ve detonated on the spot.

  Lucky me. This was still within safe bounds. Barely.

  “Alright Elf,” I growled, “Let’s see who tops the damage charts now.”

  As we kept hammering the Notorious Ethereal, its movements slowed—each lunge sloppier, each shot weaker. I triggered the burn anomaly again. For the fifth time.

  The Curropted Tank shrieked—one final, rattling cry—then colpsed with a heavy thud, its scorched frame twitching before falling still.

  "...Finally," I muttered, half out of breath, half exasperated.

  From inside the Bangboo, Elf cheered, "Because of me you won, Master! So, I expect MVP treatment tonight, okay~?"

  I didn’t even have the energy to argue.

  Then, I heard it—appuse. A full round of it.

  I looked around.

  Operatives from Section 1 were cpping. I was being treated like some kind of gdiator champion who just downed a mythical beast. My visor hid the way I winced.

  Zuikaku approached with a small smirk. “As expected of Executor Red. Took down a Notorious without even using your main weapon.”

  I gnced at her. “You could’ve helped, you know.”

  She shrugged casually, arms crossed. “No can do. I don’t like fighting.”

  Of course.

  I gave the fallen Ethereal one st look as its body began to break down into ash and residue. Mission complete. Another Hollow silenced.

  And just as I was about to rex, Elf spoke up again.

  “So, MVP gets a parfait tonight, yes? Extra rge. With sprinkles. And whipped cream. And—”

  “I swear to Ether, Elf, you’ll get a parfait if you shut up for five minutes.”

  She giggled. “Yay~!”