Age 25 — The Broken Continent
The world had ended, but Netoshka Nezvany refused to die.
She had spent months hunting Synarchy remnants, destroying their facilities, killing their operatives. The Tenth Cataclysmic War had burned itself to ash, leaving behind a scarred continent of rifts and Unwoven entities, but Kersnik's network still breathed in the shadows. She would find him. She would end him.
But first, she needed a squad, something to help her.
Lucretia had provided a list—survivors scattered across the wasteland, each with skills that could prove useful. Some were former soldiers. Some were defectors. Some were monsters wearing human skin. Netoshka didn't care. She needed weapons. She needed soldiers. She needed people who could survive the impossible.
She traveled alone.
───
The Desert — Zopi
The Kaskara Wastes had once been a thriving trade route. Now they were a graveyard of sand-blasted ruins and abandoned vehicles, haunted by bandits and the occasional Unwoven that wandered too far from the rifts.
Netoshka found Zopi in a canyon, surrounded by the bodies of a dozen bandits.
The sniper knelt behind a rock outcropping, her rifle still smoking, her dark eyes scanning the horizon. She was lean and sharp, her body a patchwork of scars and burn marks. Her gear was meticulously maintained—Riyue special forces issue, worn but functional. She didn't flinch when Netoshka approached.
"You're the Glitching Aberration," Zopi said, not looking away from her scope.
"I've been called that."
"I've been tracking you for three weeks. You move fast."
"I have reasons."
Zopi finally lowered her rifle and turned. Her eyes were cold, assessing.
"I fought in Dongba. I saw what your people did there. The camps. The executions. The children." She stood, slinging her rifle over her shoulder. "I should hate you."
"You should."
"And yet here you are. Offering me a place in your little squad."
Netoshka said nothing.
Zopi studied her for a long moment. Then she nodded.
"I've seen the rifts. I've fought the Unwoven. I've lost everyone I ever cared about." She extended her hand. "If you can close those holes in the sky, I'll follow you into hell."
Netoshka took her hand.
"Welcome to Inferius Squad."
───
The Facility — Surgien
The research facility had been buried beneath the (French inspired) Mountains since the early days of the war. The Synarchy had used it for experiments—human experiments, the kind that left behind skeletons and stained concrete. The Unwoven had breached its lower levels years ago, but the upper floors still held salvageable equipment.
And one survivor.
Netoshka found Surgien in the operating theater, surrounded by medical supplies and the bodies of his former colleagues. He was a slight man, thin and pale, with steady hands and eyes that had seen too much. He wore a stained white coat over Synarchy fatigues.
"You're that Woman from that Military Organization," he said without looking up from the wound he was stitching on a bandit who had wandered into the facility days ago.
"I've been called that."
"I've heard you're building something. A device to close the rifts."
"That's the plan."
Surgien finished his stitch and wiped his hands on a bloody rag. The bandit groaned but didn't wake.
"I was a surgeon for the Synarchy. I helped build the weapons that tore the sky open." He met Netoshka's eyes. "I'm not looking for redemption. I'm looking for a reason to keep breathing."
"You'll have it."
He packed his instruments into a leather satchel and followed.
───
The Slums — Rue and Zev
The ruins of Port Victory had become a labyrinth of desperation.
Survivors eked out existence in flooded cellars and collapsed towers, trading scavenged goods for bullets and medicine. The Unwoven prowled the outskirts, but inside the city's core, humans had carved out a fragile territory.
Netoshka moved through the slums with Zopi covering from a rooftop and Surgien trailing behind. The stench was overwhelming—rotting garbage, stagnant water, the faint sweetness of death.
She found Zev first.
He was twelve, maybe thirteen, thin and feral, with dark hair and green eyes that burned with a hunger that had nothing to do with food. He crouched in a collapsed drainage pipe, a rusted blade in his hand. A dead Unwoven lay at his feet—small, juvenile, but still dangerous.
"Who are you? Are you that girl i see in the newspapers, the aberration?" he said.
"I've been called that."
"I've been looking for you."
"Why?"
Zev stood slowly. His movements were too fluid—not quite human.
