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Chapter 151: First Contact
🕑 Added 2025-10-04 15:31:23 +0000 UTCThe white cloud carried Russell through the morning air, thirty kilometers melting away beneath them like a dream. Hazel guided them in silence, her eyes fixed on something in the distance that Russell couldn't yet see. The city fell away behind them, concrete and glass giving way to forest, to mountains that rose like broken teeth against the horizon.
Russell understood why the Association was scrambling to deal with this new pocket dimension. These things were like infected wounds—the longer you left them alone, the worse they got. A high-risk dimension that had already punched through into reality and vomited out demons? That wasn't something you put on next week's to-do list.
"There," Hazel said softly.
Russell saw it then, and his stomach dropped.
A massive gash hung in the air ahead of them, like someone had taken a knife to reality itself. The edges flickered and writhed, unable to decide if they were solid or not. Through the tear, he could glimpse something else—a landscape that hurt to look at directly, all wrong angles and colors that shouldn't exist.
Jesus Christ, Russell thought. That's not a rift. That's a fucking wound.
The cloud descended, depositing them at the edge of a hastily constructed perimeter. Military barriers, magical wards glowing faintly blue, and dozens of cardmakers rushing around with the organized chaos of an ant colony that had just been kicked.
"Go and report," Hazel said, her voice back to its usual whisper. Then, just as Russell turned to leave, she added, "Junior , be careful."
Something in her tone made him stop. He turned back, forcing a grin despite the knot forming in his stomach. "Don't worry, Senior Sister. Do you not have confidence in my strength?" The joke fell flat even to his own ears. "But I will be careful. Thank you."
She nodded, wrapping her arms around herself.
The command post was a prefab structure that looked like it had been dropped from a helicopter—which it probably had been. Russell found the officer in charge, a harried-looking woman with three tablets floating around her head, each displaying different data streams.
"Russell, Northgate University," he said, handing over his ID. "Reporting for exploration duty."
She swiped his card through a reader without looking up from her screens. "Exploration unit's mustering by the rift entrance. Team Seven-Delta. Don't be late—they're moving out in twenty."
Russell jogged toward the gathering crowd near the dimensional tear. Up close, the thing was even worse. The air around it felt wrong, like breathing through wet cloth. His skin prickled with the kind of instinctive revulsion usually reserved for rotting meat or suspicious gas station sushi.
The exploration force was impressive—at least a hundred cardmakers, all silver-tier or above. Russell recognized faces from the Association meeting, plus new ones. Gold-tier practitioners stood out like beacons, their magical energy creating little bubbles of pressure in the air.
He found the registration desk, where a bored-looking clerk pointed him toward Team Seven-Delta without looking up from his crossword puzzle. "Third row, left side. Captain Nolan."
The team was easy to spot—just three people standing in an awkward triangle, not quite making eye contact. Russell's eyebrows shot up when he recognized one of them.
"Luke?" The shy cardmaker from Southeastern University stood there, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. "What a coincidence."
Luke nodded, a small smile flickering across his face before vanishing. He opened his mouth, closed it, then just nodded again.
The third member, a man built like a brick shithouse with a face to match, looked between them with interest. "Do you two know each other? Are you from Southeastern too?" He directed the last part at Russell.
"Northgate University," Russell replied.
The man's expression soured like he'd bitten into a lemon. "Why did they assign me another academic type?" he muttered, not quite under his breath.
Russell kept his face neutral, but internally he was already categorizing this guy. Silver-tier, definitely, but not university-trained. Probably one of those late bloomers who stumbled into cardmaking through talent or luck rather than formal education. They usually had chips on their shoulders about "academic types" who'd had proper training.
Great. Team dynamics are already fucked.
"My name is Nolan," the man said, apparently deciding to be professional. "You can just call me by my name."
"Russell," he offered simply.
Nolan scratched his head, the gesture making him look younger than his weathered face suggested. "Fortunately, both of your names are easy to remember. Luke said he's better at defense. What about you?"
Russell remembered Luke's defensive prowess from their duel—the guy could turtle up better than anyone he'd fought. No point in stepping on toes.
"Long-range support," Russell said. "Plus some healing. And my cards can buff teammates." All technically true. Unohana could heal, Artoria had [Journey of Flowers] for enhancement, and Fubuki... well, Fubuki could make problems go away at range.
Nolan's entire demeanor shifted, his eyes lighting up like a kid on Christmas. "This time, they've assigned me a real treasure! My cards are all close-combat types. So here's the plan—Luke, you keep the three of us safe. Russell, you support my cards from the back. Sound good?"
