The air inside the Forbidden Zone carried a weight unlike anything Om had ever felt before. It wasn't just heavy—it was alive, humming faintly with an energy that clung to the skin, to the bones, to the nerves of every living thing daring to step inside.
Bhanu's words still echoed in his mind. Five thousand beasts. Two months. Survive.
Those words were spoken like orders, but Om understood what Bhanu had really meant: this was no training camp. It was a crucible, a place meant to strip flesh and pride until only the iron of true inheritance remained.
Om adjusted the strap across his shoulder, feeling Dawon's quiet steps beside him. The lion's paws pressed into the soil softly, but there was no mistaking the slight tremor in the beast's body. Its golden eyes flickered with fear, darting from one titanic tree trunk to another. Each one rose like a mountain, their crowns lost in a canopy so thick that sunlight seeped through in fractured beams.
The forest seemed endless, roots thicker than walls, vines the size of bridges. Every step reminded Om that they were no longer walking in a world meant for men, but one shaped by something far older and far more hostile.
"Easy," Om whispered, resting his palm gently on Dawon's mane. The lion exhaled a shaky breath but steadied, leaning into the touch.
They had barely walked an hour. Already, Om could feel the difference in atmosphere. Om scanned the canopy, his sharp eyes narrowing. He knew better than to expect peace. The Chinese sector maintains their portion. They cull, regulate, even manage breeding cycles. But here... no one controls anything. These are natural monsters, bred not by human ambition, but by nature's cruelty.
His thoughts broke when Dawon froze, fur bristling, ears pressed flat. A low growl vibrated in the lion's chest.
Om halted immediately, muscles tightening. He followed Dawon's gaze—up, across the twisted branches where green shadows played tricks on the eye.
At first, he saw nothing. Just moss, leaves, vines. But then—one of those vines moved.
Om's pupils shrank.
The creature revealed itself in silence. A massive spider, its body the size of a small house, lowered itself from above. Its carapace gleamed with a texture like polished wood, patterns of bark and moss decorating it so perfectly that it vanished into the trees whenever it stopped moving.
Eight legs touched the trunks, anchoring it effortlessly, while its mandibles clicked with anticipation.
"Wood Spider," Om muttered under his breath.
The creature hissed, and the trees answered. Branches twisted unnaturally, roots slithering out of the soil like serpents. The forest itself bent to its will.
Dawon snarled, but Om raised a hand. "Not yet."
He was right to wait, because the spider wasn't alone. From cracks in its abdomen, smaller offspring poured out like streams of liquid darkness. Dozens, then hundreds—each the size of a wolf, clicking and clambering down their mother's webbing.
The air turned thick with chittering.
Om's mind sharpened instantly, sliding into battle calculation.
[ Single-target elimination: viable. Group-target engagement: unsustainable. Risk exceeds capacity. Retreat vector—three possible paths. Two compromised by terrain roots. One southbound path through thicker canopy…]
Dawon's stance shifted, ready to pounce. The lion was terrified, but it did not back away.
Then the ground shook.
At first, Om thought it was the spider manipulating the forest, but then the tremor grew violent, a rolling wave that cracked roots apart and sent dust cascading from the canopy.
The spider paused too, its massive body turning, sensing the shift. The smaller ones hissed, their legs clicking nervously.
Om's heartbeat quickened. His instincts screamed. Something bigger.
And then, it came.
The roar was unlike any beast's cry Om had ever heard. It wasn't sound—it was impact. A concussive shockwave tore through the forest, flattening undergrowth, shattering smaller branches. Dawon yelped and staggered, his ears bleeding from the pressure.
"Seismic frequency…" Om gasped, shielding his ears.
The trees ahead split apart as something colossal emerged. Its body was a distorted fusion of reptilian hide and armored plates, thick enough to deflect blades. Its forelimbs were massive, ending in claws that gouged trenches in the soil with every step. But it was its chest that drew Om's attention—swollen, ridged, and vibrating faintly, as though containing a drum that beat in rhythm with the earth.
The Rift Howler.
A natural-born beast of this portion of the Forbidden Zone. Rare, territorial, and beyond dangerous.
The spider shrieked at it, sending its brood swarming, but the Rift Howler only inhaled, then slammed its chest with its forelimbs.
The sound exploded outward—pure seismic force.
The ground cracked open, fissures tearing across the forest floor. Trees toppled like toys. The spider's brood was shredded instantly, their bodies flung apart by the invisible wave. Even the great spider itself reeled, two legs snapping as it crashed against a trunk.
Om's vision blurred. His head pounded, ears ringing with static. Dawon collapsed onto his side, trembling violently.
"Move!" Om forced out through clenched teeth.
He grabbed Dawon by the mane and dragged him as the second drumbeat sounded. This one was worse, a focused shockwave that tore a crater into the earth. Soil erupted into the air.
Om's body screamed in protest, every nerve raw. If not for his training, he would've been paralyzed like Dawon. He bit down hard, blood spilling from his lips, and activated his speed.
But he knew instantly—there was no winning this fight.
[Single opponent: manageable. Group opponent: unsustainable. Seismic variant: impossible.]
Still, Om's mind refused surrender. His eyes darted, calculating. The Rift Howler is territorial. It is not hunting for food—it is expelling threats. The spider provoked it. If I stay too close, I will be caught in the crossfire. If I retreat wrongly, I'll expose my back. Dawon can't take another shockwave…
He staggered to cover behind a fallen trunk just as another pulse ripped through the air, shattering stone.
Dawon whimpered. Om pressed his forehead to the lion's, whispering, "Stay alive. That's all that matters."
The spider tried again, spitting silk in thick cords, wrapping around the Rift Howler's legs. For a moment, Om thought it might succeed.
Then the Howler roared, chest booming again. The shockwave pulverized the silk, shattering it like glass. The spider shrieked as its abdomen split under the aftershock, ichor spraying across the trees.
The battle between the two monsters was apocalyptic, shaking the entire forest. Om used the chaos, dragging Dawon further, forcing his body to move through sheer willpower. His lungs burned, his ribs ached, but retreat was the only option.
Every step was survival.
Every breath was defiance.
Finally, when the distance was enough that the shockwaves felt like distant thunder instead of swords through his skull, Om collapsed beside Dawon. Both of them were bruised, bleeding, gasping for air.
But alive.
Om clenched his fists, eyes burning. He hated this weakness—hated retreat. Yet he knew the truth. Against enemies like these, blind pride was suicide.
He rested against the trunk, closing his eyes. Not enough. I need more than single-target skills. Ulka-Patt (Meteor Rain is too costly. I need something else… something built for suppression.)
In the silence of his battered body, Zero's cold voice flickered in the corner of his mind.
[Observation: Group combat inefficiency confirmed.]
[Recommendation: Development of auxiliary technique optimized for multi-target engagement.]
Om exhaled slowly, sweat dripping from his chin. His lips curved into a grim smile.
"Yes," he murmured. "We'll make something new."
The sanskrit characters on his body began to glow.
The forest roared in the distance as monsters clashed, but Om and Dawon, broken and bruised, survived to fight another day.
And in survival, there was always a chance to grow stronger.