High risk doesn’t always bring high rewards. Sometimes, the only prize is a swift and merciless death.


    The group moved in silence, their Exo-Rigs humming softly as energy pulsed through their metallic frames. Eden’s own suit adjusted to his movements, the folded wings at his back thrumming with kinetic energy.


    His grip tightened around the hilt of his sword as he followed Bozok down a narrow passage between ruined buildings. They had barely crossed the outskirts—where a fallen megatower sprawled across the broken streets like a collapsed titan—when the first warning came.


    A deep, guttural growl.


    It reverberated through the ruins, impossibly low and dense, like the grinding of stone against steel. It wasn’t the sound of mere hunger. It was something far worse.


    The group froze. Weapons drawn.


    "Formation!" Bozok barked, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "From here on out, we''re facing the real threats."


    Eden inhaled sharply, his fingers flexing around his sword’s hilt. His flux surged as he activated [Ethereal Vision], his perception expanding beyond the physical realm. The unseen currents of energy flickered before his eyes, revealing what lurked in the shadows.


    And there it was.


    The beast.


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    It was massive—larger than any creature that should exist in this world. Its very presence twisted the air, its energetic field a chaotic storm of rage and hunger. Raw instinct barely contained within an armored frame.


    Then, with an earth-shaking step, it emerged from behind the shattered remains of an old apartment complex.


    The beast was a grotesque fusion of flesh and biomass, a monstrous hybrid of bone, carapace, and something even more unnatural. Jagged bark plating protruded from its shoulders and back like a natural fortress, its four green eyes scanning the Vaultbreakers with a predatory gleam.


    It exhaled, releasing a wave of acrid steam from the vents along its flanks. Clawed limbs, each talon the size of a man’s torso, scraped against the ground, carving trenches into the earth. Its mouth—lined with fangs—dripped with corrosive ichor that sizzled against the rubble.


    A breath. A heartbeat.


    Then—


    "The hell is that thing?!" Oivier, the other Skyborn in the group, gasped.


    "A Wild Roller," Bozok murmured, his voice tight. "I didn’t expect to see one here."


    "A what?" Oivier asked again.


    The Wild Roller let out a deep, guttural roar, the sheer force of it fracturing the already crumbling pavement. Dust and debris exploded outward as the shockwave rippled through the ruins. And then, with terrifying speed, it charged.


    "Scatter!" Bozok roared. "Aim for its eyes!"


    Eden’s wings snapped open with a burst of flux, launching him into the sky. His Exo-Rig adjusted instantly, kinetic stabilizers flaring to maintain his balance. He drew his sword, its neon edge humming with deadly anticipation.


    Oivier flanked him, keeping formation. "Don’t fly too high," he warned. "There are worse things watching from above."


    Eden nodded. "Appreciate the warning."


    Below, Bozok sprinted out of the Wild Roller’s path, his hands reaching for a blinding grenade. With a practiced motion, he hurled it into the air. A second later, it detonated in a flash of searing white light, bright enough to permanently blind any unprotected eye.


    The Wild Roller reared back, bellowing in pain.


    The ground trembled as the weakened subway tunnel beneath it finally collapsed under its weight, sending chunks of concrete and twisted rebar into the abyss. Staggered but unbroken, the creature swung its massive head and tail in blind fury, toppling what little remained of the buildings around it as though they were nothing more than flimsy paper constructs.


    Gunfire erupted. Vaultbreakers unleashed a barrage of Zion rounds and flux-charged attacks. The beast barely flinched. Its armored body deflected most of the assault, and what little damage it sustained only seemed to enrage it further.


    Eden and the Oivier repositioned, unleashing bursts of flux projectiles from their wings before diving in, their weapons glowing with charged energy. Their target was none other then the Wild Roller’s burning eyes.


    “Bozok!” Knail, the man from the newly formed union, called out.


    Bozok didn’t hesitate. He sprinted forward, his movements a blur, before leaping onto the shimmering green flux Knail projected beneath him.


    “Wind Burst!” Knail shouted, his ability surging to life.


    With a concussive blast of air, Bozok was launched skyward, his trajectory curving in a perfect arc toward the Wild Roller’s exposed neck.


    He clenched his fists. The energy around him shifted, thick with intent.


    “Hate’s Echo!”


    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    Bozok''s punch connected. A shockwave pulsed through the battlefield, a moment of absolute silence following in its wake—before the Wild Roller let out a bone-rattling roar. The force of the sound alone sent the Skyborns reeling midair, forcing them to stabilize their flight.


    Eden’s eyes narrowed. That must have been Bozok’s passive—Blooming Hatred.


    When joining a new group, there was always a certain level of disclosure required. You couldn''t just dive into battle without knowing what the others were capable of. It was a matter of survival. If you didn’t know how to complement each other’s abilities—or worse, if you had no idea what to expect in a dangerous situation—things could go south fast.


    That’s why, the night before, we had all shared some of our abilities during the small chat. It was an unspoken rule among Vaultbreakers. No one had to reveal everything, but enough had to be said so that when the fighting started, we wouldn''t be running blind.


    One of Bozok’s disclosed abilities was Hate’s Echo. A brutal, concussive punch technique powered by the passive ability of his Concept. The way it worked was simple—his first strike on a target would awaken the pain of its past wounds.


    Even injuries that had long since healed would be felt all over again, as fresh and agonizing as the moment they were first inflicted.


    A broken ability, if you asked me. Imagine hitting a creature that had survived a hundred battles before this one—every single wound it had ever taken would come back at once. A single punch could cripple something beyond saving.


    At least, in theory.


