— Brocéliande Forest (Paimpont Forest) near the city of Rennes —
Morning, 8:09 a.m.
The Brocéliande Forest, a sprawling expanse of ancient oaks and twisted undergrowth near Rennes, had long been whispered about in legends—tales of Merlin's tomb, fairy enchantments, and hidden gateways to the other realms.
But today, those myths paled against the reality thundering through its heart.
The air was thick with the scent of crushed pine and damp earth, mingled with the acrid tang of smoke from uprooted trees set ablaze.
Sunlight filtered through the canopy in fractured beams, casting eerie shadows that danced amid the chaos.
Birds had fled, leaving an unnatural silence broken only by the distant rumble of destruction.
At the forest their stood a colossal golem, towering nearly 90 meters high—a gigantic behemoth forged from a stone, moss-covered boulders, and twisted vines climbing its body like viens.
Classified as an S-Threat monster or higher by several Adventurer Association scouts.
The Golem started walking forward with earth-shaking step crushing trees beneath it.
The Brocéliande Forest, an ancient dark forest filled with woods near Rennes, had long been existed with elf and other races possibly living here.
Birds had flew from the rumble of destruction.
At the forest there stood a colossal golem.
Its goal was unclear—perhaps drawn by some ancient magic or summoned by some summoners.
But one thing was certain: it could not be allowed to ran havoc at the forest's border and rampage into populated areas.
High above, jet engines cna be heard piercing the sky.
A squadron of French Air Force fighters—F-16s and F-22s—streaked through the clouds.
Their mission was easy: hold the golem within the forest at all costs.
"This is Lead, squadron check-in," Pilot 1 announced, his voice steady as he led the formation.
"Targets acquired. Let's keep this thing pinned—formation alpha, dive on my mark."
"Roger, Lead. F-16 locked and loaded," Pilot 3 responded, adjusting his throttle.
"Visual on the target—it's massive. Confirming no civilian interference in the zone."
"Copy that, F-16. I've got eyes on those fissures—looks like weak points," Pilot 6 chimed in, banking slightly for a better angle
"Missiles primed. This rockhead won't know what hit it."
"Vortex here, systems green," Pilot 2 added, his tone focused.
"Evasive patterns ready if it throws more debris. Let's make this quick—dinner's waiting back at base."
Pilot 9 laughed lightly over the comms. "Ha, you and your optimism. Alright, squadron, stay sharp. That thing's already taken down one of us—don't let it make it two."
"Striking..." Pilot 1's voice crackled through the comms, steady and focused as he aligned his sights.
But before he could finish, the golem reacted with insane speed
Its glowing eyes flickered, and one massive arm—easily the size of a small building—grabbed and scooped up a boulder the size of a truck from the forest floor.
With a guttural rumble that shook the leaves from nearby trees, it hurled the chunk of rock.
The projectile spun through the air at unbelievable speed.
The rock slammed into Pilot 1's F-22 cockpit eliminating him.
Glass shattered and the cockpit exploded.
"Lead's down! Lead's down!" Pilot 3 shouted, his professionalism cracking from the sudden precision of the Golem.
"Evasive—everyone scatter! That thing's got aim like a sniper!"
"That was fast—debris incoming!" Pilot 6 yelled, pulling hard on his stick to veer away. "Squadron, report status! Who's hit?"
"This is F-16," Pilot 3 reported, his voice maintaining a hint of professionalism despite the shock.
He banked his jet sharply to avoid the falling wreckage, sweat beading on his brow under his helmet.
"Vortex has been taken down. Requesting backup immediately. The target's anti-air capabilities are confirmed—evasive maneuvers advised."
"Copy that," Pilot 6 responded, his tone edged with tension as he adjusted his throttle
"Repositioning for another run. Stay high, everyone—don't give it a clear shot. Huh—?" His words cut off in confusion.
A translucent ghost figure materialized in his cockpit, its form is ethereal.
Glowing green emerald eyes locking onto him with malevolent intent.
The ghost's spectral hands reached out, grasping his helmet.
"What the—? Something's in here! It's—it's grabbing me!" Pilot 6 stammered, his voice rising in panic.
"Controls are—ahhh!!" he screamed, voice filled with raw terror.
The ghost twisted his head with a sickening crack, the pilot's body going limp.
Uncontrolled, the F-16 spiraled downward, crashing into another jet in a mid-air collision that sent both plummeting in flames toward the treetops below.
