At 4:17 in the morning, Leon was jolted awake by a roaring sound.
Not an earthquake, not an explosion—a low, steady, rhythmic vibration coming from the horizon. The noise was faint but penetrating, making the floor tremble slightly. His first thought was helicopters—large transport helicopters, their rotor blades producing infrasound that could travel great distances.
He stood abruptly, the movement aggravating his injured left shoulder. A sharp pain made him wince, but he ignored it. He hurried to the rolling shutter and peered through the gap.
To the east, the sky was glowing. Not the eerie gray‑white light that seemed to permeate everything, but a normal, warm‑toned light—firelight. No, steadier than firelight, more like an artificial source. Searchlights. Military searchlights.
"Someone's coming," Leon murmured, a hint of excitement in his voice that surprised even him.
David poked his head out from behind the shelves, his eyes still half‑closed. "What?"
"The military. Or the National Guard. Someone is organizing evacuations." Leon turned to look at him. "We need to go that way."
Twenty minutes later, the family of four had packed everything they could carry. Leon divided the remaining canned goods and bottled water into five backpacks, one for each person—even Emma carried a small one with lightweight crackers and a water bottle. Not cruelty, but survival logic: in a crisis, everyone must be able to move independently.
They left the grocery store before dawn.
Leon led the way, fire axe in his left hand, a high‑powered flashlight in his right—the batteries still had charge, illuminating thirty meters ahead. David brought up the rear, gripping his baseball bat, glancing back from time to time. Linda walked in the middle, holding Liam, with Emma's hand in hers.
The family followed without a word.
The streets looked even more appalling than the day before.
The buildings warped by the energy wave cast twisted shadows in the searchlight's beam, like countless hands reaching for the sky. Overturned vehicles littered the road—some burnt to black skeletons, others crushed flat by some immense force.
The air was thick with the stench of smoke, blood, and a chemical smell Leon couldn't identify—like the product of organic matter burning in an oxygen‑poor environment. He scanned the surroundings with his mana sense; the background energy level was about 15% higher than the day before.
"Energy concentration is rising," he noted mentally. "Either a new energy wave is being released, or the previous release is coalescing. Neither is a good sign."
They headed east along the main street for about twenty minutes, encountering three traces of mutated creatures. The first was a giant centipede—over three meters long, its legs as sharp as scythes—that crawled out of a sewer, wandered across the street for a few minutes, and disappeared into the rubble on the other side. Leon had everyone crouch behind an overturned bus, holding their breath, until it was gone.
The second was a pair of Shadow Cats. They faced off on the roof of a distant building, emitting low hisses, as if fighting over territory. Leon led the group in a wide detour, two streets over.
The third was the most dangerous—a swarm of rats. Not ordinary rats, but cat‑sized rodents with missing patches of fur and glowing red eyes. They poured out of a collapsed manhole, at least thirty or forty of them, frenziedly devouring the corpse of some unknown creature on the street. The sound of teeth cracking bones was unnervingly clear in the silent night, like countless scissors opening and closing at once.
Leon made an instant decision, leading the group into a building through its front door and out the back into another alley. The detour took fifteen minutes, but his mana sense kept track of the rats, ensuring none followed.
Linda's face was white as paper, but she didn't scream. Emma buried her face in her mother's lap, her small body trembling, but she didn't cry. David's hands shook, but his pace never slowed.
Leon gave them a mental score: civilians, but decent. At least they weren't a burden.
Around 5:30, the eastern sky began to lighten. Not a normal dawn—a sickly, pale brightness, as if the sky had been bleached. The eerie gray‑white light was less obvious against the daytime sky, but Leon knew it was still there—his mana sense clearly detected the ongoing pulse of background energy.
The helicopter noise grew closer.
They turned a corner and suddenly the view opened up.
A six‑lane thoroughfare, once one of Boston's main arteries, now had a ten‑meter‑wide lane cleared down its center—wrecked cars pushed to the sides, forming makeshift barriers. Fluorescent arrows and markers painted on the asphalt pointed east.
Someone was organizing evacuations. Methodically, systematically.
"Follow this road," Leon said, a note of certainty in his voice. "This is the route they cleared."
They hurried along the path. The arrows were clear, with fresh markers at regular intervals. Some were hand‑drawn, others spray‑painted with stencils, but all pointed in the same direction—Boston's South End, the old subway station.
Just as Leon had concluded the day before.
After about fifteen minutes, they encountered their first group of other survivors.
