03:00 Hours. Alpha Landing Zone.
The jolt was brutal. This wasn't your standard air turbulence; it was a harsh, mechanical slam as the military transport's landing gear struck the wet concrete. The magitech jet engines, which had been screaming like banshees, slowly faded into a low, ear-splitting whine, replaced by the sound of ferocious waves battering the facility's outer walls.
Devon exhaled the breath he had been holding in his chest. The air inside the cabin felt stifling, smelling of cold sweat and old metal.
"We have arrived, Princess," Eira's voice broke the tense silence of the cabin.
The Elf woman rose from her seat with annoying grace. She stepped closer to Devon, the magnetic key in her hand blinking blue. With a casual motion, she pressed the key against the mana-suppression cuffs on Devon's wrists.
Click. Hiss.
The heavy shackles released, hitting the metal floor with a loud clang. Devon immediately massaged his reddened wrists, stretching his stiff fingers. The sensation of blood rushing back felt like ants crawling beneath his skin.
"Finally," Devon muttered, rolling his neck until it cracked. " The service on this flight was terrible. No peanuts, no blankets, and the cuffs were way too tight. Zero stars."
Eira chuckled softly, a sound like small bells amidst a storm. She leaned in, bringing her beautiful face close to Devon's ear. "Enjoy your temporary freedom, Devon-kun. Because the moment you step out that door... you are no longer a guest. You are an asset."
On the other side of the cargo bay, hydraulic mechanisms rumbled. The ramp slowly lowered, allowing the salty, freezing sea wind to invade the cabin, carrying biting droplets of rain with it.
Sharky, the shark-woman of the Selachian race who had been silently observing with pitch-black eyes, stood at the threshold. She grinned, baring rows of terrifying, saw-like teeth.
"Heee..." she hissed, her voice wet and raspy. "You're dead meat. Hurry up and get out, fresh meat! The Monolith doesn't like waiting!"
Devon stepped out, followed by Stormclaw. The white-furred humanoid cat walked with a rigid posture, though his twitching ears betrayed his alertness. His yellow eyes swept the surroundings, assessing every threat.
The sight that welcomed them was the very definition of military intimidation.
Alpha Zone was illuminated by blinding giant floodlights, cutting through the darkness of the stormy night. Rain fell sideways, whipped by gale-force winds. On the vast runway, dozens of elite soldiers in gleaming black armor stood in formation, energy rifles aimed squarely at them. Behind the line of humans and demi-humans stood several four-meter-tall mecha units—Magitech War Golems—with red sensor lights glowing on their heads, tracking Devon's every move.
Devon inhaled deeply, hoping for the freshness of the ocean. Instead, what filled his lungs was a mixture of ozone, rocket fuel, and faint despair.
"Haa..." Devon sighed, white steam escaping his mouth. "Nope. This isn't fresh air. It smells like... oppression."
"This reminds me of..." Devon muttered, his eyes narrowing at the advanced military tech. "...a cheap sci-fi movie."
Stormclaw snorted behind him. "At least it's better than the sewers," he grumbled quietly, his voice heavy. "Or maybe... it's far worse." He stared at Devon's back, feeling a strange mix of annoyance and reliance on this odd human. From their silly venting session on the train to ending up on this cursed island, their fates seemed tied by a tangled red thread.
Suddenly, a different roar cut through the sound of the waves. From the cliff side of the platform, the seawater exploded upward.
BOOOM!
From the dark ocean beside the runway, a massive silhouette leaped from the water, soared into the air, and landed with a crash that shook the entire Alpha Zone. The concrete runway cracked beneath its feet. Steam billowed from its wet body as the seawater evaporated instantly from its body heat.
Viorak the Cyber Abyss.
The Deputy Warden stood tall, nearly four meters in height, towering over everyone like a monument of death. His massive cyborg-shark body glistened under the floodlights. Neon purple eyes glowed brightly, scanning Devon and Stormclaw with predatory intensity. Mechanical gills on his neck opened and closed, emitting a terrifying hissing sound.
"SALUTE!" shouted one of the soldier captains.
In unison, the entire force on the runway stomped their feet and saluted with perfect military precision. The sound was like a single explosion.
Viorak ignored his troops. He stepped forward, every stride heavy and menacing, heading toward the two new prisoners. He stopped right in front of Devon, lowering his monstrous head until his face was only centimeters from Devon's. Devon could smell engine oil and old blood on the monster's breath.
"Welcome to your grave," Viorak's voice echoed, deep and distorted, as if coming from the bottom of an ocean trench. "Here, there is no hope. There is no god. There is only me... and discipline."
Viorak shifted his gaze to Stormclaw, the grin on his shark face widening. "And you, Little Cat... I am going to enjoy breaking your spirit, bone by bone."
Without warning, Viorak laughed.
