In the war against the void, everything came down to two distinct classifications: Titan class and Horde class. The danger level of either was marked strictly by their grade—a rising scale from grey to white, to green, to blue, and finally the terrifying threshold of purple.
Titan class creatures, as the name suggested, were massive humanoid monsters that towered over the field. Horde class was the non-humanoid, animalistic swarms that flooded the terrain in chaotic packs, acting as a hive mind controlled by a single queen or horde-leader.
That was the baseline rule everyone learned.
Whenever the inverse ever occurred—when a Titan class manifested with an animalistic, beastly form, or a Horde queen stepped out looking horrifyingly humanoid they were significantly stronger, possessing raw, terrifying power that could rip through defensive lines before anyone had a chance to react.
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Panic erupted down the defensive line as soldiers screamed at the top of their lungs to close the gates. The shouting echoed off the heavy walls, sharp and desperate, because a blue-grade titan class was simply too much.
The captain gritted his teeth and asked the warden, "What about the kids down below? If we close the gates, their awakening would be affected negatively."
"If that titan hits," the warden said, his voice cold and devoid of any comfort as he stared into the dark approach, "there won't be a hole-city left to protect."
The order to close the gate echoed through the lines, heavy and urgent. Slowly, the massive steel circular doors began to groan against their tracks, bringing the gap down to fifty percent.
Then a hand—several meters wide, pale and grotesque—slammed into the opening.
The heavy iron doors groaned under sudden, tremendous pressure. Instead of sliding shut, the metal screeched against itself as the massive hand forced the gate back open, grinding the tracks to dust. A massive, weeping face shoved its way into the gap, eyes swollen and leaking dark moisture, its mouth wide in a silent, monstrous wail.
The soldiers froze. Panic locked their limbs; the sheer terror of the sight held them pinned to the spot.
"Fire! Open fire now!" the warden roared, breaking the paralyzing silence.
Muzzle flashes erupted along the battlements. Rounds battered the creature's weeping face, but the concentrated gunfire only made its terrible crying worse. The titan slammed its body against the threshold in agony, shaking the cavern's vault. Massive sections of the ceiling cover and jagged rock shattered overhead, dropping tons of stone deep into the platforms hundreds of miles below. Each impact point pulverized the ground, squishing hundreds of awakening kids in an instant beneath falling debris.
The crowd shattered. The awakeners dispersed instantly, pure, unadulterated panic spreading through the platform like wildfire as millions of bodies surged in every direction.
Even as they sprinted for their lives, their bodies were still fighting to hold the surging energy in—the raw power continuing to build up inside them while their feet scrambled across the shaking stone floor. Axel ran hard or tried to, his boots digging into the slick ground. Staying on his feet was the only rule that mattered right now; falling in a stampede like this meant getting trampled to death in seconds.
All around him, heavy machine guns thundered, and artillery shells roared, their deafening blasts rattling his teeth and filling the air with choked dust.
The real problem was his position. Axel was stuck far closer to the center of the massive platform than the edges. The exit routes at the perimeter felt miles away, buried behind a wall of screaming bodies, falling stone, and heavy gunfire.
The wealthy kids didn't move alone; armored soldiers surrounded them in a tight, impenetrable ring, clearing a path at the cost of everyone else. The guards shoved the surrounding kids aside roughly, slamming them into the hard floor and stomping right over anyone who fell. And that armored wall was heading straight toward him. There was no time to feel pity, or to think of anyone else—only survival.
The crowd was so densely cluttered together that moving even a single step forward felt like pushing through thick mud. Axel fought for leverage, his muscles straining against the crush of bodies as he forced his way through the press.
He glanced back over his shoulder. The pristine, untouched heads of the wealthy kids were only a few rows behind him, floating effortlessly through the chaos behind their escort. Right below them, the agony of their path followed closely. The hurt groans of the kids being roughly shoved aside grew louder, followed by the terrible, occasional sound of bone crunching under heavy metal boots.