A column of about twenty people, men, women, and children, ragged and terrified, moved slowly along the passage. No one spoke—only footsteps and an occasional cough. Two men in police uniforms brought up the rear, pistols in hand, watching their surroundings warily.
Leon and the family fell in with the group. No one asked questions, no one sized him up; everyone was lost in their own fear, with no spare energy for others.
The column continued.
After another ten minutes, Leon's mana sense picked up something unusual.
About three hundred meters ahead, a huge energy source. Not the fist‑sized points of light like the Shadow Cats, but a glow as bright as a car's headlight. And the energy field around it was fluctuating violently, as if something was churning the air.
"Stop." Leon lowered his voice and grabbed the shoulder of the man in front of him.
The man startled and turned. Those around him also stopped, looking at Leon in confusion.
"Something's ahead," Leon said. "Something big."
Before he finished, a deep roar echoed from the end of the street.
Not the sharp shriek of a Shadow Cat—a thicker, chest‑deep rumble, like a large diesel engine revving. The sound bounced back and forth between the buildings on either side, creating a stereoscopic, deeply oppressive sound field.
In Leon's mana sense, the huge energy source began to move. Not fast, but with a clear direction—straight toward them.
"Everyone, go back!" Leon turned and shouted at the crowd. "Take cover! Get inside the buildings!"
Panic spread. Some screamed, some wept, some turned and ran. The two officers tried to maintain order, but their own faces were ashen.
Leon didn't wait. He grabbed David's arm and pushed him toward a small mall by the roadside. "Go inside with your family. Hide as far back as you can. Whatever you hear, don't come out!"
David opened his mouth as if to speak, but said nothing. He nodded, took Linda and Emma, and ran into the mall.
Leon turned to face the approaching energy source.
His left hand tightened on the fire axe; his right hand pulled several charged iron nails from his belt. His mind raced, calculating every possible tactical option.
A direct fight? Impossible. Judging by the energy intensity, this creature was far stronger than a Shadow Cat—at least five to ten times stronger. His flame magic could only produce fist‑sized fireballs; his wind magic could barely stir his hair. Those had been barely adequate against a Shadow Cat; against something like this, they were useless.
Run? The crowd couldn't run. There were elderly and children among them; they wouldn't make two hundred meters before being caught.
He needed time. Time for the crowd to find safe shelter. Time to slow the creature down.
Leon's gaze swept the street.
To his left was a row of shops, most collapsed, but the sign of a hardware store still stood. The sign was metal, about two meters wide and three meters tall, fixed to the wall with four bolts. To his right was a gas station, several fuel pumps lying on their sides, the air thick with the smell of gasoline.
Gasoline.
A thought flashed through his mind.
The creature was getting closer. Leon could see it—in the dawn light at the end of the street, a massive black silhouette was taking shape.
A wolf.
But the size of a horse. Shoulder height at least one and a half meters, length over three meters, covered in steel‑needle‑like gray fur that glinted metallically in the morning light. Its head was twice the size of a normal wolf's, jaw muscles bulging like hydraulic presses. Its eyes were dark red, without pupils—only a murky, burning glow.
Most striking was its fur. Those gray hairs weren't ordinary; they were metallized keratin. In his mana sense, each hair was a tiny energy conductor, and arcs of electricity jumped between them, producing a faint crackling sound.
"Steel‑Mane Wolf," Leon named it mentally. "Mid‑grade magical beast. Extremely high physical defense, possibly with lightning‑attribute attacks."
His mana sense gathered more information. The wolf had three energy cores—one in its chest, one at the base of each hind leg. The cores pulsed at different frequencies, resonating with each other to produce an overall energy output several times greater than a single core of the same size.
Three cores. That meant its endurance, explosive power, and recovery were all multiples of a Shadow Cat's.
The Steel‑Mane Wolf stopped about fifty meters from Leon. Its head lowered slightly, dark red eyes locking onto him. Its nostrils flared, sampling the air.
Then it saw the dispersing crowd behind him.
It moved.
Not the near‑invisible teleportation of a Shadow Cat—a heavy, grinding charge. Four massive paws slammed into the asphalt with dull thuds, each step like a sledgehammer. Not fast, but with enormous momentum—by conservative estimate, this thing weighed over a ton.
Leon didn't stand and wait to die. He turned and ran, not toward the crowd, but toward the gas station.
The Steel‑Mane Wolf chased close behind. He could feel the ground shaking more violently, hear the creature's heavy breathing, smell a pungent odor like sulfur mixed with metal.
He ran into the gas station.
