Kyle stared at the beast's head—already beginning to rot in the merciless heat—and felt nothing. No pride. No fear. No rush. Just empty victory stacked on empty victory until the mountain of conquests meant less than dirt beneath his feet. One week ago, this nightmare with jaws that could snap bone like twigs would have sent him scrambling up the nearest tree.. Now? He'd killed it with a casual ease.

  Fucking pathetic.

  The noon sun beat down through gaps in the canopy, turning sweat to salt crystals across shoulders broader than when he'd arrived, across scars that told stories of growth paid for in blood and pain and dead monsters. Kyle wiped his blade clean on a waxy leaf, the motion automatic, and thoughtless.

  From atop their elevated camp—a fortress of bone and vine and calculated violence—he watched Marcus and Dex move about their morning routine. They'd transformed just like he had: street soldiers to jungle lords, prey to predators, boys who died on concrete to men who conquered the impossible. The jungle had rewritten them cell by cell, death by death, level by level. And now they'd plateaued. Stagnated. Stopped.

  "Another day in paradise," Marcus called up, voice flat with boredom disguised as contentment. Blue energy flickered between his fingers then vanished—a nervous habit he'd developed since his awakening, like a smoker flicking a lighter without lighting up.

  "Paradise? Nah." Dex stabbed a piece of meat from yesterday's kill, the motion carrying more force than needed. "Paradise would have something worth killing."

  Their camp stood testament to how far they'd come: weapons rack holding thirty different implements of death, each named and categorized by the system; armor stands displaying plates harvested from beasts that once terrorized them; storage crates filled with materials sorted by potential use; fire pit that never went cold; raised sleeping platforms that kept them dry during sudden downpours. A kingdom built on corpses and skill points and stubborn refusal to die a second time.

  Kyle dropped down, landing with skilled ease that absorbed impact through bent knees and balanced weight. "We need more." The words hung between them, obvious yet necessary, like pointing out blood to butchers.

  "More what?" Marcus asked, though he already knew the answer. They all did.

  "More everything." Kyle settled cross-legged by the fire, fingers absently sorting through four energy beads—silver spatial, black void, purple-silver gravity, yellow-silver time. "More power. More levels. More understanding of what the fuck this place wants."

  Dex snorted, tearing into meat. "What it wants is easy. Death. Blood. Entertainment for whatever sick fuck designed this place." He gestured with his knife, indicating the jungle stretching endlessly around them. "Question is what do we want?"

  The silence that followed carried weight of possibilities neither voiced nor dismissed. Home? Revenge? Dominance? Answers? All felt simultaneously essential and insignificant in a world that rewarded only one thing: becoming more dangerous than everything else.

  "Level nine for One week," Marcus stated, his tone clinical, detached. "No matter what we kill, no matter how we train. The Cosmore holding out on us."

  "Bending us over and fucking us dry," Dex clarified, his crude analogy capturing their collective frustration. They went silent on that for a while.

  Kyle moved to the edge of camp where stone met open air, where their elevated perch offered both safety and visibility. The position felt right—exposed enough to pull energy from surrounding atmosphere, secured enough to maintain focus without watching for predators.

  Legs folded beneath him, Kyle settled into a meditation posture he'd developed through trial and error over a few days of experimentation. Back straight, hands resting on knees, eyes half-closed but alert to peripheral movement.

  Breath in. Breath out. Rhythm established like heartbeat, like blood flow, like the constant cycle of kill-absorb-strengthen that defined existence in the Cosmore.

  The others watched silently as Kyle turned attention inward, seeking the core that housed his cosmic energy. Finding it required navigating layers of consciousness: past surface thoughts, past emotional currents, past physical awareness, down to the strange metaphysical space where abstract became concrete.

  There—a sphere of compressed potential floating in mental nowhere, swirling with four distinct colors that never quite mixed. Silver spatial energy. Black void energy. Purple-silver gravity. Yellow-silver time. Each representing forces fundamental to reality itself, each granting power normal humans couldn't comprehend, each taunting him with possibilities just beyond reach.

