The retaliation came instantly.

  Noris did not shout. He did not step back. He reacted the way seasoned power-users did—without hesitation, without visible emotion. The air snapped.

  A concentrated shockwave burst forward, not wide, not explosive, but focused. It struck Veyor directly in the head.

  There was no impact.

  No blood.

  No broken bone.

  Instead, the inside of Veyor’s skull felt like it had been struck by a hammer wrapped in silence.

  His thoughts collapsed inward.

  Pain detonated behind his eyes, sharp and blinding. The world tilted violently as if gravity itself had shifted. He dropped to his knees before he could even register the motion, palms hitting dirt, breath tearing out of him in a broken gasp.

  It attacked him from inside.

  It was intrusion.

  His mind screamed.

  Images overlapped—fire, pressure, light—memories clawing forward without permission. His vision swam, dark spots bursting at the edges as if something inside his head was being pressed, folded, tested.

  Noris didn’t wait.

  Above them, the air began to change again.

  Clouds tightened.

  Not drifting. Not scattering.

  Compressing.

  The same unnatural pressure returned, heavier this time, denser. The beginnings of another energy sphere formed overhead, invisible yet unmistakable in its presence. The ground vibrated faintly beneath their boots.

  The unknown group in the distance hesitated.

  Veyor clenched his teeth.

  Pain lanced through his skull again, sharper when he tried to focus. He tasted blood—not from his mouth, but from somewhere deeper, metallic and wrong.

  He forced himself to look up.

  Forced air into his lungs.

  “They…” His voice cracked, barely audible. “They… they…”

  Another wave of pain surged as he pushed the words out.

  “They are humans.”

  The battlefield paused.

  For a fraction of a second, nothing moved.

  “That can’t be right,” someone muttered from the ranks. “There can’t be survivors out there without those beasts.”

  Doubt spread quickly. Fear disguised as logic.

  Before Noris could dismiss it, a calm voice spoke from behind him.

  “He’s right.”

  It was one of the gunslingers from Noris’s own team—a woman who hadn’t fired once without purpose during the fight.

  “He’s right,They’re human,” she repeated..

  She came closer to Noris and showed him through the scope.

  Noris exhaled slowly.

  The forming pressure above them stalled.

  He stepped back, brushing dirt from his coat with deliberate movements, as if nothing significant had happened.

  His gaze dropped to Veyor, still kneeling in the dirt, hands shaking, breath uneven.

  For a moment, it looked like Noris might speak to him.

  But Lieutenant Luken stepped forward instead.

  “Don’t worry, General,” Luken said smoothly. “I’ll make sure he never does it again.”

  The meaning was clear.

  Noris nodded once and turned away.

  The pressure dispersed.

  Later, they learned the truth.

  The group had survived by hiding deep inside the city’s sewage lines, for many days.

  When the Lostbond waves began, they sealed themselves in, waited through darkness, hunger, and silence.

  Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

  When the fighting stopped, they waited longer—just to be sure.

  Then they came out.

  All survivors were escorted immediately to the safe zone.

  No celebration.

  No questions.

  Just containment.

  Soon after, the operation resumed.

  Twelve teams moved out according to their assignments.

  Lieutenant Luken’s team was sent west—toward the industrial sector, near the centre of the Valendor. Their objective was clear: secure the perimeter, eliminate threats, prepare a temporary route.

  The main highway leading to the industrial land was unusable.

  Collapsed infrastructure. Blocked routes. Lostbond density too high to risk vehicles.

  So they took the long way.

  Through the countryside.

  Farmlands.

  On foot.

  Vehicles were avoided deliberately. Engines were loud. Vibrations carried. Worse, the scent of fuel and heated metal attracted Lostbonds faster than gunfire ever could.

  By foot, their destination was estimated at a week away.

  The first days were uneventful.

  They followed raw roads, cracked asphalt giving way to dirt paths, then to open land. Fields stretched wide on either side, abandoned machinery rusting where farmers had left it.

  Occasionally they encountered Lostbonds—isolated, wandering, poorly coordinated.

  Sometimes wild beasts crossed their path.

  Mutated creatures with unfamiliar shapes and unsettling intelligence in their eyes.

  Nothing compared to the city waves. A few shots, quick cleanup, constant vigilance.

  By the fourth day, they reached Lencho’s land.

  Eight hundred acres.

  The richest farm in the country.

  The moment they crossed the boundary, something felt wrong.

  Or rather—too right.

  No Lostbonds.

  No roaming beasts.

  No signs of struggle.

  The world felt… quieter here.

  The land was orderly. Crops grew in structured rows. Fences stood intact. Paths were clear, unbroken by chaos. It was as if the disaster had never reached this place.

  The team slowed instinctively.

  Weapons raised.

  Eyes scanning.

  Nothing.

  No movement beyond the wind through tall grass.

  It was unsettling.

  But exhaustion dulls caution.

  They moved forward.

  Soon they saw them.

  Cows.

