The swamp was briming with life.
Thick mist curled above the murky water, wrapping the twisted trees in a ghostly haze.
Shadows moved between the reeds, the air heavy with the scent of rot and stagnant mud. Insects hummed in clouds, their wings beating a restless song as the cadets in their gliders pushed forward through the humid gloom.
Metal boots splashed into the shallow mire, breaking the silence with each step.
The forest canopy stretched overhead, strangling what little light filtered down. Every tree was fat with moss, their roots coiling above the water like sleeping serpents.
Then came a low growl, guttural and wrong, rumbled through the mist.
Cadet Renn, moving point, froze mid-step. His boot sank half an inch into the sludge, bubbles rising as he muttered, "You hear that?"
Before anyone could answer, the swamp floor shifted beneath him.
His foot snagged, the ground cracking open like a trapdoor. Renn let out a sharp cry as he fell into a pit masked by the murk. His armored body slammed into the water below, spraying mud and swamp grass.
The others moved, instinctively raising their arm-cannons, eyes scanning.
"Renn!" someone shouted.
But the sound that followed drowned out every word.
From the shadows, a creature emerged.
Six legs dug into the earth with a thunderous weight, each clawed like hooked blades. Its body was covered in slick black hide, muscles flexing beneath like coiled steel. The beast's shoulders rose nearly to the size of a car, glowing slits of amber light for eyes cutting through the mist. Drool hissed where it hit the mud.
Renn barely managed to rise when the beast lunged.
Its jaws clamped down on his torso plating with a sickening crunch.
Metal shrieked as it lifted him like a ragdoll, whipping him through the air. The others watched in horror as their squadmate spun wildly, limbs flailing.
The hound flung him against a tree with such force the trunk split, moss and bark raining down as his glider powered down in sparks.
"Shit—scatter!"
The squad broke formation.
Eight figures in sleek exo-frames dashed through the swamp, propulsion units flaring along their legs and backs.
The gliders weren't bulky like tanks but streamlined—sleek plating hugging the human form, built for both speed and strength. Each helmet bore a sharp visor of faint blue light, the only brightness in the swamp.
Their boosters flared, propelling them over tangled roots and brackish pools. Arm-mounted blades extended, rifles reconfigured from their wrists, everything snapping into combat readiness.
But the hound was faster.
It crashed through the trees like a storm, each step shattering roots, mud spraying in waves. Its six legs worked with terrifying coordination, weaving between trunks while its glowing eyes locked onto the cadets.
Cadet Lira, the squad's best shot, braced on a root and fired a barrage of plasma bolts. The blue streaks sliced through the fog, sizzling against the beast's hide. It snarled but barely faltered, the bolts burning lines into its flesh but not slowing it.
"It's shrugging it off!" she cried, ejecting her mag and slamming another in with practiced speed.
"Keep pressure on it!" barked Jaro, the hotheaded one, his boosters flaring bright as he leapt into the air, blade snapping into full length. "I'll carve its skull open!"
"Jaro, don't—!"
Too late.
He came down in a descending slash, sparks flying as steel met hide.
The hound twisted mid-snap, jaws opening.
Jaro didn't even get a scream out before the beast's teeth clamped down on his leg. Blood sprayed, steam rising where flesh met the hound's saliva.
"NO!" Lira screamed, eyes wide as her comrade was slammed into the mud.
"Retreat, fall back—fall—!"
Another cadet's words cut off with a strangled gasp as the hound's tail—a thick, whip-like limb tipped with bone—lashed out and caught him across the chest.
He flew backward into the reeds, his glider sparking as systems failed.
One by one, they fell.
Ashen had hung back, silent, eyes sharp behind his visor as chaos unfolded.
His pulse thudded in his ears, but he wasn't panicked like the others.
His breath stayed slow.
"Think," he whispered to himself.
The Feral Hound tore through them systematically, its movements brutal but deliberate. It wasn't wild rage—it was hunting, testing. Each strike targeted the strongest or the boldest first, leaving the weakest scrambling.
Ashen saw the pattern.
When the seventh cadet fell, slammed against the roots, Ashen was the only one left standing. His visor reflected the beast's glowing eyes as it turned to him.
The swamp fell silent again.
The hound crouched, muscles rippling, preparing to pounce.
Ashen exhaled.
His boosters hummed faintly, the propellers folded at his back flickering to life.
He didn't raise his weapon, he didn't fire, he waited.
The beast lunged.
Ashen bolted—not away, but toward the cliff edge he had noted earlier. The mud splashed against his boots, his glider propellers whirring louder.
He ran flat out, hearing the hound gaining, its massive limbs tearing at the swamp.
Five steps from the edge, Ashen dove forward, boosters firing at full thrust. His body angled low, skimming the cliff's lip.
The hound followed. It launched, its bulk carrying it high into the mist, jaws open wide, claws reaching—
And Ashen fired upward. His propellers roared, yanking him into the air at the last instant. He flipped hard, body twisting, landing on the cliff ledge as the beast sailed past.
For a moment, it hung in the air—too heavy, too committed to its leap.
Then gravity claimed it.
The Feral Hound plunged into the abyss with a roar that shook the swamp.
Ashen landed hard, knees bent, chest heaving. His visor dimmed and adjusted, scanning for movement.
Then the world broke.
The swamp shimmered, its colors flickering like broken glass. The trees, the mud, the cliff—all of it fractured into cubes of fading light.
The Feral Hound's massive body froze mid-fall, then shattered into silver shards before dissolving.
Ashen blinked.
The swamp was gone.
In its place stretched a vast white chamber—sterile, pristine, stretching so far it seemed endless.
His squadmates lay sprawled on the polished floor, groaning as their systems rebooted.
Renn pulled his helmet off, coughing, Jaro clutched his broken leg, pale and sweating.
The simulation was over.
A metallic groan filled the chamber as a door slid open at the far end.
From it stepped a man in a long black coat, his boots echoing sharply across the floor. His presence carried authority sharper than any blade.
Instructor Kieran.
His eyes, cold gray under the harsh lights, scanned the cadets like a blade slicing flesh from bone.
"Pathetic."
The word hung heavy in the room.
He walked past Renn without a glance, past Jaro who clenched his jaw, past Lira who bowed her head, shame burning in her face.
"You," he said, gesturing to Renn, "walked into the simplest trap." His gaze snapped to Lira. "You—wasted half your magazine firing in panic. Did you even analyze its movement? No." His eyes fell on Jaro. "And you—suicidal bravado. A hound is not slain by blind courage."
Jaro grit his teeth, fists trembling.
Kieran stopped in front of Ashen.
For a long, terrible moment, he said nothing. The silence stretched until even the faint hum of the room felt loud.
Then, with the barest incline of his head, he said:
"…Good job as always."
Kieran turned, cloak swaying, his voice echoing as he strode toward the far doors.
"Next batch."
The steel doors hissed open, light spilling in.
Cadets from the waiting squad glanced nervously as they marched in.
Ashen remained still, visor hiding his face.
But behind it, a faint spark flickered in his eyes.