Selim was perched on a worn gray plastic crate. With his elbows on his knees and his back curved forward, he was engrossed in observing ants hauling large bits of dried grass back to their mound. “Meditation isn’t about emptying your mind, it’s about letting your thoughts glide over something predictable, something you can control,” was a thought he cherished and sought to implement as much as possible.

At times, life felt like a wave washing over him, and the only escape he found was in focusing on the invisible details.

Those little things that proved the universe was orderly.

The ants - just beneath his gaze - offered him a sense of tranquility.

“I am exactly where I should be,” he mused, imagining himself a part of the industrious black river formed by the tiny creatures.

Selim was a man riddled with doubt; doubting others, doubting himself, doubting life.

His powers, that earned him respect from his men and fear from his enemies? He had received them by mistake, surely.

And all these responsibilities? Being a captain? A level 2? Destiny was cruel to bestow so much on someone who asked for nothing.

Selim viewed these privileges as a curse. He was but a melancholy man tied to a past that had left him behind.

Above all, Selim had a mission, one he tucked away deep within his heart. A mission known only to him, and he would go to any length to fulfill it. No matter who he had to kill, torture, or sacrifice.

A member of his inner circle approached, interrupting his meditation.

"Captain, may I have a word?" he asked.

Selim lifted his head, eyes still clouded with thoughts. "Yes?" he responded absentmindedly, not noticing the man's presence earlier.

"As we suspected, the communication equipment goes dark once inside the bunker, there's no way of knowing the situation. We've detected vibrations tied to powerful explosions, traps must've been triggered, our men might already be dead. We should launch the second assault now to prevent the target from setting up new traps or even preparing his escape," the agent briefed.

Selim half-listened.

"No," he simply replied.

The soldier didn't dare retort, he gazed at the horizon, not daring to meet his captain's eyes out of respect.

"Delve is in there. He's not the type to die from mere explosions... In fact, he's not the type to die at all. I don't doubt his ability to carry out this mission," Selim continued, his gaze descending back to the ants. The soldier saluted, two fingers folded and three extended, then walked away.

"Show me, Delve. If you really are where you're supposed to be, as you claim," Selim thought, losing himself once again in the harmonious movement of the ants.

[Meanwhile, in the western wing of the bunker where Delve and Clora were.]

The smoke was slowly clearing, but Delve and Clora remained still, waiting for visibility to return before taking action.

Their honed senses warned them of a potential assault from the creatures ahead, but attacking was risky, a risk Delve was not willing to take.

Clora, on the other hand, was not a patient man. He was young, and he felt he had something to prove. In his eyes, this mission was the perfect chance to showcase his abilities.

With a knee to the ground and the other raised, Delves aimed, his eyes closed, patiently waiting for the smoke to dissipate.

His senses, honed from years of experience, reached out, attempting to decipher the reality that his eyes couldn't penetrate.

But his comrade, young and restless, had different plans.

He switched on his torch without a warning and advanced a few yards further into the corridor.

Delve's eyes fluttered open, surprised to see the young man take the initiative.

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The veteran was a man of caution, but he admired audacity when it showed itself.

Perhaps the young man had a better read on the situation, or his intuition was sharper.

That was Delve’s first instinct, and he decided to trust his young partner.

As soon as the beam of light cut through the dense fog, an inhuman screech echoed through the tunnel, sending chills down Delve’s and Clora’s spines.

The air was filled with the stench of seared flesh and blood, a harsh reminder of the possible outcome if they weren't careful.

Amidst the echoing screams and grunts, Clora's frantic footsteps resounded, his eyes sharp, focused through the sight, his weapon's muzzle pointed forward.

The smoke was still thick, but already they could make out imposing shapes at the end of the corridor, some 30 feet away from them.

The only thing cutting through the smoke with absolute clarity was the sinister red glow inhabiting the eyes of the creatures.

Suddenly, without any warning, Clora opened fire.

Three bullets targeted at each head.

His execution was quick, controlled; no unnecessary movement, no hesitation, and no wasted bullets.

