(Flashback: 150 Years Ago)
The Moon-Silver Mines were a jagged scar on the face of the planet, a labyrinth of deep, shadowed canyons where the earth housed pure energy deep beneath the crust. Here, the rock wasn't just stone; it was infused with lunar residue, but the light it cast was faint, a ghostly, dying luminescence that barely pierced the suffocating dark. It was a place of wealth, where miners harvested raw obsidian cores, these ones unlike those found in the beasts on the planet were just able to do basic industrial things like serve as energy and unable to upgrade weapons or made armor out of. And the shadows reigned supreme.
And yet today, the only sound in the canyon was the wet tear of flesh and the heavy crunch of bone.
"Yo, Zorr! Heads up, lil' bro!"
Zorr, young, unscarred, and grinning with reckless immortality ducked just in time. A massive black shape swooped over his head, its screech splitting the air.
WHAM.
A massive war hammer, wreathed in kinetic energy, slammed into the beast mid-air. The impact folded the creature in half, sending it crashing into the canyon wall with a sickening thud.
Captain Kaelen landed heavily beside the carcass, hefting his hammer onto his shoulder. He was a massive, towering Ironkong, his beard thick and black, his eyes crinkled with permanent amusement.
"You daydreamin' again, rook?" Kaelen boomed, his voice deep and rumbling. "Keep them eyes open, or these bats gon' turn you into a snack."
Zorr straightened his armor, trying to look dignified despite the oversized backpack straps digging into his shoulders. "I had it, Cap. Just baitin' him in for you."
"Sure you were," a sharp, teasing voice cut in.
Vora landed silently on a rock perch above them. She moved with dangerous grace, a female Ironkong with intricate braids woven with silver bells that somehow never jingled when she moved. On her hands were massive, bladed gauntlets, currently dripping with dark ichor.
"Kid was starin' at a shiny rock," Vora laughed, wiping a blade on her thigh. "Torr, tell him he was starin' at a rock."
Torr, the squad's shield, grunted. He stood near the mine entrance, a walking fortress holding a Tower Shield made from the plating of a Landmauler. He didn't speak much. He just blocked things.
"See? Even Torr agrees," Vora winked.
"Leave the kid be," Rix called out. The scout was perched upside down on a stalactite twenty feet up, clinging to the shadows where the faint ore-light couldn't reach. His dual axes spun idly in his hands. He was smaller than the rest, a bit lean and twitchy. "He's carryin' the loot. Respect the pack mule."
Zorr scowled, though he couldn't hide the smile tugging at his lips. "I ain't a mule. I'm 'Tactical Support'."
The squad erupted in laughter, the sound echoing off the damp, dark walls. They were the Iron-Fist Squad, one of the most efficient Knight units in the village. They were family. And in their minds, they were invincible.
"Alright, cut the chatter," Kaelen ordered. "We got one more wave to clear before this mine is safe for the workers. Here they come."
From the pitch-black mouth of the central shaft, a screeching wind began to blow.
They weren't normal bats. These were Razor-Bats, High-Tier BloodWrought beasts. Each one had a wingspan of about fifteen feet; their leathery wings edged with bone as sharp as obsidian blades. Their bodies were covered in thick, matted fur that absorbed what little light existed, and their mouths were filled with needle-teeth capable of shearing through plate armor. They didn't just bite; they attacked in swarms.
A swarm of twenty poured out of the darkness.
"Torr, front! Vora, flanks! Rix, skies! Zorr, behind me!" Kaelen barked.
The squad moved like a single organism.
Torr slammed his shield into the ground.
"Reverse Ironkong Blood Art: Seismic Wall!"
A red energy barrier pulsed outward. Five bats slammed into it, stunned by the impact.
Kaelen stepped past the shield, his hammer glowing red.
"Reverse Ironkong Blood Art: Titan's Impact!"
He swung. The kinetic force exploded outward, crushing two bats instantly.
Vora blurred into motion. She moved swiftly through the chaos, her gauntlets burning with crimson energy.
"Reverse Ironkong Blood Art: Severing Cyclone!"
She spun, dissecting the bats as they fell in pieces around her.
Rix dropped from the ceiling, landing on the back of a particularly large bat. He raised his axes high.
"Reverse Ironkong Blood Art: Twin Fang Drop!"
He drove his axes into its neck, steering it crashing into another before leaping clear.
And Zorr?
Zorr dropped his pack and roared. He didn't have a fancy weapon, just his fists.
A Razor-Bat swooped at him. Zorr caught its wing, ignoring the pain as it sliced his palm, and slammed it into the ground. He pulled back his fist, red energy gathering around his knuckles.
"Reverse Ironkong Blood Art: Piston Punch!"
Crack.
He grabbed the obsidian core from the gore before the body even stopped twitching and tossed it into his pack.
"That's six for me!" Zorr shouted.
"I'm on twelve, junior!" Vora called back, decapitating another.
The battle was brutal, fast, and decisive. Within minutes, the swarm was reduced to piles of twitching fur and valuable cores.
The squad regrouped in the center of the cavern, breathing hard but unharmed. The floor was slick with blood.
"Clean work," Kaelen nodded, wiping his brow. "That's the last of 'em. Zorr, loot 'em up."
"On it, Cap," Zorr said, moving quickly to harvest the cores.
"Man, these BloodWroughts gettin' bold," Rix muttered, landing beside them. "Nesting this close to the surface? Ain't natural."
"Beasts go where the food is," Torr grunted.
"Nah," Kaelen said, looking deeper into the pitch-black mine. "Rix is right. They usually stay deep. Something pushed 'em up here."
"Maybe they heard the Iron-Fist was in town," Zorr joked, hoisting the now-heavy backpack.
Vora ruffled his hair. "Cute. But don't let it get to your head."
They began to make their way out of the canyon, spirits high. Another mission down. Another payout. Tonight, they'd feast.
"Hey," Rix stopped suddenly. He tilted his head, his ears twitching.
The laughter died.
"What is it?" Kaelen asked, his hand instantly going to his hammer.
"You feel that?" Rix whispered.
At first, it was nothing. Then, a low vibration hummed through the soles of their boots. It wasn't an earthquake. It was deeper. A frequency that gave them headache.
The heavy, stagnant air in the canyon grew even colder. The faint, ghostly light on the walls seemed to die completely, turning the gloom into a sickly, bruised purple haze.
Zorr felt the hair on his arms stand up. It wasn't fear—he didn't know fear yet—maybe a biological revulsion. Like his very blood was rejecting the air.
"What the hell…" Vora murmured.
Rix spun around, his eyes locking onto the distant southern horizon, past the mine, past the crags.
"That ain't comin' from the mine," Rix said, his voice trembling for the first time Zorr had ever heard.
"Where's it comin' from?" Kaelen demanded.
Rix pointed a shaking finger toward the horizon, where the sky seemed to be swallowed by unnatural, swirling darkness.
"I think it's in the direction of the Redzone"