The ground crunched faintly under Code Seven's boots. Shards of black crystal, sharp as broken glass, lay scattered along the ridge where he crouched. His eyes were fixed on the dark horizon, where a creature slithered between the rocks—long, scaled, and almost silent. It had the body of a snake but limbs like a spider, eight of them clawing at the ground as it moved with fluid menace.
He'd been tracking it for nearly an hour.
It was no grand beast, nothing that would earn a name or rank in the Power List. But to a soul barely surviving in the Ash tier, it was meat. Bone. Blood. A chance to stay alive one more day. His fingers brushed the edge of a broken spear he'd scavenged days ago. Its metal was dulled, but its point still true.
He moved in slowly, steps soundless.
Then—before he could close the distance—a sharp, clear voice rang out behind him.
"Hold!"
Seven froze. His eyes narrowed, and he pulled back into the shadow of a stone. Three, no—four footsteps followed, swift but controlled. Whoever they were, they weren't amateurs.
He didn't move.
The creature ahead hissed, rising on its legs.
Another voice, deeper and sharper: "Move on it now!"
A wave of flame burst through the clearing as a young man stepped out, holding a narrow ritual board in one hand. A swirl of ash lifted around him, followed by a sudden bolt of green light from behind a rock.
The beast screamed.
It lunged—but a fifth figure appeared from behind, leaping high and slamming a metal hammer down between its eyes. The crunch echoed through the stones. The creature twitched. Then it was still.
A silence followed.
Code Seven remained behind the ridge, crouched in the dark, calculating.
Then came a quieter voice, female, amused. "Well, I guess we're eating tonight."
Laughter. The sound was... strange. Out of place.
Seven debated leaving. But before he could move, one of the squad turned toward his position.
"Come out," said the deep voice. "We saw you."
Seven stood slowly, showing his empty hands. His face was blank, eyes half-lidded. He made no move to reach for his spear. He stepped down the ridge into their view.
The squad was young. None looked older than thirty. Their clothes were worn but well-kept—leather and dark cloth, reinforced with patches of light armor. Ritual straps and pouches lined their belts. Only one of them had a visible artifact—a curved blade that hummed faintly with violet energy, hanging at the woman's side.
The man with the hammer eyed him carefully. "You weren't going to steal our kill, were you?"
Seven shook his head. "Tracking it."
"Alone?"
"Yes."
"Sigil?"
"None you'll see."
That made them pause.
The youngest of them, a red-haired boy with wide shoulders, gave a grin. "That's a fancy way of saying he's got one and doesn't want to use it."
The woman with the blade stepped forward. Her eyes were sharp and narrow, skin pale like sanded bone. "Most new ones flash their sigils at the first chance. Either you're cautious... or dangerous."
"I'm careful," Seven said.
"Name?"
He hesitated.
Then: "Seeker."
They nodded. No questions. In the Infinite Planes, real names were seldom used. Aliases were protection. Identity was power.
The hammer-wielding man motioned to the creature's corpse. "Help us carve. You can take a leg. Fair?"
Seven nodded and stepped forward. He knelt beside them and began slicing through the thick hide, working quietly, efficiently.
The others spoke while they worked.
"You've been here long?" asked the red-haired one, now tugging at a tendon with a hooked blade.
"Not long," Seven replied.
The girl with the blade wiped blood from her hands and glanced at him. "You're lucky. Most who wander alone get shredded by day three."
"I keep to the shadows."
"That helps, until you get hungry."
Seven didn't reply.
The hammer-man introduced himself with a nod. "Rell. That's Varka—" he motioned to the girl with the blade "—and the loudmouth is Trin."
Trin gave a playful salute.
"The one with the ritual board is Jin," Rell continued. "He doesn't talk much."
Jin nodded silently, already sketching something with glowing ink on a ritual scroll, the symbols pulsing faintly.
"Why are you here alone?" Varka asked.
"I escaped," Seven said simply.
Rell raised an eyebrow. "A runner?"
"From a lab," Seven added.
The group shared a glance. Not pity—understanding.
"You one of those empire-born Strikers?" Trin asked casually.
Seven gave no answer.
"Doesn't matter," Rell said. "You're not trying to kill us, so we're good."
They set up a small fire—more for warmth than cooking, since the meat they packed away was for drying later. Seven sat on the edge of the group, eyes watching the distance, mind still cautious.
After a while, Trin leaned back, chewing on something and speaking between bites. "Bet you've got questions. All first-timers do."
Seven didn't answer.
So Rell spoke instead. "This place isn't a world. It's a storm. Think of the Infinite Planes like layers of broken glass floating in a void. Some parts shimmer with treasure. Some just kill you for walking wrong."
"You've seen zones?" Seven asked quietly.
