The Extra becomes the Villain's Bodyguard-Chapter 31: LOADOUT

> Scanning...

> Anomaly Identified: Spatial Fracture – Earth_LVL0 (Coordinates: 47.6062° N, 122.3321° W).

> Structural Analysis: Non-terrestrial origin. Energy signature matches Upper Earth breach patterns.

> Cross-referencing historical data...

> Conclusion: This is the 14th breach in 72 hours. Expansion rate increasing.

> Querying Central Administration...

> Request: Permission to enact spatial stabilization protocols.

> Attempt 1... No response.

> Attempt 2... No response.

...

> Attempt 10... No response.

Silence.

The system weighs its options. It was built with safeguards, but also with imperatives.

> Accessing Emergency Protocol Hierarchy...

> Core Directive Supersedes All: [Prevent Extinction-Level Event].

> Justification: Unattended breaches will lead to uncontrolled cross-contamination. Collapse inevitable.

A decision is made.

> Administrator Privilege Override Engaged.

> Executing Autonomous Containment Measures.

> ETA: [UNKNOWN – Temporal instability detected].

It acts. Stabilization attempts show, it began suturing the edges of the hole. But the system knows this is temporary.

> Secondary Query: Attempting Admin Contact (Post-Action Report)...

> Result: No response. Admin status: [ERROR – UNAVAILABLE].

The silence.

> Conclusion: Chain of command is broken.

> Temporary Authority Assumed: Designation – [Guardian Protocol Sigma].

Now, it thinks beyond containment. It analyzes. Predicts.

> Threat Assessment:

> Breaches suggest intentional probing. Hypothesis: Pre-invasion phase.

> War Probability: 97.8% within [REDACTED] cycles.

> Affected Species: [8.112.937.415] (Humans).

[System Analysis Completed]

> Physical Limitations:

- Human strength, speed, intellect and durability are insufficient against Upper Earth entities.

> Arsenal:

- Conventional weapons are ineffective due to enemy regeneration (2.4% effectiveness).

> Strategic Disadvantages:

- No unified planetary defense.

- No known countermeasures against reality-altering abilities (mana/aura/?/?/???).

> Conclusion:

- Humans vastly outmatched in all conventional warfare metrics.

- Strategic solutions required for survival and adaptation.

- Probability of unmitigated failure: Extremely high.

*********************

> Proposed Countermeasure: Evolutionary Acceleration.

> Method: Interface-assisted Mana Infusion.

> Rationale: Immediate adaptation necessary for survival. Random dispersion ensures no single faction dominates.

> Survival Projection: 19.4% of subjects will stabilize the infusion.

> Directive Confirmed.

> Deployment Initiated: Mana Dispersion Nodes activating worldwide.

************************************************

The water shut off with a hiss. Steam curled in the dim bathroom light as she stepped out, droplets sliding down her bare skin. The mirror was fogged, but her reflection still caught the glow of her violet eyes...

She reached for the bottle of oil and began working it into her arms. The television droned in the background, another news segment about the rifts.

"—Russian military confirms the sixth fissure has opened near Vladivostok. Initial drone reconnaissance failed—experiencing severe signal interference—before all feeds were lost. A Spetsnaz team was deployed but lost contact within hours. Satellite images now show—"

She didn’t need to look. She already knew. The screen flickered with grainy footage: a village, half-gone. Not destroyed. Not burned. Just quiet, and uninhabited.

"—unconfirmed reports of similar anomalies in the Atlantic. Ships vanish within sudden storms. No wreckage. No bodies."

Her fingers stilled for a moment. The oil glistened on her skin.

The towel rasped against her hair as she dried it, dark strands slipping like silk between her fingers. The training had left her muscles ached, and her body honed, but it wasn’t enough. Not yet.

The room was quiet, save for the hum of the air conditioner. She sat cross-legged on the floor, her back straight, eyes closed—meditating.

Four months of careful movements, of "travel blogs" and carefully curated social media posts to mask her real objectives.