"BWAHAHAHAHAHA!"
The laughter boomed, rough and terrifying, vibrating through Devon's ribcage. Then, as quickly as he had arrived, Viorak turned and walked toward the main tower, his black cape billowing in the storm, leaving a thick aura of terror in his wake.
"What a lovely welcome," Devon muttered sarcastically.
"Shut up and walk!" Sharky barked, shoving Devon's back roughly with the barrel of her rifle.
They were herded into a cold concrete bunker—the Prisoner Processing Area.
Inside, the atmosphere was sterile and blindingly bright. The walls were pristine white, the floor slick ceramic tile. Two burly Hobgoblin officers with dull green skin and crooked noses waited for them in the center of the room. They wore thick rubber aprons and medical gloves that reached their elbows.
"Stand on the 'X'," ordered the first Hobgoblin, his voice raspy like grated coconut.
Devon and Stormclaw complied.
"This is standard procedure," said the second Hobgoblin, holding a high-pressure spray hose. "Decontamination. Sterilization. And asset inspection."
Without warning, cold water mixed with chemical disinfectants blasted toward them. Devon coughed, his eyes stinging as the liquid hit his face. Stormclaw simply closed his eyes, accepting the spray with the stoicism of a soldier.
After being soaked and left shivering, the first Hobgoblin pointed to a stack of plastic bins.
"Strip. Everything. Now."
Devon raised an eyebrow. "Eh? Why buck naked? Don't you guys have X-ray scanners or detection magic?"
"This is a thorough visual and physical examination, Prisoner," the Hobgoblin replied flatly, yellow eyes staring sharply. "We must ensure you aren't carrying contraband. Knives, poisons, spell scrolls... or mini-bombs."
Stormclaw, without saying much, immediately took off his soaked flannel shirt. He didn't possess the same sense of shame as humans. In seconds, he was nude, revealing a body full of muscle and wet white fur.
Devon sighed in resignation. "Fine, fine. Don't peek."
Reluctantly, Devon removed his tattered clothes. His black t-shirt fell to the wet floor, followed by his cargo pants. He stood there, his pale skin contrasting against the ceramic tiles.
The second Hobgoblin approached, eyes scanning Devon's body from top to bottom with an uncomfortably appraising look. "Heee... not bad," he muttered, grinning lecherously. "For a human, you're pretty well-built."
He walked around Devon, inspecting every inch of skin, looking for magical tattoos or hidden implants. His rough rubber-gloved hand pulled at the red wings on Devon's head.
"Ow!" Devon flinched. "Hey, those are sensitive! Don't yank them!"
"Real wings," the Hobgoblin noted. "Weird. Mutation or mixed breed?"
"Let's just call them permanent accessories," Devon grumbled.
"Alright," said the first Hobgoblin, holding a metal pincer tool and a flashlight. "Now, turn around and bend over. Hold your breath."
Devon's eyes bulged. He took a step back, covering his rear with both hands. "Wait a minute! What?! You can't be serious about checking my back door!"
"Standard procedure," the Hobgoblin repeated in a bored tone. "We have to ensure nothing is hidden inside body cavities."
"That's insane!" Devon protested, his face turning red with a mix of shame and anger. "What kind of lunatic hides a weapon in their ass?! That's unhygienic! And anatomically very uncomfortable!"
"You'd be surprised," the second Hobgoblin chuckled. "Last month we found a pocket knife, two mana-crystals, and a live hamster inside an Ogre's butt. Don't ask how the hamster was still alive."
"That is disgusting! And I swear, by all the gods dead or sleeping, I am not storing anything in there! It's empty! Clean!"
The first Hobgoblin clicked his tongue impatiently. "We don't need your oath, we need visual proof. Do it quickly, or we'll call Viorak to 'help' you open up."
The threat was effective. Imagining Viorak's giant hands performing this procedure was infinitely more horrifying.
"Dammit."
With extreme reluctance, his dignity shattering into cosmic dust, Devon turned around and bent over.
The Hobgoblin clicked on his flashlight. "Hmm... oh, nice ass," he commented casually, as if judging the quality of fruit at a market. "Very tight and muscular. Clearly trained often."
"Just do your job and shut up!" Devon yelled, burying his face in his hands.
After the most humiliating moment of his new life concluded (Stormclaw went through it too, but with a flat face as if it were just a routine checkup), they were given a rough grey cloth to cover themselves temporarily.
They were herded to the next station: Measurement and Registration.
Devon stood in front of a height chart.
"Straighten up!" barked the medical officer, a Cyclops woman in a white coat.
Devon tried to stand tall, the red wings on his head perking up, adding a few centimeters.
"Wings down," the Cyclops ordered, then pressed Devon's wings down with the measuring board. "Hmm... 186 cm. Weight is proportional. Dense muscle mass. Blood type... unknown, your cell structure is strange."
