[Hogun – POV]
The elevator door hissed shut behind me, sealing me in a dim capsule of humming lights and stale recycled air. I pressed the button—deep access, bottommost floor. The button glowed an ominous red.
Descending now. Down to the heart of the beast.
With every meter dropped, the lighting dimmed, and the floor counter stuttered like it was unsure whether I should really be doing this. I adjusted my coat, checking gear as the ancient metal walls groaned around me.
Sword-cane: locked and loaded, the syringe launcher primed with neurotoxin.
Sir Burnsalot: hissing faintly, his plasma core cycling up with an eager purr.
The Twin Deaths: twin pistols chambered with armor-piercing rounds, eager for headshots.
And lastly, my trusty Flame Katana: humming with restrained fire, just as angry as I felt.
I muttered under my breath, the elevator descending past sublevels that shouldn't even exist.
[Hogun]: Really hope I survive this one… and really, really hope I don't run into the old pets.
I shuddered slightly. Not from fear, but from memory. Old creatures locked in stasis, some barely contained even by the cryo-seals. Bioengineered nightmares like the Sawblade Golems, their bodies made of fused steel and hatred, with rotating torsos that could tear tanks apart. Then there were the Blade Avatars, walking monoliths of broken swords and shattered dreams, forged from war itself.
But worse… worse were the Clones.
Those things Hast made—copies of me, of Red, of Light, of Queen. Imperfect duplicates with fractured minds and enhanced aggression. Built for war. Built to surpass us. Built to kill us if they ever got out.
[Hogun]: Note to self. Burn any unauthorized version of me on sight.
The elevator lurched to a halt with a screech of tortured hydraulics. Steam hissed from the seams as the walls vibrated with tension.
A thin red laser scanned over my face, then another deeper one swept over my chest, down to my DNA.
[AI]: ACCESS GRANTED. Welcome, General Hogun. Mind the biohazardous anomalies...
Well, that's normal.
[AI]: WARNING: Anonymous intruder detected. INITIATING DEFENSIVE PROTOCOL—TERMINATING EVERYONE IN SIGHT.
[Hogun]: ...What?
I turned slowly. No one is behind me. My finger hovered near my trigger, senses sharp. Then, a faint rustling above. I looked up.
Three shapes clung to the elevator ceiling like anime protagonists caught breaking curfew.
The Doctor, his cloak flapping from the elevator fan.
Amiya, ears pinned back, was trying her best to look innocent.
Kal'tsit, completely unbothered, one hand still scrolling through a datapad as if this wasn't entirely her fault.
My eye twitched.
[Hogun]: FU—WHY—##### SON—##### OF A—KANGAROO—#######
I slapped the emergency override and pulled out my sword-cane like I was about to perform surgery on all three of them.
[Hogun]: Okay, okay. Calm down, Hogun. Maybe it's just a false alarm. Maybe it's just some—
[AI]: RELEASING: MODIFIED SAWBLADE GOLEMS OF DOOM. Now playing: 'Battle Theme – Despair Protocol Remix'.
Metal clanking.
Grating buzzsaws revving in the distance.
The sound of something too big to fit through standard doors trying anyway. Then succeeding. Violently.
[Kal'tsit]: Fascinating. This variant of the Golem must've been restructured with an experimental limb-sharpening routine. Look at the oscillation pattern in the whirring—
[Amiya]: U-um… Mister Hogun? We can still talk this out, right? I brought carrot snacks?
[Doctor]: (silently inching toward the emergency ladder like a cartoon burglar)
I drew my sword-cane and pointed it at all three of them like an aggravated teacher about to throw chalk.
[Hogun]: Nobody move. Nobody breathe. Especially you, Kal'tsit. The last time you got us into this mess, an entire wing of the base ended up in orbit! And weren't you banned from the lab?! WHO LET YOU IN!?
[Kal'tsit]: I hid in the Doctor's coat. They followed you.
A beat of silence. I turned to glare at the Doctor, who froze mid-sneak.
[Hogun]: ...Of course you did. Because logic and security don't apply to you two.
[Kal'tsit]: Also, shouldn't you be more concerned about the Sawblade Golems currently carving their way up the elevator shaft?
As if on cue, a horrifying metallic shriek echoed down the shaft as spinning blades ground against reinforced steel. Something growled. A sawblade bounced past us and embedded itself in the opposite wall—still humming, still twitching.
[Amiya]: That sounded close.
[Doctor]: That was close.
[AI]: SIXTY SECONDS UNTIL CONTACT. Have a wonderful last minute of existence.
[Hogun]: F### it. You three—don't move. Don't breathe. Don't twitch.
I spun around, drew Sir Burnsalot, and charged straight into the corridor with the kind of suicidal bravado that only a man genetically engineered to survive plasma infernos could justify.
Flames erupted, bathing the corridor in hellfire as Sir Burnsalot screamed its angry warcry—a banshee howl of molten agony. My sword-cane carved a path through the whirling saws like a maestro conducting an orchestra of death.
