John heaved a sigh of relief after defeating that monster. Damn, his level jumped again and a wave of satisfaction coursed through his body.
"This is getting good," he said to himself. Now, he has to get out of this floor.
He doesn’t know how many floors are there but after defeating two mini-bosses, he felt he could take on anything this god-forsaken place could throw at him.
He walked over to the circular stone platform where the ancient altar stood.
John stepped onto the center of the dais. The moment his tactical boots touched the carved stone, the air around him hummed with dense, ambient magic.
[Activating Floor Exit Teleporter.]
[Destination: Floor 8 - The Iron Mire.]
"The Iron Mire, huh?" John muttered, adjusting the strap of his FN SCAR-H as his hand rested comfortably on its pistol grip. "Sounds dangerous. And floor 8 huh? Does that mean I have to go eight floors up to exit?"
Before he could ponder the question further, a brilliant pillar of light erupted from the altar, swallowing him whole. The subterranean arena, the smoking remains of the Behemoth, and the lingering stench of burnt cordite vanished in a blinding flash.
CRACK!
The world snapped back into focus with a sudden, violent drop in atmospheric pressure. The dry, dusty air of the previous cavern was instantly replaced by suffocating humidity and the pungent reek of stagnant sulfur, decaying vegetation, and wet rust.
John lowered his AN/PVS-31A night-vision goggles into place as his tactical boots sank two inches into a thick, oily black sludge.
He was standing on a ruined stone dais at the edge of an endless, fog-shrouded swamp. Massive, twisted trees made of dark, iron-like wood stretched upward toward a jagged rock ceiling dripping with glowing green algae.
[Local Area Scan: Floor 8 - The Iron Mire]
"Floor eight," John murmured, his voice deadpan through his headset mic as he checked his HUD overlay.
Before the system interface could even clear, the stagnant mud thirty yards ahead began to bubble violently.
SPLASH!
Four massive, reptilian shapes surged out of the black sludge. They were nearly twenty-five feet long—monstrous, armored crocodiles covered in jagged, obsidian-like iron scales. Their gaping, bone-crushing maws dripped with acidic slime that hissed against the stone dais, while six glowing yellow eyes on each snout locked onto John’s position.
[Target Identification: Iron-Scale Mire-Drakes (Level 38 - 42)]
[Quantity: 4 Signatures Detected]
"Level thirty-eight to forty-two right out of the gate," John said, a cold, ruthless grin spreading across his face behind his tactical mask.
He didn’t hesitate. With a swift motion, he flipped the SCAR-H selector switch to full-auto, raised the rifle to his shoulder, and pressed the buttstock firm against his plate carrier.
"Let’s see how your iron scales handle seven-six-two Armor Piercing."
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
The SCAR-H barked, spitting heavy 7.62x51mm AP rounds at six hundred rounds per minute. Bright muzzle flashes illuminated the swirling fog as the tungsten-core penetrators slammed into the lead Mire-Drake at point-blank range.
SPARK! SPARK! CRACK!
The initial burst struck the beast’s thick snout, sending sparks flying as the hardened armor-piercing bullets shattered its outer iron scales like brittle glass. Dark, corrosive blood sprayed into the swamp water as the rounds punched deep into its snout and eye sockets.
The lead drake shrieked—a wet, raspy roar—before its front legs buckled, its twenty-five-foot body collapsing headfirst into the acidic sludge.
[Target Eliminated: Iron-Scale Mire-Drake (Level 38)]
[Experience Awarded: 12,000 XP]
Without skipping a beat, the remaining three drakes thrashed through the mire, their massive tails whipping through the black water and launching waves of corrosive sludge toward the dais.
John dropped his empty 20-round magazine with a swift tap of the mag release, slapped a fresh box into the receiver, and racked the bolt—all in less than a second thanks to his maxed-out Marksmanship skill.
CLACK-CLICK.
THUMP!
John popped an M433 40mm HEDM grenade out of his underbarrel M203 launcher. The high-explosive round struck the second drake right inside its gaping maw.
KABOOM!
The shaped-charge jet blew its lower jaw off entirely, sending bone shards and black blood showering across the fog. The creature thrashing in agony before going still.
"Two down," John growled, backing up a step to keep his footing on the slick stone.
The third and fourth drakes lunged simultaneously from his left and right flanks, their six-eyed snouts snapping with bone-crushing force.
John didn’t panic. His CQC instincts flared—he pivoted smoothly on his right heel, ducked beneath the left drake’s sweeping jaw, and unholstered his FN FNX-45 Tactical in one fluid motion.