The canopy had partially collapsed, but several pumps were still intact. Leon smashed the side of a pump with his axe, and a strong smell of gasoline gushed out. It pooled on the ground, forming a shallow lake.
The Steel‑Mane Wolf charged into the station. It didn't slow down, simply rammed a fallen pump aside, sending metal parts flying like shrapnel.
Leon turned to face the charging wolf.
His right hand raised a charged iron nail. The nail's surface glowed faintly—the mana he had infused the day before, now being released. He threw the nail toward the gasoline pool—not at the wolf, but at the center of the pool.
The moment the nail landed, he activated the energy stored inside.
Not an explosion. The nail didn't hold enough energy for that. But he hadn't designed it for an explosion—for sparks. The mana released from the nail's surface would generate enough heat to ignite the gasoline.
A muffled pop, and the gasoline ignited. Flames shot up over two meters high, forming a wall of fire between the wolf and Leon.
The Steel‑Mane Wolf didn't stop. It charged straight through the fire.
The flames licked at its fur, but the metallized hairs only glowed faintly red; they didn't catch fire. When it emerged from the flames, sparks still clinging to its body, its speed had barely dropped.
Leon had anticipated this. The fire wall wasn't meant to kill—it was meant to obscure vision.
He was no longer in his original position.
The instant the flames rose, he rolled sideways, taking cover behind a concrete pillar. His left hand pulled another object from his belt—a leaking compressed‑air canister, found in the grocery store's maintenance room. He rolled it toward the wolf.
The Steel‑Mane Wolf's attention was caught by the rolling canister. Its head turned slightly, dark red eyes tracking the hissing metal cylinder.
Leon burst from behind the pillar, raising his axe—not to strike the wolf, but to strike a metal pipe on the ground, a remnant of a broken pump.
The axe blade hit the pipe, striking sparks.
The sparks ignited the gasoline vapor in the air—not with a flame, but with a rapid, silent combustion, like an invisible hand sweeping through the air. The burning vapor spread along the ground, forming a great ring of fire that encircled the Steel‑Mane Wolf.
Leon's plan: not to kill with fire, but to create a temporary "cage." The wolf's fur was fire‑resistant, but its eyes, nose, and the mucous membranes inside its mouth might not be. If the heat was intense enough, it might be forced back.
The Steel‑Mane Wolf did retreat half a step.
Not because it feared the fire, but because it was uncomfortable. Its eyes were tearing up in the heat; its nostrils flared violently, as if in pain.
But it didn't retreat far. Just two steps, then it steadied itself, dark red eyes fixed on Leon through the flames.
It was waiting. Waiting for the fire to die.
Leon knew he didn't have much time. Gasoline burned fast—thirty seconds at most. After that, the wolf would charge again, and he would have nothing left to stop it.
He needed a new tactic.
His eyes scanned the gas station's surroundings. To his right was a brick wall, behind it a parking lot. To his left was the street, already blocked by flames. Straight ahead was the wolf. Behind him was the mall—the crowd was still there, not yet fully evacuated.
His mana sense caught a detail.
The wolf's hind legs. The energy cores at the base of each leg pulsed with a noticeable phase difference. The left hind leg's core was about 0.2 seconds slower than the right's. That meant the left leg would have an extremely brief delay when exerting force.
Perhaps an old injury. Perhaps natural asymmetry. Perhaps just an uneven energy distribution.
It didn't matter. What mattered was that it was a weakness he could exploit.
Leon took a deep breath and did something no one expected.
He charged at the Steel‑Mane Wolf.
Not straight at it—toward its left side, the side with the weaker hind leg. He wove through the gaps in the flames, the heat scorching his face, the smell of his own singed hair filling his nostrils.
The wolf clearly hadn't expected its prey to charge it. Its head snapped left, massive jaws opening to reveal rows of dagger‑like teeth.
But Leon didn't enter its attack range. At about three meters from the wolf, he suddenly veered left, toward the brick wall, then pushed off the protruding bricks to jump about one and a half meters high.
The wolf's body followed his movement, but its left hind leg did indeed lag. The delay caused its center of gravity to shift slightly, tilting its whole body about five degrees to the right.
Leon saw the tilt in mid‑air.
He released his axe, grabbed a beam of the gas station canopy with both hands, swung his body in an arc, and landed behind the wolf—on the left, near the hind leg.
His right hand pulled the multi‑tool knife from his belt.
The moment he landed, he crouched and drove the knife into the inside of the wolf's left hind knee—the spot not covered by steel‑like fur, only a thin layer of gray skin.
