The shadows of Kronoshpan writhed like living things, stretching down the cracked hallways. Plamen stood before the flickering sigil that marked the end of the last trial, his chest rising and falling like a man who had survived drowning. His hands shook—not from fear, but from something deeper. Something hotter.
The sensei's voice echoed faintly behind him.
"You've crossed a line, Plamen. Rage burns in you… and rage, if fed correctly, grants strength."
A distant chime rang, metallic and hollow, like the toll of a dead factory bell. A crimson glyph burned into Plamen's vision, floating just above his wrist.
BONUS POINT AWARDED.
Gift Unlocked: Augmentation.
Plamen's eyes widened as the heat in his chest surged. It was as if the very air around him bent to his will. His pulse thundered in his ears, and before he could steady himself, the words formed in his mind, sharp as a blade:
Flying Shunpō.
He glanced at the coin he always carried, the dull silver catching the faint glow of the broken lights above. With a flick of his finger, he tossed it into the air. For a heartbeat it spun—then his body vanished. In an instant, he reappeared where the coin landed, his feet skidding against the steel floor.
His lips curled into a grin. "Instant swap… teleportation with a coin. Now that's something."
But there was no time to savor the gift. The factory groaned, a sound like bone grinding against rust, and from the smoke ahead, it appeared.
A hulking silhouette towered over him, fur black as tar, eyes glowing molten gold. A maw lined with jagged fangs stretched wide, and its claws dragged against the steel walls, sparking fire.
The sensei's voice was a whisper now.
"Your next trial… The Feral Judge."
The werewolf roared. The force shook dust from the ceiling and made the steel tremble. Then, faster than thought, it slashed.
Three arcs of silver light ripped through the air.
Plamen barely crossed his arms in time. The first two missed by a whisper, the third grazed across his hand—tearing flesh, nearly severing it. Pain tore through him like lightning.
"Gh—damn it!" he spat, clutching the bleeding hand. His knees bent. Rage boiled.
The beast lunged again, and Plamen answered—not with retreat, but with his fists. He pushed his body forward, fists clenched, the air around his knuckles compressing.
Pressure Fists.
Every punch drove air into a single point, cracking against the werewolf's body with explosive force. One blow. Two blows. A third, straight to its ribs. The monster staggered, but barely. Its golden eyes gleamed with cruel amusement.
Then it moved.
In one fluid motion, the werewolf's claw snatched Plamen by the torso and slammed him into the wall. The impact cracked the steel plating. His vision blurred. His bones screamed.
"Damn it… not enough…" he hissed.
"Plamen!"
The voice tore through the haze. A figure stepped forward—Kamen. His presence was steady, eyes sharp, his voice carrying the weight of old loyalty. He slammed his palms into the ground, and the floor of Kronoshpan cracked open.
From the abyss below, skeletal arms surged upward—hundreds of them, pale bone glinting in the dim light.
Hone no Shokuzai.
The arms clawed at the werewolf, wrapping around its legs, its torso, dragging it down. The beast howled in fury, thrashing as the skeletal tide pulled it into the black.
Kamen's teeth clenched, sweat pouring down his face. "If it touches the earth, it belongs to me… let the dead drag you under!"
The werewolf's roars were muffled as its massive body sank, skeletal arms clutching it tight.
Plamen staggered to his feet, clutching his bruised ribs. His eyes softened for a moment as he looked at Kamen. Then he let out a breathless laugh.
"…You've gotten stronger. Thanks, old friend."
Kamen gave a tired grin. "You'd do the same."
They lifted their fists, ready to dap. For a heartbeat, it was calm—two friends standing shoulder to shoulder against the impossible.
But the ground erupted.
The werewolf exploded out of the floor beneath them, its body twisted with fury, claws raised to rend them apart.
Kamen froze—too drained to react.
But Plamen's coin glinted in the air.
Flying Shunpō.
In an instant, Plamen grabbed Kamen's arm, and the two vanished. The werewolf's claws tore through empty air. They reappeared behind it, Plamen's body surging with raw rage.
He drove power into his legs, every tendon screaming with force. He launched upward, twisting midair. The coin snapped between his fingers—guiding his path.
And with one brutal motion—
Plamen's kick sliced across the beast's neck.
The werewolf's golden eyes went wide. Its head rolled, crashing against the steel with a sickening thud. The body collapsed, twitching, before finally going still.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Plamen landed, chest heaving. His clothes were torn, his fists bloodied. But he was alive. He turned to Kamen, who was staring at the corpse in disbelief.
"…We're not dead," Kamen muttered.
Plamen managed a smirk. "Not yet."
Before they could say another word, the factory stirred. The werewolf's blood seeped into the steel floor, glowing with eerie light. From the corpse, a strange object rose—floating between them. Neither could tell if it was bone, metal, or something else entirely.
It pulsed once. Twice. Then drifted closer, splitting into two fragments.
One hovered before Plamen. The other before Kamen.
Both boys stared.
The sensei's voice echoed, low and grave.
"The gifts of the Feral Judge… take them, and step further into the abyss."
The fragments glowed brighter, waiting.
Plamen reached out. Kamen did the same.
And as their fingers touched the mysterious gifts, the factory lights flickered, and Kronoshpan's halls whispered with unseen voices.
The trial was over.
But the real nightmare had only just begun.