  Kyle pushed awareness deeper, examining the core's structure with senses that existed beyond physical. The sphere appeared solid yet permeable, bound yet expandable, complete yet hungry for more. Its surface rippled with unseen currents, tiny cracks appearing then sealing themselves, the entire structure humming with contained power that whispered, Not enough. Never enough. More. MORE.

  If I can just—

  He reached with intention rather than hands, willing the core to expand, to accept more, to grow beyond current limitations. At first, nothing happened. The sphere remained unchanged, content within boundaries that felt arbitrary yet immovable.

  Push harder.

  Kyle's physical body tensed without conscious command, sweat beading across forehead and chest as internal struggle manifested externally. Marcus shifted, concerned but unwilling to interrupt. Dex's hand moved to knife hilt automatically, ready to defend against threats internal or external.

  Something gave way—not breaking but yielding, like ice cracking beneath cautious weight. Cosmic energy rushed in, filling spaces that hadn't existed moments before, expanding capacity that defied previous limits. The sensation burned through every nerve ending simultaneously, thousand suns exploding beneath his skin, thousand black holes collapsing veins into singularities. Pain without pain. Pleasure without pleasure. Change without change.

  Two hours passed in subjective instant and eternal moment, Kyle's consciousness stretched across temporal dimensions even as his body remained motionless except for shallow breathing. Somewhere distant yet immediate, he registered Dex pacing, Marcus taking notes, sun crawling across blue sky like dying snail.

  Then—completion. The core settled into new configuration, expanded yet stable, stronger yet unchanged in fundamental nature. Information blossomed in Kyle's mind.

  Core Type: Cosmic (Basic 2)

  Energy: 606/606

  His eyes snapped open, vision briefly overlaid with cosmic patterns before reality reasserted dominance. "It worked." The words tasted like victory, sharp and sweet and promising more.

  "What worked?" Dex demanded, crouching before him, eyes scanning for changes. "You've been sitting there jerking off mentally for hours while we grew old watching."

  Marcus approached more cautiously.

  Kyle stood, legs tingling from prolonged stillness. "I expanded my core. Pushed it to evolve from Basic 1 to Basic 2. More potential, more power."

  Dex's eyebrows rose, interest immediate and predatory. "How?"

  The explanation came haltingly—words inadequate for process based in sensation and intention rather than sequence. Kyle described energy currents, visualization techniques, the feeling of barriers yielding to persistent pressure.

  Marcus attempted first, settling into mirror of Kyle's meditative posture. His approach reflected his nature—methodical, calculated, step-by-step progression toward goal. Forty minutes later, he emerged, blinking rapidly as frost crystals formed then melted on his eyelashes.

  "Core: Basic 2. Energy max from 190 to 209." His tone remained neutral, but tight smile betrayed satisfaction.

  Dex struggled more, his impatience working against the delicate adjustments required. Kyle walked him through the process three times before Dex's jaw locked, a vein pulsing at his temple. His fingers curled into fists against his thighs. His breathing shifted—shallow, then deep, then ragged. A muscle twitched beneath his right eye as his nostrils flared. The tension in his shoulders built until they nearly touched his ears, then locked there, rigid as stone.

  "Let it come," Kyle murmured, recognizing the signs.

  Dex's head jerked once in acknowledgment, teeth grinding audibly. Sweat beaded along his hairline, trickling down his temples in thin rivulets. His eyes squeezed shut tighter, lids trembling with the pressure. A low sound built in his throat—not quite a growl, not quite a moan.

  Minutes stretched. Neither Kyle nor Marcus moved.

  When it happened, red light flickered briefly beneath Dex's skin—there and gone so quickly Kyle almost missed it. Dex inhaled sharply through clenched teeth. After what felt like 2 hours—longer than either Kyle or Marcus had needed—Dex's core expanded from 200 to 220.

  His eyes snapped open, pupils contracted to pinpoints. He surged to his feet in one fluid motion, pacing three tight circles before stopping, hands opening and closing at his sides.

  "Had to go to a dark place," he muttered, voice rough as stones dragged across concrete. His gaze fixed on something distant, beyond the camp's perimeter. "Old memories. Five-Eight stuff. Night my mom—" He cut himself off, jaw muscle jumping. "Only way to make it work. Had to get angry. Really angry."