Both Russell and Luke nodded. It was a basic formation, but basic usually meant tested.
"Nolan," Russell asked, "what exactly is our mission? Recon? Infiltration?"
Nolan's face went grim, the enthusiasm draining away. "Neither. The vanguard already went in. Found a massive demon force massed just past the entrance. This is legion combat—full assault. So when we go in, you stick close to me. No heroics, no wandering off."
Russell's mouth went dry. Legion combat was the worst-case scenario for exploration. It meant throwing bodies at the problem until something gave. In a world where high-tier cardmakers could level city blocks with a thought, being caught in the crossfire was usually fatal for anyone below their level.
"Don't look so green," Nolan said, misreading Russell's expression. "It's not as bad as you think. I've done several of these operations and I'm still breathing."
Russell bit back the obvious question: And where are your previous teammates?
A voice boomed across the staging area, coming from a cardmaker at the front whose power Russell couldn't even properly sense—Master tier, at minimum. "MOVE OUT!"
The man stepped through the rift like it was a doorway, and the army of cardmakers followed. Russell felt his heart rate spike as they approached. The tear in reality loomed larger with each step, its edges crackling with energy that made his teeth ache.
Luke was muttering something under his breath—a prayer, maybe. Nolan just cracked his knuckles and rolled his shoulders. Russell forced himself to breathe normally.
Then he stepped through.
Scarlet sky stretched overhead . The air tasted of copper and rust, thick enough to choke on. The ground beneath his feet was wrong—not quite solid, not quite liquid, but something in between that squelched with each step. In the distance, shapes moved that his brain refused to properly process.
"Fuck me," someone behind him gasped.
Russell couldn't disagree. He triggered Arrogance partially, just enough to filter the air before it hit his lungs. The last thing he needed was to find out this dimension's atmosphere was toxic.
They didn't charge forward immediately. Instead, the force spread out into formation just inside the entrance, teams finding their positions. Russell could hear sergeants barking orders, mages beginning defensive chants, the metal-on-metal sound of weapons being drawn.
"Good," Nolan said, relaxing slightly. "We've got time to show each other our cards. Better to know what we're working with before the shit hits the fan."
He raised his hand, and two figures materialized beside him. The first was built like Nolan himself, only more so—scarred, muscled, carrying a mace that looked like it weighed as much as Russell. The second made Russell do a double-take.
"Mahoraga?"
The figure had a human body but a serpent's head, forked tongue tasting the air as it gripped a trident. Its eyes fixed on Russell with an intelligence that was definitely not human.
"You know the legend?" Nolan asked, surprised. "Most people don't recognize him."
Luke cleared his throat and summoned his own cards—the knight in shining armor and the Taoist priest Russell remembered from their duel. They looked deeply uncomfortable in this place, the knight's armor already starting to dull in the corrosive atmosphere.
Russell hesitated for a moment, then summoned his team. Unohana appeared first, serene and deadly. Then Fubuki, looking annoyed at being called to such a disgusting place. Finally, Artoria, golden and radiant, her light actually pushing back the red gloom a few feet.
Nolan stared. His mouth opened, closed, opened again. "You..."
Russell looked at his three cards—elegant, beautiful, completely at odds with Nolan's grimy warriors and the hellscape around them—and felt heat rise in his cheeks.
"Well," he coughed, scrambling for dignity, "Fubuki, give him the full treatment."
Fubuki rolled her eyes at him, the gesture somehow managing to convey you're an idiot in multiple languages. Then, without moving, without any visible effort, she reached out with her telekinesis.
Nolan's warriors suddenly jerked, looking at their empty hands in confusion. The mace and trident were gone—not destroyed, not stolen, just... not there as far as they were concerned. The Scarface card shook his hand like he was trying to dislodge something. Mahoraga hissed, his snake head weaving back and forth.
"The weapons are still there," Fubuki said lazily. "They just can't perceive them. I could make them think they're holding flowers instead, if you'd prefer."
Nolan's jaw dropped. "Damn, you little prick!" The curse carried more awe than anger. "That's some serious mind-fuck power."
"Telekinesis," Russell corrected. "She's bending light and blocking nerve signals. The weapons are physically still there."
"I don't care if she's using magic or magnets," Nolan said. "That's fucking terrifying."
(End of this chapter)
Comments
Raphael Espinoza Angulo
Is it from the appearance of JJK's Mahlraga or from the mythology itself?
