The Transmigrated Author

A line of guards, weapons raised, charged through the gaping hole in the gates.

"Hmph. Annoying," Alice muttered, her tone more inconvenienced than alarmed.

The ground beneath the charging guards began to frost over rapidly.

Jagged pillars of ice erupted from the stone, impaling and encasing the surprised attackers in frozen tombs.

The sudden, brutal display of her power created an eerie stillness in the immediate vicinity.

"Path's clear," Alice stated, her sword still trailing faint wisps of cold air.

"Let's not stand around."

Rel nodded and was already leading the way through the shattered gates.

"Agreed. Keep moving. We need to secure the inner perimeter before reinforcements arrive."

Jan and Valencia moved swiftly, flanking Rel, their weapons still at the ready.

Bazz followed suit as his heavy gauntlets shook with power, while Camila, Lyra, and Jae kept a watchful eye on their surroundings as they entered the eastern sector of the fortress.

They stepped through the shattered gates and into the dimly lit corridors of the eastern sector.

Before them, a network of tunnels branched off in multiple directions.

Rel stopped, his gaze sweeping over the various pathways.

"Jan, you've got the best instincts among us. Lead the way. Production room first, then you guide Valencia and yourself towards Richard. Your senses for this kind of place are sharper than anyone else's here."

A flicker of confusion crossed Jan's face.

"Why me? you've been the one leading us, the one with all the intel on this place."

He paused, looking into Rel's eyes for a moment, it was as if he was telling him to trust him right here, right now.

Jan knew Rel could produce a miracle out of any kind of situation yet, beneath the surface of his confusion was a deep-seated trust, forged in moments where Rel's seemingly inexplicable instincts had proven unerringly correct.

He recalled the subtle warnings that had saved them from ambushes, the almost prescient knowledge of enemy movements.

It was a trust built on a foundation of consistent accuracy, even when the logic wasn't immediately apparent.

With a slight nod, a reluctant acceptance settling in his features, Jan said, "Alright. If you think this is the way, I'll lead."

Jan moved forward with his hand resting on his greatsword.

The tunnels twisted and turned, leading them through sectors filled with machinery and the remnants of hastily dispatched guards.

They encountered pockets of resistance that had automated sentries and surprisingly resilient security personnel but the combined might of their group made short work of each obstacle.

Finally, Jan stopped before a reinforced door, the air around it heavy with the clanking and whirring of heavy machinery.

"This feels like it," he said, his senses picking up the distinct vibrations and energy signatures emanating from within.

"Production room."

As they prepared to breach the door, Valencia's brow furrowed.

"Wait. Where's Rel?"

"...?"

A collective scan of their immediate surroundings confirmed her question.

Rel was gone.

'Wait... this can't be?'

Jan's eyes widened when he looked around the room.

He'd been at his side just moments ago, guiding their initial entry.

It was nearly impossible for him to have vanished without anyone noticing, especially in the thick of the fighting and tight confines of the tunnels.

But that was when he realized that Rel's departure wasn't a mistake; it was on purpose.

He must have foreseen something, some other crucial element of their plan that required his immediate attention.

"Don't panic, I'm sure Rel knows what he's doing" Jan said, forcing a note of confidence into his voice, though a knot of unease tightened in his stomach.

"We gave him the three shards, didn't we? He probably went to handle something that only he can."

He met Valencia's questioning gaze.

"Trust him. He wouldn't leave us without a good reason."

Rel's sudden departure, while unsettling, meant they had to adapt.

"Forget splitting up," he announced, turning to Valencia.

"Whatever Rel's doing, we handle this together. Production room first, then all of us take on Richard. Strength in numbers."

Valencia's jaw tightened, a protest forming on her lips. "But Rel—"

"No buts," Jan interrupted firmly, his gaze unwavering. "Rel had his reasons. Our priority now is to shut down this operation and then deal with Richard as a united front. It's the smartest way to outnumber him."

After a moment of tense silence, Valencia conceded with a curt nod.

"Fine. Let's do this."

Without further hesitation, Jan charged towards the reinforced door of the production room, his greatsword held high.

Bazz and the others followed close behind, ready for a fight.

They slammed through the door, expecting a scene of frantic activity. Instead, the vast chamber was eerily silent.

Machinery hummed and whirred, conveyor belts moved empty products, and robotic arms performed tasks on non-existent materials.

The production room was running, but deserted.

At the far end of the room, however, stood two figures, their backs to the entrance.

As the group advanced cautiously, the figures turned, revealing themselves to be the directors Rel had mentioned.

Director Anya Volkov, a woman with sharp eyes, and Overseer Silas Thorne, a burly man with a cruel smirk, stood waiting.

"Well, well," Volkov said, her voice laced with amusement.

"Impressive. You've made it this far without much finesse. We expected your little intrusion to be delayed considerably."

Thorne chuckled, taking a step forward.

"To think you'd charge in here without knowing the full scope of our defenses. Foolish." He paused, a glint of madness in his eyes.

Then, he and Volkov simultaneously produced vials filled with viscous, dark liquid.

"...?"

They drank.

Creak...CREAK!

The transformation was horrifying.

Bones contorted, flesh rippled, and demonic features erupted.

Volkov's limbs elongated and twisted into sharp, clawed appendages, her face elongating into a snout filled with razor teeth.

Thorne's body bulked to monstrous proportions, horns erupting from his skull, his hands morphing into massive, crushing fists.

Once the grotesque metamorphosis was complete, Thorne's voice, now a demonic growl, filled the silent chamber.

"You think a handful of heroes can stop us? You should have brought an army."