The blade sank in.
The Steel‑Mane Wolf let out a deafening roar and bucked violently. Its left hind leg convulsed in mid‑air, black fluid spraying from the knee joint. Leon was thrown off, crashing into the wreckage of a fuel pump, pain shooting through his back.
But he didn't let go. The knife was still embedded in the wolf's knee.
The wolf turned, dark red eyes blazing with murderous rage. It opened its jaws to their fullest, lunging for Leon on the ground.
Leon saw the teeth. Saw the distorted energy trajectories around them. Saw the wave interference pattern.
He saw death.
Then, a sharp whistling sound.
A metal arrow shot from the other end of the street, driving precisely into the wolf's right eye. The arrowhead pierced the eyeball and entered the skull. A hair‑thin wire trailed from the arrow's tail, connected to a fast‑moving figure.
The wolf's body went rigid.
Its jaws stopped less than twenty centimeters from Leon's throat, unable to close.
Its body began to shudder violently, all three energy cores pulsing erratically. Then, as if all its strength had been drained, it crashed to the ground, raising a cloud of dust.
Leon lay on the ground, gasping, staring at the giant wolf's corpse, at the still‑trembling arrow.
Footsteps approached.
A pair of combat boots appeared in his field of vision.
"You still alive?" A woman's voice. Not loud, but clear, with a no‑nonsense crispness.
Leon turned his head to look at the source of the voice.
A woman stood beside him. About twenty‑five or twenty‑six, around 170 cm tall, wearing a black tactical suit with no insignia, but the cut and material looked professional. Dark brown hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. A lean face with high cheekbones and a sharp jawline, like a blade. Her eyes were dark gray, piercing, as if scanning every detail of him.
In her right hand, a compound bow, its limbs made of some black composite material, the string glinting metallically in the morning light. At her waist hung a pistol, a tactical knife, and several small pouches.
She crouched, drew the tactical knife with her left hand, and neatly slit the wolf's throat to confirm death. Then she stood and faced Leon.
"Zoe Riley," she said, her tone like a routine report. "Aurora Bureau, Advanced Team."
Leon sat up, rubbing his bruised back. "Leon Winchester. Civilian."
"Civilian?" Zoe's eyebrows rose slightly, her gaze sweeping over the wolf's corpse, the still‑burning gasoline flames, the folding knife embedded in the wolf's knee. "You took down a mid‑grade magical beast with a folding knife and some gasoline?"
"Didn't take it down," Leon corrected. "Just crippled it. The killing shot was yours."
Zoe stared at him for a few seconds, then the corner of her mouth lifted—not a smile, more an acknowledgment.
"Your tactical analysis is impressive," she said. "Fire wall to obscure vision, compressed‑air canister to distract, using environmental obstacles to maneuver, and finally finding a weak point for a precise strike. The whole thing took less than two minutes, and you have no military training."
Leon stood, brushing the dust from his clothes. "I'm a scientist. Tactical analysis is a subset of logical deduction."
"A scientist." Zoe repeated the word, a glint of interest in her dark gray eyes. "What field?"
"Quantum physics. MIT."
Zoe was silent for two seconds, then turned and shouted toward the street behind her: "Area clear. Come on in."
More footsteps approached.
A team of about twelve people emerged from the other end of the street, dressed in black tactical gear similar to Zoe's, armed with various weapons—rifles, shotguns, crossbows, and some equipment Leon didn't recognize. They moved professionally, in pairs, providing overlapping cover as they quickly cleared the gas station's surroundings.
A young man walked up to Zoe, holding a handheld scanner. "Captain, no other magical beasts in the area. That Steel‑Mane Wolf was alone, probably attracted by the fire."
Zoe nodded, then turned to Leon. "Where are those people you brought?"
Leon pointed to the mall entrance. "Hiding inside."
Zoe gestured to the young man, who took a few team members and headed for the mall to guide the survivors out.
Leon stood where he was, watching Zoe manage the scene. Her command was efficient; everyone knew what to do, no wasted orders or movements. This wasn't an ad hoc group—it was a well‑trained, clearly organized combat unit.
Aurora Bureau.
He heard the name for the first time.
"What's the Aurora Bureau?" he asked.
Zoe was examining the wolf's corpse, using her tactical knife to cut open its chest and extract three glowing energy cores. Without looking up, she answered, "Official. Full name: Aurora Response Bureau. Directly under the remnant government of the United Nations. Established about… twelve hours ago."
"Twelve hours ago?" Leon frowned. "After the meteor fell?"
