RATATATATATATA
BLIK. BLIK. BLIK.
Gunfire ripped through the air in violent, uneven bursts as officers unloaded everything they had into the creatures spilling from the portal outside the Jolly King on 2nd Street.
The smell of burnt powder mixed with blood and city air. Shell casings bounced and skidded across the asphalt. People screamed. Someone else fell and didn't get back up.
Civilians scattered in careless panic. People tripped over curbs, slammed into cars, ran straight into traffic. Fear ruled everything now, pure, mindless terror that drowned out thoughts.
The first three dog like creatures had barely cleared the portal before more followed. Then more after that. They came through in a steady manner, fur matted, eyes glowing, weapons already raised. Claws tore through riot shields like they were made of plastic. Teeth snapped shut on bodyarmor, on limbs, on throats.
Bullets hit them and bounced off.
Not slowed, not deflected, but just bounced off of the creatures.
It was like watching gravel thrown at an oak tree, violent, loud, and useless. One officer emptied his magazine into a charging beast at point blank range. The thing didn't even flinch. It crashed into him, slammed him to the ground, and tore him apart with brutal strikes.
The police line folded.
Men were cleaved in half. Bodies were dragged across the pavement, screaming until voices went silent. Some officers fired until their guns clicked empty before being overwhelmed. Others froze, minds breaking as they watched partners die inches away.
Phones came out everywhere. 911 calls flooded the air but none connected.
Screens flickered, then went dark. Radios crackled once, twice, and died. Whatever that portal was, it didn't just tear a hole in reality, it swallowed communication whole. No signals, no calls and no help.
Those who could run did so without looking back.
Those who couldn't… They hid wherever they could, behind cars, inside stores, under tables. Covering their mouths so they wouldn't scream as they watched or heard people being ripped open some feet away.
Fear crushed their thoughts but survival became instinct.
[Spirit]: Call out… for them…Complete this Trial!
Aryn stood somewhere else.
The shift was instant. No falling or warning. One moment chaos and the next…. Stillness.
Tall trees surrounded him, ancient, thick, and their trunks wide and scarred. The canopy above was dense, but thin beams of sunlight cracked through, lighting the ground in uneven patches of gold. The air was humid, heavy with the smell of damp earth, moss, and something older Aryn didn't recognize.
At the center of the clearing stood a massive stone. It rose taller than a man and was covered in handprints.
Blackened prints, as if burned into the surface. Red ones, smeared like blood. Blue. Green. Almost every color stained it like graffiti. Dozens of them were layered together, overlapping, reaching upward like generations trying to leave proof that they had existed.
The stone didn't feel dead. It felt aware when it was in ones view.
Aryn swallowed and turned slowly, his heart pounding hard enough to hurt. His body felt solid again. No sounds of gunshots. No screaming and and no pain. Just the sound of insects and distant wind moving through leaves.
Something moved at the edge of the clearing, a tall orc stepped out from the treeline.
He was green skinned, lean but built like tough sailing rope. Every step was quiet, deliberate. Tribal tattoos ran along his arms, shoulders, and chest. Some simple, others complex, etched deep into his skin. His eyes were keen and assessing.
They locked onto Aryn.
The orc's gaze traveled from Aryn's feet to his face, lingering, narrowing.
"Hkumn? Grejh jgk glurn?!"
The language hit Aryn like a wall of noise, grunts and then snapped into place.
[Spirit]: Orc is in your blood…
[Spirit]: Embrace your blood…
Then it clicked. The moment the spiritual voice brushed his senses, the orc's words stopped being noise and simply made sense.
"I asked you," the orc barked, his voice rough and commanding. "What are you doing here, human?"
"I—I don't know," Aryn said quickly, lifting his hands. "I swear. One second I was—"
The orc stepped closer, then stopped. His nostrils flared and something changed in his expression.
"You…" the orc said slowly. "You are Orc."
Aryn froze. "...What?"
"But not fully," the orc continued. "This scent… this blood. Lost tribes. You are Surface born."
