The Fading Roar
The Battle Arena. Late Afternoon. The air is thick with dust, residual energy, and the metallic tang of blood.
The quiet that came after the last, ground-shuddering contact was denser than any sound. It didn't merely take the place of the tumult; it swallowed it up whole. The pale, reddish dust, raised by Riku's decisive action, hung suspended in the amber late-afternoon light, so that the entire arena resembled a sepia photo of something already past.
On the devastated, shattered ground, two bodies stretched out motionless.
Riku was a shattered doll of a warrior. Her breast heaved and fell in shallow, ragged gasps that hissed past her gritted teeth. Her left arm was twisted at a grotesque angle, the armor on that side broken like china. A streak of crimson ran from her temple, commingling with the sweat and grime caked on her face. But her eyes—a pair of burning, fierce gold—were open, fixed on the foe she had just defeated. They did not have victory, but a shattering exhaustion and a fragile, brittle relief.
At ten feet, her opponent, a hulking giant of a man whose name Riku did not even know, was really out. He sprawled on his back, a twisted statue of defeat, his breathing a gurgling rasp, low and slow.
A swirl of motion ripped through the lifeless quiet. It was Kaen. His typically stoic face contorted into a face of raw, unfiltered fear. He had been standing by, and the moment the dust started to clear, he went into action.
His footsteps thudded on the earth, the noise sounding abnormally loud. He leaped over a razor-sharp piece of rock, his eyes fixed—one with only Riku in view.
Kaen (Muttering, breathy): Riku! Damn you, Riku!
He crawled on his knees beside her, carefully placing a hand on her throat to feel for a pulse, his touch unexpectedly gentle, almost respectful.
Kaen: You fool. Look at you. You really won.
Riku (Voice a dry whisper, a weak smile playing on her lips): Always. bet. on the underdog, Kaen.
She attempted to laugh, but it broke into a scratchy cough that whipped a shock of pain along her ribs.
Kaen's eyes—the same rich, ravenous amber as hers—flashed with a deep intertwining of relief and anger. He quickly took out a medical patch from his pouch and pressed it hard over the wound on her temple, his jaw clenched.
Kaen: Spare the bad jokes. Can you move?
Riku: Give me. a minute. My entire body aches like. someone folded it.".
He carefully positioned himself, sliding one strong arm under her shoulders and the other under her good leg. He didn't ask again. He just lifted her, his movements economical and swift, supporting her full weight against his side. The intensity in his eyes wasn't just concern; it was a silent, furious promise—I will make sure you don't break yourself like this again.
---
THE ANNOUNCEMENT
As Kaen started dragging Riku towards the outer edges of the damaged arena, a figure emerged on the elevated observation platform. It was Verya, Head Examiner. Her voice, magnified through a projection rune, was crisp and clear, cutting through the lingering tension.
Verya (Voice, cold, formal): Attention, trainees. The last duel is over.
All eyes, the drained, the vanquished, and the fortunate survivors, gazed at her. Kaen remained still, holding Riku close.
Verya (Cont.): The Selection Examination. is over.
A universal, pent-up breath appeared to exhale from the hundreds of refugees gathered. The cacophony of the wars gave way to the muted murmur of relief, desperation, and victory.
Verya: You are all to proceed immediately to the assigned Shelter Complex Alpha. Medical staff await. The complete list of successful candidates—the new class of Trainees—will be announced in exactly three days. Dismissed.
The last word reverberated, the clang of an iron gate clashing shut on a lengthy, trying ordeal.
The aftermath was a slow, agonizing migration. Trainees, uniforms in tatters, bodies bruised and bleeding, started to limp, hobble, or be carried towards the shelter. Some swaggered with a victory stride, others shuffled along in the bitter knowledge of defeat. The air was thick with the cost of ambition.
Kaen did not glance at anyone. He merely bore Riku, his pace never wavering, his mind a tunnel vision to where they had to go. Riku lay her head upon his shoulder, her eyes half-shut, but her hold on his jerkin was surprisingly tight. The craving for strength was already percolating beneath the hurt.
---
The Shared Ache
Shelter Complex Alpha. The Common Mess Hall. Night.
Shelter was a big, functional complex, providing clean water, plain rations, and, above all, security. The mess hall was a dimly lit cavern, lit by energy-efficient bulbs that were not very efficient at illuminating. The air outside at night was cold, but within, there was the warmth of bodies and the smell of antiseptic and plain food.