He jammed the threaded muzzle of the .45-caliber hand-cannon directly underneath the beast’s soft, unarmored neck tissue and squeezed the trigger three times in rapid succession.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
High-pressure .45 ACP (+P) Armor Piercing rounds ripped through the soft flesh at contact distance, severing the monster’s spinal column and dropping it instantly into the mud.
The final drake lunged from the fog, its massive tail swinging around like a steel beam to sweep his legs out.
John leaped over the whipping tail, landed heavily on the creature’s armored back, and reached into his chest rig for an M67 fragmentation grenade. He pulled the safety pin with his teeth, popped the lever, and shoved the live grenade straight down the beast’s acidic throat.
He shoved himself off the monster’s back, executing a tight combat roll across the ruined dais.
"Eat shit!"
BOOM!
A muffled detonation expanded inside the drake’s chest cavity. The creature’s torso inflated before exploding outward in a violent spray of iron scales, black sludge, and steaming organs.
Silence returned to the Iron Mire, broken only by the bubbling of the acidic swamp water.
[Target Eliminated: Iron-Scale Mire-Drake (Level 40)]
[Target Eliminated: Iron-Scale Mire-Drake (Level 41)]
[Target Eliminated: Iron-Scale Mire-Drake (Level 42)]
[Calculating Experience...]
[LEVEL UP!]
[Level 32 -> Level 35]
[System Points Awarded: +18,000 SP]
[Souls Received: 16]
John stood up, reholstered his FNX-45, and slotted a fresh magazine into his SCAR-H. He wiped a drop of dark blood from his NVG lenses, his cold gaze piercing through the heavy, swirling fog of Floor 8.
"Thirty-five," John smirked. He looked out over the vast, swampy wasteland stretching into the darkness.
"Now how the fuck am I going to traverse this swampy hellscape?" John muttered, watching a stray bone dissolve in the bubbling black mire near his boots. Walking through acidic water swarming with unseen predators was an invitation to get ambushed or melted from the waist down.
He opened the military system interface, navigating past personal gear and small arms into the naval and tactical watercraft section.
[Military Hardware Limit Composition — Navy (0/30)]
[Available Watercraft Unlocked:]
SOC-R (Special Operations Craft - Riverine)
SURC (Small Unit Riverine Craft)
Combat Rubber Raiding Craft (CRRC) / Zodiac F470
Riverine Command Boat (RCB)
John checked the specifications of the options. A massive RCB was overkill for narrow swamp channels, while an unarmored inflatable Zodiac would dissolve the second it touched this corrosive sludge.
His eyes locked onto the ideal middle ground—the riverine assault vehicle built specifically for shallow, high-threat waterways.
[Special Operations Craft - Riverine (SOC-R)]
[Manufacturer: United States Navy Special Warfare Command]
[Hull Construction: Armor-reinforced aluminum hull with Kevlar ballistic panels]
[Propulsion: Twin Yanmar diesel engines driving Hamilton Jet 292 Waterjets]
[Armament Mounting: 2x M134 7.62mm Miniguns (Bow & Stern), 2x M2HB .50 Caliber Heavy Machine Guns (Midship)]
[Draft: 0.2 meters (Ideal for shallow, choked marshes)]
[Requirement: Level 30 (Met) | Cost: 0 SP]
"Now that is a swamp boat," John grinned behind his mask. "Twin waterjets mean no exposed propellers to get tangled in roots or monster guts."
"System," John commanded, pointing toward the open channel of black water beside the stone dais. "Summon the SOC-R!"
FLASH!
The air above the dark mire warped as blue light coalesced over the channel. A massive, thirty-three-foot military riverine craft materialized, splashing heavily into the thick sludge. The heavy aluminum hull rocked once before stabilizing, its low draft floating effortlessly atop the acidic marsh.
Mounted prominently at the bow and stern were two six-barrel M134 Miniguns, their multi-barrel assemblies glistening with gun oil, while twin M2HB .50 caliber heavy machine guns sat on heavy pintle mounts midship.
John climbed over the gunwale, stepping onto the non-skid deck plating. He slung his SCAR-H across his back, stepped up to the helm, and flipped the ignition switches for the twin Yanmar diesels.
RUMBLE-RUMBLE-VRRRRRRRRR!
The twin diesels roared to life with a deep, throaty rumble, the waterjets surging as they sucked up the black sludge and blasted a thick roostertail out the back.
John grabbed the throttle controls, a cold, predatory smile spreading across his face as he looked out over the fog-drenched expanse of Floor 8.