"Tier-2 Anomaly Alert."
"Tier-2 Anomaly Alert."
"Tier-2 Anomaly Alert."
The words did not appear on a single screen, but crimson sirens and warning alerts filled the halls of the Night Guard's Central Command room in rhythmic flashes of warning light.
Dozens of sensory operators, psychic analysts, and tactical coordinators sat before sweeping holographic displays, their fingers flying across control consoles.
Automated warning alerts chimed continuously throughout the operation screens.
Usually, anomalies of this grade were rare inside the boundaries of Iron Creek City, except for one incident that happened seven years ago.
Minor spiritual disturbances, lingering resentment from the recently dead, or low-tier spectral anomalies were routinely purged by patrol squads before they could ever coalesce into a true Tier 1 or above threat.
Tonight the trigger was simpler and worse; within the span of barely a few hours, a simple routine patrol mission turned into a Tier 2 incident.
More than five hundred registered citizens living inside Sector 4 had vanished without leaving behind a single trace or any signs of a distress call.
Worse, among these missing people were two Night Guard patrol teams from the local garrison that responded to the sudden changes in fog and soon lost any type of psychic contact they had with the headquarters.
The incident was immediately classified as a Tier 1 Anomaly and later escalated to Tier 2 and then forwarded directly to the highest authorities of the Night Guard: The Department of Special Anomalies.
A special division among the Night Guard that hunted curse spirits, strange entities, evil god followers, and dimensional tears directly associated with the Gene Association.
Not even a city lord can order them. They immediately reacted the moment the psychic telemetry registered unknown changes in the mana fluctuations.
Soon, members of the command council of the Special Department bypassed municipal authorities and declared an immediate Class-A quarantine over Sector 4 and its surrounding areas.
On the ground, within a few hours, emergency containment measures had already been deployed.
A three-mile perimeter surrounding the industrial district was cordoned off with high-density mana barrier pylons, cutting off public access and silencing the growing unrest in the adjacent residential streets.
Stationed along the perimeter were dozens of tactical Night Guards that looked slightly different from ordinary Night Guards.
Every operative was wearing a black, light-leather tactical armor reinforced with mana-conductive alloy plates.
On their faces were distinct, lacquered masks with various mutated beasts, like fanged wolves, horned demons, and predatory hawks… completely concealing their true identities and insulating their senses against minor anomalies like low tire ghosts and curse spirits.
Yet, despite their elite training, an atmosphere of suffocating dread hung over the defense line.
A specialized forward control center was erected barely fifty yards behind the primary containment line, occupying the yard of an abandoned freight depot.
Heavy military-grade tents, secured by steel ground-pins and reinforced with localized dampening runes, fluttered under the biting night wind.
Cables thick as an arm spread across the semi-frozen ground, pumping power from rumbling mana-generators into an array of portable sensor consoles and long-range ether-transceivers.
Inside the main command tent, the air was thick with the scent of bitter black coffee and cold sweat.
More than ten psychic telemetry specialists sat crowded together at two long metal tables.
Most of them were young, but right now, their faces were pale and drawn.
Headsets pressed tight to their ears, their fingers flew across responsive crystal interfaces, trying to filter through the deafening white noise pouring out of Sector 4.
One young woman in the second row had a line of dark blood trickling from her left nostril; she didn't even wipe it away, her hand trembling violently as she began to read the psychic feedback from the signal receiver.
Every few seconds, warning lights popped up across the tactical monitors, casting rhythmic amber and crimson flashes over their terrified faces.
At the center of the room, standing beside the illuminated holographic terrain map, was Lieutenant Maren.
She was a Peak B-Rank combat professional, handpicked to hold the line for this sector, and her presence was the only thing keeping the room from dissolving into full-blown hysteria.
Tall, lean, and intensely focused, she wore an asymmetrical combat haircut, closely cropped on one side while the dark, stylish strands swept across her brow on the other.
A durable black leather tactical jacket hung open over a fitted olive-black tank top, paired with reinforced, skin-tight leather pants tucked into combat boots.
Two heavy-caliber magi-pistols fastened securely in drop-leg holsters against her thighs.
Even standing completely still, she radiated an aura of sharp, lethal authority.
Yet, under that icy composure, Maren's mind was tied in knots. Her knuckles were white where her hands rested on the metal frame of the holographic tank.
