Breachers

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

Lost Squads

Adam

Adam stood still, boots sunk into the soft earth. His armor hung in cracked, crooked pieces across his frame—half a shoulder guard was missing, the gauntlet chipped down to the mesh, the chest plate cracked and smeared with blood.

His blonde hair, streaked brown with dirt and ash, stuck to his face in uneven strands. He ran a hand through it, more out of habit than anything, fingers snagging in the knots. His blue eyes—sharp, tired, bloodshot—swept the carnage spread around them.

"How did this happen?" he muttered.

A dozen feet away, medics worked fast. His squad. His people. What was left of them. Some sat slumped against whatever support they could find—houses, wrecked cars, each other. One guy stared straight ahead, not blinking. Another had a leg wrapped up in five layers of bandages and still bled through.

And then there were the others. The ones that had paid the ultimate price.

Black plastic sheets rippled in the breeze. Silent. Final.

It wasn't just his squad either. He could see scattered remnants of other guilds too—one Breacher missing his entire group, another sitting in stunned silence, some tending to wounds with trembling hands.

Further out, the perimeter buzzed with motion. Army uniforms everywhere. Cops too, directing the flood of incoming Breachers, shouting into radios, posting up barricades. One guy barked something into a megaphone, barely audible over the drone of engines and distant gunfire.

Movement to the right. Adam turned and saw them—lined up neat, clean, uninjured. Men and women in sleek black and gold armor, helmets tucked under their arms, weapons slung across their backs.

"Gold Claws."

The name tasted bitter in his mouth.

His guild, the Royal Blue, had been first in. They'd hit the Sphere hard, confident, geared to the teeth. Half of their entire guild had gone in as well, further strengthened by other Breachers from different teams or guilds. The plan was simple—cut out the Orb, get out, patch up, move on to the last Sphere. The red one.

But their Sphere had changed on them.

He'd seen it. Felt it. One moment it was dark blue, with a horde of monsters clashing into them. The next—red. The whole fight had felt like hell, with other monsters charging their rear, frames adorned with pulsating Orbs.

They hadn't retreated. That would've implied they had a choicef.

They'd fled and not all of them had made it.

His eyes drifted back to the plastic-covered bodies. One for every man and woman who'd believed they could help and save this city.

A shout broke through the air—a woman's voice, cracked with grief. He turned to see her fighting to get past a pair of Breachers, clawing toward one of the bodies. Her shoulder was wrapped in a makeshift sling, dried blood streaking down her arm. A man with a missing right arm held her back, face grim.

Adam looked away, seeing the same thing everywhere he looked.

"It had been blue before," he muttered again. He remembered it all too clearly.

Their armored trucks had rolled in steadily for support. His squad on point. Dozens of others following behind. The Sphere had pulsed—deep blue, heavy pressure, but nothing they hadn't faced before. They'd gone in with confidence.

He could still see it—the wave of red peeling across the air like spilled ink, the sudden screams, the moment the rear guard vanished in mere seconds as monsters hit them from both sides.

It had felt as if the Sphere itself was simply there to function as bait for a trap. One designed to kill Breachers.

Adam looked down at his cracked gauntlet and flexed his hand. He didn't even have his weapon anymore. He'd dropped it while going back in the Sphere to drag a wounded teammate through the barrier.

He'd gotten half his squad out. He knew that alone counted as an accomplishment, but it didn't feel like one.

Adam watched one of their guild members, Sandra, approach. The woman wasn't a Breacher, but one of their support officers—she looked just as tired as he felt. Before she could even speak up, Adam hit her with the question he was dreading.

"What about the other teams? How many did we lose?"

She paused, brown eyes narrowing in that moment. "It's bad. Seven confirmed dead, but we've only recovered four of the bodies. Two of our wounded are critical. They're en route to a hospital now, but I'm unsure of their chances," she said, voice calm despite whatever storm she was holding back. "Four missing in action still. Luuk Telman, Daan Jager, Joline Smit, and Rico Hart. Seeing as it's already been fifty-six minutes, I'm hesitant—"

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"They're dead," Adam cut her off. His voice had no give. "All four of them were Beta or Beta+ rank. No way they'd survive a red Sphere on their own for this long."

Sandra nodded, slowly. The two of them turned toward the Sphere just in time to watch the Gold Claws move forward, quiet and organized. Behind them, a dozen other Breachers followed, disappearing through the red surface one after another.

Adam's jaw clenched as he turned away, making his way over to the rest of his squad. He scanned the group, noting every bandaged limb, every bruise, every bloodstained bit of armor. He remembered how they looked when all of this had begun, full of fight and a zealous desire to take back their city. Adam hated how different they looked now. Hated himself more for leading them in there in the first place. And hated that every second of this mess was being recorded.

His eyes shifted past the barricades, to the crowd of reporters snapping pictures, recording video, live-streaming misery like it were sport.

"Fucking vultures," he muttered, jaw tightening as his hand twitched near the hilt of the knife strapped to his side. It took effort not to walk over there and start breaking lenses.

"Shit," Sandra muttered, tight-voiced, pointing toward the barricade where a man had climbed over the fence.

