Outside the misty woods, perched atop a desolate hill, stood a colossal and ancient castle, its silhouette cutting through the sky like a jagged peak. The fortress loomed like a titan of stone and shadow, its towering spires clawing the sky like a sharp claw.
The land surrounding the castle—a vast, barren grassland stretching five kilometers in every direction—was unnaturally still as if no living thing dared trespass. The blades of grass, brittle and colorless under the moon's pale light, swayed not with the wind but with an unseen force. It was a dead expanse, an unnatural void separating the castle from the rest of the world as if the very earth rejected its cursed existence.
Beyond the grassland, where the world seemed to meet its end, the Dreadful Mist Forest stood like a wall of nightmares. Thick fog clung to the thin skeletal branches of twisted trees. The mist slithered and coiled like a living thing, hiding horrors that only reveal themselves when it's too late.
At the castle's outer wall, a fleet of Five soldiers moved in unison, their heavy boots striking the cold stone. The men were tall and strong, their posture rigid with discipline that echoed in every step. Clad in state-of-the-art tactical gear, they surveyed the area with the quiet intensity of predators on the hunt.
Each soldier bore an M4 rifle, sleek and deadly, its barrel glinting under the moonlight. Their helmets were fitted with the latest in military technology: .50 caliber proof helmets, reinforced to withstand heavy fire, with built-in night vision optics that allowed them to see through the inky darkness as if it were day.
Their torsos were shielded by T5 Lite armor, the lightweight yet resilient material designed to stop sniper rounds mid-flight, offering unmatched protection without compromising mobility. These warriors were not only masters of their weapons, but the environment they patrolled had no secrets from them.
North Team to HQ.
Copy.
Fleet #03 here.
Patrol on the northern wall, Section #02, is almost complete. Requesting return.
Copy.
Return granted.
Please estimate the time to reach the end of Section #02.
Copy.
Estimated time: 5 minutes.
Copy.
Section officers will be waiting for you. If you don't arrive in 5 minutes, we'll assume something went south.
...
Understood.
North Team Fleet #03
Caption Ryan Gustav
Over and Out.
Tr Tr (white noise)
Connection disconnected.
The icy winds howled from the dark forest, biting at their exposed skin as they trudged forward along the stone outwall. Ryan and his men moved cautiously, their footsteps muffled, eyes darting back and forth, scanning for any sign of unease.
"Captain, how long?"
A young man with a long face, black hair, big blue eyes, thin lips, and a mustache muttered through clenched teeth. His voice was raspy, strained against the cold. His bushy eyebrows furrowed in frustration.
"Endure for a few more minutes, John. We'll hit the section joint soon." Ryan's voice was low, but firm. He had the commanding presence of someone who had learned to push through discomfort.
"Shit!" John muttered, kicking the stone beneath his feet. "It's already been two damn months since we got stuck out here in this frozen hellhole. What the hell were they thinking sending us to the middle of nowhere?" His voice was a mix of disbelief and resentment.
A deep voice rumbled from behind them. "You know why we were sent here, John?" Carter's voice carried the weight of experience, the deep rumble of a man who had seen too much. At 6.6 feet tall, his heavy jaw was set in a grim expression, and his sharp eyes—set beneath high cheekbones—scanned the blackened woods around them.
John shot him a glance, frustration still boiling in his veins. "Yeah, I know why. To guard this cursed forest."
Carter's gaze hardened. "Correct, and incorrect."
John furrowed his brows, confused. "What?"
Carter stepped forward, his voice lowering, more intense now. "Correct because you're right about the guard part. But not about the whole picture. Have you ever wondered why a bunch of inexperienced companies were deployed out here? Near the misty woods?"
John scoffed, shaking his head.
"Hell no, I don't believe in that bullshit."
A sharp voice cut through the night. "Stop pretending, John. If you want to make it out here, you better start listening." The voice was harsh, a middle-aged man with slicked-back, salt-and-pepper hair, strong cheekbones, and piercing eyes. Mathew, with his rough, stubbled face, wasn't the kind to sugarcoat things. "We're not here just to guard, you're here to survive."
John opened his mouth to retort, but Mathew didn't let him. "What happened here was no accident. A thousand soldiers—gone in a single night. No bodies. No trace. Not even a whisper. The department sent in an advanced unit, but they found nothing. Not a damn thing. What do you think did that?"
John's face twisted in disbelief, but Mathew's gaze didn't falter. "I believe it was a high-level ghost anomaly. Something powerful enough to erase every trace of them."
John shook his head, clearly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was heading. "No way. I... I don't believe it. It's too absurd. A whole battalion just vanishing? It doesn't add up."
Ryan, walking a little ahead, let out a low chuckle, breaking the tension with a soft, teasing tone. "Alright, alright, let's ease up on the kid a bit, Mathew."
Mathew gave him a hard stare, his tone unyielding. "Don't go soft on him, Ryan. This isn't a fairy tale. Look at John. He's still denying it."
John's eyes flickered, but he stood his ground. "No, I do believe in anomalies... It's just... this whole thing, the story—it's too far-fetched, even for me."