He unloaded the fifteen rounds in his magazine, discarded the spent clip, and swiftly replaced it with a full one from the front pocket of his bulletproof vest.

Almost instantly, he was aiming again at the creatures.

Delve watched Clora's movements with close attention.

"His technique is flawless," he thought, "but his judgment is what's being tested here."

He then turned his gaze to the end of the corridor. The red-eyed black masses hadn't moved.

"Either these things were already dead, or the bullets did nothing to them," he contemplated. But it was a futile thought, for his senses had already indicated the answer.

At the end of the corridor, a growl echoed. It was reminiscent of a car engine, guttural, deep, and continuous. Then the five black masses began to move, slowly.

Clora, presumably panicked, began to fire again.

Magazine after magazine.

Delve couldn't see his face, but he knew that the young man was starting to feel the pressure. His aim, once surgically precise, was beginning to falter.

Delve didn't fire a single shot, knowing it would be pointless.

"These things don't seem sensitive to our bullets, we would need larger calibers," he mused.

The smoke had almost completely dissipated, allowing Delve to observe the surroundings more accurately.

The black forms revealed all their horror and oddity.

Two large red eyes were set in the middle of a hairy face, a short snout giving way to rows of long, intersecting teeth. Their short ears were placed so low that they seemed attached to the creature's neck. Their bodies, disproportionate and massive compared to their heads, were entirely covered in fur, looking like bears with elongated limbs.

"Their heads are too small to pose any real danger in combat, and their teeth are likely ineffective due to their positioning. The real danger are those long, sturdy limbs with large claws. One blow can be lethal, even for us," Delve thought after a quick glance.

There was a gaping hole in the wall from where the creatures had emerged.

Something was burning.

It was the corpse of one of these monsters, with most of its body gone.

The explosion had not missed it.

What puzzled Delves was the impact that seemed to come both from the outside and inside. The other detail yet to be explained was the metal detector indicating that these creatures had something metallic within them.

Having emptied his last magazine, Clora unsheathed the machete attached to his lower back. Then, all at once, he ran towards the beasts.

Delve was once again surprised by this decision. But this time, he had no doubts that it was a mistake.

"No, come back!" he yelled.

But the young man didn't listen, or perhaps he couldn't hear in the heat of the action.

Delve considered all the possibilities to stop Clora. "I can't catch up with him, he's too far ahead. If I shoot him in the leg to stop him, these monsters will tear him apart before I can reach him. If I join him, I risk dying with him," he thought, almost reflexively.

But the young man was already in close combat.

He skillfully evaded the heavy attacks of the monster he was facing.

The size difference was staggering. Clora, at his modest 5 foot 11 height, looked minuscule compared to the creature that easily stood at nine feet on all fours.

Each time he dodged an attack, Clora planted his blade in the tender flesh under the creature's armpit. He had spotted this weak point during the beast's first attack when he noticed the sparser, finer fur in that area.

Clora had the upper hand. The creatures were too wide to attack simultaneously.

The other four waited patiently behind. The creature he was battling was strong but too slow to hit its agile opponent.

Despite this, Delve, who was observing the action, had a bad feeling.

"I felt two explosions, very close to each other. One of the creatures died in the explosion, but its body is split open as if the explosion came from inside. And there was metal in the creature... If I'm right..." he pondered.

In a desperate move, he decided to shoot Clora's bulletproof vest when he was out of reach of the creature's claws.

A bullet to the vest would surprise the young man and probably make him reflexively retreat, but if the bullet was fired at the wrong moment, it could get him killed instantly.

No matter, he had to act.

He aimed at his partner, but at that same moment, Clora plunged his machete into the beast's underarm and pulled the blade up to its chest, causing blood to splatter onto him.

The beast roared in pain before collapsing, a river of blood spreading across the broken tiles.

"GET BACK!" Delve yelled immediately after.

Clora finally heard his partner's words but didn't have time to act.

A blinding light erupted from the beast's carcass, transforming into a violent explosion that swept everything in its path. Then all was silent.

Death, it is said, is especially fond of bravery and arrogance. That day, it got more than its fill.