One of their own guild—still limping—stepped forward, trying to intercept the young man who was heading straight for the Sphere. The man was young, wearing a rain-soaked hoodie. Short black hair stuck to his forehead, and the dark Marks on the right side of his face stood out like ink under a spotlight, marking him as an Original.

"Joline's kin," Sandra muttered.

Adam blinked, focus sharpening. The kid brushed past the wounded Breacher without slowing down, heading straight for the Sphere like it owed him something.

"What Rank was he again?" Adam asked.

"Marcus Smit. Alpha Rank. Power rating of one. He's the one who was in a coma for years," Sandra said, glancing at a data pad as they started toward the commotion. As Adam walked, he noticed they weren't the only ones—other Breachers were heading over too, including the one-armed guy from earlier.

Adam saw the man reach Marcus first, placing a hand on his shoulder like they already were familiar with each other. "The Gold Claws have to close it first," the man said, accent thick and German.

"Did you see her body yourself?" Marcus asked. His voice didn't bother hiding the cold edge in it, eyes locked on the Sphere like a predator.

The man shook his head. "No, but it was bad in there. Julien's got nicked pretty bad and Kay…" His voice trailed off, his gaze drifting toward one of the bodies under a black sheet. "Marcus, I'm sorry, but your sister is—"

"I'll see it for myself," Marcus said and stepped forward before the German's grip tightened on his shoulder. "Let me go, Sebastian."

Marcus grabbed Sebastian's wrist, fingers wrapping around it like he'd broken this grip a hundred times before. He didn't yank or wrench, just shifted his grip and pried it back, slow and steady. Sebastian stiffened, clearly trying to hold, but it didn't stick. His grip broke. His face said the rest.

So did Adam's, his expression hardening as he watched Marcus walk past the stunned German, straight for the Sphere. He stepped forward and cut him off, knowing it would be a death sentence if an Alpha stepped inside.

"You can't go in there."

"Piss off," Marcus said, moving to pass him.

Adam closed his eyes for a second, swallowing the frustration clawing its way up his throat. 'Great. Now I have to deal with this too?' He got it, though. 'Someone tells you your sister's probably dead, but you haven't seen the body? Yeah. I'd probably do the same if it were my own sibling. Still, that didn't mean this prick is getting a free pass.'

Adam sighed and snapped his arm out fast, catching Marcus's arm like a steel trap. "I said, stop." His grip tightened—just enough to scare an Alpha shitless. Not enough to break anything. Yet.

"You should listen to your friend. You don't even have protective gear on you. Besides, the Gold Claws are in there now. They should clear it within a few—"

Marcus spun around.

Dark blue mist hissed out of him, thick and fast. Wind ruptured behind his back and elbow like it hated being near him. Adam didn't even have time to react before the young man slammed into him, Marcus's fist crashing into Adam's face and launching him backwards. He landed in the mud, body skidding until it came to a stop.

Adam blinked a few times, flat on his back, blood in his mouth and his head pounding. The sky above him swam a bit.

'No bloody way he's an Alpha,' he thought as he pushed himself up, slow but steady. A wolfish grin appeared on his face that lasted barely a second, but it was there. He finally had a target to vent his irritation on without guilt.

"I said stop," he growled. His right hand stretched toward Marcus, red mist already forming around his frame, hot and heavy. It burned as it left him, mana flaring as he triggered one of his Abilities. His eyes locked on Marcus, who was still walking straight for the Sphere like nothing else mattered.

Then Adam clenched his hand.

To his surprise, it didn't work right away. It took a lot of effort and mana, his whole body tensing as he pushed through the resistance. The young man's mind felt off—fragmented, layered in a way Adam hadn't experienced before. Still, he overwhelmed it mere seconds later. Marcus's body jerked mid-step. Limbs slackened. He collapsed face-first into the mud, out cold.

Sebastian was already rushing toward Marcus, joined by a few others. Sandra reached Adam's side a moment later, eyes wide as she hissed, "What just happened?"

"The brat took me by surprise," Adam muttered, rubbing the side of his head. It was still throbbing.

He looked down at the unconscious man lying in the mud, his expression caught between anger and curiosity.

"Sandra, find out all you can about this idiot," he said. "And I mean everything. The guild leader's going to want to hear about this."

Paramedics were already on their way over, pushing through the small crowd with a stretcher and gear slung over their shoulders. A police officer followed close behind, face tight with concern, or maybe annoyance—it was hard to tell. Adam's jaw clenched. Cameras were still rolling. Mics still pointed their way. 'Great. Just what we needed. One more PR disaster stacked on top of a shitshow.'

His eyes flicked past them, catching movement in the distance, close to the barrier. Two figures were approaching, slow and steady. Both wore thick steel plating from head to toe; no insignias, no guild markings. Their faces were hidden, and they carried spears and thick, crude shields.

'More Breachers backing up the Gold Claws?' Adam thought as he watched them pass through the barrier without a word.

Adam didn't linger on them long. His attention drifted back to the guy lying face-down in the mud—breathing, but out cold. He rubbed the side of his head again, pulse still pounding from the hit. The way Marcus had moved kept playing over in his mind—solid technique, dark blue mana output, and how the wind had cracked and propelled him even faster.

"No way in hell is that guy an Alpha."