The atmosphere surrounding the Skyfield Forest was no longer one of natural tranquility; it had been replaced by a landscape of absolute, visceral s*******r. As the high-tier Mutated Beasts continued to pour through the jagged breach in the Quarantine Zone, the air grew thick with the copper-tang of fresh blood and the acrid, sulfurous stench of high-velocity munitions.
For the freelance metahumans who had been training in the outer perimeters, the decision was simple: survival. Most of them, realizing the sheer scale of the Beast Tide, had already turned tail, their armored transports kicking up clouds of dust as they fled toward the reinforced walls of Forest City. They were mercenaries, after all, and there was no profit in a suicide mission.
However, a handful remained. These were th
