About ten minutes earlier, Atlan had been running through the corridors, panic etched on his face. His vision was severely limited, his lamp broken.

He held several red tubes in his hand, their faint light just enough for him to vaguely make out the shapes around him.

Out of breath and with a spinning head, he was fleeing from something, even though he was no longer sure what it was.

As he moved, his body leaned slightly to the right. His left arm had been torn off in an explosion.

"Thank goodness my mutation stopped the bleeding quickly. I'm not such a failed Level 3 after all! Things aren't so bad," Atlan thought, trying to instill a sense of optimism to steady his clouded mind.

Neil's poisonous gas wasn't powerful enough to kill a Level 3, but it could push even the most seasoned soldier to their limits.

That's why Atlan was still partially delirious.

He saw the walls closing in and then receding.

He felt like he saw shadows moving in the corners of his vision.

There was also a voice calling him incessantly, asking him to come home.

But the worst hallucination was seeing, from time to time, his intact arm still attached to his body.

It had a devastating effect on his morale when he realized it was just an illusion.

He had only a knife as a weapon; his assault rifle, pistol, and machete had either been destroyed in the explosion or fallen due to the impact.

He didn't bother retrieving them because he vaguely remembered seeing creatures coming out of the hole created by the explosion.

"Luke must be dead, and I'm next if I don't find a place to hide," he thought.

However, he found only locked doors along his path. He no longer had his metal detector, but he had forgotten about it.

The idea that he could stumble upon a trap at any moment didn't occur to him. His panic led to a distorted perception of the situation.

At that moment, in his mind, the only risk was being caught by one of the creatures chasing him, even though there was no evidence that anything was after him.

His run was both lucky and very unlucky.

Lucky because he didn't encounter any automatic traps on his route.

Very unlucky because Neil had decided to activate one of his most dreadful traps to prevent Luke from getting too close to his hideout.

Atlan was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He had wanted to move away from danger but had unknowingly gotten too close to the target.

At the corner of a corridor, Atlan spotted a gray mass a few meters away from him.

The red light outlined its threatening contours.

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Long teeth, thick fur, abnormally large eyes reflecting the ominous red glow of Atlan's tubes.

Atlan, drugged by poisonous gas, shocked and weakened by the loss of his arm, and disarmed, didn't hesitate for a moment in the face of danger.

He decided to fight without considering the possibility of escape.

In his fatigued state and with all the blood he had already lost, he knew he didn't have the stamina to outrun the creature.

His only chance lay in the element of surprise. "Whoever strikes first wins," he thought, almost unconsciously.

He dropped his light tubes and gripped the knife attached to his belt.

At the same time, he gave a powerful kick against the corner of the corridor wall with all his might.

The impact cracked the stone and sent shards flying into the creature's eyes.

The creature instinctively closed its eyes.

Using his other leg, Atlan pushed off the ground and lunged to slash the creature's throat.

However, even his sharp blade couldn't pierce through the thick, greasy fur protecting the creature's vulnerable spot.

Atlan faced the beast with limited visibility.

He used his outstretched arm to deliver a powerful elbow strike to the creature's jaw while using his legs to gain leverage, allowing him to spring away from his formidable opponent.

For Atlan, every passing second was one less chance of victory.

His knife had been as ineffective as his elbow strike.

Through his attacks, he now had a good idea of the options available to him for survival.

"I have no means to harm this thing, not even with my strength... But it must be slow due to its weight. That's for sure. If I can lure it into a trap, I'll have a chance," he thought.

He was out of breath and could only see a faint red glow where the creature still stood.

He sheathed his knife and reached into his rear pouch to retrieve some blue light tubes.

His priority was to have visibility in the corridor.

"This beast has much better night vision than me," he thought, his eyes fixed on the creature as he rummaged through his pouch.

At that moment, he felt something tightening around his left leg.

The pressure began so subtly that Atlan barely noticed, but then, it intensified abruptly, cutting off his blood flow.

Atlan lowered his head and saw some sort of serpent coiling around him. He tried to move his leg, but it was as if it were fixed to the ground.

"It's not a snake... It's... It's the tail of this beast!" Atlan thought.

His mistake had been assuming that this creature was simply a massive wolf when it was actually a chimera. The chimera was about ten meters away, but its tail was long enough to grab Atlan's leg.

He pulled his hand out of the pouch and grasped his knife to sever the tail, but his blade had no effect. He began sawing with all his might against the scaled skin, to no avail.

He continued sawing and raised his head, his features strained, his teeth clenched, and his cheeks trembling. The chimera started moving closer, taking its time.

Atlan stood up and stomped on the serpent with all his strength.

But it was like hitting a dense steel pipe.

Atlan saw the creature advancing, getting closer and closer. In a desperate act, he threw his knife in an attempt to gouge out its eye, but the creature easily evaded it.

His end was drawing near, the creature's steps reverberating with a weight that felt unnatural.

"What does a dead man think about?" Atlan had wondered a few months earlier as he read the memoirs of death row inmates in his apartment, illuminated by the soft glow of a candle.

Now, he had his answer.

It wasn't regrets about never knowing his parents or a desire to see the sea.

It was something much simpler.

Amidst the terrible situation he was in, he fondly recalled a spring day. Sitting on a terrace during an observation mission, he had ordered a coffee from the server.

Under the warm sun, a gentle breeze ruffled his hair.

He could hear the sound of the wind rustling through the leaves of the trees. A tranquility in his heart.

At that very moment, the creature's hot breath blew on his face.

A bitter taste filled his mouth.

The creature's menacing growl reverberated through his body.

Perhaps it was the last effects, like a gift, of the poisonous gas that allowed him to be spared from witnessing his own death.

The beast delivered a powerful swipe to his head, and Atlan died instantly.

His blood spread across the floor, his slightly ajar pouch revealed the remaining few blue tubes.