  Light motes appeared suddenly, hovering around each of them before sinking into flesh with familiar cold fire sensation. Not enough for level increase, but progress nonetheless.

  "I’ve notice something." Marcus said. "Energy maximums correlate with affinity ratings. Kyle's at 38.4 with 606 maximum. Mine's 11 with 209. Dex's 12.6 with 220."

  "Meaning your cosmic affinity is worth three of ours combined," Dex concluded, clapping Kyle's shoulder with mixture of pride and envy unique to brotherhood forged through competition. "Of course it is."

  Kyle absorbed this information, turning implications over in mind that accelerated with every level gained. "Higher affinity rating means higher potential. But something's still holding us back from ten."

  The decision formed naturally, inevitable as water finding lowest point. "We need to go deeper."

  "Deeper means danger," Marcus observed, neither objecting nor agreeing. "Unknown variables."

  "Been stuck in our comfort zone," Kyle continued, gesturing toward familiar hunting grounds. "Killing the same beasts, running the same routes. We need to push boundaries."

  Dex grinned, the expression all teeth and hunger. "About fucking time."

  Kyle's eyes drifted to their map—crude markings on cured hide showing territories explored, water sources, dangerous areas. Beyond their current boundaries stretched empty space, the unknown promising either advancement or death. Perhaps both.

  "First light tomorrow," he decided, feeling the others' agreement without needing confirmation. "Full gear, extra supplies. We don't come back until we've leveled up."

  —----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  They prepared methodically, each motion refined through experience bought with blood and pain. Weapons checked, Kyle inspected his twin spears—The Spine and The Fang—checking bindings and edges with meticulous attention. Armor adjustments, Kyle’s armor plates strapped to his chest, arms, and shins sat firmly against his skin for maximum protection without sacrificing mobility. Water skins filled and tested for leaks. Dried meat packed, some strange fruits that didn't poison them. Map reviewed, escape routes memorized, contingency plans established.

  Kyle felt old rhythm returning—the symphony of preparation for violence that had once accompanied corner takeovers and territorial expansion back in Spanish Harlem. Different context, same dance. Only difference was stakes—losing territory meant losing face then, losing terrain meant losing life now.

  "We good?" he asked, final check before departure.

  Marcus nodded, frost energy swirling between fingers then vanishing. Dex smiles promising bloodshed with child enthusiasm for Christmas morning.

  The blue sun crested the horizon as they descended from their elevated sanctuary, packs filled with dried meat, water skins, and medical supplies harvested from various creatures. Kyle led them southeast, toward territories they'd glimpsed but never properly explored—a region where the vegetation grew denser, darker, the sounds more varied and strange.

  Three hours into their journey, they encountered a pack of scaled canines—the same beasts that had nearly killed them during their first days in the Cosmore. Now these creatures scattered at their approach, yellow eyes wide with recognition and fear. The predators had become prey in the face of something more dangerous: humans who had adapted, evolved, transformed.

  "Remember how those fuckers almost got us?" Dex laughed, watching the pack disappear into undergrowth. "Now they run like scared puppies."

  "Everything runs now," Marcus noted, scanning the surrounding jungle with calculating eyes.

  Kyle nodded, satisfaction mingling with disappointment. Becoming top predator had been goal for weeks, achieved goal now hollower than expected. "Makes finding worthy targets harder."

  Leading them onward through increasingly unfamiliar terrain. The vegetation changed subtly—leaves growing larger, colors shifting toward deeper purples and blues, fungi sprouting in patterns that seemed almost deliberate. The air hung heavier here, each breath requiring slightly more effort, each step pressing against increased resistance.

  Mid-day brought them to a clearing where massive, three-toed tracks marked the soft earth—significantly larger than any they'd encountered before. Kyle crouched to examine them, fingers hovering just above indentations deep enough to indicate tremendous weight.

  "Something big," he murmured, excitement stirring in his chest. "Very big."

  They followed the tracks for another hour before spotting their creator—a behemoth that resembled the deer-like creatures they regularly hunted, but scaled to nightmare proportions. Its shoulders stood taller than Dex, its antlers sweeping upward like gnarled trees, armored plates covering flanks that could have sheltered all three men from rain.