Mathew's expression darkened. "Far-fetched or not, this is the world we're living in now. The sooner you accept that, the longer you'll last."
There was a brief silence, and then everyone nodded in unison, their faces hardening in agreement. The words had settled in, and they all knew the truth in them. Survival was all that mattered now.
Mathew's gaze drifted into the distance, the silence between them thickening as the weight of their surroundings pressed in. It was Kim Hye A who broke the tension next, his voice calm.
"Well, Mathew," he said, his accent barely noticeable, but his words deliberate, "I believe what you said about the anomaly. After all, we're standing at the edge of the world, aren't we? In front of one of, if not the biggest anomaly zones in the whole United country."
His words seemed to hang in the air longer than they should have, the gravity of them weighing on the group. Kim's voice had a smooth quality to it, almost too smooth for the circumstances like he was speaking from a place of cold, hard knowledge. The way he spoke—deliberately, unhurried—gave his every word more power than it might have had otherwise.
Kim's face, though serene, held a quiet intensity. His baby-soft, almost unnervingly smooth skin reflected what little moonlight broke through the trees, contrasting sharply with the darkness around them. His medium-length hair was neatly parted to the side, its dark sheen glowing faintly in the dim light. His sharp nose, thin lips, and broad chin only emphasized the calm determination etched across his features.
He took a slow breath, his gaze still locked ahead as if searching the unseen woods for something far beyond the horizon. "You've heard the stories, haven't you? The ones about this place. The things that happened here before we even got our boots on the ground. They say this area doesn't just bend the rules—it breaks them. You can guard it, yes. But you can't control it."
His words were heavy, and the group went still. The wind seemed to pick up, rustling the leaves around them, and for a moment, the air felt colder, sharper.
Ryan's expression shifted slightly, the weight of what Kim had said sinking in. His voice was low, almost a murmur. "It's not just the mission, is it? We're not here just to guard a border."
Mathew's eyes flicked to Ryan for a brief moment, a shadow of understanding passing between them. "No," he said, his voice flat but thick with meaning. "We're here because whatever's in that zone doesn't want to be watched."
John, still struggling with the gravity of the situation, looked between the others, his confusion turning into reluctant acceptance. "So... you think it's true? That the stories aren't just rumors?"
Kim turned to him then, his gaze steady. "Rumors? No, John. Not rumors. It's worse than that." His eyes narrowed, and the faintest edge of a smile tugged at his lips, but it was the kind of smile that didn't reach his eyes. "We might be the last line of defense against something that doesn't care about the stories. It just wants to consume them."
The group fell silent again, the weight of those words settling into their bones. Whatever was ahead, whatever lay in the heart of the woods, was something they could not possibly understand yet. All they knew was that survival—one minute at a time—was their only chance.
"Alright, guys," Ryan's voice crackled over the comms. "We're almost at the Section joint. Get ready."
The words hung in the air, and with them. Every soldier tensed, their eyes scanning the shadows, each of them fighting an urge to look over their shoulder. There was hope in their hearts—hope that they'd finally get out of this death zone. But beneath it, there was a gnawing fear. The kind that comes when you realize that the end of a mission could very well be the beginning of something far worse.
The mist around them grew heavier and thicker. Through the haze, a shape began to materialize—an old, weather-beaten silhouette emerging from the fog. At first, it was a blur, but slowly it became clearer: a cabin.
It stood there like a relic from a forgotten time, its wooden frame sagging under the weight of years. The logs, once strong and proud, were now weathered and gray, the cabin's crooked walls leaning as if in resignation. The windows were dusty, coated with layers of thick dust which made it impossible to see inside, and the roof, patched and broken in several places, looked like it might collapse with a strong wind. Above the peculiar blue wooden door, an old sign swayed in the breeze, its letters almost illegible, but just visible enough to make out: "Overnight Refuge Cabin."
It looked like a place left behind by time itself—forgotten, abandoned... or perhaps simply left to rot in the shadow of the mist.
Just past the cabin, something far more solid came into view: a thick steel wall. Towering and imposing, it stretched across the landscape, cutting through the mist. It was cold and unyielding, and the harsh contrast of metal against the damp, decaying wood of the cabin made the whole scene feel even more unnatural.
In the middle of the wall, there was a door—small, but massive in its way. Thick and sturdy, it looked like something designed to withstand whatever the world could throw at it. The door itself was a deep blue, the color strangely bright against the surrounding gray, as though it had been painted only yesterday. Above it, a solitary lightbulb hung, casting an eerie blue glow over the scene, its flickering light making the shadows dance in unsettling patterns.
Ryan's eyes lingered on the door for a moment, and the rest of the team followed his gaze. The tension in the air was thick now. The cabin, the steel wall, the glowing door—it all felt like some twisted passageway, leading them deeper into a place.
"Stay sharp," Ryan muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, as they moved closer to the threshold. "This is it."
Ryan pushed the door open, and despite its resemblance to a bank vault, it swung open with surprising ease. One by one, the members of Fleet #03 stepped through, only to find themselves standing in a blindingly white room.