  Large. Tanky. Broad-bodied and heavy, far larger than livestock should have been. Their hides were thick, muscle visible beneath stretched skin.

  Yet they didn’t charge.

  They grazed calmly.

  Chewing slowly.

  Watching.

  Their numbers were enormous.

  Lieutenant Luken raised a hand, signaling a halt.

  “We don’t provoke what doesn’t provoke us,” he said quietly.

  No one argued.

  They moved through the herd carefully.

  The cows parted slowly, eyes following them with a focus that felt… aware.

  Still calm.

  Still peaceful.

  They reached the centre of the farm by evening.

  A massive farmhouse stood there—old, well-built, lights glowing faintly through windows. The sun dipped low, staining the sky deep orange.

  Luken judged the surroundings.

  Shelter.

  Visibility.

  No immediate threats.

  “This’ll do,” he decided.

  Luken decided to put the camp here for the night..

  But when they knocked, something felt wrong immediately.

  Not danger—difference.

  The door opened slowly, hinges creaking under a careful push. For a split second, the team expected a human face. Fear, relief, or suspicion—any of those would have made sense.

  What they saw instead did not.

  Standing in the doorway was not a person

  but it was a beast .It was a cow.

  She stood upright, her posture relaxed and steady, resembling an average woman in stance more than an animal. Her frame was broad but balanced, movements calm and unhurried. The features of a cow were still there, yet softened—enough that, at a glance, her presence felt familiar. She simply stood and looked at them, quietly, without threat or intent.

  She were aware.

  Focused.

  Intelligent.

  She looked at them calmly, neither startled nor aggressive.

  For a moment, no one moved.

  Weapons were half-raised, half-forgotten.

  The air felt tight.

  This was the first time any of them had encountered a fully intellectual beast—one that did not snarl, charge, or retreat. One that stood there, waiting.

  Amazement crept in first.

  Then fear followed close behind.

  Lieutenant Luken took a slow breath and stepped forward before anyone else could say something irreversible.

  “Hello,” he said.

  The word felt absurd the moment it left his mouth.

  “What did he mean, hello?” one soldier muttered behind him.

  Luken didn’t turn.

  “What else is he supposed to say?” another soldier whispered again, voice low and nervous. “Mooo?”

  The cow blinked once.

  Then she spoke.

  “Greetings, sir,” she said, her voice deep and steady, shaped carefully around each word. “How can I help you?”

  Veyor head was still spinning , seeing a cow standing on two legs and speaking.

  He thought he is finally in afterlife.

  Luken felt his throat tighten, but he kept his expression neutral.

  “Are there any humans in the house?” he asked.

  The cow tilted her head slightly, as if considering the phrasing.

  “You mean my owners?” she replied. “They didn’t survive the plague. We buried them three days ago.”

  We.

  That single word sent a ripple through the group.

  Some of the soldiers shifted uneasily. One lowered his weapon just enough to rest it against his thigh. Another tightened his grip, knuckles whitening.

  Luken studied her face—what passed for one now—looking for signs of mockery, deception, or threat.

  There were none.

  Only matter-of-fact calm.

  He felt fear then. Not the sharp, immediate kind, but the slow kind—the kind born from standing in front of something that should not exist and realizing it does.

  “We mean no harm,” he said carefully. “To you or your species. Unless we’re attacked first.”

  The cow nodded once, slow and deliberate.

  “Understood.”

  “We were just passing through,” Luken continued. “So you don’t need to worry.”

  The cow’s gaze shifted past him, briefly scanning the fields behind them, where the light was already fading.

  “It will be dark soon,” she said. “Outside the farm, the land is no longer safe. Beasts roam freely. “

  She paused.

  “If you wish, you may stay here tonight. Leave in the morning.”

  The offer hung in the air.

  Luken didn’t answer immediately.

  He weighed the risks automatically.

  The farm was quiet—unnaturally so. No Lostbonds. No wild beasts. No signs of recent violence. That alone made it suspicious.

  But the land beyond the farm was worse. He knew that. His team knew that. Night travel would be dangerous, exhausting, and unpredictable.

  He looked at her again.

  She showed no hostility. No hunger. No tension in her posture.

  Just patience.

  “We’d appreciate that,” he said

  He cleared his throat again.

  “My name is Luken Greyholt . Do you have a name? “ says Luken

  “My masters used to call me Clarabelle.” She replies.

  “Well Clarabelle , thankyou for your hospitality.” Says Luken

  “Is this safe?” a soldier whisper to his friend in fear.

  “What the hell they can even do, they are cows mike , don’t be a coward.” He mocks

  There were many reasons Luken wanted to stay there , but two reasons were very clear.

  First, the farm was way safer than the area outside and he didn’t felt any hostility from any farm animals or Clarabelle herself.

  And mainly,

  Luken wanted to observe an intellectual beast from close.

  Aside from the tactical reasons, he also wanted that his can team rest properly.

  But there was one miscalculation in Luken plan.

  He was not aware about the horrors of this land.

  Or Maybe he underestimated it.