"Did you hear that? Pilot 6 just screamed—something's wrong!" Pilot 2 barked over the comms, his jet weaving erratically.
"Sounded like he saw a ghost or—wait, what is that?!"
The horror escalated. Pilot 2, in his F-22, swerved to evade debris when a different ghost appeared before him—a translucent apparition with piercing red eyes, its form draped in tattered ethereal cloth.
It clutched a bloodstained knife that shimmered.
"G-get out of the way! What the hell is this thing?!" Pilot 2 shouted, a shiver running down his spine, his hands slick with sweat on the stick.
"It's not real—it's gotta be an illusion! Squadron, report if you're seeing—"
"argh!" Before he could react, the ghost lunged, the blade plunging upward through his chin in a swift, spectral strike.
Blood sprayed across the canopy glass as the jet loses control.
"Pilot 2's gone silent—his signal's dropping!" Pilot 9 called out, his voice laced with fear.
"What is happening up here? These aren't normal defenses—it's like the target's summoning spirits or something!"
Pilot 9's fate was even more grotesque.
His eyes began bleeding without warning, vision darkening as an invisible force gripped his skull.
"H-Help!! Something's wrong—my eyes, I can't see!" he cried out over the radio, his voice cracking with desperation.
"It's like my head's being crushed—get it off me! Backup, where's the damn backup?!"
A faint, grey energy emanated from his body, coiling like smoke.
His eyes bulged grotesquely, pupils dilating unnaturally before his entire head compressed inward, reshaping into perfect, glassy cubes.
The pressure built until the cockpit itself exploded in a burst of shattered metal and flames, the jet fragmenting mid-air.
"A-10 is down—!" Pilot 3 shouted, his composure fraying.
"This is F-16—multiple losses! We're being picked off!"
One by one, the remaining pilots—3, 5, 7, 8, and 10—suffered the same cuboid transformation.
Their bodies warped under the grey energy's influence, limbs and torsos compressing into geometric shapes before their jet explodes.
The sky filled with fireballs and black smoke, crashing into the forest below and igniting the trees on fire.
The golem, unscathed, continued its march.
Below, in the Forest. Boom! The forest floor trembled with the barrage of explosions and relentless gunshots.
French military soldiers—elite ground forces deployed from Rennes.
Camouflaged in tactical gear, they take cover behind trees and improvised barricades.
Desperately trying to stop the one elusive figure darting through the trees.
Bullets was fast but the target were faster.
The figure appeared she was a petite girl with vibrant pink hair, her emerald eyes gleaming with sadistic delight. Lily Anderson.
She wore a dark-green coat embroidered with the Demon Cult's insignia on the back: a menacing, high-contrast skull with deep, shadowy eye sockets and clenched teeth, and two large horns.
Encircling it was the inscription "7th Commandment."
Twirling around Lily was a hooded ghost with a shadowy face and glowing green eyes.
It phased through trees, disorienting the soldiers with its ghost form.
Lily paused, casually lifting the bisected head of a fallen soldier by its blood-matted hair.
She examined it with mock pity, her lips curling into a teasing smile.
"Poor thing~" she cooed in a sadistic tone, her voice light and playful, like a child toying with a broken doll.
She twirled the head once before letting it drop with a wet thud.
Meanwhile, a ghost—a tall, shrouded specter with a dark, skeletal face and piercing red eyes, draped in thin white cloth that billowed like funeral shrouds—wove through dozens of soldiers.
It wielded a bloodstained knife that seemed to phase in, slashing throats and piercing hearts without making contact with a person physically.
Soldiers screamed as it passed, delivering wounds out of nowhere.
"Oh, look at you, all wide-eyed and surprised," she giggled, tilting the head from side to side as if appraising a curious toy.
"Did you really think your little guns could stop us? How adorable~"
She twirled the head once before letting it drop with a wet thud.
One of the soldiers with a (PV 2 - Private 2) insignia, crawled while his leg was dismembered, "Help—! She's not alone!" He yelped his body turned into cubes and exploded.
A soldier with a (MSG - Master Sergeant) Insignia on his chest spoke in the radio. "Contact! Multiple hostiles inbound! I repeat multiple hostiles inbound!"
"Everyone keep shooting until the adventurers arrived!" He shouts.
"We cannot let them roam freely in the forest..."