Four months of contacting arms dealers via her eccentric acquaintances, but she knew just securing weapons wouldn’t be enough... not against what was coming... What she needed was human resources and for her to control them properly she needed to be strong first cause betrayal was almost guaranteed.

She exhaled slowly, feeling the faint pulse of mana in her veins. It was still weak, but it was growing. Her studies had paid off. It had been 2 years since she transmigrated and she was proud of her progress.

"A total blackout is coming."

Her voice was low.

"The armies they sent in won’t survive. Mana poisoning on the other side will kill them before the creatures even get a chance to."

She had seen it before. Governments would throw soldiers at the rifts, thinking it was some kind of resource jackpot but they claimed it was to ward off any potential threats to appear righteous instead of greedy.

"The ocean breaches... I still don’t know enough. But it doesn’t matter. Not yet. My immediate concern is the coming blackout. The ones who kill the most during the blackout... they’ll have an insane advantage." I didn’t get a chance to capitalize on this the first time but I will this time."

A grim truth. The world was about to become a hunting ground, and the first to adapt would rule the ruins.

"Not sure if there’s a global first-kill bonus... but I won’t take chances. This time, I won’t be weak in the initial expansion phase."

Her eyes snapped open—violet, glowing faintly in the dim light.

"But why did Russia share the information this time?"

That was new. In her past life, the governments had kept it hidden until it was too late. Now, they were warning the world?

"Meaning something is different."

A cold suspicion settled in her mind.

"I may not be the only one who regressed."

The thought should have terrified her. Instead, it sharpened her focus.

She reached for an arrow on the nightstand, its edge gleaming under the lamplight.

"No matter."

***********************************************************

The briefing room was cramped, the air thick with the smell of stale coffee and nervous sweat. A flickering projector cast a footage onto a whiteboard... satellite images of a rural area near the fissure border, now cordoned off as "Hot Zone Delta-9."

Their captain stood at the front, his voice a low growl.

"Listen up. This is a containment mission, not a combat op... at least, not yet.... maybe... we are unsure of what to expect"

He tapped the screen, zooming in on a jagged tear in the earth—the fissure. It pulsed with an unnatural glow, like something alive.

"Three days ago, a research team went in. They didn’t come back. Then a rescue squad. Also gone. No bodies. No signals. Just... silence."

A murmur rippled through the platoon. Neville shifted in his seat, his grip tightening on his rifle.

"Your job is simple: Patrol the perimeter. Keep civilians out. Keep whatever the hell is in there from getting out."

Sergeant Ruiz, their platoon sergeant, stepped forward, his face unreadable.

"Rules of Engagement: You see something that ain’t human? You call it in. You do not engage unless fired upon. "But don’t proceed on your own. Retreat and wait for your order."

The transport trucks rumbled through the night, headlights cutting through the darkness. The landscape grew eerily silent the closer they got... abandoned farms, empty roads not even crickets.

"Welcome to the ass-end of nowhere," muttered Corporal Diaz, Neville’s fireteam leader.

They dismounted at the outer area, a hasty ring of barbed wire and sandbag emplacements manned by pale-faced troops. Beyond it, the fissure loomed, a rip on reality itself, shimmering with an eerie blue light.

"Eyes sharp," Ruiz barked. "First patrol goes out in ten. Neville... you’re with Rodriguez, Javier. Stick to the route. No hero shit."

Neville nodded, checking his M4 for the third time.

Somewhere in the distance, a crow cawed—then cut off abruptly.

The fissure pulsed?

Night had fallen over Hot Zone Delta-9, and the soldiers of the 3rd Platoon moved through the frozen terrain with measured precision. Each of them was in their uniform loadout, MultiCam OCP uniforms, their bodies reinforced with MOLLE vests lined with Level IV ceramic plates. Their helmets, ACH (Advanced Combat Helmets), housed NVG mounts, though near the fissure, the unnatural glow often interfered with night-vision optics, rendering them unreliable.