"After the meteor fell." Zoe placed the three cores in a metal container, sealed it, and handed it to a team member. "You think a response operation of this scale was thrown together on the fly? We've been preparing for years. All the major governments knew. We just didn't expect it to happen so fast."
She stood and faced Leon.
"The energy wave wasn't an accident. We've been monitoring anomalies for several years now. Every government knew, they just didn't make it public." Her tone was calm, as if stating a proven scientific fact. "The meteor was a trigger, not the cause. The real changes started years ago."
Leon's mind raced. Years of monitoring. A pre‑established response agency. This wasn't an apocalypse—it was a predicted, anticipated global event.
"What about the monsters?" he asked. "You knew they would appear too?"
"We knew. But we didn't expect them this fast or this many." Zoe's expression grew somewhat grim. "Our models predicted the first wave of magical beasts would appear about seventy‑two hours after the energy wave. But it took only six hours. Evolution is happening faster than we anticipated."
She paused, looking at Leon.
"You're the first civilian I've met who could go one‑on‑one with a mid‑grade magical beast on the first day. You didn't win, but surviving is already incredible. And you did it while escorting four ordinary people through the ruins all night."
She pulled a palm‑sized device from a pocket on her tactical vest and handed it to Leon. "Scan yourself."
Leon took the device. It was a rectangular metal box with a screen and a few buttons. He pressed the power button; the device gave a short beep, and a line of text appeared on the screen:
[Mana Affinity: S‑Class. Bloodline Type: Unidentified.]
Zoe saw the screen and her dark gray eyes lit up.
"S‑Class," she murmured. "In the entire Advanced Team, only the captain is S‑Class. You're the second I've met."
She took the device back, then pulled a card from her pocket and handed it to Leon.
The card was black, with a silver emblem: a shield, inside it an open book, and on the book an open eye. Below the emblem were two lines of text:
[Aurora Response Bureau · Aurora Bureau]
[Advanced Team · Captain Zoe Riley]
"The Aurora Bureau is recruiting capable people," Zoe said. "We need scientists. People who can analyze this phenomenon, develop equipment to fight magical beasts. Your tactical analysis and magical application—if you're willing to use the word 'magic'—are the strongest I've seen."
She looked straight into Leon's eyes.
"Join us. Not as a soldier, not on the front lines. As a researcher. We'll give you resources, equipment, data—let you do what you do best. Research."
Leon looked at the card, at the emblem, at Zoe's dark gray eyes.
He didn't answer immediately.
In the distance, the sound of helicopters grew louder. A large transport helicopter appeared on the horizon, its rotor wash kicking up dust. On its fuselage was painted the same silver emblem as on the card.
Survivors began moving toward the helicopter. David carried Emma, Linda held Liam—hope finally showing on their faces.
Zoe turned and walked toward the helicopter. After a few steps, she stopped and looked back at Leon.
"Come find us when you've made up your mind," she said. "We've set up a temporary base at the old subway station in the South End. You'll find me."
She didn't wait for an answer. She strode to the helicopter and began directing the survivors aboard.
Leon stood where he was, watching the helicopter, the people boarding, the black card in his hand.
Deep in his consciousness, the pages of the Book of Truth turned.
[System Task Updated: Phase One — Establish Safe Zone (0/3).]
[Hint: Joining the Aurora Bureau may accelerate task progress. Recommendation: Accept the invitation.]
Leon put the card in his pocket and walked toward the helicopter.
He hadn't decided whether to join. But he knew this wasn't the time for decisions. It was time to evacuate. Time to survive.
He boarded the helicopter.
The helicopter lifted off, the ruins below growing smaller. Leon looked out the window at what had once been Boston.
From the air, the scale of the destruction was even greater than he had imagined. The entire core of the city had been transformed—buildings collapsed, roads fractured, the ground split by huge fissures, as if torn from within by a giant hand. That eerie gray‑white light was even more visible from above, like a thin mist covering the city.
And in the distance, at the city's edge, he could see lights from other survivor assembly points. The military, the National Guard, the police—they were still acting, still organizing evacuations, still fighting.
The city was destroyed. But humanity was not.
Leon's hand rested on the black card in his pocket.
"Aurora Bureau," he repeated the name in his mind.
In the system task list, the words "Establish Safe Zone" flickered.
Phase One, 0/3.
He didn't know where this path would lead. But at this moment, in the deafening roar of the helicopter, above the city that had become ruins, he made a decision.
He would survive. He would research the truth of all this.
Whatever the cost.