Once they had attended to their most immediate wounds—Riku had her arm supported and her cuts washed; Kaen had his own small cuts stitched up—a small contingent of surviving trainees met. They were not just the ones who had succeeded; they were those who had struggled the hardest, pushed to the limit.
Seated around a scuffed metal table was Riku, pale but steady; Kaen, always alert; Darren, a sturdy, normally loudmouthed fighter who now looked serious, a bulky bandage encircling his thigh; and Lyra, quick, black-haired woman whose face was dirty, her normally bright eyes now concentrated.
They had eaten a quiet, utilitarian meal of nutrient paste and water. The only noise for an extended period was the low, continuous thrum of the shelter's ventilation system.
Darren (Breaking the silence, rubbing his bandaged thigh): So, that was. something.
Lyra (Her voice low, barely a whisper): I believed I died. Three times, perhaps four. That monster with the chain-blade. his attacks were so methodical, yet his brute strength. it was like battling a mountain.
She paused for a moment, recalling the instant. Her fingers drummed on the table.
Lyra (Cont.): I won, yeah. But only because he was slow. If he'd been quicker. better. I wouldn't be here talking about it.
Darren (Sighing, glancing at Riku): You just managed it, Riku. Your opponent. He was huge. I saw the last few minutes.".
Riku (Pushing her good arm up to move a strand of loose hair, her voice raw but steady): He was. His defense was proof against everything until the very end. It cost me everything. Everything I had: every ounce of concentration, every store of strength I possessed. I was drained, Darren. Drained.
She pounded her good hand gently on the table, the sound ringing out in the stillness.
Riku (Cont., her gold eyes burning): And that is terrifying. To know that a single opponent could take everything I had and still almost walk away. If I face an actual monster—a dinosaur—with that level of strength. I'm dead. We are all dead.
A cold reality settled over the group. This was the fundamental shift: they had fought each other, but the true enemy was out there, in the jungle.
Darren (His own eyes now mirroring Riku's intensity): She's correct. I leaned too heavily on my stamina, on simple strength. I was sloppy in my movements. I absorbed a blow that I shouldn't have taken. I need to be faster, more intelligent with my energy. I need to learn true technique. Not merely how to move a blade around.
Kaen (He had sat quietly, listening, his arms folded across his chest. Now he leaned forward, his amber eyes glass sharp): Technique means nothing without speed. And speed is nothing without instinct. You won because your mind was sharper than his, Riku. You saw the gap where he only saw the attack. But you gave up too great a price.
He looked at her, a profound, wordless understanding sharing between them.
Kaen (Cont., his voice low, measured, but exuding an almost palpable intensity): The actual trainees—the ones who make it through the jungles—they don't simply win. They win cleanly. They emerge intact. We require more than brawn. We require a means to dominate the room, to finish the combat before it ever even starts. I don't want to simply survive the next fight. I want to be the one to dictate how it finishes in the first second.
Lyra (Fist-clenched, her own hunger radiating through her): That's the essence. We saw what we are today. Now, we have to envision what we have to become. We have to undergo specialized training. To be the greatest, we have to learn from the greatest. I have to become like a shadow. Invisible, silent, fatal. I have to learn the very art of evasion.
The fire was ignited. It was not the brief adrenaline of combat, but an intense, tectonic hunger for expansion. An urgency to close the chilling chasm between their present station and the deadly perfection needed to meet the primeval monsters of the wild. They were not merely discussing; they were calling themselves to account.
Riku (Pushing herself up, wincing in a small way, but her eyes never leaving her friends. Her voice was steady, a vow spoken in the darkness): Three days. Three days before the list is published. When we go through that door—when we are trainees—we don't rest. We don't sleep. We track down those masters. We beg them, trick them, pay them. We do whatever it takes to learn what we must to live. And then we become the hunters.
Kaen nodded, a grim, satisfied look on his face. Darren straightened up, his fatigue momentarily forgotten. Lyra's intense focus never wavered. They were four people united by a shared, bloody experience, and an all-consuming desire to become unbreakable.
---
The Broken Stick
A Deep Jungle Sector. Night. Rain-slicked trees, dense canopy. Only the ambient glow of the sector's safety lights penetrates the gloom.
The setting changes suddenly, peace in the shelter giving way to the crunching, guttural harshness of the front line.
