Victorious Athea: My Gacha Luck Decides Humanity’s Fate

His first mission was deceptively simple yet dangerous: confirm the accident involving an important material transport truck.

The incident had occurred a few days prior, and a squad had been sent to investigate. None of them returned. That alone was enough to send alarm bells ringing.

'They really want me dead, don't they?' John thought grimly, letting out a quiet sigh.

Perched atop a ruined building near the elevator that led back to Tevat, John peered through the lens of a battered telescope. The faint plume of smoke in the distance caught his attention, a dark smudge rising against the horizon.

It matched the location in the mission briefing, leaving no doubt in his mind.

'They probably all cooked,' he mused bitterly, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. The humor was dark, but it helped him keep his nerves in check.

He shifted slightly, adjusting his position to keep the plume in view. His hand reached up to the microphone pressed against his ear, connecting him to the mission operator back in Tevat.

"Signal," he said, his tone dry but steady. "I've got visual confirmation on the crash site. Smoke's still rising. Want to bet the truck's scrap and the squad's toast?"

There was a pause, followed by the soft, almost lifeless voice of his operator. "No bets, Commander. The odds aren't in your favor."

John smirked at the reply, her monotone delivery somehow more amusing than reassuring. "Fair enough. I'll approach the site and confirm the condition. Have the squad stay ready to cover me if things go south."

"Understood. Map updates will be sent to your device. Proceed with caution, Commander."

He disconnected the mic and lowered the telescope, casting a glance back at his squad. The ragtag team stood a short distance behind him, trying to look busy—or at least competent.

"Alright," he said, standing up and brushing the dust off his gloves. "Time to see what kind of mess they've left us with."

"Signal, give me the safest route to the accident," John commanded, his voice sharp and clear, the kind of authority that came naturally to him after years of managing teams in a massive corporation. 

Survival, and uncertainty—those things didn't faze him as much as they might others. Giving orders was second nature.

"…Hm, you seem confident," came the reply from Signal, the operator from Tevat, the underground city they called home.

Her voice was flat, almost like she was studying him, though the dull grey of her eyes and her pale skin, bathed in the cold blue light of her computer screen, made her seem more like a ghost than a person.

She paused for a moment, then sent over the map to the accident site.

John's eyes scanned the display, his brow furrowing. It seemed simple enough. Almost too simple. He could feel the weight of something ominous hanging in the air, but he didn't let it show.

"Hm," he muttered under his breath, his mind already working. He glanced back toward the comms. "Now, give me the route the other squad took."

There was a brief silence on the line. Then, Signal answered, her tone as neutral as ever, but with a hint of curiosity underlying her words. "Why would you want to know that?"

John didn't answer immediately. 

His fingers tapped against his arm, eyes narrowing as he studied the glowing pathways on the map. He could already guess what had happened to the last squad, but he wasn't about to miss a chance to learn more. 

The mistakes they made might be exactly what he needed to avoid.

"Call it curiosity," he finally replied, his voice tinged with dry sarcasm. "I want to make sure I don't follow their footsteps—literally."

Signal let out a quiet chuckle, but it was cold and lacked any real humor. "Understood, Commander. Sending you the route now."

A new line appeared on his display, showing the path the previous squad had taken. It ran parallel to his current route but veered off sharply after a certain point.

John smirked bitterly, leaning in closer to study the map. "Thought so. They walked right into it."

An ambush. His suspicion was confirmed. The last squad had walked straight into an ambush, and a special Hybrid had been waiting for them.

John's gut churned at the realization, but his mind snapped into focus. The situation was as dangerous as he had anticipated. His priority now was clear: eliminate the threat before it had a chance to do the same to him.

"Signal, update me with any additional intel on Hybrid movements in the area," he said, his tone now cool and calculating. "We're going to take a detour."

Without waiting for her answer, John turned to his squad, his expression hardening. "You heard me. We're not following their path. We move fast, stay sharp, and keep your weapons ready."

Irish, Vera, and the silver-haired girl- Nova all nodded, the tension in the air palpable. John's instincts were right—they'd need every ounce of caution and preparation if they were going to survive this.