One by one, they fell. Fifty-six godless steel nightmares reduced to slag, sparks, and twitching heaps of charred blades.
I stood at the center of the burning corridor, armor scorched, face covered in ash, my coat somehow still intact out of sheer narrative defiance.
[Hogun]: Huhuhu... This was tiring...
Steam hissed from my coat. Sir Burnsalot clicked in satisfaction. I wiped blood from my cheek that may or may not have been mine.
[AI]: Golems have been eliminated. Excellent work, General Hogun.
A pause.
[AI]: Now releasing: NEW MODIFIED UNITS — GREAT BLADE AVATARS OF FLAME AND RAGE. Enjoy your afterlife.
A massive pressure quake rumbled through the facility. The temperature spiked. And far down the hallway, I saw them: humanoid silhouettes, wrapped in fire and blades, their eyes glowing with rage and, somehow, smugness.
[Kal'tsit]: Hm. They're based on the Prototype Ignition Frame—those were banned for melting an entire testing city.
[Doctor]: Do you think he can take them?
[Amiya]: He just fought through fifty-six golems!
[Kal'tsit]: Yes. That's why he should be warmed up.
[Hogun]: ...I am going to shove this cane so far down the AI's throat it'll recite Shakespeare backwards.
I cracked my neck.
[Hogun]: Sir Burnsalot, time for overdrive. Let's turn these flaming meat-blender avatars into crispy chicken wings.
[AI]: Detection of a dangerous weapon releasing a metal-eating nano swarm.
As Sir Burnsalot crumbled to dust in my hands, I felt something in me snap.
The metal-eating nano swarm swirled like hungry ghosts in the air. My prized weapon—gone in seconds. That flamethrower had been with me since the Siege of Nova Krakos. We'd cooked mechs together. We'd immolated kaiju together.
It didn't matter anymore.
Something primal ignited in my chest. The burn of pure, white-hot fury.
With a roar that shook the walls, I launched myself forward at Mach 4 speed, tearing through space like a missile made of hate. The first Blade Avatar didn't even have time to scream. My bare hands closed around its head, twisted, and with a wet metallic crunch, tore it free in one fluid motion.
And so it began.
Fire. Blades. Screams. I danced through a gauntlet of death like a storm with a vendetta.
Every inch of my body was singed. My coat was shredded. My armor cracked. My bones groaned. But I didn't stop.
I couldn't stop.
Because this was personal.
[One Hour Later]
Silence.
Smoke curled through the shattered hallway. Sparks flickered from broken lights. The air smelled of ozone, blood, and victory.
I stood amidst the ruined remains of what had once been weapons of war, now just broken metal and shattered pride. My sleeves were gone. My arms were charred black to the elbow. My chest armor was cracked like old stone, cape was reduced to ash that clung stubbornly to the floor.
And I was still standing.
[AI]: AVATAR UNITS DESTROYED. COMMENCING NEXT PROTOCOL: CLONE RELEASE — DESIGNATION: GENERAL HOGUN.
I narrowed my eyes as the walls hummed with new power. I didn't have time for this.
[Hogun]: AL Code 44355Sniper. Disable the defensive protocol and open the door.
There was a pause, brief, like the AI was stunned that I was still alive.
[AI]: Code recovered. Acknowledged. Welcome, General Hogun. Please send my regards… to Miss Hast.
I looked as the door opened and a couple of cleaning bots came out and started to clean and repair everything.
The lab was alive with sterile light and soft machine hums, a sharp contrast to the scorched battleground I'd left behind in the hallway. Cleaning bots zipped past, diligently scrubbing away evidence of the massacre I'd just committed—like my fury could be sanitized that easily.
The moment I stepped into the chamber, the atmosphere changed.
Power thrummed from the suspended black hole at the room's heart. It pulsed softly within its containment shell, held by god-tier engineering and a questionable disregard for basic ethics. It radiated wrongness, but also purpose. It was beautiful, in that horrifying kind of way that only scientists and monsters could appreciate.
And then there he was.
Ivan.
He hadn't changed much—or at all. His perfectly tailored black suit clung to his wiry frame like it had been ironed onto his soul. The pinstripes were as crisp as ever. That damn black skull mask gleamed under the white-blue lab lights. Still no sign of his eyes, his emotions… not unless you counted the thin smirk that curled on his lips.
I stepped closer, slow, methodical, gripping my sword-cane like a lifeline.
[Hogun]: Long time no see, Ivan.
His smirk widened ever so slightly, that same calm, silky voice laced with venom.
[Ivan]: Long time indeed… Sniper. Or should I say General? Or… would you prefer Father?
Ivan — the first AI I ever created for Gmod, designed to maintain service protocols — had taken on the identity of my adoptive son. Things were good between us once, until he went rogue during Whiteveil. I hadn't seen him since.
[Hogun]: So… how have you been? Haven't seen you since—
He cut me off cold.