She typed on her data tablet. "Age?"
"Seventeen," Devon answered.
"Seventeen years old and already in this hellhole," the Cyclops sneered. "What a waste."
She moved to the next column. "Name?"
Devon lifted his chin, putting on a serious and mysterious expression.
"Write this," he said in a deep voice. "SOV-ALL / UNIT-∞ / AXIOM."
Silence.
The Cyclops woman stared at Devon with her single large eye, unblinking. She lowered her tablet slowly.
"Hah?"
"That is my name," Devon said, maintaining his chuunibyou persona. "Short for Sovereign of All, Unit Infinity, Axiom of Reality. You may address me as Your Highness."
"What kind of name is that?" The officer snorted, spittle flying slightly. "Denied. Our system doesn't accept mathematical symbols or fake royal titles. This is a prison, not a comic convention. Keep it simple."
Devon frowned, slightly disappointed his cool name was rejected. "Okay, in that case... how about Zorynthraël Væxx'Ommnyrion Khae'Tharuun Elyxx'Zhaor? It's an ancient name in the eldritch tongue that means—"
"NO," the officer cut him off firmly, pointing a finger in Devon's face. "Do you want to get hit? Give me a name that a normal tongue can pronounce in less than two seconds!"
Devon sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping. "Fine, fine. People here have no appreciation for art."
"Name?"
"Devon."
"There, that was easy, wasn't it," the officer muttered, typing quickly. "Devon. Race: Human (Variant). Classification: High-Level Prisoner."
After the exhausting bureaucratic process, they were finally given prison uniforms—dull orange jumpsuits with serial numbers printed on the chest. Devon's number was 7734, while Stormclaw received 7735.
They were brought to a corridor intersection.
"Block 20, that way," a guard said to Stormclaw.
"Wait," Devon interrupted. "We aren't in the same cell?"
"Of course not, idiot," the guard replied. "The big cat goes to General Population, heavy labor sector. You... you have a special ticket to Block 12."
Stormclaw turned to Devon. There was concern in his amber eyes. "Be careful, Devon," he growled softly. "Don't die before I get a chance to see you again."
"You too, Cat," Devon smiled faintly. "Don't let them turn you into a rug."
They were separated. Stormclaw was herded down a dark left hallway, while Devon was pushed toward the right hallway, which was cleaner but felt more... clinical.
"Devon-kun!"
The cheerful voice welcomed him. Eira was already waiting at the end of the hall, leaning against the wall with a sweet smile that promised nothing good.
"We meet again," Eira said, stepping closer and stroking Devon's cheek. "I requested that you be placed in my block. Block 12. A special place for special people."
They walked down a long corridor lined with heavy iron doors. The sounds of screaming, maniacal laughter, and bodies slamming against walls could be heard faintly from behind them.
"Well, this is your room," Eira said, stopping in front of a solid steel door numbered 12-09.
Devon looked at the data placard beside the door. Written in bold red letters:
OCCUPANT: ASSET HEMO-WOLF X9 & PRISONER 7734.
"Eugh..." Devon winced, goosebumps rising on his skin. "I've got a bad feeling about this. Hemo-Wolf? Sounds like a monster that's going to eat my face while I sleep."
Eira giggled, unlocking the door with her access card. BEEP. KLANG. The heavy sliding door opened slowly.
"Don't worry," Eira said, pushing Devon's back gently. "There is another prisoner inside, but relax... she's harmless. She's sweet, actually."
Devon stepped inside hesitantly.
The cell was spacious for a prison, but cold and sterile. The walls were grey metal. There was a stainless steel sink, a lidless toilet, and a bunk bed bolted to the floor and wall.
On the top bunk, a creature sat facing the wall, back to the door.
The figure turned slowly upon hearing Devon's footsteps.
Ew... what is that creature? Devon's mind screamed.
It was Zerath. Or Asset HEMO-WOLF X9.
At a glance, she looked like a woman—or at least a very tall, athletic feminine humanoid. She was over two meters tall. Her body was clad in a modified prison uniform (ripped here and there) revealing pale alabaster skin adorned with natural black stripe patterns resembling cracks. Her muscles were taut, perfect, and... sexy.
But her face. Her face was covered by a hard white bone structure resembling a skull mask or a natural helm. The snout was short but wide. There was a vertical black stitch running from the nose to the chin.
Zerath turned her head toward Devon. And then, her mouth—a roughly stitched slit—suddenly tore open.
The smile was wide, revealing pink gums and neat white teeth. Her eyes crinkled into friendly crescents. She waved a hand tipped with long claws in a flirtatious motion.
Devon took a step back, bumping into Eira behind him.
"Uh, Eira... can I move to another cell?" Devon whispered in panic. "Seriously. Solitary confinement is fine. Or a dog kennel. Anything but here."
