Silver Sable: Huntress of Justice by Jade Gretz

https://www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai/art/Silver-Sable-Huntress-of-Justice-1309920152?file=1

Silver Sable: Huntress of Justice ANIMATION

The Marrow of the Mountain

Frost crystallized on the underside of Chen’s tactical boots, defying the heavy, stifling heat of the subterranean vault. Silver Sable watched the ice bloom in real-time, a slow, crawling web of unnatural white against the black leather. It was a physical impossibility. The ambient temperature of the abandoned Symkarian silver mine was well above eighty degrees, thick with the geothermal breath of the deep earth. Yet, as the Wild Pack advanced deeper into the territory claimed by the syndicate known as the Ebon Suture, the laws of thermodynamics had begun to quietly unravel. Sable adjusted the grip on her twin chalcaru-steel sidearms, feeling a rare, prickling unease trace the line of her spine. She was accustomed to fighting warlords, assassins, and rogue states. She was not accustomed to fighting environments that felt acutely, maliciously aware of her presence.

"Thermal optics are useless, Boss," Chen whispered, his voice a tight, disciplined rasp over the localized comms. He tapped the side of his visor, the faint blue glow illuminating his tense jawline. "I’m getting negative readouts. Not cold. Negative. Like the sensors are trying to measure a void. The geography ahead is shifting on the radar."

"Maintain analog sight," Sable replied, her voice an icy tether of command in the oppressive dark. Her silver hair caught the ambient light of their shoulder-lamps, glowing like a beacon for the three men flanking her. "We knew the Ebon Suture utilized experimental biotechnology. We did not know it extended to terraforming. Lemar, watch our six. If the architecture changes behind us, I want to know before we are sealed in."

Lemar Hoskins, the towering operative known as Battlestar, shifted his heavy pulse-rifle. He did not look back. He kept his eyes locked on the jagged, weeping stone walls of the tunnel. "It’s not terraforming, Sable. Look at the rock. It’s not wet with groundwater. It’s secreting. The syndicate isn't just hiding in this mountain. They’ve infected it."

Sable directed her flashlight toward the cavern wall. Lemar was right. The dark fluid seeping from the granite was viscous, thick, and possessed a sickening, rhythmic pulse. The Ebon Suture was no ordinary cartel. They had monopolized the eastern European underworld not with narcotics or munitions, but with a terrifying new commodity: synthesized psychological trauma. They extracted terror from the unwilling, distilled it down to a biometric serum, and sold it to the highest bidder. Despots used it for interrogations; anarchists used it to drive entire city blocks into madness. Sable had brought the Wild Pack here to sever the head of the syndicate, an elusive architect of suffering known only as the Weaver. Now, standing in the breathing dark of the mountain, Sable realized they had not breached a base. They had walked into a digestive tract.

The tunnel widened abruptly, spilling the mercenaries into a cavernous, domed chamber that defied the natural geometry of the mine. The space was lit by a sickly, bioluminescent fungus that clung to massive, rib-like pillars of obsidian stone. But it was not the architecture that caused the Wild Pack to freeze. Suspended from the vaulted ceiling by thick, translucent cables were hundreds of translucent, amniotic sacks. Inside each sack hung a human figure, curled in a fetal position. Their eyes were wide open, locked in expressions of silent, unending agony. Dark tubes ran from the base of their skulls, siphoning a milky, phosphorescent fluid up into a massive, central crystalline vat.

"Merciful heavens," Powell, their point man, breathed. He lowered his weapon, his hands visibly shaking. "They aren't dead. The monitors... they’re all in REM sleep. They’re dreaming."

"They are experiencing a synthesized nightmare loop," Sable corrected, her voice devoid of emotion, though a cold fury tightened her chest. "The syndicate is harvesting their adrenal and cortisol spikes. This is the manufacturing floor. Chen, set the incendiary charges. We burn it all."

Before Chen could reach for his explosives, a sound echoed through the chamber. It was a wet, tearing noise, like thick fabric being ripped in half. The shadows pooled at the base of the cavern suddenly detached themselves from the floor. They stood up. They were humanoid in shape, but their proportions were grotesquely elongated, their limbs ending in scythe-like protrusions of bone and hardened cartilage. They wore the tattered remnants of tactical gear—m
...(more at https://www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai).
For more supergirl, chun li, batgirl, tifa, lara croft, wonder woman, rogue and much more, please visit my page at www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai - Thanks for your support :)