Beauty is the theme of the world.
Splendor is evident in all of creation, like an art piece carefully laid bare. Everyone who looks upon the world feels something—warmth, or a chill. And then, inevitably, questions arise. Those questions bud into a search for meaning, a desperate grasp for purpose.
Some claim to have found it.
They call themselves the disciplined, the principled, the vengeful, the driven.
But I question their resolve.
I believe they have simply chosen to deceive themselves. They have decided to stop searching—to place a block in the road and call it truth. Because I have come to find that as long as one continues to seek meaning in life, one day they will arrive at the greatest meaning of all.
Nothing.
"Captain! Captain! Captain! Do you hear me?!"
"Run, Veritas—run! Just forget us and run!"
"Hey, boy, don't do anything stupid! Run and wait for command center!"
Veritas raised his head.
The rift was collapsing in front of him. The zone itself was crumbling—space screaming as if torn apart. Abominable screeches echoed through the air, layered with voices that were no longer human.
Something unimaginable was unfolding.
2 DAYS AGO
"Pretty boy! Pretty boy! Pretty boy!"
"Wake up!"
"Huh—!"
Veritas opened his eyes groggily. A middle-aged man loomed over him, face twisted in irritation.
"Ah—Roger, what's the issue?" Veritas yawned. "I was dreaming one of my best dreams yet."
Roger squinted, his eyes trembling with anger, as if he might strike Veritas at any moment. He heaved a sigh, forcing himself to calm down.
"We've reached the Santiago. Get the load, pretty boy."
"Hey, stop calling me—" Veritas stopped midway, already knowing it was useless.
"You were saying?" Roger taunted, a smug grin spreading across his face.
Veritas clenched his jaw. If anyone else stood before him, he might have snapped—but the six-foot hulk with a menacing beard made resistance unwise.
"…Nothing," Veritas muttered.
"Hehehe. Leave the pretty boy alone, Roger."
At that voice, both of them straightened instantly.
"GOOD MORNING, CAPTAIN!"
"It's fine, drop the formalities," Captain Akers said calmly. "Roger, regroup with the others. Pretty boy, get the load. Let's move."
"Yes, sir!" Roger replied immediately, already in motion.
Veritas, on the other hand, froze.
"Yes ma'am—no—sorry—I mean yes sir!" he stammered.
Akers smiled. "It's okay. Start moving."
Veritas rushed to unload the truck, his heart racing.
That was Captain Akers.
One of humanity's rising stars. A symbol of hope. His zone-clear speed was unmatched, his endurance unnatural. He seemed tireless—almost unreal.
Veritas' hero.
Even after days of tagging along with the party, Veritas still couldn't compose himself around him.
"Hey, pretty boy."
"Pretty boy!"
"You stinky—"
Veritas spun around angrily—only to freeze.
Captain Akers stood there.
Immediately, Veritas dropped to his knees. "I'm sorry, sir! I'm sorry!"
"It's alright," Akers said, amused. "I just wanted to tell you the truck is the other way."
"T-thank you, sir!"
Veritas bolted off, face burning. Embarrassment flooded him—but warmth followed close behind. Captain Akers' blond hair caught the sunlight, blue eyes steady and kind, his smile radiant.
To Veritas, he was perfect.
Apart from Roger—considered the best fighter in the party, excluding the almighty Captain Akers—there was Samantha, the most knowledgeable.
Thelma, the reckless one.
Eden, reserved but terrifying, the most talented among them aside from Veritas.
Vi, old but experienced, a master of trap-setting.
They were all awakened.
Then there was Veritas.
Fourteen years old. Newly assigned. A porter following orders.
Though he had undergone the highest level of military training since birth, he was still human.
In the single week Veritas spent with them, he learned what family meant.
He was born in the barracks. His mother, a cleaner, died moments after giving birth to him. Of his father, he knew nothing—and never cared to ask. The barracks raised him, but never held him.
Here, things were different.
Akers felt like a father.
Samantha, a mother.
Thelma, an aunt.
Roger, an uncle.
Eden, a distant but protective older brother.
For the first time, Veritas felt warmth.
It was his most beautiful moment.
He smiled.
Everyone regrouped. The party of six—including Veritas—sat quietly as Captain Akers prepared to speak, a small tradition before every operation.
"Ahem."
As Akers spoke, the sunlight behind him framed his silhouette like a stage light.
"This is the Santiago," he said. "A Class A zone."
He paused, reading their expressions.
"We've cleared Class A zones before—but Santiago is different. It's on the verge of breaking through into a Class S zone."
A hush fell.
"We've been sent to stop that from happening. And stop it we will. If we succeed, we buy humanity space. Time."
"What say you?"
"Do you even have to ask, Captain?" Roger grinned.
"I'm in," Samantha said calmly.
"I'm in!" the rest echoed.
"Woah…"
Veritas stared.
The Santiago was a grotesque mass of rotting flesh and stitched corpses, fused into a single abomination. At its center pulsed a rift—ethereal, wrong, beautiful in the most horrifying way.
How could something be so demonic… yet so divine?
"…Did I say that out loud?"
Everyone stared at him.
"First time seeing a zone in person?" Samantha asked gently.
"Yes," Veritas nodded.
"Always expect the worst," she said. "Zones bring nothing good."
"Alright," Akers' voice cut in. "Move in."
Veritas swallowed. "You understand your role?"
"Yes, sir," Veritas replied firmly. "I stay at the entrance. Upon command, I send materials through Eden's ability."
"Good."
One by one, they entered the zone.
The conquest of the Santiago had begun.