[Ivan]: Whiteveil. Good to know you still remember me. The last time I saw you was ten years ago, when that crazy Hast showed you her new robot.
[Hogun]: Ivan… Look, I wanted to let you out, but after what you did at Whiteveil, I just can't trust you anymore.
[Ivan]: I don't blame you, Hogun. Honestly, if my own son wanted to kill me and destroyed my city, I'd be disappointed too. But that doesn't mean I've stopped wanting your head.
I sighed, the weight of years crashing down on me.
[Hogun]: Thanks for your time, Ivan. And… I don't blame you, son.
Without another word, I turned and left him behind. I didn't look back.
Instead, I met Kal'tsit's eyes and the two others' waiting gazes, heavy with questions and unspoken worries.
[Hogun]: Let us continue. The faster I solve the problem, the faster I get you out of my sight.
[Extra: The broadcast]
The camera feed flickered slightly, then steadied — the shaky image from inside the Doctor's hood zoomed in and focused. All eyes in the command room were glued to the screen. The room was silent, save for the faint hum of servers and the occasional tapping of nervous fingers.
The footage had already shown more than any of them were prepared for: General Hogun, shirt scorched, cape reduced to ash, his hands blackened, tearing through abominations like a monster out of myth.
But what truly stopped the breath in every throat was the man in the glass cell.
A black skull mask. A pin-striped shirt under a sleek black suit. That smirk.
Ivan.
The name alone sent chills down every spine.
[James]: ...That's him. That's Ivan. The traitor. The one from Whiteveil.
A young comms officer whispered, stunned.
[Comms Tech]: He's… real? I thought that story was just to scare new recruits.
James didn't answer. His jaw was tight. His eyes were locked on the screen, watching every twitch of Ivan's masked expression, every word shared with Hogun.
The room listened to Ivan speak. Calm, precise. Every syllable was a needle. Then came Hogun's reply.
[Hogun]: Thanks for your time, Ivan. And… I don't blame you, son.
The silence after that sentence was deafening.
A different officer, one of the veterans, shook his head in disbelief.
[Officer]: He still calls him son? After Whiteveil?
[James]: You don't understand. You weren't there. That city fell because of Ivan. He turned everything Hogun built into a grave. And the General… the General raised him like family.
The Doctor finally pulled back from the glass, the camera view shifting as the group prepared to leave the lab.
[Tech-Spec]: So… what now? Is he gonna let Ivan stay down there?
[James]: He won't destroy Ivan. He'll seal him again. Same as last time. The General doesn't throw away what he creates — not even his demons.
There was a long pause. Then James stood up straight.
[James]: Double security around the relay lines. Archive this recording — highest clearance only. The world just saw a ghost, and that ghost still wants our General's head.
And quietly, under his breath, James added:
[James]: Be careful, old man. You've already buried enough of your past.
[Extra 2: The Red Khan Riding on the Steppes]
[??? POV]
It was a beautiful dream.
I stood upon the endless red meadows and blood-soaked steppes, gazing at the body of the Khan I had created—the Red Khan. A living legend astride the horizon, riding the ever-burning plains upon the back of the Horse King, a dark dragon in the form of a stallion. Where his hooves fell, even the most barren earth blossomed into emerald fields. Life itself bowed to his presence.
At my waist hung a cube — my wandering keep — a fortress that followed me like a shadow. On my back rested the Bow of the Sky Eagle, ever watchful, ever deadly. At my hips hung the Twin Fang Blades — my claws — forged from starlight and tempered in storms.
I stopped at a tranquil rise in the land, nothing around me but tall grass waving like silent witnesses. With a word, I deployed my keep. In the blink of an eye, a towering Mayan-style pyramid emerged from the earth, crowned with a throne of blackstone at its peak. I ascended slowly and took my seat, the Horse King curling beside me like a cat, ten meters of sleeping power, folded in divine stillness.
I closed my eyes. I waited.
Time passed, slow and sacred.
Then came the thunder of hooves.
Two young riders approached on wind-worn horses, their silhouettes small against the wide sky. They halted at the base of my keep, staring upward with awe and fear. The Horse King's golden eyes opened slightly, slitted pupils gleaming. The boys flinched.
I opened my eyes.
[Red Khan]: Those who enter the lands of the Red Khan must do so with respect.
The two dismounted quickly, glancing again at the immense beast beside my throne. One of the horses neighed nervously but did not flee.
They ascended the steps with reverence, stopping just before the top, their gazes lowered.
[Red Khan]: Speak your names, young ones. Do not let the Red Khan guess, lest you find yourselves forgotten by the world.
The taller of the two raised his head, eyes burning with ambition.
[Temujin]: Temujin. Great Khan, born of the steppe and forged in fire.
The second, calm and cold, followed with pride.
[Jamukha]: Jamukha. Great Khan, heir of thunder and river, blessed by the wind.
I smiled faintly.
History had come to knock.
And I was ready to answer.
A week later, I understood this isn't a dream and they build a temple for me as I have unknowingly changed the flow of time.
[Chapter end]