"I'm human," Aryn said, backing away. "I was just in Atlanta—"
"These matters are not mine to explain," the orc interrupted. "You must speak with a War Chief"
He straightened, placing a clenched fist over his chest.
"I am Gregk Ravenfoot of the Fen'Rukan. Orc Scout. Newly blooded."
"And you?" he asked.
"Aryn," he said. "A-Aryn Stone."
Gregk turned toward the trees and slammed into something invisible.
A ripple of pale yellow light spread outward from where his hand touched, pushing him back like a solid wall. Gregk frowned, testing it again. The same result.
"…Of course," he muttered. "Only one of the Lord's line would trigger this."
He turned back to Aryn, eyes hard.
"You must defeat me," Gregk said plainly. "Only then may I leave this circle. Your trial begins now."
Aryn's stomach dropped and before he could respond... Gregk vanished and the air shifted.
In seconds, pain exploded across Aryn's jaw as a fist smashed into his face, sending him crashing to the ground. He saw stars overtake his vision.
Gregk was gone again.
Aryn groaned, spitting blood from the cuts in his mouth and he forced himself upright. Fear burned hot in his chest but beneath it, something else stirred. Anger, unbridled agitated anger. Something Aryn was familiar with, but only let it loose when he needed.
"Alright," he growled, planting his feet. "Fine. I'm not just gonna take an as—"
Gregk appeared interrupting Aryn, already moving. His fists came fast. Aryn raised his arms, blocking what he could. Each impact sent jolts of pain through his bones. His forearms ached, bruises blooming instantly.
Gregk pressed him hard, relentless, and efficient. Then he swung wide with a hook.
Aryn reacted on instinct and a bit of experience from many school brawls.
He ducked under the blow, spun behind Gregk, and jumped. His arm locked around the orc's neck. His other hand braced against Gregk's head as he squeezed with everything he had. He wasn't taking any chances in a fist fight, right now.
Gregk roared and slammed backward, driving both of them into the ground. The impact rattled Aryn's teeth but he didn't let go. Seconds stretched. Gregk's struggles slowed and then stopped.
Darkness immediately swallowed Aryn whole again, and he vanished.
He came back to noise. There was gunfire, screams and burning air. Now good ol' "infiltrated by monsters," Atlanta.
Aryn barely had time to breathe before something massive slammed into him from behind and hurled him across the street. He crashed into a bus stop post, wood Squeaking as the structure cracked and collapsed around him.
He hit the pavement hard and realized he wasn't in much pain. Even that feeling of being sick had disappeared.
His body still ached though, but it felt wrong, muted even. It was like distant pain that should have been worse but wasn't. That realization scared him more than the hit as he scrambled to his feet and ran.
One of the beasts followed him, it was as fast as it looked. They tore into an alley, trash scattering underfoot but to a dead end.
Aryn screeched to a stop, his chest heaving. His eyes darted wildly until he spotted a rusted metal pipe near a pile of garbage. He grabbed it with shaking hands.
"I'm not dying like this!" he shouted, forcing the words out. "You want it!?"
The creature stepped forward slowly, savoring it. Its grin stretched wide, teeth slick with blood. Aryn's thoughts began to spiral.
'What if it ripped my arm off?'
'What if it bit me in half?'
'What if—'
Suddenly , his arm burned with a familiar pain.
The tribal band tattoo flared, heat searing his skin and a new mark formed above it, small, detailed, and precise. It was a totem. A dagger, a bow and a lion's head watching forward.
[Spirit]: You grow stronger with each conquered trial…
[Spirit]: Summon efficiency has increased…
Aryn felt warmth spread along his tattooed left arm, it was steady, not painful, like standing near a fire.
[Spirit]: Summon available, summon the Orc Scout…!
"Summon the damn scout then!" Aryn yelled in desperation, half of himself not believing the voice echoing in his ears.
Light answered his desperation. A pale, misty glow formed in front of him. A glowing wolf totem flared beneath heavy boots.
Gregk appeared, knives already in hand as he eyed the creature growling at them.
"A Gnoll," he said calmly. "Lesser. But a Gnoll all the same."
He vanished and the fight truly began.