Charlie was genuinely surprised to see Ivan arrive so quickly, especially with an entire squad from the Ninth Special Service Division in tow.
After all, in theory, Agent Petrov was still a wanted man, his name tarnished by false accusations. Even though they had obtained irrefutable proof that the video convicting Petrov had been doctored, and that the real traitor was Commander Ross, Charlie had assumed it would take days, if not weeks, for the bureaucracy to clear Ivan's name. It was a slow-moving machine, usually resistant to swift change.
Yet here they were.
Ivan had returned to the front line, faster than anyone could have anticipated, leading a team of elite agents into the chaos. It was a testament to his influence and the urgency of the situation. Maybe Ivan still had powerful allies within the organization, or maybe not everyone in the madhouse of the Ninth Division was a fool—there were still a few who could act decisively in the face of an extraordinary crisis.
"The situation has surpassed our predictions, sir," Friday's voice came through Charlie's headset. "There are ghouls—many of them. I'm accessing city surveillance cameras, and… it's worse than we thought."
"How bad?" Charlie's eyes narrowed, already expecting the worst.
"Centered on the square where you're fighting. Ghouls are spreading outward, rapidly. If this continues, the entire city will be engulfed."
Charlie cursed under his breath, glancing around the battlefield. The ghouls were rising from the ground, their grotesque forms crawling out from every dark corner, every crack in the earth. This wasn't some spur-of-the-moment attack—this was a calculated move. Commander Ross had been preparing for this for a long time, laying the foundation for this moment beneath the very streets of Riverton City.
The ghouls were an army. And Ross wasn't just trying to win a battle—he was trying to start a war.
Ivan Petrov moved with deadly precision, emptying his clip into the nearest wave of ghouls, the staccato sound of gunfire cutting through the chaos. His team followed close behind, methodically mowing down the dark creatures, creating a path through the carnage.
"Well, I don't know what your powers are," Ivan shouted, his voice rising above the roar of gunfire, "but if you're running with Batman, you've got to be useful for something!"
As he spoke, Ivan reloaded his weapon with fluid efficiency, barking orders to his squad. "Go! Get that bastard!"
Charlie didn't need the reminder. His focus had already shifted. The ghouls were a distraction, nothing more. The real target was Commander Ross. The moment Ivan and his team had cleared a path, Wolverine's focus snapped back to the commander. He crouched low, his claws gleaming in the dim light, and launched himself toward Ross with the ferocity of a predator locked onto its prey.
The battle was now a furious blur of motion.
Wolverine slashed through the ghouls in his path, his claws cleaving through flesh and bone like a hot knife through butter. He ignored the deep cuts and wounds that Ross's Tis Shield inflicted on him in return. Black blades sliced across his torso, but when they struck bone, they stopped, unable to penetrate further. Blood spilled from his wounds, but Wolverine paid it no mind. His healing factor was already at work, knitting his flesh back together even as the battle raged.
On the other side, Ross wasn't faring as well. His Tis Shield—his once-prized defense—was proving woefully inadequate. Wolverine's claws cut through it like it was nothing more than paper, each slash rending Ross's flesh beneath. Ross retaliated with every ounce of power he had, but it wasn't enough. Wolverine's sheer strength, combined with his unrelenting attacks, was too much. Ross's once-cocky demeanor had been replaced by grim determination.
The two clashed again and again, but the result was the same—Wolverine's claws breaking through, forcing Ross back. Blood poured from both combatants, staining the ground beneath them.
Wolverine pushed Ross hard against the wall, pinning him there, his claws buried deep in the commander's side. The metallic scrape of bone against adamantium echoed in the square as Wolverine's claws pressed closer to Ross's spine, threatening to slice him in half.
In return, Ross drove a blade of Tis Shield through Wolverine's throat, his chest, and even his knee. Wolverine was a blood-soaked mess by this point, his once-white shirt now a deep crimson, saturated with his own blood. But even with his body torn apart, Wolverine stood tall, his breathing steady, his healing factor keeping him in the fight. The amount of blood he had lost was staggering—by all rights, he should have been dead a dozen times over.
But Wolverine was not ordinary. He was a force of nature.
Ross, on the other hand, was faltering. His chest heaved with labored breaths, his vision blurring from the blood loss. The arm that wasn't pinned to the wall by Wolverine was now completely limp, hanging uselessly at his side. But even in his weakened state, Ross wasn't finished.
"You… think you're clever, don't you?" Ross spat, blood trickling down his chin. His voice was low, raspy, yet filled with bitter venom. "You think… you've seen through my plans. Interfered with my operations time and time again."
His head lolled to the side, a weak, twisted smile forming on his lips. "But it's too late now."
Ross's voice deepened, taking on a sinister edge. "Do you understand what's happening right now? The ghouls are out—every one of them that I've hidden beneath the city. They've been released."
"The death, the fear they're spreading… it's the perfect feast," Ross continued, his voice growing stronger. "The despair of the people, their desperation—this is the final act. The city is finished."
Wolverine said nothing, his gaze cold and focused. He raised his claws, ready to deliver the killing blow, but Ross wasn't done talking.
