Kei proceeded to give lectures about Cryptids. These malevolent monsters are physical manifestations of humanity's negative emotions. They have been around ever since the first dawn of humanity. Feeding on their souls as sustenance.
Cryptids take on the forms of different animal species; only bigger, stronger, and infinitely more horrifying. They are categorized in six different types.
[Insectoid]
[Arachnoid]
[Felinoid]
[Caninoid]
[Avioid]
[Reptiloid]
Each type is divided into 5 Grades with Grade 5 being the highest rated for danger level.
Although, there is an extremely rare grade that isn't listed within the heirarchy which is Grade 6; Cryptids that belong in this Grade takes on a more [Humanoid] form and are the most dangerous of all Cryptids. It generally takes at least five King Rank Hunters to effectively exterminate one. The last appearance of a [Humanoid] Cryptid was more than three decades ago.
Containment Zones are graded based on the Cryptids that spawn in the area. Level 1-5. Level 1 comprises of (Grade 1-2) Cryptids. Level 2 (Grade 1-3), Level 3 (Grade 1-4), Level 4 (Grade 1-5), Level 5 (Grade 1-6).
The MUSE's formerly assigned Containment Zone is a Level 2 Abyss.
The holographic projector hummed as it rendered a series of horrifying images: gruesome armored exoskeleton of [Insectoids], the predatory silhouettes of [Felinoids] with eyes like dying stars, and the bloated, translucent forms of [Ichthyoids] that seemed to swim through the air.
"Fear, grief, malice—these aren't just feelings. In the Presence of the Abyss, they are building blocks. Cryptids are not animals. They are nightmares given flesh, and their only drive is to reclaim the energy that sparked them. Your souls."
He walked behind the table, his silver eyes catching the flickering light of the display.
"Grade 1 through 3 are the most common encounters. They are instinct-driven, manageable for any Hunter who hasn't... neglected their studies." He glanced pointedly at Vivian. "Grade 4 and 5 represent true territorial threats. These are creatures that poses real threat to a surrounding civilian area and possess a rudimentary, albeit cruel, intelligence."
He paused, and the hologram flickered, transitioning into a single, haunting silhouette. It looked almost human—tall, slender, but draped in a shifting darkness that seemed to swallow the light around it. Its features were blurred, but it radiated a sense of absolute, cold-blooded power.
"And then, there is the Grade 6. The Humanoids," Kei's voice dropped an octave, becoming even more somber. "Records of these are suppressed by the Association to prevent mass panic. They do not hunt out of hunger. They hunt for sport, for ideology, or for reasons we cannot fathom. When a Grade 6 appears, the casualty rate is ninety percent. Even for the 'King' Rank."
Mika felt a chill run down her spine that had nothing to do with the air conditioning. She looked at the silhouette, then at her own hands. She had always thought of herself as a warrior at the top of the food chain. Now, she felt like a small, noisy bird chirping in the path of a storm.
"If three King Ranks are needed for one..." Reina whispered, her face pale. "What would happen if we ran into something like that?"
"You would die before you could even scream for back up, Hunter Reina," Kei answered without hesitation. "You would be a light snack for a creature of that caliber. But that is why we are here. To help increase your survival in any given situation."
He turned the hologram off, the room returning to its clinical, LED-lit state. He looked at each of them in turn, his gaze stopping on Vivian.
"Question, Hunter Vivian. Why is the 3 AM window absolute? Why do the Cryptids vanish when the clock strikes three, regardless of the state of the battle?"
Vivian straightened her posture, her analytical mind grasping for the answer. She knew this—it was part of the Hunter certification exam. "It's the Dissipation Threshold," she answered, her voice regaining a sliver of its usual confidence. "The atmospheric resonance of the Abyss becomes unstable as the sun approaches the horizon, even before dawn. The magnetic field of the planet shifts slightly, causing the Rifts to collapse. If a Cryptid stays beyond three, its physical form loses cohesion and it dissolves back into raw negative energy."
"Correct. A textbook answer," Kei noted, though there was no praise in his tone. "However, what the textbooks fail to mention is the 'Transition Flare'. In the final sixty seconds before 3 AM, a Cryptid's instinct for survival spikes. They become twice as aggressive, their danger outputs double as they try to secure a final 'meal' before the window closes."
He leaned over the table, his silver eyes mere inches from Vivian's.
"If you are in a stalemate at 2:59 AM, you are in a death trap. Your strategy on that rainy night ignored the clock entirely. You were fighting as if you had all the time in the world."
