The deeper Renji and his team descended into the forgotten arteries of the city, the more the world above felt like a distant memory—almost myth. The Delta zones weren't just hidden beneath the surface; they were buried beneath layers of silence, betrayal, and death. These were places where society's rot condensed into power, where monsters and men traded places with ease.
Rust-colored water dripped from the ceiling of a half-submerged tunnel as the group advanced, their boots sloshing through ankle-deep filth. The air was thick with mildew and mold, mixing with the acrid scent of chemicals and bio-waste. Glowworms clung to the ceiling, casting an eerie blue-green shimmer across the stone. The Delta Zone had no maps, only myths, warnings scrawled in blood or whispers traded for bullets.
Kaito exhaled sharply, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. "Feels like we're walking straight into a grave."
"We are," Yumi muttered, her shadows dancing along the damp tunnel walls, "but it's not ours."
Mika remained silent, her eyes scanning every surface, every opening—tense, focused. Even Takeshi, whose physical strength usually made him confident to the point of cocky, was subdued. He flexed his arms, trying to ignore the way the walls felt like they were closing in.
Renji led them forward, undeterred. His mutant senses prickled at every echo, every shift in the air. They were being watched. Not by one faction. Not even just the Black Crows. The moment they stepped into the Delta zones and uttered that name, it had sent ripples through the underground web.
Word traveled fast in this cesspit of factions—rumors of a rogue mutated team seeking revenge, tracking the Black Crows, challenging a monster most dared not name. Some called it madness. Others saw opportunity.
The Delta didn't forget. And the Delta always watched.
As the team passed a rusted gate into what looked like a long-abandoned train depot, they came upon their first sign: symbols carved into the stone walls—jagged bird claws slashing through circles. The calling cards of the Black Crow faction, etched like territorial markers.
"They've been here," Mika said.
"No," Takeshi growled, eyes narrowing. "They're still here."
Suddenly, a distant whistle pierced the silence, like a forgotten siren call. It wasn't mechanical—it was organic. A warning.
Multiple lights flickered in the darkness ahead. Figures emerged. Not Black Crows. Not yet.
But others.
A group of gaunt individuals in ragged cloaks—eyes gleaming with faint luminescence, skin marked by deep black lines of infection that pulsed like roots beneath their flesh. Their leader stepped forward, draped in fungal-stained robes and bone accessories. His voice echoed with strange harmony, as if two tones overlapped.
"You chase crows in a nest of serpents," he said, raising a hand in peace. "And the serpents are listening."
Renji's team fanned out instinctively. Yumi's shadows sharpened like daggers, Kaito's fists sparked, and Mika's stance shifted into combat readiness. Renji himself said nothing—he simply stared, analyzing.
"Who are you?" Renji finally asked, voice cool but edged with warning.
"We are the Forgotten Choir," the man said. "Once healers. Now keepers of plague and memory. We guard the old world's whispers. And when the Black Crows pass near, we… remember."
Renji stepped forward. "Then tell me where they are."
The Choir leader tilted his head, amused. "They took your people. You want revenge. So noble. So predictable."
Renji's fists clenched. "Speak. Or I'll carve the answer out of your memory."
The man didn't flinch. He simply smiled, eerie and calm.
"We will tell you. But know this—others have heard of your quest. The Spiral Fangs watch you from the ceiling vents. The Crimson Pact follows you in silence. The Smiling Rats have placed a price on your heads. Your name is fire in a dry forest."
Yumi's voice came sharp and low. "We'll burn the whole forest if we have to."
The Choir leader gave a slow nod of approval. "Then may your flames be strong."
He extended a scroll, old and sealed in black wax.
"They nest in the Hollow Spine—a sunken arcology buried beneath this very Delta. But they will not face you in the open. Not unless provoked. And they are not the same Black Crows you knew. Something has changed them."
Renji took the scroll without a word. The moment he did, the Choir receded into the gloom like phantoms.
Kaito exhaled slowly. "Friendly folks."