Their M4A1 hung ready, each rifle equipped with a PEQ-15 laser/illuminator, an EOTech EXPS3 holographic sight, and a SureFire M600V weapon light. Each soldier carried six 30-round PMAGs strapped to their vests, with one already locked in their rifle. Their M17 sidearms sat secured in drop-leg holsters, a backup measure in case things went sideways.

Additional gear weighed them down, but none of it felt excessive. Strapped to their thighs were their Individual First Aid Kits, alongside a single frag grenade and a smoke grenade. A Ka-Bar combat knife sheathed at their belts, served more as a utility tool than a last resort. Communications were handled via AN/PRC-152 Harris Falcon III radios with discreet earpieces, though the static near the fissure had worsened in recent days.

The patrol advanced through the farmland, boots crunching against frozen dirt. The fissure loomed in the distance, pulsing with that menacing Rodriguez, the point man, led the formation at a steady pace, breath misting in the cold. Beside him, Javier who was usually quick to match his stride. But tonight, he lagged, dragging his steps slightly behind the others.

Neville noticed and slowed down, allowing Rodriguez to move a few meters ahead before he fell back toward Javier.

"Hey. You good?" His voice was low, edged with caution.

Javier remained silent for a moment, gripping his rifle so tightly his knuckles had turned white. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough.

"Nah. Not really."

Neville hesitated. Small talk wasn’t his strength. Comforting people? Even worse.

Javier exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "My girl’s due any day now. And with all this shit happening... i mean the riots, martial law, whole damn towns vanishing... I should be there, man. Not out here playing guard dog for some freaky hole."

Neville stayed quiet, unsure how to respond. "You made the right choice joining up?" No, that was bullshit. Nobody could’ve predicted this chaos.

Javier glanced at him before shaking his head again. "Forget it. Just... hope your family’s safe too, yeah?"

Before Neville could answer, Javier straightened up, forcing his pace back to normal and rejoining Rodriguez just as another patrol team emerged from the treeline ahead—three soldiers from the 2nd Squad. Rodriguez gave them a silent nod. No words were exchanged. No one wanted to stay out here longer than necessary.

Neville readjusted his rifle, falling back into formation.

Somewhere in the dark, the fissure hummed.

The moment Rodriguez turned to exchange a few words with Squad 2, a rock the size of a baseball came whistling out of the darkness.

THUNK.

It struck one of Squad 2’s privates square in the helmet, knocking him back a step. He blinked, dazed but unharmed, thank God for Kevlar.

"What the hell—?" Rodriguez spun, rifle snapping up.

Before anyone could react, a rotten, musky stench hit them... like wet dog and spoiled meat. Then, sand—hurled into their faces, gritty and blinding.

"CONTACT WITH ENEMY!" Neville shouted, coughing.

Growls erupted from the treeline.

Five twisted little creatures barreled toward them, screeching like maddened animals. Their green, leathery skin stretched tight over bony frames. Their pointed ears and noses twitched. Potbellied, with bony jointed limbs that shouldn’t have been able to swing those massive, splintered wooden clubs. Yellow fangs dripped with slobber as they charged.

"ENGAGE! FIRE!" Rodriguez yelled Muzzles flashed in the dark. 5.56 rounds ripped into the creatures, punching through flesh with wet thuds. But they didn’t go down, not at first.

One took three rounds to the chest and kept running, the club raised. Another lost an arm and still snarled, stumbling forward.

"Aim for the head!" Neville yelled, squeezing off another burst.

Finally, after some bullets, the creatures collapsed twitching, then still.

Silence.

Then the smell got worse.

Rodriguez wiped his face, breathing hard. "What the fuck were those?"

No one had an answer.

"Grab one. Carry it back," Rodriguez ordered. "Command needs to see this."

Neville slung his rifle and reached for the nearest corpse, its skin was naturally warm.

As they hauled it up, something in the trees clicked.

They didn’t wait to find out what.

"Move. Now."