Veil of Corruption

"I want to break free 

 I want to break free 

 I want to break free from your lies 

 You're so self-satisfied, I don't need you..."

Queen's voice drifted through the departure bay, distorted slightly by the worn speaker embedded in the wall-mounted console. The music wasn't loud, but it lingered—faint and persistent—like a ghost humming rebellion through the cold metal walls.

A fresh group of supply corps stood loosely gathered, boots scuffed and damp from the long haul outside. Their gloves still carried the faint scent of oil and. The unloading was done. Now they simply waited—calm, still, like soldiers caught in a trance.

It was Briggs, the short, broad-shouldered one, who played the music from the audio node embedded in his neural device. 

He didn't ask. 

No one stopped him. 

Beyond them, the buffer zone doors stood sealed. A thick slab of reinforced alloy hummed faintly with magnetic current. Muller's modifications held strong—the door would now only open via Lieutenant-class biometric signature. No backdoor. No manual override. It was a fortress gate.

Jaden's station was empty. 

Carter stood tense by the outer gate, his hand twitching near his hip as he tried, and failed miserably, to ignite his Aether.

And then… he came.

A pale boy, his skin almost translucent under the flickering sodium lights. His hair, white as frost, trailed in lazy strands along the steel floor. 

He moved without urgency. 

But something followed—a creeping dark, not shadow, not smoke, but something thicker, heavier, stretching the silence behind him like fabric pulled too tight.

No one stopped him. 

No one even moved.

His path was untouched. 

His presence... undeniable.

Inside Site-0, locked behind thirteen layers of steel, something stirred. Something dormant for months. 

A dark void, unseen, but no longer asleep.

Deep in the sublevels of the departure bay, where the gears groaned and pistons struck like the hammers of old gods, the machines moved steadily—yet made no sound. 

The rhythmic hum had vanished. 

Still, the motion persisted. Perfect. Coordinated. Silent.

The temperature slipped lower—a slow drain of warmth as the mountain winds whispered against the structure. The buffer zone was collapsing. Or perhaps being rewritten.

And through the deepening cold and silence, 

the song continued.

"God knows, God knows I want to break free..."

...............

In the Captain's cabin, room 01-A, a woman was sitting on her chair, which was wobbling under her weight.

Captain Silia was reading the latest report submitted by the Spectral Analysis Detachment (SAD-7). The report was code-named...

As she read the contents, Silia's face filled with horror.

She slammed the alert button, but it was already too late.

................

The guards gathered around Site 0. There was no sound, no presence—it seemed as if the room was empty. Then, one by one, the guards began to fall. Many tried to activate Aether to use their abilities or relics, but before they could, a dark expression overtook their fallen comrades. Soon, the fallen guards turned on their partners and began attacking.

Silia commanded the units, "Close all barriers and seal-lock the place."

Looking at her communicator, he dialed a number.

"Emily! Code Black: Null breach. Status: Known. Follow the protocol."

"Yes, ma'am."

A message was sent to Seth's datapad. As he read it, a frown crossed his face.

'What's happening...?'

Noticing his master's troubled expression, Malo asked, "Is something wrong?"

Seth glanced toward the door. "Yes. There's been a breach in one of the containment units."

Malo hesitated. "Someone like me?"

Lost in thought, Seth replied, "Could be..."

.......

Jaden stood in the buffer zone, his hollow eyes dazed as he poured his Aether into the relic. 

The door behind him was tightly shut, preventing the Aether from seeping out. 

Before him, a fracture began to form, but it was different—there was no monster within.

............

Briggs strolled down the corridor alone; his footsteps lost in the relentless pulse of a song looping endlessly— Queen's "I Want to Break Free."A peculiar choice for someone like him. Even more surprising was the volume—beyond regulation, loud enough to draw attention from three wings away.

The music rolled down the hallway like defiance in audio form, bold and out of place, clashing against the sterile cold of Site-0.

Briggs didn't look at anyone.He just kept walking, coat flapping gently, head bobbing slightly to the beat as if this moment was nothing but a casual stroll.

Behind him, distant gunfire echoed. Screams.Then silence.

Outside the Communication Station, the air felt heavier—charged, like something had passed through just before you arrived.

Bodies lay slumped against the stairwell, twisted at odd angles. Blood had already dried to rust along the railings. Sundered—those who once wore human faces—now wore none at all.

As Briggs approached, the sliding door to the comms bay hissed open. The music inside, still blasting, reverberated off every surface.

"I want to break free..."

Then—it stopped.

No fade-out. No glitch. Just silence.

He stepped in.

The overhead lights flickered briefly, buzzing with static, as if the room itself was holding its breath or waiting on the people within.

The Sundered inside—dozens of them—turned slowly. Their heads twitching. Their eyes glazed with dim light and something deeper, darker, that had long since eaten their souls.

Briggs didn't pause.Didn't warn.

And then—he moved.

Not fast. Not loud.But with a precision and violence that felt unnatural in its silence.

One fell.Then another.Then six more.

No gunfire. No screams.

Just impact.Just the sound of skulls hitting steel and something wet sliding across a console.

When the last one dropped, the room fell into a strange, breathless calm.The monitors blinked back to standby. The floor steamed slightly in spots.

Briggs stood alone in the center.No smile.No expression at all.

And outside, unseen, the hallway toward Captain Silia's cabin was now empty.

............

The fallen guards, who had slain their comrades, now stood before the door to Room 0.

And inside the room, a voice reverberated.

"You have done great, Rigel."

...............

The facility's upper halls burned with siren light, casting violent reds and deep shadows that pulsed along the steel walls like veins.

They moved through it—silent, unstoppable.

Two figures that once wore names like uniforms.

Martha Chen—Navigation Assistant. Inventory Tagger.Soft-spoken, kept to herself, always writing something down.

Ben Howley—Vehicle Tech. Rear Loader.Known for bad jokes and humming off-key during long convoys.

But those people were gone.

Now, their bodies moved with unnatural fluidity, like muscle and bone had been rewritten in secret. Martha's eyes shimmered with faint, shifting color—not quite violet, not quite real—as if reflecting a sky that had never existed. Ben walked hunched, the cords of his neck twitching, lips moving without sound, speaking to something no one else could hear.

They wore no armor.Carried no weapons.And yet, the hall behind them was strewn with collapsed defenders—men and women in Venta-forged suits, trained for war, torn open like paper by bare hands.

The two reached the reinforced corridor leading to Captain Silia's cabin.

Martha stepped forward first, her fingers twitching, skin pale and bloodless.Ben followed, dragging one hand along the metal wall, leaving faint smears where the alloy had warped under his touch.

They stood before the door.A breathless second passed.Martha raised her leg to kick it in—

But the door exploded outward.

The thick alloy slab launched free of its hinges, spinning into the corridor like a wheel of death. Both of them moved at once—inhumanly fast, each slipping to either side as the door slammed into the wall and crumpled into a howl of sparks.

From within the smoke-filled frame, a figure emerged.

Bronze-skinned. Full-body relic armor.

Her eyes gleamed beneath the helm's slotted shadow, and steam hissed from the reinforced joints of her suit as it finished locking into battle form. Glyphs across her chestplate flickered from red to white—combat thresholds breached.

Captain Silia stood tall in the ruin of her cabin, posture iron-straight, the hum of her relic core rising behind her like a warning drumbeat.

The hallway went still.

Martha's head tilted, jaw slightly slack.Ben's smile twitched unnaturally.Then, without a word—

They charged.