While Kael's group was cleaning up their first victory, Bren and his chosen companions faced their own beast deeper in the zone.
Bren stood at the front, a confident sneer fixed on his face. His ability wasn't fire like he so often boasted—it was force, the power to release violent shockwaves from his strikes. Few outside his group knew the truth, and Bren enjoyed the misconception. Fire sounded more dangerous, more impressive.
The beast before them snarled, dust flying as it pawed the ground. Bren grinned and raised his fists.
"Stay out of my way. I'll handle this."
His two lackeys obeyed, throwing half-hearted support from the sidelines. Bren lunged forward, fist slamming into the ground. A concussive wave rippled out, knocking the beast off-balance. It roared in fury, but Bren pressed, blow after blow sending shockwaves that cracked the earth.
The monster staggered. One of Bren's lackeys tried to help, raising a thin wall of stone to pen the beast in, but Bren shouted him down.
"No! The last strike is mine. My kill, my core."
With a final roar, Bren unleashed a powerful shockwave into the creature's chest. The beast's plated armor cracked. It crumpled, blood seeping through the fractures, and fell motionless.
Breathing hard, Bren shoved his hand into the beast's body and ripped out the glowing core. He raised it above his head, triumphant.
"This," he announced loudly, as if the whole class were listening, "is how you claim victory. The one who lands the killing blow takes the prize. Remember that!"
Back at the base of the ridge, Jorin narrowed his eyes. Cocky fool. He'll learn humility soon enough.