The sky was dark and thick clouds swallowed the moonlight, leaving the world in a raw, grey dim. The wind blew harsh and thin; a shivering hiss ran over the slopes and through the trees.
Down the mountain sides, trees wore blankets of snow and ice had turned the few visible patches of ground to glassy, treacherous slicks. Hills rolled in every direction, white and hard under the cold sky.
Beside one of the many hills that rose toward the heavens, at its base, stood a large industrial compound. Warehouses and low buildings were spread across the grounds, lights winking as people moved about and machines hummed through the night.
Soldiers in dark uniforms — black-and-white camouflage — paced between buildings. A few still wore standard field gear despite the bite of the cold, their breath steaming in the air.
The base was ringed by multiple fences that stretched outward from the main building. Each layer held a checkpoint; atop every checkpoint rose a tall pole with rotating security lights that swept the compound like watchful eyes.
Three concentric fences arced around the site, curving until they met the hillside itself. Rising from the ground toward the hilltop was a crane-like tower — part elevator, part watchtower — its silhouette cutting up into the stormy sky.
Inside the military base, activity buzzed like a machine in motion. Armed men moved in squads, their weapons gleaming under the floodlights.
Some trained in formation, others hauled crates or checked vehicles — heavy transports and armored trucks rumbling across the frozen ground. It looked like any high-security military barracks, only this one pulsed with sharper discipline and colder intent.
Far from the noise and light, deep into the snowy wilderness, four figures lay prone on the icy ground — their bodies camouflaged by the white, their breath hidden in the hush of wind. Each wore a black tactical suit and a mask that blurred their faces into shadows.
They were still. Patient. Predatory.
One carried a long sniper rifle strapped across his back, its barrel glinting faintly. Another — slimmer, her form unmistakably feminine — had a coiled whip at her hip. The third bore twin jagged swords crossed on his back like serrated wings. The last figure seemed unarmed, carrying nothing but the confidence in his stance.
"You guys look cool," came a quiet voice, calm but laced with sarcasm, "but don't you think having your weapons out makes it a little easy to spot you?"
The masked figures turned slightly. The voice came from the last figure — Alex.
Beside him lay Tamsin, Merrick, and Gwen.
Merrick had the sniper. Tamsin carried the twin serrated swords. Gwen kept the coiled whip at her hip. All the weapons were beast-made — custom, brutal, and bonded to their owners.
"Can't you guys just put them in the system storage?" Alex asked.
"Our weapons aren't like yours," Merrick said, low and precise. "You can call your weapon at will. Ours don't fully sync like that. We have ways to recover them, but it's not the same."
"Alright…" Tamsin muttered. He shifted, voice sharper. "Gwen, what have you noticed so far?"
Gwen stayed prone, no binoculars in hand, but her mask zoomed like a camera, focusing in. "The base looks the same. No changes."
"I do wonder what's taking them so long. Maybe the intel was off."
"It can never be false," Merrick replied, adjusting the scope on his sniper. "This base was flagged months ago — one of those spots doing dirty work under clean uniforms."
"Then why was the mission ignored for so long?" Gwen asked, her voice low but curious.
"Because that's how it goes," Merrick said with a small shrug. "Too many fires to put out, and the smaller ones burn quietly until they can't be ignored anymore."
He chambered a round with a click that echoed faintly in the cold.
"But we're here now — that's what matters."
"Even if it turns out to be a false lead," Alex added with a grin, "I'd still love to go down there and kick some ass."
Before anyone could respond, a distant whup-whup-whup rolled through the frozen air.
They all froze.
It wasn't just one helicopter — seven of them sliced across the pale sky in formation. Oddly, the sound was muted, almost swallowed by the air around them.
"You hear that?" Tamsin murmured.
"Yeah," Merrick said, eyes narrowing behind his mask. "Those rotors are being suppressed. Air magic — probably a Paragon with wind affinity dampening the sound."
Tamsin's jaw tightened. "Then it's confirmed. Our targets are here."
She glanced at the others, and in a single nod, the four broke cover — moving low, quick, and ghostlike across the snow.
As they advanced, Merrick whispered updates, pointing out guard positions, power nodes, and patrol patterns he'd memorized from the files.
The base loomed larger with every step, its floodlights painting the snow in harsh, shifting beams.
"The helicopters are carrying the hostages," Tamsin said, low and direct. "Our primary objective is to break the operation and get those people out."
He scanned each of them. "Remember — these people aren't military. This is a drug enterprise. A Paragon is running it. They traffic drugs, people, organs... worse. You will not hesitate. Kill if you must."
Alex heard the last line aimed at him. He was relatively new to the Paragon world; killing still felt heavy.
But the picture Tamsin painted made things simpler. Hearing what those men did to people tightened something in him.
Killing them would be easier now—less like taking a life, more like stopping a machine of harm.
When Alex had asked about missions, Merrick had stumbled on this file. It pointed to a secluded compound in Russia — a place the government didn't officially know existed.
On the surface it wore a military mask; under the surface it hid a monstrous enterprise: drugs, human trafficking, organs, sex slaves — the whole rotten inventory.
The Pendragon had once planted a spy there and logged the site, but somehow the file had sat in the archives until now. Merrick had pulled it up and the mission kicked into motion.
One of the things in that file revealed that this wasn't a military base at all — it was the stronghold of a clan called The Vornshade Clan.
The place was run by a Paragon Mage known as Varkov.
Recalling all this, Alex already knew he wouldn't be feeling sorry for whatever came next.
Soon, the four had drawn close to the base, lying low with snow covering their bodies. They were right beside the first fence — the base's first line of defense.
"Now, it should be clear to you that there'll be some Paragon warriors among them," Tamsin whispered. "You know what to do. Don't hold back."
With that, he gave the signal.
At that moment, Merrick rose from the snow and grabbed his sniper. He took aim.
BANG!
The shot cracked through the cold air. Three bullets left the sniper's muzzle, all striking the watchtower.
BOOM!
An explosion erupted. The tower's lights went out, and almost instantly, alarms blared across the base.
"Now!" Tamsin shouted.
Alex, Tamsin, Gwen, and Merrick broke into a sprint toward the base's entrance.