Sector Omega was a tempestuous block of jungle famous for supporting the biggest, most ferocious forms of the Raptora—the species of dinosaur that was celebrated for its velocity and razor-sharp claws.
The Special Squad was sent in here, a group of experienced trainees, with a mission easy: guard the perimeter. They were making their way through the heavy foliage, tree to tree, using long, strengthened Balance Sticks to spring over the gaps, their bodies outlined against the faint, misty light.
Squad Leader, Maro (Whispering, on comms): Team Alpha, maintain your positions. Raptors are orbiting. Three signatures I'm counting. Keep to the high ground. No direct fire. Wait for the cue.
Two squad members, Kaito and Jiro, were on opposite, towering redwood-like trees, roughly thirty feet between them. Their faces were stretched into grim concentrations, their eyes wide as they looked down at the jungle floor below where gigantic reptilian shadows darted and hissed.
A sharp, percussive, tearing sound cut through tension—SKREEE!
A young Raptora, smaller but quicker than either parent, had seen them. It launched itself. It was a green-and-grey streak of mottled scales and teeth.
Kaito (Shouting): Contact! Juvenile, 7 o'clock!
The Raptora struck Kaito's tree, its claws gouging deep furrows in the bark, missing Kaito by a hair. The impact gave the entire structure a violent vibration.
Kaito, recovering in an instant, reflexively tightened his hold on his Balance Stick. But he had picked a bad, rain-slicked place to put his final foothold.
Kaito's boot slipped. His weight lurched to the side, and in a blink, his Balance Stick—a reinforced pole meant to hold against pressure—snapped with a sickening crack.
For a moment, he was airborne, arms flailing, rain and mist blurring his vision. Then gravity reclaimed him. He crashed through two smaller branches before slamming onto the muddy floor of the jungle with a heavy thud.
The ground seemed to breathe around him. Dark shapes moved, low and sinuous. The three Raptora—their eyes glowing faintly under the mist-light—shifted in unison. The juvenile screeched again, and the larger predators responded with deep, guttural growls.
Jiro (shouting from above): Kaito! Get up! MOVE!
But Kaito couldn't. His leg was twisted beneath him, the broken Balance Stick lying useless by his side. The mud swallowed his attempts to crawl, sucking at his limbs.
The Raptora advanced, claws tapping against the wet earth in a rhythm that sounded almost deliberate. Their tails swayed side to side, the tension of predators savoring the hunt.
Maro (on comms, urgent whisper): Hold fire! Hold fire until I say—if you shoot now, the noise draws more. We can't afford a swarm!
Jiro's face twisted with helpless fury as he watched Kaito scramble, the predators circling tighter.
Kaito's breathing was ragged, his chest rising and falling like a trapped animal. He gripped a broken shard of his Balance Stick, raising it in shaking hands. It was pitiful against the monsters before him—but it was all he had.
The juvenile Raptora struck first, darting forward with unnatural speed. Its jaws snapped shut just inches from Kaito's arm. He jabbed desperately with the splintered stick, scraping its scales but doing no real harm.
The creature recoiled with a hiss, but only for an instant. Its siblings began to fan out, closing in.
Maro (through clenched teeth, finally breaking): Team Alpha—cover him! NOW!
Blinding flashes erupted as plasma rounds tore the darkness apart. The jungle lit in violent strobe-light as the squad unleashed fire, their carefully hidden positions sacrificed in a desperate bid to save one of their own.
The Raptora shrieked, the larger ones scattering back into the foliage, but the juvenile was relentless. It lunged again, its claw slashing across Kaito's shoulder, hot blood spilling into the mud.
Kaito screamed, a sound that cut through the storm and the chaos.
Jiro, ignoring Maro's orders, leapt from his perch. His Balance Stick bent under his weight as he vaulted, landing hard beside his fallen comrade. He thrust his blade into the juvenile's flank with a roar of his own.
The creature shrieked in pain, twisting violently, but Jiro held on, driving the weapon deeper until its screeches faded into a wet, choking gurgle.
The jungle went momentarily silent again—except for Kaito's ragged breathing and the pounding rain.
Maro (low, furious, into comms): Damn it, Jiro… you just announced us to the entire sector.
And as if in cruel response, the forest around them stirred. Dozens of eyes lit up in the darkness. The predators had heard.
The real hunt had begun.