Unholy Player
Chapter 204: Shelter City 8 in Danger

Chapter 204: Shelter City 8 in Danger

The orphanage cafeteria was spacious and bathed in sunlight pouring through its wide glass windows. Dozens of tables stood in neat rows, their surfaces covered with drinks and light snacks, as if prepared for a celebration.

Contrary to Marielle’s expectations, the hall wasn’t empty. Children filled every seat, joined by caretakers, staff members, and even the head of the Angel Wing Foundation—Selina’s mother, Vivienne White.

And yet, despite the crowd, a suffocating silence blanketed the room.

It wasn’t hard to see why.

A massive screen on the far wall displayed a live broadcast. In the upper left corner, a news anchor with a tense, worried expression spoke in a steady, serious tone. The rest of the screen showed a live aerial feed, labeled Shelter City 8—Ongoing Emergency.

"We are currently receiving live footage through official channels," the anchor reported. "As you can see, the situation is highly critical."

The drone footage slowly zoomed in, revealing towering perimeter walls swarming with personnel in STF combat uniforms. Soldiers were stationed along the upper defenses, wielding heavy weaponry—assault rifles, mounted turrets, and high-caliber snipers—firing in controlled bursts.

Below them, hundreds of humanoid figures surged forward, scrambling up the walls like mindless creatures. Their movements were erratic, unnatural. Clawed limbs tore into the concrete as they climbed with frenzied desperation, showing no regard for pain or strategy. STF forces fought to repel them, but the sheer volume of attackers made it feel less like a battle and more like a flood barely being held back.

But what unsettled Marielle the most wasn’t their sheer numbers—it was how absurdly durable they were.

Her brows furrowed as she took a step forward, staring at the footage in disbelief.

They were all naked. Every single one of them. And yet... not exposed. Their bodies were completely covered in thick, metallic plating—like armor, but not quite. It didn’t look manufactured. The way it hugged their limbs, wrapped around their torsos, and flexed with their movements—it looked grown, as if their skin had been replaced with living steel.

Even their groins were sealed beneath the same dense, armor-like tissue. There were no signs of anatomy. No human features left beneath the plating. Just smooth, dark, organic metal.

’’What are these things?’’ She mumbled, unable to look away.

On-screen, STF soldiers opened fire with armor-piercing rounds. Sparks exploded from impact points. A few of the creatures stumbled, briefly knocked back—but none of them stayed down. Moments later, they rose again, unfazed, and resumed their climb with the same relentless, jerking movements. Like puppets on invisible strings. Like insects that didn’t know how to die.

Marielle’s stomach tightened.

"Marielle? Niva?"

The voice pulled them out of their trance. Marielle and Niva turned, startled, as Neris approached in quick, urgent steps.

Marielle blinked, disoriented for a moment, then stepped toward her. "What’s going on? What are these news reports about? And why are they letting the kids watch this?"

Her voice carried both shock and concern. Some of these children were barely 6 years old. Letting them watch something like this felt completely wrong.

"I know," Neris replied, letting out a quiet sigh. "The broadcast started about thirty minutes ago. They said Shelter City 8 was under attack by rogue terrorist factions. We tried to turn it off, but..."

She hesitated.

Then, lowering her voice, she glanced discreetly toward the far end of the room—toward a woman standing apart from the rest, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the screen. Her posture was commanding, her violet hair unmistakable.

"Miss White didn’t allow it," she whispered. "She said that even children should see the world for what it is."

The approval in her tone was quiet but clear.

Marielle instinctively reached for her arm—or what remained of it—as the memories resurfaced.

She had witnessed the world’s cruelty firsthand. And some of the children in this orphanage had endured just as much, if not worse.

Her gaze swept over the room.

Every single child was watching the broadcast in silence. Some sat still, wide-eyed, absorbing it as if it were just another show. Others—older, more aware—had tension etched across their faces, the worry unmistakable in their eyes.

Among them, one child stood out—Boy, a recent arrival to the orphanage. He sat in the front row, watching the broadcast with wide, gleaming eyes and an open mouth that hinted at a strange excitement rather than fear or confusion.

Sitting right beside him was Zelda, watching with a bored expression, as if she were there just to accompany her friend.

"They just survived a nightmare. Wouldn’t this only drag their trauma back to the surface?"

Since the rescue, Neris had taken on the role of their guardian and had already begun the adoption process. She was responsible for them now.

Still, she exhaled and spoke with quiet resolve.

"I know what they’ve been through. Probably more than anyone else in this room. But... maybe Ms. White is right. Kids like them, they can’t grow if we’re always too protective."

Living in a world consumed by chaos and having already endured more than their share of it at such a young age, these children no longer fit into the category of what most would call normal.

The world hadn’t changed just because their lives had recently become a little more stable or because they were finally beginning to experience a kind of love they had never known before. Shielding them with the illusion of peace and perfection would have been a lie.

The right way to raise them, at least in the eyes of Vivienne White and Neris, was not to hide the truth but to show them both the warmth of kindness and the harshness of reality. To let them see the good and recognize the evil for what it was.

Marielle couldn’t find a reason to argue. If she were to say anything, it would only be to admit that Neris was right. And yet, the worry inside her remained, rooted and unmoving.

She turned her eyes back to the broadcast. A city under siege, soldiers fighting to hold the line, and a relentless horde of mutants trying to tear it all down. The reality of the world pressed in again.

In that moment, she understood. If something like this ever reached them—if Shelter City 9 were to face the same kind of attack—then preparing the children mentally, even just a little, might be the only real protection they had.

’’Hope we never face something like that.’’ She murmured with quiet hope. Just hope that STF or whatever army and weapon can hold them away from the children.

But what the broadcast showed crushed any lingering hope, at least for those who still clung to it. These weren’t the first-generation mutants they had known until now.

The truth was painfully clear: Shelter City 8 and the STF forces stationed there were no longer able to hold them beyond the walls. Not for much longer.

Then the anchor’s voice returned, cutting through the tension with an update that, at the very least, gave the room something to hold on to.

"New information has just arrived," the anchor said, her voice carrying a mix of excitement and uncertainty as she glanced down at her notes.

"According to the latest intel, the City Manager has taken full responsibility and authorized the deployment of a new unit called PTF. From what we understand, this division is made up entirely of third-generation mutants and has been formed specifically to respond to the ongoing assault."

Another silence fell over the room—but this time, it wasn’t from fear. It was the kind of stillness that came when people didn’t yet understand the weight of what they’d heard.

Only a few did.

Marielle and Niva turned to each other, eyes wide.

"Isn’t that the division my brother’s part of?" Niva asked quietly.