"They gave us what we needed," Renji said.
"But so many eyes are on us now," Mika added. "They won't all be passive."
"They don't have to be," Renji replied. "They just have to get in the way."
He tucked the scroll away and looked ahead, deeper into the filth, into the territory of madness.
"Let them come," he said. "We'll bury them all before we reach the crows."
And so, deeper they went—into the Hollow Spine, into a war of shadows, blood, and fractured power.
The Delta was awake.
And it was watching.
---
The command center of the Japanese Military Operations Base buzzed with rising tension. Monitors flickered with live feeds from deep within the dungeon beneath the capital—static interspersed with bursts of hellish imagery: blood-smeared stone corridors, claw marks the size of grown men, and the pale eyes of feral dungeon beasts watching from the dark.
Lieutenant Sato stood stiffly before the digital projection table, a hollowed look carved into his features. His uniform was torn in places, stained with dried blood and ash—memories of the slaughter his unit had just barely survived.
"The decision is yours," General Yoshi Matsuda said, his voice sharp, clipped, commanding. "Do we pull them out? Or proceed?"
All eyes in the room turned to Sato. Military brass, intelligence directors, and government advisors sat silently, waiting for his answer. Most expected hesitation—he had lost over half of his task force in the wolf pack ambush. But Sato's jaw clenched.
"We continue," he said, his voice steady. "If we stop now, those deaths mean nothing. My men knew the risks. We finish what we started."
Some officials nodded solemnly, others exchanged uneasy glances. The room, briefly hushed, erupted into swift coordination. Orders were relayed, reinforcements mobilized.
Yoshi Matsuda turned to his communications officer. "Deploy Alpha and Beta Strike Units. Equip them with Type-VII energy-infused rifles and Class-C armor. Full thermal scans before insertion."
"Understood, sir."
As the new squads prepared to descend, a separate channel opened—one not on any official broadcast lines.
The massive screen on the far wall flickered to display a cold, dimly lit chamber—a deep gray environment made of alloy and concrete. Standing in the center was a tall man with ash-gray skin, tribal etchings scorched into his flesh by mutation, and a single glowing eye burning orange through his dreadlocked hair.
Genghis Asura.
Leader of the Weaponized Infected Assault Division—code-named "Executioners."
He leaned forward into the screen with the slow, unsettling poise of a predator who had no reason to rush. "General Matsuda," he said, his deep voice vibrating with disdain, "why do you insult my team?"
Yoshi didn't flinch. "Genghis. This isn't about your pride. It's about covering every variable. My reinforcements will support the Executioners in flushing the dungeon."
Genghis's lip curled, his fangs just visible. "Support? Those men are liability wrapped in armor. They bleed fear. They scream when the lights go out. My people—" he gestured offscreen where hulking infected soldiers loomed in the shadows— "my people do not break. They do not hesitate."
"Your people aren't soldiers," barked a colonel seated nearby. "They're volatile assets, and barely containable at that. Half of them would rip each other apart without your leash."
Genghis turned slowly toward the camera again, his expression unreadable. "That's only because they've been taught to live in cages."
Sato, now patched and rearmed, entered the exchange. He stepped between the digital channels, eyes flicking between General Matsuda and Genghis.
"Enough," Sato said firmly. "You're both wrong. We need your infected to punch through the frontlines. But we need trained squads to flank and cover. Without each other, neither will survive what's deeper in that dungeon."
Genghis gave a short, bitter chuckle. "You think your men can 'cover' us? Fine. When they start screaming again, I'll be the one to silence them."
"Then let's pray we don't need you to," Sato said coldly.
Tension hung thick over the base. The friction was no longer covert. Soldiers on standby cast wary glances at the infected units. The infected returned them with thinly veiled contempt.
As reinforcements prepared to descend into the dungeon, the two factions—military and infected—stood on the edge of unity and breakdown. Both had a job to do.
But if the monsters in the dungeon didn't kill them…
Their own hatred might.