Vivian bit her lip, her confidence evaporating again. She hadn't accounted for the flare. She had just focused on the kill.
"Knowledge is the only thing that separates a Hunter from a victim," Kei said, his voice low and clinical.
The two weeks that followed were a blur of blue holographic light, flickering data streams, and the cold, rhythmic drone of Kei's voice. The library had become their entire world. The girls were no longer the vibrant, polished idols who graced magazine covers; they were shadows of their former selves, dressed in salt-stained compression suits, their eyes bloodshot from staring at schematics of Cryptid anatomy and memorizing the topographical layout of every containment zone in the tri-state area.
Mika, who usually expressed her frustration through violence, sat slumped in her chair, her head resting in her hands. Her dark red hair was messy, and the fire in her eyes had been replaced by a glazed look of pure mental exhaustion.
Vivian's tablet was overflowing with notes—thousands of lines of data on Aura dissipation rates and behavioral patterns of High-Grade Felinoids. Her pride as a "tactician" had been systematically dismantled and rebuilt, piece by grueling piece.
Reina looked the most drained; the girl who once lived for the stage now flinched whenever Kei tapped the glass table, expecting another barrage of questions about biological reinforcement.
At the end of the fourteenth day, the holographic displays finally flickered and died. The silence that followed was heavy, punctuated only by the sound of the girls' ragged breathing.
Kei stood at the head of the table, looking as pristine and untouched as the day they arrived. Not a single hair was out of place, and his silver eyes remained as sharp and unforgiving as ever.
"The academic phase is complete," Kei stated, his voice cutting through the quiet. He looked at the three of them—disheveled, exhausted, and mentally broken. "You now possess the theoretical knowledge of a capable Hunter. Whether or not your pathetic bodies can keep up with your brains is another matter entirely."
He walked toward the center of the room, his footsteps echoing. "You have spent fourteen days learning how not to be stupid. Now, we begin the process of learning how not to be weak."
Mika let out a dry, mirthless laugh, her voice raspy. "Finally. I thought... I thought you were just going to talk us to death, Overseer."
"Don't celebrate yet, Hunter Mika," Kei replied, his gaze sliding over to her. "The library was a mercy. The combat training will not be."
Kei walked toward a bookshelf and pulled down a specific book. The bookshelf hissed as if it triggered a hidden mechanism. The bookshelf split open revealing a passage of stairs leading underground.
As the heavy oak facade split, a cool, ozone-scented draft drifted up from the darkness of the revealed staircase. The steps were made of grated steel, descending into a cavernous gloom illuminated only by faint, blue emergency lighting.
"Move," Kei commanded, his voice echoing up from the threshold. He didn't wait for them, his silhouette immediately disappearing into the downward slope.
Mika pushed herself up from her chair, her joints popping with a series of sharp cracks. She felt heavy, her brain saturated with data on Cryptid thorax densities and Aura-frequency modulation. She looked at the dark opening, a grim smirk playing on her lips. "Finally," she whispered, though her voice lacked its usual bravado. "I'd rather be beaten to a pulp than read another page."
Vivian stood more slowly, her eyes tracking the mechanical seams where the bookshelf had split. "A subterranean level," she murmured, her mind already calculating the depth based on the air pressure change. "If the library was the brain of this facility, this must be the muscle." She looked at Reina, who was staring at the dark stairs with wide, apprehensive eyes. "Come on, Rei. Stay close."
Reina nodded wordlessly, clutching the edges of her black compression suit as if it could provide warmth. She followed her sisters into the maw of the staircase.
The descent felt endless. The further down they went, the more the manor above felt like a distant memory. The temperature dropped significantly, and the rhythmic *thrum* of a massive industrial generator began to vibrate through the soles of their boots.
At the bottom of the stairs, a heavy blast door slid open with a heavy metallic groan.
They stepped into a massive room. Equipped with a workout and physical training area. A medical station. Combat and training Hunter weapons armory. Neural simulation training pods. Lastly, a giant white room for actual combat practices behind a thick metal door called 'The Crucible'.
"Welcome. To the mansion's underground Hunter training facility."
The air down here was different—sharper, charged with the scent of ozone and the sterile hum of high-tier Association tech. The sheer scale of the facility was overwhelming; it was clear the Chairwoman hadn't just sent them to a safehouse, she had moved them into a fortress designed for the sole purpose of industrial-grade refinement.
Kei walked to the center of the hub, his figure cast in the stark, shadowless glow of the overhead panels. He gestured toward the far wall, where three sleek, vertical lockers stood. As they approached, the biometric sensors chirped, and the doors slid back to reveal their gear that they turned over to the Association.