"Only what the fools call zones," Varka replied. "Truth is, the Planes shift. People want there to be order, so they name things. Ruin Valleys. Silver Marshes. But nothing stays in one place."
"There are cities," Rell added. "Mostly built around stable paths. Temporary havens."
"Some factions set up bases," Trin said. "Guilds, empires, all of it. But power doesn't last here. Monsters tear it down, or stronger beings wipe it away."
Seven nodded slowly. "And the rankings?"
"All public," Rell said. "Three lists. Power. Wealth. Achievements. You can hide your real name, but the alias shows up. First sigil's always announced to you—quietly. The rest... you pray nobody sees."
"Artifacts?" Seven asked.
"Rare," Varka said. "Found in ruins, stolen from dead explorers, dropped by monsters—if you're lucky. Rituals are easier, if you've got the materials."
"I noticed," Seven muttered.
Jin, who hadn't spoken until then, looked up. His voice was soft. "Sigils come from the Infinite Planes. You don't find them. You're given them."
"That's what scares people," Rell added. "No one knows how or why."
Seven sat back, mind slowly weaving the threads.
They were ordinary people. Fighters, explorers—like many others who entered this place. But they were also survivors. They didn't know who he was, and that was exactly how he wanted it.
"We're heading toward the Hollow Spires," Rell said after a while. "Heard there's a ruin there untouched. Might be scraps of old rituals. Or a sigil crystal."
"Or death," Varka said dryly.
"You're welcome to join us," Rell offered, looking at Seven. "Safety in numbers. You seem sharp enough not to die."
Seven paused. He looked at their faces—wary, tired, still breathing.
"I'll come," he said finally.
And just like that, Seeker became part of something—if only for a while.
---
The Infinite Planes were quiet that day—too quiet. Clouds of ash drifted through the pale sky, dimming the broken sunlight that filtered down in beams, like light through shattered glass. Rocks the size of towers lay strewn across the land, cracked and burned, relics of some forgotten cataclysm.
Code Seven walked silently beside the squad.
He didn't speak much. But they didn't seem to mind. Rell led from the front, hammer slung over one shoulder, eyes scanning the terrain. Varka stayed at the rear, checking their tracks every now and then. Jin kept his head down, whispering small activation chants into his ritual scrolls, preparing spells in advance. Trin, of course, talked enough for all of them.
"You know," Trin said as they crossed a jagged bridge made of bone-like stone, "this place used to be called 'Whisper Step'. Supposedly, the wind here carries memories. If you listen long enough, you can hear voices."
Seven glanced at him. "You believe that?"
Trin grinned. "No. But it sounds cool."
Rell muttered something under his breath.
They passed the bones of a massive creature, its ribcage arching like the ruins of a cathedral. The wind here did carry a sound—faint, like a low hum, too constant to be natural. Seven didn't trust it.
He kept his hand near the knife at his waist.
Hours passed. The land grew sharper, the ground cracked and uneven. Small creatures watched them from behind rocks—thin, skeletal things with six eyes and long tails. They didn't approach.
By nightfall, the group set camp near a shattered pillar. Rell and Jin built a low fire using resin-soaked bark. It gave off no smoke and barely any light, just enough to heat a pan and warm their hands.
Varka passed Seven a strip of dried meat. "You fight well," she said.
Seven took it, chewing slowly. "I fight to survive."
"Same difference here."
She leaned back on a stone, arms crossed. Her eyes, silver in the firelight, studied him again.
"You're not like most we meet. Strikers tend to be loud. Quick to boast."
"I'm not like most," Seven said simply.
She nodded. "That's good. The loud ones die first."
Across from them, Trin pulled something from his pack. A small, cracked orb—glass with veins of light inside. He held it up.
"Found this in a ruin last week," he said. "Might be part of a ritual."
Jin looked over, expression unreadable.
Seven looked up and said.
"It's a Memory Core."
"You know what it is?" Trin asked, surprised.
"I've seen one before," Seven replied.
Trin grinned. "Then you know it records the last moments of whoever held it."
He tapped the top. A flicker of light sparked, and a faint voice emerged—desperate, ragged.
"…they're everywhere—can't see—can't—"
crack
The voice ended.
"Comforting," Varka muttered.
Trin shrugged. "What? Could be useful."
Seven stared at the core. "You plan to keep it?"
"Why not?"
"You carry the memories of the dead. That's not always wise."
There was a pause. Then Rell grunted. "Seeker's right. Keep it buried deep. Last thing we need is a cursed relic."
"Okay, okay," Trin muttered, tucking it away.
The night passed slowly. When they took turns keeping watch, Seven volunteered for the darkest hour. He didn't mind the cold. He preferred it. When the others slept, he sat still, eyes open, listening to the wind move through the distant stones.