A cold, artificial voice echoed from a speaker in the corner of the room. "Welcome."
The voice continued, mechanical and emotionless. "Can I have your credentials, please?"
Ryan stepped forward, his voice firm. "Ryan Gustav, Captain of Fleet #03, MPD—Military Paranormal Department."
"Welcome, Captain Gustav," the voice responded without hesitation. "The Negative Value Test is about to begin. Here are the instructions."
The voice paused, and then the words followed:
The Negative Value Test is a safeguard, measuring whether a patrol unit has unknowingly encountered an anomaly.
It doesn't measure radiation, toxins, or pathogens—it measures absence.
Somewhere beyond the threshold of understanding, some anomalies didn't corrupt matter but erased it—memories, identities, even existence itself. The test scanned for discrepancies, and gaps where something should be but wasn't.
0-1 ft: Clear – No detectable anomalies.
1-20 ft: Distortion – Minor inconsistencies; subject under observation.
20-50 ft: Fracture – Severe loss of cohesion;
immediate isolation.
50-100 ft: Null – Subject is no longer considered "present." Immediate termination.
Ryan's grip tightened on the edge of his rifle, but he stood still as the voice continued: "The test is about to start."
A mechanical click echoed in the sterile room.
The test has started.
The room seemed to close in on them, the weight of the situation thickening the air. Everyone felt a knot in their stomach, sweat beginning to bead on their foreheads. Despite having passed this test several times over the past two months, there was always that gnawing fear. What if?
A tense silence stretched, each member of the fleet holding their breath.
Ding.
The sound sliced through the room.
"Negative value detected. Zero."
A collective sigh of relief filled the room as the heavy burden of dread was lifted from their chests. They had passed—again. The air felt a little less oppressive, a little less suffocating.
As if responding to their relief, a door in the wall slid open smoothly, its edges blending seamlessly with the white surroundings. The fleet moved toward it, one by one, stepping through the threshold and out of the stark room.
Exiting the room, the fleet found themselves back on the cold stone wall. Before them stood a massive, weathered wooden door, its surface scarred with age. The dark shape of the castle loomed beyond, its silhouette casting a shadow over them.
Ryan approached the door with measured steps, his boots clicking against the stone. He tapped lightly on the door, the sound echoing into the silence.
The slit in the door opened with a harsh, metallic bang, and two piercing eyes locked onto the fleet. A husky, dry voice rasped from the shadows behind the door.
"Password?"
Ryan took a long, steady breath, his gaze never leaving the eyes behind the slit. His voice was solemn, unwavering. "Veil underneath."
For a moment, there was silence. Then, with a sharp hiss, the slit closed, and the faint sound of mechanisms shifting filled the air. The heavy door groaned, the creaking of ancient wood sounding through the stillness, and slowly, it began to open.
On the other side stood an old man, his face etched with time. His skin was wrinkled, and sagging with age, and his double chin drooped beneath his thick, silver beard. His bald head gleamed under the dim light, and his eyes—sharp, almost too knowing—met Ryan's.
"Congratulations, Ryan. Another day of survival," the old man said with a gravelly voice, his tone carrying both weight and weariness.
Ryan nodded solemnly, the gravity of his words matching the silence that followed. "You too, Officer Chiev."
The door creaked open wider, allowing them to pass through.
In the Corridor fleet, #03 was walking to their dorm to sleep it was already 4 in the morning thanks to their late patrol they did not have to wake up early. Everyone was tired. Sleep showing on their faces.
"I'm gonna sleep for ten hours straight," John muttered groggily.
"You stole my words," Carter grumbled, his voice overlapping John's.
Ryan smirked. "Alright, you guys head to the dorms. I need to report to the office first. It'll only take me ten minutes."
"Don't be late," Matthew reminded him. "We still have that card game to finish, remember?"
Ryan chuckled. "Oh yeah, almost forgot about that."
"See you in ten," Kim said with a tired wave.
Ryan turned toward the dimly lit corridor leading to the officer's quarters. His boots echoed against the stone floor as he approached a heavy wooden door. He knocked twice.
A raspy yet smooth female voice called from inside. "Come in."
Ryan stepped in and immediately took in the sight of the woman behind the desk. She was young, somewhere in her twenties, with golden wavy hair cascading over her shoulders. Her amber eyes, sharp and assessing, flickered up to meet his. Her high-bridged nose, full lips, and defined jawline gave her an air of both beauty and authority.
Ryan straightened slightly. "Good morning, Miss June."
Before she could respond, a loud, blaring alarm cut through the air.
Emergency alert. Emergency alert.
The cold, mechanical voice of the announcement system rang through the halls.
All fleet captains and joint section officers report to the conference room immediately.
I repeat
All fleet captains and joint section officers report to the conference room immediately.
Ryan's expression darkened. He turned back to Miss June, his tone apologetic yet firm.
"Looks like my report will have to wait."
She nodded, already reaching for a file on her desk. "Go. And be ready for the worst."
Ryan didn't need to be told twice. He turned on his heel and hurried toward the conference room.