Chapter 4 – No Way Out
Morgan and his men realized it almost at the same time.
They were alone.
No air support.
No reinforcements.
No comms with command.
Just ammunition, training, and the one resource Morgan trusted more than any weapon—teamwork.
The mist clung to their gear, reducing visibility to mere meters. Every step forward felt like walking blind. The forest around them shifted unnaturally. Branches snapped under unseen weight, and every rustle made them flinch.
The wind picked up, carrying the first drops of rain. Soon it became a steady, chilling drizzle, soaking their uniforms and weapons. Thunder rumbled distantly, masking the wet, guttural noises that came from the trees. The storm wasn't just weather—it was nature itself fighting alongside the creatures.
Morgan adjusted his grip on his rifle. "Check ammo. Stay low. Eyes open."
The squad obeyed, sliding into position behind rocks, trees, and mud-soaked ground. They moved like shadows, disciplined and silent. But the creatures were coming. And they weren't moving blindly anymore.
A tall, thin figure appeared from the mist. Limbs too long, movements sharp, predatory. Its face—human-like but distorted—stared directly at the squad.
"Fucking seven-foot bastards," whispered a female private, eyes wide.
Kelvin, steady as ever, asked, "Sir… what's our engagement plan?"
Morgan's voice was calm but commanding. "Snipers, take higher ground. Communication holders, secure positions. Everyone else—prepare to engage on my signal."
The squad moved instantly, bodies shifting like a well-oiled machine. Discipline and obedience had always been a hallmark of K-06.
The creatures advanced, now clearly coordinating. Footsteps, snarls, and guttural murmurs echoed, blending with the rain and wind. Fifteen, maybe more—impossible to count accurately in the mist.
"Hold formation!" Morgan shouted. "We're stronger together than heavily armored alone!"
"Fire!"
Rifles erupted. Spent casings clattered into the mud as bullets tore through the mist. One soldier yelled, "I got one!" A creature fell, riddled with rounds, only to be replaced by another faster, smarter.
Dan spotted a cluster of movement and hurled a grenade. BOOM. Debris and mud flew. Rain hissed as firepower and mist collided. But then he turned—one creature crouched over a fallen officer, moving unnaturally.
Adrenaline surged. Dan raised his M-16 and fired. The creature staggered and collapsed.
Hours passed. Six hours. The enemy wasn't mindless—they were toying with them, adapting to firepower and tactics. Men fell. Bullets splattered the ground. Ammo ran low. Communications had failed three hours ago.
Morgan ordered, "Retreat!"
But the storm, the gunfire, the grenades—all swallowed his voice. The order barely reached the squad.
He realized it: there was no good option left.
Keep fighting? Overwhelmed.
Retreat? Chaos. Certain death.
Morgan clenched his jaw, thinking of Sophia and the promise he made in her arms. For the first time since stepping on Mist Island, doubt crept in.
He understood then—to survive, he might have to break it.