Under John's command, the squad moved into formation with crisp efficiency. Vera, the most eager and least experienced, took the vanguard, her eyes darting around nervously as she tried to keep a confident front. 

Irish followed closely behind, her gaze steady, but there was an undeniable tension in her posture. Nova, the short, rocket-launcher-wielding Athea, brought up the rear, her eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of danger.

John positioned himself between Irish and Nova, ensuring he was in a relatively safe spot. His body was no longer enhanced by the nanomachines that had once given him extraordinary strength and resilience—now, he was just as strong as an average athletic man. 

He might be able to hold his own against regular humans, but against the Hybrids, it was another story entirely. The nanomachine core in his chest was running low, and he couldn't afford to rely on it recklessly.

"Stay sharp," John muttered, his voice calm, but laced with an edge that didn't go unnoticed by his squad. 

They'd all heard the rumors about the Hybrids, and seen the reports. But even so, it was easy to dismiss until you saw it for yourself.

Vera, still brimming with energy but visibly on edge, adjusted her grip on her rifle. "What if we run into one of them?" she asked, her voice low.

John didn't miss a beat. "We don't run into them. We take them down first."

He had no illusions. They were walking into hostile territory, and the risk was high.

But the truth was, he couldn't afford to let the fear of failure hold him back now. His goal wasn't just to survive—it was to prove that he wasn't like the incompetent commanders that had come before him.

"Vera, keep your eyes on the ground. The Hybrid might be laying traps," John instructed, his gaze scanning the horizon. "Irish, stay close to me. Don't wander. Nova, you're covering us from the rear."

The squad moved forward cautiously, the cracked remains of buildings and rusted machinery surrounding them as they neared the location of the crash. 

The faint smell of smoke and the distant crackle of fire filled the air, but no sound of enemy movement had yet reached them.

John's fingers hovered near the small compartment on his waist, ready to activate his Summon Token if the situation turned dire. He wasn't fooling himself—his current strength wouldn't be enough if they were caught off guard. 

And he had no intention of following in the footsteps of the previous squad.

The wind howled faintly in the distance, a reminder of the dangers that lay beyond their immediate sight. John's grip tightened on his rifle. Whatever was out there, they were going to face it head-on.

And then it came.

RAWWW.

The roar of the Hybrids echoed through the desolate landscape. It wasn't like anything he'd ever heard before—distorted and unnatural, like a broken radio combined with the guttural growl of a predator.

A chill ran down his spine, but his focus never wavered.

"They're coming," John muttered, his eyes scanning the horizon, pinpointing the source of the sound. He could see them now—a swarm of ten Hybrids, their grotesque, mutated forms slinking through the wreckage like shadows, moving with deadly intent.

"Get ready, girls," John barked, slipping into his commander's role without hesitation.

"Vera, move forward. Focus on the melee ones." His orders were swift and deliberate, each word carefully chosen to minimize hesitation.

Vera nodded, her eyes narrowing as she adjusted her stance. She had the speed, and her shotgun was perfect for taking down any that tried to get close.

"Irish, move alongside her and provide support." John turned to the blue-eyed Athea, making sure she understood her role.

Irish's machine gun was already raised, ready to lay down fire. She gave him a brief nod, her face tight with the tension of the moment.

"Nova, you stay here and use your pistol to protect me." He made eye contact with the small Athea, her silver hair glowing in the pale light. Nova was itching for a fight, but John knew better.

"But Commander, my rockets are very strong!" Nova protested, her voice tinged with frustration. Her hands instinctively twitched toward her heavy weapon.

John didn't let her finish. His finger shot out, placing itself firmly on her lips.

"Trust me, you don't want to fire that thing right now," he said, his voice low and calm, though his eyes were sharp and serious.

Nova blinked, taken aback, but after a moment, she relented. She glanced at the approaching swarm and gripped her pistol instead, ready to follow orders.

The Hybrids were drawing closer now, their distorted figures becoming clearer through the haze of smoke. John's eyes flickered back and forth, his mind working quickly to calculate their movements. He was prepared—he knew what needed to be done.

