The tattered remnants of the visitor's lounge stirred as the Tranquility Keep's guards surged in. Chief Correction Officer Mario Bartolome, a burly man with a gruff demeanor, led the charge. His gaze fell upon the masked attackers, and his eyes bulged in disbelief. The insignia emblazoned on their black oni masks sent a tremor of unease through him, an insignia he'd heard whispered about in hushed tones.

"Who dares violate the sanctity of the Keep?!" A burly guard, muscles bulging beneath his uniform, stepped forward, his face contorted in a sneer.

"Don't know who you're messing with!" he bellowed, "This ain't some playground! You messed with the wrong nest!" With a guttural yell, he activated his Hunter skill, ‘The Intimidation’ , his body swelling in size until he towered over even the largest attacker. His skin hardened, a living shield against any assault.

"Hold on, Morales!" Chief Bartolome barked, the warning dying in his throat. Morales, fueled by a misplaced bravado, charged towards the attackers, a reckless grin splitting his face. He was a wall of living steel, unstoppable, or so he thought.

The masked attackers raised their weapons, a chilling calmness emanating from their figures. They didn't flinch as Morales barreled towards them. Instead, their leader let out a cruel chuckle.

A flash of light erupted from the tips of their guns, not the standard anima-infused rounds most Hunters used. These were imbued with a different energy, a sickeningly dark power that bypassed Morales’ enhanced defenses with horrifying ease. The bullets ripped through his enlarged form like mere paper, leaving gaping wounds. Morales’ charge faltered, a look of utter disbelief clouding his face before he crumpled to the ground, life extinguished in an instant.

But the attackers weren't done. A macabre symphony of gunfire filled the room as they emptied their clips into Morales’ fallen form, each shot punctuated by their twisted laughter. The display was sickeningly deliberate, a message etched in lead and blood.

A stunned silence descended upon the room, broken only by the ragged gasps of the remaining guards. Chief Bartolome, Alaric, and everyone else watched in horrified disbelief as the masked attackers emptied their clips into Garcia's lifeless body, their laughter echoing with a nightmarish glee. The brutality of it all was almost too much to comprehend.

One guard, fueled by righteous fury, lunged forward, a battle cry tearing from his throat. Before he could take a single step, Bartolome's hand clamped down on his shoulder, a vice-like grip that sent a jolt of surprise through the younger man.

"Stand down, Rivera!" Bartolome roared, his voice laced with a desperate urgency. "Don't throw your life away!"

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Rivera, his face contorted with a mix of grief and rage, struggled against the Chief's hold. "But Morales… we can't just let them get away with this!"

"There will be a time for vengeance," Bartolome snarled, his eyes narrowed at the attackers. "But right now, staying alive is the only way to ensure it."

His gaze swept over the masked figures, a flicker of recognition replacing the initial shock. The insignia emblazoned on their black oni masks – a stylization of a cruel, gnawing rodent – sent a shiver down his spine. These weren't your average thugs; they were the Vermin Claws, a notorious international syndicate whispered about in hushed tones. Renowned for their ruthlessness and disregard for Hunter laws, they operated in the shadows, taking down Hunters for coin and twisted amusement.

Bartolome knew they weren't physically a match for trained Hunters, but the weapons they wielded held the key to their deadliness. Those weren't standard anima-infused rounds; they pulsed with a malevolent energy, an unnatural power rumored to originate from a mysterious type of anima crystal only available on the black market's highest tiers. The Vermin Claws had somehow gotten their hands on this forbidden technology, and they were using it to wreak havoc on the Hunter world.

Bartolome's gaze darted between the lifeless husk of Morales and the attackers. "Rivera!" he bellowed, his voice cracking with urgency. "Get help! Call the Embassy – we're outmatched!"

Rivera, the youngest guard, took a tentative step forward, towards the command center where communication lines lay. Before he could take another, a sharp crack echoed through the room. Rivera crumpled to the floor, a crimson stain blooming on his leg. A strangled scream tore from his throat as he clutched the wound, his face contorted in pain.

"Rivera!" Bartolome roared, a mix of anger and concern twisting his features. Fury ignited in his chest, battling with the cold grip of fear. He spun towards the Vermin Claws.

"What in the name of Eros are you doing here?!" he bellowed, his voice a guttural challenge. "This is the Tranquility Keep, a sovereign territory! You've violated every law, every accord!"

A figure detached himself from the group, taller and broader than the others. He sauntered towards Bartolome, his movements predatory. As he stopped in front of the Chief, the masked figure tilted his head, allowing Bartolome a glimpse of the cruel amusement glinting in his eyes.

"Don't you really know who we are, old man?" A slow, menacing voice rumbled from the depths of the mask. The leader of the attackers raised his weapon, the dark energy pulsing within its barrel a chilling reminder of their deadly capabilities.

Bartolome's bravado crumbled under the weight of the Vermin Claw leader's menacing presence. His voice, a mere tremor now, squeaked out, "I-I know who you guys are." The gun in the attacker's hand felt cold and heavy against his temple.

"Good," the leader rumbled, his voice dripping with cruel amusement. "Then you know the consequences of defying us."

Bartolome, fuelled by a desperate hope, tried to regain some semblance of control. "But you… you can't just do this! The Embassy will be notified, and-"

A cruel chuckle cut him short. Before Bartolome could finish his bluster, the leader's fist lashed out, a blur of motion that connected squarely with the Chief's jaw. Bartolome crumpled to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut, unconsciousness claiming him instantly.

"Do we look like we care about the Embassy, old man?" the leader sneered, his voice laced with disdain. "We carve our own paths, answer to no one! And for your information," he boomed, his voice echoing in the ravaged room, "I am Locust, Commander of the Vermin Claws' Third Division!"

Locust surveyed the scene with a predatory gaze. Fear hung heavy in the air, a suffocating blanket that choked the remaining guards. The Vermin Claws, their leader a monstrous embodiment of their brutality, had made their intentions abundantly clear. This wasn't a raid; it was a declaration of war. And within the shattered walls of the Tranquility Keep, a desperate s truggle for survival was about to unfold.