Year 2036

  A team of 11 Divers (pre–Jailbreak Incident)

  Combatants

  Guardians: Caleb, Marcus

  Strikers: Luke, Drew

  Vanguard: Adrian

  Regulators

  Front Scout: Evan

  Back Scout: Tyler

  Battery: Nate

  Pacer: Jordan

  Zoner: Mason

  Armsman: Grant

  They exited their Coffins—coffin-shaped pods into the Void.

  The unknown realm that swallowed the world’s superpowers: the USA, China, Russia, the UK.

  Nothingness.

  Darkness—but not like night. The surroundings aren’t just dark.

  They are black. Everything is black.

  Vision feels wrong.

  Hearing is warped.

  Your mind plays tricks on you with hallucinations.

  You feel tingling sensations all over your body, as if countless insects are crawling on you.

  The air tastes and smells of nothingness.

  Their mission: Exploration.

  To gather information by traversing the Void.

  The job type with the highest deaths, but the highest pay.

  They moved as a group, tense, ready.

  Jordan breathed, observing the others.

  Caleb gripped his shield so hard his knuckles whitened.

  Tyler’s eyes skittered around nonstop.

  Evan led the group, moving fast, quiet, nervous.

  Adrian shadowed him. Behind them marched Caleb and Marcus; Luke and Drew followed close. The remaining Regulators kept a loose perimeter.

  Jordan vision caught something.

  A blur. An enemy?

  No. It must've been in his head.

  A whisper. He couldn't make out what it said.

  It brushed past his ear.

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  Evan spoke through the SVCD (Standard Void Communication Device), “Movement, two o’clock.”

  Heads turned.

  A lone figure.

  Almost human.

  It moved erratically, unpredictably, swaying like it was drunk.

  Jordan spoke, “Walker identified. Let’s go around.”

  Voidwalkers—humans who fell prey to the Void and became its soldiers—forever wandering.

  It was an unspoken rule to avoid Voidspawn during exploration missions.

  They tried to move around.

  Jordan had his eyes locked on the Walker.

  He refused to blink, sweat trickling down his forehead.

  The figure sniffed the air.

  Its head snapped toward them.

  It stared straight at them.

  It smiled widely.

  Too widely.

  Jagged rows of teeth gleamed.

  The smile was lopsided, eerie.

  Jordan, grim, “It’s a Ghoul. Prepare for contact.”

  It advanced in a grotesque, ungraceful way. No one word could describe its movements.

  Standing on two legs—maybe three.

  As it drew closer, the truth became clearer:

  Its head was loosely attached to its main body by a thin voidmatter thread, yet floated as if supported by nothing.

  Three arms—two on its right side, one in front.

  Three legs—clustered on the same side—

  It lunged with blinding speed.

  Caleb and Marcus raised their shields.

  No use.

  It used its disproportionate weight and swung its sharp claws into their sides, slipping past their shields and tearing through armor like paper.

  A heavy crunch—bones snapping like twigs. A wet squelch—flesh ripping.

  They died instantly.

  The others froze as blood splattered and gushed from the bodies.

  The Ghoul thrust its claws into their chests, yanked out their hearts, and ate.

  It chewed like it was eating a burger.

  Adrian, Luke, and Drew screamed and rushed at it.

  It spoke in a twisted harmony of Caleb’s and Marcus’s voices,

  “Hello, Adrian.”

  It dashed in front of him, plunged its three hands into his chest, then tore his body into three directions. Its mouth extended and devoured the falling heart.

  Luke and Drew turned, shocked, deathly afraid.

  The Ghoul laughed—in Adrian’s voice.

  It shapeshifted into Adrian’s face.

  Ghoul-Adrian, “What are you doing, guys?! Save me!”

  Jordan could only watch.

  Tyler leveled his sniper rifle and fired.

  The Ghoul ate the bullet.

  Then appeared behind Tyler and tore his arms off.

  Tyler, “AHH—Ghk—ghhhk—”

  The Ghoul shoved its claw down his throat, choking him—then expanded the claw like a balloon, bursting Tyler’s head.

  Warm blood splattered all over Jordan.

  It grabbed Tyler’s heart and shoved it into its belly, where a second mouth opened.

  Ghoul (Tyler’s voice), “That was delicious.”

  Horror gripped Jordan as he watched Tyler's headless body tumble to the floor.

  Jordan, shaking, “G-Ghoul… threat estimate X and above…”

  Drew and Luke launched themselves at it, screaming, tears flowing.

  Jordan witnessed firsthand as the Ghoul grew an arm from its back, caught Drew by the throat, turned, blocked Luke’s weapon, and sliced Luke’s body laterally in half.

  The new arm transformed into a giant mouth and devoured Drew whole, alive.

  Luke’s organs plopped out, gathering in a bloody pile—liver, intestine, stomach.

  Jordan trembled, frozen, watching the massacre unfold.

  He did not sign up for this.

  The Ghoul picked up Luke’s heart and tossed it into its belly-mouth.

  It looked at the remaining Regulators.

  Its sadistic smile widened even further.

  It shapeshifted into Drew.

  Ghoul-Drew, “Yo guys, don’t worry, yeah? It’s me—”

  A metal spike shot out from the shifting Void terrain, impaling the Ghoul.

  Ghoul (distorted), “AHH—Ghk—ghhhk—”

  But it suddenly grabbed Nate, Mason, and Grant by the chest with its claws.

  It shapeshifted into Luke.

  Ghoul-Luke slashed Nate, drove its claw into Mason and sliced him in half, then enlarged its head and bit off Grant’s.

  Jordan cried silently, petrified, powerless, as his last remaining comrades died—killed by a Ghoul wearing their faces.

  Jordan collapsed as the Ghoul finished its meal.

  He accepted his fate.

  There was nothing he could do against this monster.

  He dropped to his knees as the Ghoul stood before him in its original form.

  It reached into Jordan’s throat and choked him—claws slowly constricting around his neck.

  He choked slowly as the Ghoul’s face kept shifting into his comrades:

  Adrian, Nate, Mason, Luke, Drew, Tyler, Grant, Caleb, Marcus.

  Each with a different voice, a different accusation—

  “You froze.”

  “Why did you let me die?”

  “Help me.”

  “Save me…”

  “Jordan…”

  He fainted.

  When he woke, he was still alive.

  Then a sharp pain hit his limbs.

  He tried to move his arms and legs.

  He couldn’t feel them.

  They weren’t there.

  He tried to scream but no sound came out.

  His voicebox was gone.

  Around him, in a circle, lay the remains of his comrades—scattered pieces.

  An arm here. A leg there. A large intestine spilled across the ground.

  The Ghoul was nowhere nearby.

  He remained alive for days.

  Dying.

  Slowly.

  Even as Jordan closed his eyes for the last time, he could feel its presence.

  It never left.

  It watched from a distance.

  Days later, the SS-ranked Shade “Surgeon” rose from the Void.

  And somewhere in the darkness, the X-ranked Ghoul—Maker—began searching for its next victims.