"The unsealed Laitos… this is just the prologue," Ross said, his eyes gleaming with a twisted sense of victory. "Can't you hear it? The fear in the air? The deaths piling up? This is the sound of a new age dawning."
Before he could finish, Wolverine's claws came down, aiming for Ross's throat. Ross narrowly dodged the strike, the Tis Shield forming in time to deflect most of the blow, but it wasn't enough. Wolverine's claws tore through Ross's arm, severing it clean at the elbow. Blood sprayed from the wound in a gruesome arc, the severed limb flying through the air and landing in the growing pool of blood beneath them.
Ross let out a sharp cry of pain, collapsing to the ground. His body crumpled, his one remaining hand clutching his stump as blood poured from the gaping wound. He lay there, panting heavily, his breath ragged and shallow. But even now, he wasn't finished.
"You talk too much," Wolverine growled, his voice low and menacing. He stood over Ross, blood dripping from his claws, his eyes cold and unrelenting.
Ross stared up at him, his vision swimming. More ghouls clawed their way from the ground, surrounding them. Their movements were erratic, driven by madness, yet there was a strange coordination to their actions—an overarching strategy guiding their chaos.
The ghouls that had emerged from beneath the ground were now positioning themselves strategically and controlling the high ground. They'd managed to surround a group of officers trying to maintain order. Their actions were wild and unpredictable, but the way they moved had a chilling precision, as if something—or someone—was commanding them.
But they wouldn't be in control for long.
The sky above roared with the sound of fighter jets as the Special Service Operations Team arrived in force. The battle with the ghouls had spread across multiple city blocks, but the reinforcements arrived just in time to contain the growing horde. Rescue teams were evacuating civilians, while heavily armed units engaged the ghouls in fierce combat, pushing them back. The chaos was being reined in, but only barely.
In the central square, the number of ghouls continued to swell. The battle was reaching its peak, with more and more dark creatures rising from the ground. Ivan and his team found themselves hard-pressed to hold the line, but even as the situation grew more dire, a new force entered the fray.
A crimson blur darted through the battlefield, cutting through the ghouls like a ghostly wraith. The dark creatures didn't even have time to react before they were flung into the air, their bodies slamming into the ground with bone-shattering force.
It was Fana, her long black hair and red dress flowing as she tore through the ghouls with effortless grace. Her phantom abilities allowed her to glide through the battlefield like a shadow, striking down the monsters with deadly precision. She moved with blinding speed, appearing and disappearing in an instant, her strikes like lightning in the dark.
Wolverine paid no attention to Fana's swift annihilation of the ghouls. His focus remained solely on Commander Ross, who was now kneeling in his own blood, clutching his severed arm.
Wolverine's claws, still dripping with Ross's blood, twitched in anticipation. He was ready to end this.
But Ross wasn't done yet.
As Wolverine advanced, the Tis Shield twitched again, a black, viscous liquid that began pooling beneath Ross. The shield extended out from his body like a living thing, forming tendrils that shot toward Wolverine with lightning speed. But even as they lashed out, Wolverine's claws met them with equal ferocity, slicing through the extensions as though they were nothing more than mist.
The two forces clashed again, the Tis Shield reforming faster than it was cut down, but Wolverine was relentless. His claws tore through Ross's last defenses, inch by inch, until the commander was left exposed once more, backed into a literal corner.
And then, finally, Ross's body gave out. The black material of the Tis Shield flickered weakly, struggling to regenerate. Blood poured from his many wounds, his breathing growing shallow. He tried to speak again, his voice hoarse and barely a whisper, but before he could utter another word, Wolverine's claws sank deep into his chest. This time, they found their target—Ross's heart.
Ross gasped, his eyes wide with pain and surprise. He looked down at the claws embedded in his chest, his body trembling with the realization that there would be no recovery from this. His hands weakly grasped at Wolverine's arms, but he had no strength left to resist.
Wolverine stared down at him, his expression unreadable, but there was no mercy in his eyes.
"You lost," Wolverine said coldly, his voice a low growl.
Ross's mouth opened as if to respond, but all that escaped was a weak, rattling breath. His body twitched once, then went limp. Wolverine let him fall, Ross's body crumpling to the ground like a broken doll.
But as Ross collapsed, his final words echoed in Wolverine's mind:
"Laitos has already awakened."
At that moment, the ground beneath Wolverine's feet began to tremble violently. A deep, ominous rumble echoed through the city, shaking the very foundations of the buildings surrounding them. The ghouls, as if sensing something far greater than themselves, froze in place, their hollow eyes turning toward the ground.
From beneath the city, the earth groaned as massive cracks splintered outward in all directions. The air around them grew thick with the smell of decay and something else—something ancient and foul.
Wolverine's eyes narrowed, his instincts screaming at him to run. The ground in the center of the square, where Ross had been standing moments before, began to buckle and sink. The pavement cracked and shattered as something enormous pushed its way up from the depths of the earth.
The darkness swelled, a towering shadow rising from the ground like a nightmare given form. It was an impossibly large figure, its silhouette monstrous and grotesque. As it continued to rise, the very air seemed to pulse with malevolent energy.
The true horror... had begun.