Delve was a hardened veteran of Selim's unit. He had engaged in battle under his leadership dozens of times, stared death in the face over and over again.

Success in his initial missions had bloated his ego, and his mantra had always been, "I survive because I am strong."

But over the years, after losing countless comrades, witnessing the demise of men he deemed stronger, braver, and luckier than himself, he began to question his strength.

"And what if my destiny is not in my own hands?" he wondered, a thought that began to take root in his mind, growing with each encounter with death.

Ideas, much like viruses, have a way of spreading, occupying every nook and cranny of one's thoughts. The idea of invincibility waned, replaced by the belief in a superior force with control over his life and death.

And so, he began to believe in God, a seemingly ordinary path unless you belonged to an organization that demanded total self-denial for its cause.

His faith soon sparked a conflict with the orders he was given, inciting doubts about the principles of the Laboratory.

In his eyes, every man should submit only to the divine will. The Laboratory's objective to manipulate human nature was, to him, heretical.

His growing unrest made him difficult to manage for his captain.

He refused certain missions, spread subversive ideas within the unit, and openly questioned his captain's authority.

His behavior would typically warrant execution, if not for his crucial role within the unit.

His captain, out of respect for Delve's service, was reluctant to report him to superiors.

However, Delve's insubordination could not be hidden for long.

Selim was presented with an ultimatum: execute his insubordinate himself or have him arrested for treason – both resulting in the same end. Instead, Selim proposed a third option: assign Delve a mission so dangerous survival would be almost impossible.

If he lived, he would be given a second chance. His superiors agreed, not believing for a moment that Delve could possibly survive.

Thus, Delve found himself in the thick of a mission to capture a foreign agent.

He accepted the task as he saw divine mercy in it. He also saw it as a duty: to ensure his inexperienced young comrade's survival, using his own veteran expertise.

Delve led the way into the bunker, advancing quickly and meticulously. His years of experience allowed him to predict the location of traps.

He knew where to search, which tiles to avoid, which cracks were due to the bunker's aging walls, and which ones were recent and bore the mark of explosive devices.

Their progress was rapid, thanks to Delve. Watching him advance, his young partner, Clora, began to almost believe that Delve was indeed blessed.

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Delve moved with an unyielding focus, navigating the darkness of the booby-trapped bunker without fear or doubt.

He left a green light at every junction and a red light at every trap. His goal was not survival, but the successful completion of the mission.

He halted after a few minutes when he noticed the numbers on his wrist device go haywire. He signaled Clora to stop and retreat with a wave of his hand.

Delve swept the area ahead of him with the barrel of his rifle.

He stopped it at the base of a wall, where a piece had fallen away to reveal a hole.

The cavity, roughly 30 centimeters in diameter, appeared to have been dug out with rudimentary tools.

Delve examined the hole with a keen eye, his lamp illuminating it from above.

He gradually moved closer, bending down to see what was on the other side.

The pungent, nauseating smell hit him, surprising even a seasoned veteran like him.

He couldn't help but retch and cough.

His noises echoed through the hole and into the adjacent room.

He froze, straining to hear any indication of enemy presence.

His training dictated caution, to leave no trace and not reveal his location, even when there seemed to be no imminent threat.

However, there was no sound.

His lamp still shone into the hole.

The light found no surface to reflect upon, and the room's secrets remained hidden in its dark depths.

Just as Delve was about to straighten up, he noticed the numbers on his wrist device turning red. Suddenly, something reflected his lamp light.

There, in the hole, a massive red eye appeared.

Delve felt a chill running down his spine, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end.

He recoiled, using his weapon as support, then lunged at Clora, pushing him away from the hole.

Without warning, the wall buckled and collapsed, unable to contain the colossal force behind it.

An eruption of shock and sound radiated through the enclosed space, turning the world into a whirlwind of flying debris and billowing smoke.

The concussive force of the blast launched Delve and Clora into the air like ragdolls, sending them several yards back.

Years of training kicked in automatically, even in the disoriented, weightless moment. Both soldiers reflexively twisted their bodies mid-flight, trying to control their landing as much as the situation allowed.

The harsh noise of scraping metal and settling debris echoed in their ears, mixing with their grunts as they collided with the cold concrete floor.

Delve managed to roll and dissipate the impact across his broad shoulders, though not without consequences.

A sharp edge grazed his forehead, opening up a shallow but long cut. Warm blood trickled down his face, staining his eyes, yet he ignored it, focusing instead on the situation at hand.

Clora, more nimble and lightweight, managed a better landing.

His body, reacting like a spring, absorbed most of the impact, leaving him with a few scrapes and bruises that wouldn't hinder his performance.

They quickly assessed their condition, their bodies echoing a symphony of pain but confirming no severe injuries.

Their survival was a testament to their resilience, training, and not a small amount of luck.

Delve raised his weapon, but visibility was poor due to the smoke and dust. In a few hand signals, he conveyed the situation to Clora: "Enemy ahead, silence, turn off your light."

Clora's eyes widened, his pupils dilating in the dim light.

He nodded, switched off his lamp, followed by Delve, who also turned off his wrist device.

They couldn't afford to reveal their position by any light source.

The corridor plunged into darkness.

Vision is a soldier's ally, but also a hindrance when relied upon too much.

For Delve, adaptability was the key to survival.

Each of his senses offered a unique perception of the situation. And when his sight was of no use, he focused on his other senses.

The taste of blood in his mouth told him he was injured.

The strong smell of decay suggested a body caught in the blast.

A faint trembling in the ground indicated the movement of something heavy.

A chilling growl promised nothing good.

Ten yards away from them, something monstrous had been set free.