    In reality, Bozok didn’t seem strong enough to fully unleash its potential. Blooming Hatred was powerful, but he wasn’t pushing it to the extremes I imagined it could reach. Maybe his Concept wasn’t fully developed yet. Or maybe he was missing something—some key requirement to level it up and take it beyond its current limits.


    I wondered what he needed to do to reach that next stage. And more importantly... what it would look like when he finally did.


    "Clear!" Musha''s warning came just a heartbeat before the deafening crack of his sniper shot.


    The beast howled in agony, thrashing wildly as one of its massive, glowing eyes burst in a spray of dark ichor.


    "That''s how it''s done!" Bozok shouted triumphantly, watching the creature reel in pain. Its frenzied roars echoed through the ruined cityscape. "Don''t give it time to recover—keep up the pressure! We force it to retreat, or we die trying!"


    I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t joke about that.


    Gerard, the battle-hardened freelancer, wasted no time. Planting his dadao sword firmly into the shattered pavement, he unleashed the stored energy within. "Earth Splitter!"


    The ground trembled violently before splitting apart, a deep, jagged chasm forming beneath the beast’s shifting weight. The fissure connected to the already-collapsed subway tunnel, extending into a massive crater that yawned beneath the creature’s feet.


    With a bellow of frustration, it lost its balance and crashed onto its side, sending tremors through the battlefield.


    Above them, the sky darkened. Swirling gray clouds, thick and charged with raw energy, gathered at Oivier’s command. The air crackled, the very atmosphere growing heavy as arcs of electricity flickered between the storm fronts.


    Eden, sensing the shift in flux, instinctively increased his distance to concentrate.


    "Rupture!" Oivier’s voice rang with authority.


    A blinding bolt of lightning, thicker than Bozok’s armored frame, split the heavens. It struck the beast’s skull with earth-shaking force, sending shockwaves rippling outward. A brilliant burst of light illuminated the ruins for a fleeting moment, then faded, leaving only the acrid scent of scorched flesh in its wake.


    The Wild Roller twitched. Steam and smoke curled from its head, masking the full extent of the damage.


    Whether from sheer agony or unrelenting fury, it let out a guttural snarl. Then, with a shuddering growl, it pressed its clawed hands to the ground and pushed itself back up.


    "Shit," Oivier hissed as the beast wobbled to its feet, momentarily disoriented.


    It reared onto its hind legs, towering over them, then came crashing down with terrifying force. The impact sent a shockwave through the battlefield, leveling debris and shattering the structures in its wake.


    Eden barely had time to react before his comms crackled with static.


    "Fucking hell!" Oivier cursed. "Status report! Is anyone alive?!"


    Eden exhaled sharply, his grip tightening around his blade. The paper talisman on his wrist flared to life as spirits finished pouring their energy into it. He pressed the talisman against his sword, and an ominous white glow engulfed the blade.


    Sensing the sheer concentration of flux radiating from Eden, Oivier instinctively flew to the side.


    "Yeah, still breathing," Bozok''s voice came through, strained but steady.


    Eden darted forward, both hands firm on his sword. His eyes locked onto the beast’s throat—one of its few vulnerable spots where the armor was thinner.


    "Same here."


    "I’m good too."


    Their confirmations steeled Eden''s resolve, wind whipping past him as he aimed for a decisive strike. A single, deadly arc of his blade carved through the air.


    BOOM!


    The force of his strike let free a sheer release of energy producing a sharp, piercing crack. Every beast within miles—every monster with a good hearing lurking in the ruined city—would have heard it.


    Then came the explosion.


    A violent burst of green, viscous liquid erupted from the wound, drenching Eden mid-flight. His Exo-Rig’s warning system blared.


    <hr>


    WARNING: Sudden increase in weight exceeds thruster capacity. Reduce weight immediately or prepare for emergency landing.


    <hr>


    His vision momentarily blurred by the sticky substance, Eden wiped his visor with one hand. He then angled his body downward, letting the wind pressure strip away as much of the blood as possible.


    Gritting his teeth, he engaged his thrusters, veering away from the beast to gain distance. Then he heard it.


    A roar of terror.


    Is it not dead yet?!


    A sudden, violent gust of wind slammed into him, pushing him further back. His comms buzzed to life once more, this time with a sense of panic.


    "What the hell is it doing now?!" Oivier''s voice crackled through the static. "Everyone, fall back! Now! Get out of there!"


    "How the fuck am I supposed to run when I’m trapped in here?!" Knail barked.


    Eden turned, heart pounding. And what he saw next left him utterly frozen. The beast—still very much alive—collapsed onto its side. But instead of lying still, it started to roll.


    Like a monstrous, living steamroller, it barreled toward the location where the Vaultbreakers lay buried.


    Eden’s stomach dropped. No.


    "Wraaaa!" With a final, desperate struggle, Bozok pushed his way toward the light, clawing his way free from the debris.


    But fate was cruel. His effort proved to be his last.


    The Wild Roller’s enormous bulk came crashing down, and in an instant, Bozok was reduced to nothing more than a smear beneath its colossal weight.


    A sickening crunch echoed through the comms.


    "Ah..."


    A sharp breath. A shudder. A moment of stunned silence.


    Oivier exhaled raggedly, sweat dripping down his brow as he struggled to steady his breathing.


    "So that''s why they call it the ‘Wild Roller,’" he muttered, voice tinged with resignation.


    His grip loosened on his lance as he lowered it, the will to fight momentarily wavering. There was no need for a status report. The Wild Roller wasn’t stopping. It trampled back and forth across the battlefield, flattening everything beneath it, ensuring nothing remained.


    Two vivid red stains marred the gray wasteland of dust and rubble.