But it wasn't the gear they were used to.
Hunter weapons are specialized weapons that are specially forged to be reliable conductors of Aura.
Mika's katana had been polished to a mirror finish, its hilt re-wrapped in a specialized grip that felt like an extension of her own skin. Vivian's bow was no longer just a spectral construct; it was a masterpiece of composite materials and integrated Aura-conduits. Reina's gauntlets had been overhauled, the golden plating replaced with a matte-black alloy that looked heavy enough to crack a building's foundation.
"Your previous equipment was customized for aesthetics and 'stage presence'," Kei said, his voice cold and devoid of pride. "The Association has retrofitted them for maximum lethality and Aura efficiency."
Mika reached out, her fingers trembling slightly as she gripped the hilt of her sword. The balance was different—perfectly centered. She felt a surge of something she hadn't felt in weeks: a spark of her old self. But before she could even draw the blade, Kei's voice cut through her focus.
"Now return those back. You aren't worthy to wield them just yet," he warned. He turned toward the heavy, reinforced door of The Crucible. "Grab any training weapons in the armory. Choose a weapon you don't specialize in and choose any for me as well. Then proceed inside The Crucible."
Mika's hand froze an inch from her katana. Her jaw tightened, a muscle jumping in her cheek as she forced herself to pull her hand back. The locker hissed shut, the magnetic seal clicking with a finality that felt like a prison door closing.
"Unworthy," Mika muttered, the word tasting like bile. She turned toward the armory racks, her eyes scanning the rows of dull, unpolished training gear. These weren't forged from Aura-conductive alloys; they were weighted steel and reinforced wood, designed to be heavy, unbalanced, and unforgiving.
She bypassed the practice sabers and thin rapiers. Her eyes landed on a massive, double-handed greatsword. It was a slab of dull iron, nearly five feet long, built for raw, crushing force rather than the surgical precision of her katana. She hauled it off the rack. It was heavy—clunky—and it forced her shoulders to hunch. "Perfect," she thought bitterly. "If I have to be 'reformed,' I might as well start with the hardest thing I can find."
Vivian, meanwhile, had ignored the long-range weaponry entirely. She reached for a pair of weighted combat daggers. For someone who lived for the safety of distance and the clarity of a bow's sight, the thought of being within arm's reach of a target was a tactical nightmare. She felt exposed as she tested the grip of the short blades, her fingers missing the familiar tension of a bowstring.
Reina stood before a rack of long staves and spears. She took a weighted bo-staff, a weapon that required fluid, circular motions—the polar opposite of the direct, explosive linear strikes of her gauntlets. She looked small holding it, the staff towering over her head.
Mika walked to a separate bin and pulled out a heavy, blunt iron mace. It was an ugly thing, unbalanced and top-heavy, designed to be slow and cumbersome. With a spiteful glint in her eyes, she carried it over to Kei.
"For you, Overseer," she said, shoving the heavy handle toward his chest. "Let's see how that 'efficiency' works when you're swinging a piece of lead."
Kei didn't even look at the weapon as he took it. He didn't check the balance or the weight. He simply gripped it in one hand, the heavy iron head seemingly weightless in his grasp. "A blunt instrument for a blunt mind," he remarked dryly. "Appropriate."
He turned and walked toward the heavy, reinforced door of The Crucible. As the hydraulic seals hissed and the door slid upward, a blast of sterile, recycled air hit them.
The Crucible was a vast, blindingly white arena. There were no corners, no shadows, and no landmarks. The floor, walls, and ceiling were made of a seamless, high-impact polymer.
Kei walked to the center of the white void and stopped. He turned to face them, the heavy iron mace resting against his shoulder.
"In the field, you choose your weapon but," Kei said, his voice carrying perfectly in the acoustic vacuum. "You may lose your blade. Your bow may snap. The gauntlet you rely on may malfunction. You have to be versatile with anything you can use as a weapon within your vicinity."
He shifted his stance, his feet shoulder-width apart, the iron mace held loosely in his right hand.
"The rule is simple. Land a clean hit on me. You may boost your physical prowess using your Aura. Don't bother injecting Aura to those training weapons as they're not meant to hold it. If you do, your weapons are going to break first before you even begin to strike."
He looked at Mika, then Vivian, and finally Reina.
"If you fail to touch me within sixty minutes, you will forfeit your dinner and return to the library for another eight hours of study. Begin."