He thought of the lab again.
Of the mark burned into his shoulder.
Of the silence when he had escaped—when the guards' bodies fell behind him, one after another.
He still didn't understand how he'd triggered the sigil. The [VoidSteps] had just… responded. As if something inside him had finally broken free.
Now, in this endless world, he was just another name. A Seeker.
And that, he thought, was good.
By dawn, they were moving again.
The terrain shifted. Stones gave way to patches of violet grass that crunched underfoot like paper. Birds without feathers circled overhead, their cries sounding almost human.
Jin raised a hand suddenly. "Movement."
The squad froze.
Seven moved toward the edge of a slope, peering down.
A group of figures was moving below—armed, armored, and fast. Not monsters. People. A full squad, moving in formation, wearing colors of deep green and black. On their backs were banners marked with a curling snake sigil.
Varka cursed quietly. "Gravel Serpents."
"Who?" Seven asked.
"Mercenary faction," Rell said. "Scouts, assassins. They take contracts from mid-tier guilds. Not the worst, but not friendly."
Seven narrowed his eyes. "They see us?"
"Maybe."
Jin whispered softly, brushing a hand against a ritual scroll. A veil of shimmering distortion spread across the slope, cloaking their forms.
"Let's move," Rell said.
They doubled back, choosing the rocky path instead. The Serpents didn't follow. Not yet.
"Encounters like that are common?" Seven asked.
"Too common," Varka replied. "People kill each other for scraps here. Trust is rare. Allies rarer."
Seven understood. In the lab, there were no friends. Just the silence between screams.
Later that day, they reached the edge of a wide crater. In its center stood the ruins of an old structure—half-sunken stone walls, collapsed towers, vines growing through broken pillars.
"The Hollow Spires," Rell said.
They descended quietly.
The air changed. Colder. The wind was gone. As they passed into the ruin, the sound of their footsteps dulled, like the air was swallowing noise.
Jin lit a ritual glyph on his palm. Soft blue light flickered to life.
They searched room by room—cleared old doors, brushed dust from strange carvings.
In one chamber, they found a broken pedestal with faded runes.
"A sigil altar," Varka whispered.
"Empty," Rell said. "Someone already looted it."
Trin checked a stone chest in the corner. "Ritual dust," he called. "Still usable."
They packed what they could.
In another chamber, they found a corpse.
Dried, twisted—its fingers clenched around a scroll tube.
Jin took it, unrolling the parchment carefully.
"A ritual I don't recognize," he said quietly.
"Keep it," Rell said. "We'll study it later."
Seven said nothing. His eyes were fixed on a wall where something had been carved. It looked like a diagram—a tree of symbols, branching out in all directions. A map of something.
He memorized it.
Then the wall cracked.
A sudden sound—like breathing.
Varka stepped back. "Trap?"
Jin raised a barrier rune, just in time.
The floor behind them split open as a creature burst forth—long, pale, and eyeless, with blades for limbs and a mouth that split vertically into four rows of teeth.
"Back!" Rell shouted.
They scattered.
Trin drew two throwing knives, hurling them with pinpoint speed. One glanced off the creature's hide. The other dug into its shoulder—but did little.
Jin activated a ritual. Chains of blue fire sprang from the ground, wrapping around the creature's legs.
Seven moved.
His mind went silent.
He appeared behind the beast—[VoidSteps] pulsing once. His knife struck deep into the side of its neck. It howled, twisting violently. He vanished again, blinking to the far end of the chamber.
Varka struck next—her blade flashing. Rell followed, hammer crushing down. The creature screamed once more, then collapsed in a twitching heap.
The room was quiet again.
They stood panting, blood on the stones.
"Was that a lurker?" Trin asked, wiping his face.
"No idea," Rell said. "Too many new things these days."
They left the ruin quickly, taking what they could. The day faded into dusk again.
By the time they camped, they were exhausted.
Around the fire, Rell looked at Seven.
"You're fast," he said. "That movement—your sigil?"
Seven nodded once. "VoidSteps."
"Never seen that one."
"You won't see it often."
Rell nodded. "Good. Keep it hidden."
The fire crackled.
They sat in silence.
Then, in the sky above, letters blazed across the clouds:
[ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: FIRST DISCOVERY OF THE BONE-CODE TREE]
[RANKED UNDER ALIAS: BLACK SHARD]
They all looked up.
"Another one," Varka muttered.
"Black Shard... that name's been popping up lately," Trin said.
"Means someone else found something big," Rell said. "We move again tomorrow."
Seven said nothing. He stared at the fire, silent and still.
The world was moving. Names were rising. The Infinite Planes had many eyes.
But Seeker would remain beneath them—for now.