"Because I'm like you. Changed by the rifts. I survived something that should have killed me." He flexed his fingers. Claws extended from his knuckles—black, sharp, wrong. "I can turn into something else. Something that hunts the Unwoven."
Netoshka studied him.
"What's your name?"
"Zev."
"How old are you?"
"Fifteen."
She looked at his eyes. Old eyes. Eyes that had seen too much.
"You're a child."
"I'm a survivor. And I can fight."
Surgien stepped forward. "He needs medical attention. His transformation is unstable."
"I can help." The voice came from the darkness beneath the street.
A figure emerged from a flooded maintenance tunnel. A girl—seventeen, maybe eighteen—with pale skin and dark blue hair. Her eyes were crimson orange. Her teeth were sharp.
"Rue," she said. "I'm a Dhampire. I've been living down here for years. I know these tunnels better than anyone."
Netoshka's hand drifted toward her knife.
Rue didn't flinch. "I'm not a monster. Not the kind you kill. I survived the rifts just like you. Just like him." She nodded at Zev. "The Unwoven changed me. Made me faster. Stronger. Able to see in the dark."
"And you want to join my squad."
"I want to fight back." Rue's crimson eyes held steady. "I've been hiding for too long."
Netoshka looked at Zev, then at Rue.
"Can you both follow orders?"
"Yes."
"Then welcome to Inferius Squad."
───
The Bandit Camp — Ron, SP3CTR, Raine, Alev
The bandit camp was hidden in the Verdant Hollow, a jungle valley that had somehow survived the war. The bandits were former soldiers from half a dozen armies, united by desperation and greed. They had been raiding survivor convoys for months.
Netoshka came alone.
She walked into the center of the camp as if she owned it. Bandits reached for weapons. She didn't stop.
"Ron," she called out. "SP3CTR. Raine. Alev. I'm here to offer you a choice."
A man stepped out of a prefab hut. He was fifty-seven, gray-haired, with a cybernetic arm and eyes that had designed weapons for the old world. Ron the Engineer.
Behind him came a figure in black, face hidden behind a masked helmet. SP3CTR—no one knew their real name, nor their origin. They were an assassin, and they were very good at their job.
A man pushed through the crowd, tall and broad-shouldered, carrying a weapon that looked like it belonged on a tank. Raine the Buster. His face was scarred, his eyes dead.
And finally, a man in scorched robes, his hands blackened with burn scars. Alev the Pyromancer. He could conjure fire from the rifts themselves.
"You've got a lot of nerve comin round here missus," Ron said, "walking into my camp like you own it."
"I own nothing. I'm offering a purpose."
"We've heard about you. The Glitching Aberration. War criminal. Butcher. Synarchy's Infamous unkillable Soldier"
"Also true."
SP3CTR spoke, their voice distorted by the mask.
"And you want us to follow you."
"I want you to help me close the rifts. The Unwoven are just the beginning. Something worse is coming. Something that's been waiting."
Raine grunted.
"And if we say no?"
Netoshka drew her knife.
"You won't."
The fight was short. Brutal. One against four.
Ron swung a wrench. She ducked, swept his legs, kicked him into a fire pit. SP3CTR lunged with a blade—she caught their wrist, twisted, dislocated their shoulder. Alev sent a wave of flame toward her. She rolled under it, came up inside his guard, drove her knee into his stomach. Raine charged like a bull. Netoshka sidestepped, grabbed his arm, used her momentum to throw him into a stack of crates.
She stood in the center of the camp, surrounded by groaning bandits, her knife still clean.
"I don't want to kill you," she said. "I want you to live. The world needs builders now, not destroyers."
Ron pushed himself up, rubbing his ribs.
"You fight like a demon."
"I've had practice."
He extended his hand.
"Sigh, I'm in."
SP3CTR nodded, cradling their dislocated shoulder.
"I'll follow."
Raine stood, brushing debris from his armor. "Someone has to keep you alive."
Alev smiled—a thin, burned thing.
"I haven't felt fire like that in years. I'm in."
───
The Coast — Taran, Serah, Twila, B4TT3RY
The coastal fortress of Stormhold had been abandoned by the old world's navy. Now it served as a gathering place for mercenaries and scavengers.
