The Multiverse Hunter

In the heart of a pristine, white-walled office, a man clad in a long lab coat stood rigidly, his grip tightening around a delicate glass beaker. His fingers twitched as a modulated voice crackled through the phone pressed against his ear.

"Doctor, you are ordered to terminate all ongoing research immediately. Shut everything down. Erase every trace of data and dispose of all specimens at once."

The voice, masked by an electronic scrambler, was cold, emotionless—a stark contrast to the storm of rage that erupted within the scientist.

CRACK!

The beaker in his other hand shattered, sending jagged shards cascading onto the sterile floor. His chest rose and fell with ragged breaths, his eyes ablaze with fury.

"But sir! I am so close! Just one more week, and my research will be complete! I will deliver the ultimate weapon to you! The pinnacle of evolution—perfection itself! Please, sir, just one more week!"

Desperation laced his voice, his knuckles whitening as his grip on the phone tightened.

The modulated voice on the other end remained impassive.

"The laboratory's cover has been compromised. We cannot afford to take any risks. Shut everything down before it is too late. This operation cannot be traced back to us—or there will be consequences. Think of your loved ones, Doctor."

CLICK.

The line went dead.

The doctor stood frozen, his jaw clenched so tightly it felt as though his teeth would crack. His trembling hand slowly lowered the phone before hurling it to the ground with a furious SMASH! The device exploded into fragments, scattering across the spotless tiles.

His breath came in ragged gasps, frustration clawing at his insides. His life's work—years of groundbreaking research, relentless experimentation, and countless sacrifices—was being thrown away at the whim of faceless superiors.

A sharp knock echoed from the door.

"WHAT?!"

The door creaked open hesitantly, and his assistant stepped in, flinching at the scientist's unrestrained fury.

"Doctor, the shipment has arrived. Everything is in place for the final operation."

For a moment, the doctor said nothing.

His fingers trembled as he reached under his desk and pulled out a framed photograph—his wife and daughter, smiling back at him through the glass. He stared at them for what felt like an eternity, his lips pressing into a thin line.

Slowly, he inhaled.

His decision was made.

He set the framed picture down, turning to his assistant with newfound determination.

"Prepare everything immediately. We begin at once. Also—triple the security. No interruptions. If anyone interferes…"

His voice dropped into a deadly whisper.

"Kill them."

The assistant gave a brisk nod and disappeared through the doorway.

The doctor exhaled, his hands gripping the edges of his desk. He was so close. He wouldn't let anyone stand in his way.

Outside the Facility…

A parking garage built for the wealthy elite loomed in the darkness, its gleaming structure a façade for the horrors buried beneath. Hidden from the public eye, its underground levels held secrets that had remained undiscovered—until now.

Julie and her team stood in the shadows, clad in full combat gear, their expressions hardened. The truck they had tailed had entered the garage and never left. That meant only one thing—the entrance to the lab was inside.

Silence blanketed the group as they waited.

Then, without warning—

THUD.

A small figure dropped soundlessly between them, her tiny frame landing with effortless precision.

Julie barely flinched, her gaze shifting to her scout. "What did you see?"

The petite woman, barely four-foot-eleven, pressed her palms together and murmured the incantation to deactivate her stealth spell. A thin veil of grey energy dissipated from her form, revealing the slight sheen of sweat on her forehead.

"The entrance is underground—third level," she reported in a hushed tone. "The truck stopped before a solid wall. The driver tapped a keycard against it, and the entire wall shifted open. He drove inside, and the entrance sealed itself behind him."

Julie's lieutenant, a lean, sharp-eyed man dressed in light armour, stroked his chin thoughtfully, a kunai twirling between his fingers.

"They'll have security cameras watching the entrance. If we just walk up to it, they'll spot us immediately. And without that keycard, we have no way in."

His gaze flickered toward Julie, who stood tall, encased in full white armour, resembling a mythical knight reborn.

A slow smirk tugged at his lips.

"That leaves us with only one real option…"

His hand curled into a fist.

"Smash straight through."

Julie met his gaze, considering. He was one of the few people she trusted when it came to strategy. The rest of the team remained silent, awaiting her decision.

Then, without a word, she extended her hand.

A magnificent white helmet materialised into her grasp, summoned from her inventory. The polished surface gleamed under the dim parking lights, reflecting the sharp determination in her vivid pink eyes.

Slowly, she slid the helmet over her head.

Her voice was firm.

"We go in head-on. Follow my lead. Protect each other. We go in as one, and we leave as one. No mission is worth losing a single life. Understood?"

The team responded with a resounding, "Yes, Captain."

Elsewhere in the city….

BARK! BARK! BARK!