"Stay in formation. Vera, don't get too far ahead. We hold this position until they're close enough. Then we'll move in."

He dropped into a crouch, his rifle aimed steadily at the first Hybrid that dared to get within range. 

The battle began in a chaotic, brutal rush. The Hybrids moved with unsettling speed, their massive, crustacean-like bodies clattering against the debris of the ruined city. 

Their glowing red cores pulsed ominously, resembling the Pandora system in a twisted, monstrous form.

Vera moved in first, eager to prove herself. Her shotgun roared to life, sending the first Hybrid crashing to the ground in a burst of sparks and shredded metal. 

But before she could retreat, the second Hybrid lunged at her with terrifying speed. Its pincer swung wide, aiming for her midsection, but Vera wasn't caught off guard.

A burst of machine gun fire echoed across the battlefield from Irish, and the second Hybrid was knocked back, its legs skittering across the cracked ground as it struggled to regain its footing. 

Vera took the opportunity to backpedal, repositioning herself as she lined up her next shot.

The second Hybrid fell with an explosion, its red core disintegrating into shards. But there was no time to celebrate.

A third Hybrid emerged from the smoke, its beady eyes locked onto Vera. Its pincers flared menacingly, and it moved in for another attack, its arms swinging wildly.

Vera ducked and rolled, narrowly dodging the first swing. As the Hybrid's massive claw scraped the air above her, she twisted and fired, the blast from her shotgun tearing into its armored shell. 

But the creature didn't fall. The core—the heart of the Hybrid—glowed bright red, still very much alive.

Before it could strike again, a sharp crack echoed through the air.

John had fired his rifle, the bullet hitting its mark. The Hybrid's core shattered with a blinding flash of light, and the creature fell limp to the ground, its body crumpling in defeat.

Vera let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, glancing at John. "Thanks, Commander."

John didn't acknowledge the thanks, his eyes already scanning for the next target. "Stay focused. There's more of them."

Vera nodded quickly, the adrenaline of the fight kicking her into gear. Irish and Nova kept their positions, their weapons ready to respond to any threats, but John knew the true danger was still out there—more Hybrids, and perhaps something even worse waiting for them.

"Move up," John ordered, his voice steady and calm despite the chaos around them. "We're not done yet."

With a sharp nod, the squad followed, advancing cautiously but purposefully. They kept their formation tight, eyes scanning every direction for the next threat. The fight had escalated quickly, and John could feel the tension building in the air—this was only the beginning.

The wreckage of the old city surrounded them, remnants of humanity's past. The cracked concrete and twisted metal offered little in the way of cover, but the team had to push forward. 

John was already assessing their next move, evaluating the terrain, and calculating the best approach.

Vera led the charge, her shotgun raised as she moved with fluid precision. Irish stayed close behind her, her machine gun ready to provide suppressive fire. 

Nova followed next, her pistol drawn, her small frame moving quickly but cautiously. John took up the rear, rifle at the ready, constantly surveying their surroundings.

The ground beneath their feet was littered with the debris of previous battles, and the air smelled faintly of burning metal. Far off in the distance, the smoke from the wrecked transport truck still lingered, a grim reminder of the mission's deadly nature.

But this was no longer about confirming an accident. The moment they stepped into the kill zone, it became a fight for survival.

"Keep your eyes open," John murmured, more to himself than to anyone else. He had to be vigilant—he knew from experience that any false sense of security could be deadly.

Just as they rounded a corner, the sound of scraping metal filled the air. A low growl echoed from deep within the darkness of the ruined city, followed by the unmistakable rustle of movement. John raised a hand to halt the group, signaling them to freeze.

His heart beat faster, but he remained calm, listening intently.

And then, out of the shadows, they emerged.

A swarm of Hybrids. Not the usual batch. These were larger, more vicious-looking, with more armor-plating and sharper claws. They were designed for battle, and they were ready to hunt.

John's grip tightened on his rifle.

"Get ready," he ordered, his voice cutting through the tension. "This is what we've been training for."