PROJECT ALPHA

The inferno consumed everything. Buildings, once towering symbols of strength, now lay in heaps of smoldering rubble. Flames licked the air, casting an ominous glow over the desolate street that cut through the devastation. Yoto trudged slowly along the cracked asphalt, his voice hoarse as he shouted into the void, desperately calling out to his team.

"Is anyone there?" he yelled, his voice echoing against the ruined facades. Only silence answered him. Sweat poured down his face, and his breath hitched as the acrid smoke filled his lungs. The air was suffocating, laden with ash and the unrelenting stench of destruction.

"What is this?" he rasped, coughing violently. His throat burned, raw from the toxic fumes. "It smells... like burning flesh. I can't breathe... I have to get out of here." 

Instinctively, he moved sideways, away from the thickest plumes of smoke. His boots crunched against the fragmented asphalt and shattered glass as he navigated the ruins. Then, through the haze, a faint voice reached him.

"Yoto..."

It was weak, barely a whisper, as though the speaker was clinging to their last shred of life. Yoto froze mid-step, his heart pounding in his chest. The sound sent shivers down his spine, cutting through the chaos like a blade."Who's there?" he shouted into the void, his voice trembling.

The voice came again, a little louder this time. "Yoto..."

Without hesitation, he plunged into the choking smoke, his body wracked with coughs as he pressed forward. Each step was a battle against the suffocating air and the terror that gnawed at him. The smoke thinned gradually, as though guiding him toward something—or someone.

"The smoke is clearing. I have to move faster," he muttered, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart. With newfound urgency, he broke into a run, his eyes stinging from the haze.

When he emerged, the sight before him wrenched the breath from his lungs. The ground was littered with bodies, their lifeless forms grotesquely mutilated. The twisted remains of his comrades lay strewn about, limbs contorted at unnatural angles. Crows picked at the exposed flesh, their mournful caws echoing through the air like an ominous dirge.

The world was painted in shades of red—blood pooling in the dirt, staining the rubble, and streaked across the sky as if the heavens themselves wept for the tragedy below. The metallic tang of blood mixed with the acrid smoke, assaulting his senses.

Then he heard it again, closer this time. "Yoto..."

Driven by urgency, he sprinted toward the voice, his boots slipping on the slick, blood-soaked ground. His breath came in ragged gasps as he weaved through the carnage, his mind racing with questions. A massive pile of corpses blocked his path, the bodies stacked haphazardly like discarded refuse. He hesitated, dread twisting in his gut, before steeling himself and climbing over the grisly barrier.

"What the hell happened here? Where is my team?" he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his fear.

The voice grew louder, more familiar. It cut through the chaos like a beacon, drawing him inexorably closer. Trembling, Yoto pushed forward, his heart pounding in his chest as he approached the source of the sound.

His breath caught in his throat as he saw her.

"Yushin..."

She lay there, her torso severed, her body grotesquely mangled. Blood pooled around her, its dark sheen a stark contrast against the ashen ground. Despite her grievous wounds, her eyes met his, filled with a mixture of pain and relief. They shimmered like fading stars, holding on to the last vestiges of life.

"Yushin! No!" Yoto dropped to his knees beside her, his hands trembling as he cradled her broken body in his arms. Tears streamed down his face, cutting paths through the grime on his cheeks as he sobbed uncontrollably. His voice broke as he cried out, "What happened? Where is everyone? How could this happen?" 

Her lips moved, and he leaned in, desperate to hear her final words. Her voice was faint, a fragile whisper that carried the weight of her love and loyalty. "Until my last breath... I'll protect you," she murmured. 

Her hand brushed against his cheek, a fleeting touch that burned itself into his memory. And then, she was gone.

"YUSHIN!" Yoto's scream tore through the air, a raw, primal sound that echoed endlessly. The devastation around him seemed to close in, suffocating him with its relentless weight.

Yoto jolted awake from the dream

gasping for air, his body drenched in sweat. His chest heaved as he clutched the sides of his bed, his mind still tethered to the vivid nightmare. Every detail remained sharp in his memory—the smoke, the bodies, Yushin's final words. Shaking, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and forced himself upright.

He staggered to the restroom, his bare feet dragging against the cold floor. Reaching the sink, he splashed his face with water, the icy sensation jolting him slightly from the lingering terror. Yoto stared at his reflection in the mirror. The hollow-eyed figure staring back at him was unrecognizable—haunted, exhausted, and teetering on the edge of despair. 

"What is happening to me?" he whispered, his voice barely audible over the droning hum of the base's ventilation. He clenched his fists against the porcelain, his knuckles whitening as hot tears streamed down his face. The raw emotions surged through him, an inescapable tide of grief and frustration.

The shrill sound of the base alarm broke his reverie. A mechanical voice echoed through the quarters: "Attention: All squad members report to your duties immediately."

Meanwhile

Hataki was busy preparing for his crew's training session on a nearby mountain when he suddenly noticed a tense atmosphere. members were rushing around with visible worry on their faces, and the air was thick with anxiety. Something was amiss.

Curious and concerned, Hataki made his way to the mission desk and approached the man stationed there.

"What's going on?" Hataki asked. "Why is everyone running around in such a state? And why are the defense squads stationed at the entrance? Is something serious happening?"

The man at the desk looked up, his expression grave. "There was an attack on one of our bases last night. The entire facility was destroyed. Razor is in charge of investigating the incident, but the information hasn't reached Sir Genta yet."

Hataki remained silent, processing the news.

The man continued, his voice tinged with a mix of sympathy and disbelief. "I pity whoever is responsible for this. If Sir Genta finds out, they'll be dead within hours. They've made a huge mistake picking a fight with him—just an idiot who is about to meet a brutal end."

Hataki gave no reply. He turned and walked away, heading towards his squad's meeting room.

Zephyrios Aeternal Headquarters

The morning sun bathed the city in a warm, golden light, casting long shadows across the sprawling metropolis. Genta stood on the balcony of his high-rise office, his arms resting on the railing as he gazed out at the breathtaking view. The towering skyscrapers below seemed insignificant beneath the infinite sky, their glass facades shimmering in the sunlight.

A faint smile played on his lips as he murmured to himself, "What a beautiful view. Thank God I took over this building and made it my own."

He spread his arms wide, as if embracing the rising sun, letting its light wash over him. For a moment, the world seemed still, and peace settled over him. But the serenity was broken by a soft knock at the door.

"Come in," Genta said, his voice calm and composed.

The door creaked open, and his butler stepped inside. The man's posture was stiff, his hands trembling slightly as he clutched a tablet. His voice quivered as he spoke.

"Sir… Genta… I have a report to deliver."

Without turning away from the view, Genta replied, his tone steady and serene, "What is it?"

The butler hesitated, his anxiety palpable. "S… Sir, there's been an attack on one of our bases."

At last, Genta turned to face him, his expression unreadable. "Which base?" he asked, his voice still unshaken, as if the news was expected.

"The… the one in the Sirocaan Nation, sir," the butler stammered.

A gentle laugh escaped Genta's lips, a sound both disarming and foreboding. "Just as I anticipated. He's made his move, hasn't he?" He turned back to the sunrise, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Tell Razor to proceed as planned. It's time."

The butler bowed deeply, relief mingled with unease in his voice. "Yes, sir," he said before hurrying out of the room.

Left alone once more, Genta remained on the balcony, the morning light casting a sharp silhouette of his figure. A sly smile crept across his face as he spoke softly, his words carried away by the wind.

"I've waited a long time for this moment. Let's finish what we started."