A monstrous black hound, easily the size of a small car, stood at the edge of the Hudson River, its glowing crimson eyes locked onto the dark waters below. Every muscle in its hulking body tensed as it let out another deep, guttural snarl, claws sinking into the pavement beneath it. Thick chains, appearing more spectral than physical, extended from the beast's broad shoulders and coiled back into the palm of the man standing behind it.

The handler, a tall and lean figure draped in a dark, rune-etched cloak, tightened his grip on the ethereal leash. A pulse of energy surged through the chains, and in response, the hound snapped its jaws and let out a low growl before going completely still.

A moment later, a simple message formed in the handler's mind.

"It's beneath us."

The man's sharp eyes flickered as he turned to the rest of the gathered figures.

Fifteen players, each one exuding an air of power and danger, stood in anticipation, clad in an assortment of battle-worn armour, enchanted robes, and otherworldly attire that can be traced back to one of the infinite worlds of the multiverse. The silence was broken by a deep chuckle.

"Finally," rumbled a towering man clad in heavy, grey battle armour. He stretched his thick arms, the plates of his armour clanking as he rolled his shoulders. A massive Warhammer, large enough to shatter boulders with a single swing, rested casually against his back.

"I've been itching for a good swim," the armoured warrior said with a smirk, his scarred face lit with anticipation.

Behind him, a group of eight rough-looking men, each bearing the hardened expressions of seasoned mercenaries, chuckled along with their leader. They wore a patchwork of leather and steel, giving them the appearance of high-end bandits, their weapons strapped to their backs or hanging from their belts.

"You can't be serious," a voice scoffed from the sidelines.

The speaker, a young man with jet-black hair and a bored expression, sat lazily on a nearby bench. He exuded an aura of effortless arrogance, his posture relaxed yet calculated. Behind him, four striking women stood like shadows, their forms barely clothed in sheer, silk-like fabrics that clung to their lithe frames. Despite their revealing attire, the most unnerving feature about them wasn't their beauty—it was their eyes.

A deep, unnatural red.

Bright, glowing, and devoid of any independent thought.

AAAAAAAH!

The entire group turned in unison.

A woman, out for a late-night jog along the river, had frozen in place. Her face was twisted in sheer terror as she beheld the massive spectral hound, its inhuman form illuminated by the dim city lights. Her mouth trembled as she prepared to scream again.

The young man sighed.

He barely lifted his gaze as his own dark eyes pulsed with a subtle crimson glow.

"Go home and forget what you saw," he said, his voice smooth yet unwavering.

Instantly, the woman's own eyes flickered red in response. Her expression dulled, her muscles relaxed, and she turned on her heel, walking away without hesitation—her mind wiped of all recollection of the scene before her.

"GEAS," the armoured warrior muttered with an impressed smirk, hoisting his Warhammer onto his shoulder.

"If only I had an ability like that," he mused, casting a lingering gaze at the four women behind the Geas user. The implications of such power—complete and utter domination of another's will—were not lost on him.

"You wish, you brute," the young man sneered, his lips curling into a smirk of his own. "A power like this requires something called intelligence. You? You'd probably try using it on a rock and wonder why it didn't bow to you."

The mercenaries behind the armoured warrior erupted in laughter.

The warrior's smirk twitched.

"Careful, boy," he warned, his deep voice carrying the weight of countless battles. A subtle brown aura, raw and primal, began to radiate from him as he adjusted his grip on his hammer. "Don't forget that all we have to do is close our eyes and break every bone in your pathetic body."

The Geas user didn't flinch. If anything, his smirk only widened.

"Let's see how well you and your men dodge my daggers with your eyes closed," he shot back.

The four crimson-eyed women behind him moved in eerie synchronisation, their hands vanishing into the folds of their barely-there attire. In an instant, gleaming daggers appeared between their slender fingers, each blade dripping with an ominous, violet-tinged poison.

Tension filled the air.

The mercenaries instinctively reached for their weapons, their grips tightening. The air itself seemed to hum with the promise of violence.

Then—

"Enough," the hound's master interjected, his voice cutting through the rising hostility.

The energy between the two factions slowly dissipated.

"All of you," the handler continued, his sharp gaze sweeping across them, "remember that you're under contract."

There was a long pause. Then, with a gruff sigh, the armoured warrior let his hammer rest against the ground.

"Tch," he scoffed, rolling his neck. "Lucky bastard."

The Geas user simply chuckled, brushing his fingers through his dark hair before flashing a lazy grin.

"Next time," he mused, "let's see if you can back up that bark of yours."

With that, the hound's master took the first step forward.

Without hesitation, he vaulted over the metal railing and plunged into the frigid waters below.

The armoured warrior, along with his band of mercenaries, followed suit, the heavy splash of their descent echoing in the night air.

The Geas user exchanged one last glance with the four women at his side. They said nothing, yet their movements mirrored his own as they, too, leapt over the edge—vanishing beneath the dark waves in search of the hidden entrance to the Hydra laboratory.

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