"Squad Four entered into the mist forty minutes ago to drop the localized boundary anchors," Maren said, her voice cutting clean through the frantic chatter in the room. "Why hasn't their team leader checked in? Did their locator beacons ping back yet?"
A squad runner burst through the tent's heavy entrance flaps, stumbling over the threshold.
His eyes were wide with sheer panic as he hurried straight toward the command table, clutching a portable receiver.
"Negative, Lieutenant!" he breathed, his voice cracking. "All bio-monitors... they flatlined… no, wait, that's not right. The signals didn't flatline at all. There was no spike in heart rate, no adrenaline surge, no shock telemetry. The signals simply... stopped."
Maren stared at him, her grey eyes narrowing into flint. "What do you mean, stopped?"
"One second all five signatures were synchronized, moving along the secondary street grid," the runner explained, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard.
"Then, right before they reached the edge of the core zone, the entire squad vanished from the board at the same time."
"It's like they vanished into thin air, just like all the other victims"
A deathly silence dropped over the tent.
Several psychic operators stopped typing, staring back at Maren with hollow eyes.
Everyone knew that an awakener's spiritual signature didn't just vanish; even in death, a soul would leave an etheric ripple for several minutes.
To leave nothing behind meant they must have entered a different space or something far worse than a standard casualty.
Maren didn't let her worry show on her face. "Keep scanning that frequency. If you pick up even a fraction of any mana signatures, route it directly to my comms."
Leaving the operators to continue their scans, Maren turned on her heel and strode out of the command tent.
The night air struck her like cold blades cutting on her face.
She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, watching the pale plume of her breath mist in the cold.
Just ten paces past the heavy concrete barricades was the heavy, light greenish fog
It looked less like mist and more like a living organism.
Instead of rising or thinning with the wind, it hung heavy against the asphalt, churning in thick, sluggish coils of unnatural greenish-black.
Tendrils of the vapor crept forward across the road, reaching out like sluggish fingers testing the integrity of the barrier line.
Along the curbs and the steel bases of the mana pylons, a greasy, dark frost had formed.
It gave off a vile stench, like a nauseating blend of stagnant swamp muck, burnt iron, and rotting meat.
Suddenly, a faint, wet rustle echoed from deep within the murk.
"Who's there?!"
A guard stationed not far from Maren's left stepped forward; his wolf mask glowed under the floodlights as he raised his rifle to his shoulder.
With a sharp whine, the runic inscriptions along the barrel ignited, projecting a concentrated cone of azure mana light into the green vapor.
"Identify yourself! Step into the light, right now!" the guard shouted. His voice was loud, but there were no footsteps, as no silhouette stepped forward.
Instead, the silence was broken by a sound that sent an icy shiver down Maren's spine: a quiet, muffled chuckle.
It was wet, ragged, and disjointed, echoing from everywhere and nowhere all at once.
Before the guard could even pull the trigger, his boots suddenly lifted three inches off the pavement.
His squadmate beside him gasped in shock. "What the…"
The man didn't get to finish his sentence. Without even a single gust of wind or warning, the lifted guard was violently yanked backward into the thick green fog with terrifying speed.
It was over in a heartbeat.
There was no struggle. No shout for help. No sound of boots dragging across gravel.
Just a single, dry snap of snapping bone that was instantly swallowed by the heavy air, followed by absolute, dead silence.
"Open fire! Open fire into the perimeter!" someone screamed in sheer hysteria. The entire defensive line lost its nerve.
Rifles fired in rapid succession as bright bursts of azure mana bolts tore into the fog against the darkness like violent blue lightning.
Energy shells ejected onto the asphalt with frantic metallic clatters as the guards dumped their magazines into the empty street.
Yet the barrage hit nothing.
The glowing energy bolts didn't detonate or strike solid ground.
The moment they entered the green-black mist, the azure light decayed, turning dim and sickly before dissolving entirely, devoured by the murk.
"Ceasefire! Stop shooting, you're just wasting your mana!" Maren yelled, stepping toward the line with her sidearms drawn.
The firing stuttered and died, leaving the men gasping for breath, their chests heaving behind their beast masks.
These were seasoned awakeners who had hunted rogue spirits and fought through bloody purges, but facing something like an unknown Tier 2 Anomaly was their first.
"Fall back! Tighten the circle!" Maren commanded.
Before they could obey her orders, the rustling returned.