Netoshka found Taran in the armory, cleaning a rifle older than he was. He was lean and quick, with sharp eyes and a crooked dead smile.
"No need for introductions, i know who you are" he said.
"Okay then."
"I've been looking for you." He set down his rifle. "I've heard you're building something. Something that can end this."
"That's the plan."
"Then I'm in."
Serah stood by the window, her tablet glowing in the dim light. She was an intelligence analyst, a defector from the Averikan government. She had secrets that could get her killed a hundred times over.
"I've been tracking Kersnik's movements for months," she said. "He's building something too. Something worse than the rifts."
"Then we stop him."
Twila emerged from the shadows. She was young, twenty-three, with shifting features—her face never seemed to settle. A doppelganger, changed by the rifts.
"I can be anyone," she said. "I can go anywhere."
"You'll be useful."
B4TT3RY rolled into the room—a hundred-year-old robot, its chassis patched with salvaged armor, its optical sensors glowing blue.
"Organic life is inefficient," it stated. "But the Unwoven are an existential threat to all processing units. I will assist."
Netoshka looked at them—the soldier, the analyst, the shapeshifter, the machine.
"Welcome to Inferius Squad."
───
The Ruins — Genrihk, Circe, Ginny, Renzo
The Black Spire was a necropolis, a city of the dead that had stood for centuries before the war. The Unwoven avoided it. Something older dwelt there.
Netoshka climbed the spiral staircase to the top of the tower.
Genrihk waited for her.
He was ancient—five hundred years old, at least—his skin pale as parchment, his eyes black voids. A necromancer, occultist, and Soldier, a being who had communed with the dead long before the rifts opened.
"I have seen you in my visions," Genrihk said. "The Glitching Aberration. The half-breed of Eldritch nightmares. The one who will close the gates."
"Then you know why I'm here."
"You need my knowledge. My power. My servants." He gestured to the figures standing in the shadows—Circe, Ginny, Renzo.
Circe was nineteen, her eyes glowing faintly with psychic energy. She could conjure animals from the æther, beasts that fought alongside her. Ginny was twenty-two, a hacker and demolitionist, her fingers stained with gunpowder. Renzo was twenty-one, a sensorist, able to feel the Unwoven's presence before they appeared.
"They are my acquaintances," Genrihk said. "My comrades. They will accompany you."
"And you?"
"I am too old to leave this place. But my knowledge is yours." He extended a withered hand. "Build your device, Glitching Aberration. Close the gates. And when you face Kersnik—remember that death is not the end."
Netoshka took his hand.
───
The Slums Revisited — Zev's Choice
Netoshka brought the squad to the slums of Port Victory.
Twelve soldiers, one child, one vampire, one hundred-year-old robot, and an ancient necromancer's disciples. They were misfits, monsters, outcasts. They were Inferius Squad.
Zev stood apart from the others, his claws retracted, his eyes human again.
"You're really going to do it," he said. "Build the device. Close the rifts."
"Yes."
"And then what?"
Netoshka looked at the sky. The rifts still pulsed, bleeding impossible light.
"Then we find out what's on the other side."
Inferius Squad had been forged.
Sixteen souls, bound by blood and purpose, following the Glitching Aberration into the heart of darkness. They had come from deserts and jungles, from ruins and sewers, from bandit camps and necropolises. They were broken, scarred, monstrous.
But they were hers.
Netoshka Nezvany looked at the faces of her squad—Zopi's cold eyes, Surgien's steady hands, Rue's crimson gaze, Zev's fierce determination. Ron's greying hair, SP3CTR's masked silence, Raine's scarred fists, Alev's burned smile. Taran's cold stern look, Serah's calculating stare, Twila's shifting features, B4TT3RY's glowing sensors. Genrihk's ancient wisdom, Circe's psychic glow, Ginny's powder-stained fingers, Renzo's watchful stillness.
"We have one mission," she said. "Build the Reverse Mechanism Device. Close the rifts. End this suffering once and for all to save Erythia for a better Tomorrow."
No one spoke.
No one needed to.
The war was over.
But the real fight had just begun.