"Ehh, why?" Eira asked, feigning confusion. "She's tame. Look, she's smiling at you."
"That's not a smile!" Devon hissed. "That is a predator grinning at the dinner menu! I'm scared I'll get bitten! Look at those teeth! What if my arm goes missing while I'm asleep? Or worse?"
"Ah, enough, enough. Stop talking nonsense," Eira cut him off, shoving Devon fully into the cell. "She's lonely. Keep her company. Have fun, Devon-kun!"
BLAM!
The iron door shut tight. The sound of the electronic lock engaging sounded like a death sentence. CLICK-LOCK.
Devon stood frozen near the door, staring in horror at the creature on the top bunk.
Zerath had stopped smiling. Her bone-mask face was flat again, staring at Devon with an intensity that was hard to read. Her dark, pupil-less eyes seemed to absorb the light in the room.
"Hah..." Devon sighed heavily, trying to calm his racing heart. "Okay, Devon. Calm down. You've defeated gods (in your imagination). You can handle this."
He forced an awkward smile toward Zerath. "Hello... my name is Devon. Nice to meet you?"
Zerath didn't answer. She only tilted her head, like a bird observing a worm.
Devon swallowed hard. He walked slowly toward the bunk bed, moving cautiously as if walking on broken glass. He chose the bottom bunk.
"I... I'll sleep on the bottom," he muttered.
He sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress was thin and hard. The air in the cell felt hot and humid; the ventilation didn't seem to be working properly. Sweat began to trickle down Devon's back.
"It's really hot in here," he complained quietly.
Devon stood up again. He decided to take off his orange prison shirt. He pulled the zipper of the jumpsuit down, then peeled it off to his waist, letting the air hit his athletic, pale upper body. The red wings on his head drooped limply from heat and stress.
He lay back down on the mattress, staring at the bottom of the top bunk—right below where Zerath was sitting.
Okay, Devon. Calm down. Just sleep. Figure out a way to escape tomorrow, he thought.
Suddenly, a face appeared over the side of the bed, upside down.
Zerath lowered her head, her white hair dangling down like a ghostly curtain. Her bone-mask face was now only inches from Devon's. Her red eyes glowed brightly in the darkness.
They stared at each other.
"H-hello...?" Devon greeted awkwardly.
Zerath didn't answer. Instead, a wet krrkk sound was heard.
Zerath's facial mask suddenly split.
Horizontally and vertically, the white face bloomed like a horrific flower of meat. Behind the mask, there was no human face. There was only raw, pulsating red flesh, exposed muscle, and double jaws opening to an impossible width.
"SKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECHHHH!"
Zerath screamed. The scream wasn't human. It was the sound of static distortion, the shriek of a wild beast, and the crying of a baby fused into a sonic shockwave.
"UAAAAAAAGHHHHHH!" Devon screamed too, pure terror taking over.
Zerath pounced.
She dropped from the top bunk, landing on Devon's body with crushing weight and force. Her claws dug into Devon's shoulders, pinning him to the mattress.
"Wait! Don't! N—"
Zerath's inner mouth, full of teeth and red flesh, snapped shut.
CRUNCH.
The sound was wet and final.
Minutes later, silence returned to Block 12.
Devon lay on a mattress that was now soaked in red. The scene was a nightmare brought to life.
Half his head was missing; the left side of his skull had been chewed open, revealing grayish-red brain matter spilling onto the pillow. His remaining eye stared blankly at the ceiling with an expression of eternal horror.
His chest was torn wide open, broken ribs protruding like accusing white fingers. His abdominal cavity had been forcibly ripped apart, and his internal organs—slick intestines, a crushed liver, a torn stomach—spilled out, dangling off the side of the bed to touch the cold floor. A pool of blood collected beneath the bed, reflecting the dim corridor light.
Zerath sat on the edge of the bed, beside the destroyed corpse of her new cellmate.
She held a clump of Devon's intestines in her hand, chewing on them casually as if they were an afternoon snack. She licked the blood coating her long, clawed fingers, cleaning every drop with her long, fleshy tongue.
After she finished eating, Zerath stood up. She stretched her body. Her split face closed up, the bone mask fusing back together with a neat click, returning to a plain white face with a mysterious smile.
She walked to the sink with light steps. She turned on the tap, washing the blood from her hands and face calmly. Red water swirled into the drain.
Once clean, she dried her hands on Devon's prison shirt lying on the floor.
With casual movements, she climbed back up to the top bunk. She pulled up her blanket, curled up comfortably, and closed her eyes.
A soft snore escaped her lips. She slept soundly, as if there wasn't a cooling, dismembered corpse right beneath her. As if nothing had happened.
And in the corridor, the light flickered once, then died.