  "Finally," Dex whispered, eyes gleaming with anticipation. "Something worth killing."

  They spread out automatically, falling into the hunting formation that had become second nature. Kyle flanked left, Marcus right, while Dex maneuvered for the frontal approach. The creature remained oblivious, drinking from a stream with its massive head lowered—vulnerable despite its size.

  Dex struck first, his spear flying true to embed itself between armored plates at the beast's throat. Blood fountained from the wound, dark green against green moss as the creature reared in pain and surprise. Kyle and Marcus launched their attacks simultaneously, spears finding soft spots beneath forelegs and behind jaw.

  The fight ended almost anticlimactically—One minute of violence concluding with the behemoth collapsing onto its side, breath rattling from lungs the size of oil drums. Kyle delivered the mercy stroke, blade sliding between vertebrae to sever the spinal cord. The beast's eyes—intelligent in a way that momentarily disturbed him—clouded over as life departed.

  "Too easy," Dex complained, retrieving his spear with a disgusted jerk. "Didn't even fight back properly."

  Kyle stood over their kill, satisfaction mingled with disappointment. The creature should have been challenging—would have been impossible for them two weeks ago—yet had fallen to their coordinated attack without landing a single blow in return.

  We've outgrown this place, he thought, watching blood soak into hungry soil. Or at least this part of it..

  The white motes appeared, swirling briefly before disappearing into their chests. Not enough to level up. Not even close.

  "This isn't working," Kyle said, cleaning his blade on a broad leaf. "We need something different. Something more."

  They continued deeper into unexplored territory, taking down three more predators with increasing ease. Each kill brought motes but less satisfaction, growing frustration. By late afternoon, even Dex's enthusiasm had waned, his attacks becoming perfunctory, almost disrespectful in their casualness.

  A little deeper and Dex killed again, this time creature resembling a cross between scorpion and wolf, speared in its back as it fled. The casual slaughter highlighted his growing brutality—no challenge sought, no sport considered, just death delivered without hesitation or ceremony. Kyle noted the change without judgment.

  Kyle sensed it first—a subtle shift in the energy around them, a concentration of power unlike anything they'd encountered before. His head turned toward the source, eyes narrowing as he tried to pinpoint the direction.

  "You feel that?" he asked, voice lowered instinctively.

  Marcus nodded, already oriented toward the same point. "Southeast. Strong."

  "Very strong," Dex agreed, previous frustration vanishing beneath new focus. "Different too. Not like the animals."

  They stood motionless, three predators suddenly alert to the presence of something that might, for the first time in days, present actual challenge. Kyle felt anticipation rise in his chest, tempering it with caution born from street corners and jungle shadows equally.

  "That's where we're going," he decided, voice steady despite the excitement buzzing through his veins. "Whatever it is, it's what we've been looking for."

  The jungle seemed to darken around them as they changed course, heading directly toward the energy source. Trees grew closer together, undergrowth thickening until each step required deliberate effort.

  Finally, Kyle thought, fingers tightening around his spear. Something that doesn't run.

  —----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  Blood Kingdom

  Kyle crouched at the edge of a massive root system, honey-brown eyes narrowed as he surveyed what lay below—not random beasts wandering through undergrowth, not simple predators hunting prey, but something that twisted his gut with recognition and revulsion simultaneously. The creatures had built a camp. Hollowed trees converted to sleeping quarters, spaces beneath gigantic roots transformed into storage areas, broken branches arranged in patterns too deliberate for accident. The sight jolted something within him—memories of homeless encampments beneath Spanish Harlem overpasses, of humanity clinging to civilization's edges with whatever materials fate provided.

  Ain't just dumb animals. These motherfuckers making a home.

  Careful not to disturb the vines hanging thick around their concealment, Kyle signaled Dex and Marcus closer. Three heartbeats passed in silence, their bodies pressed against bark older than any of them could fathom, the smell of rotting vegetation and something muskier—a sharp, feline scent—rising from the settlement below.

  "Look there," Kyle whispered, pointing toward the center where a clearing had been trampled flat. "Organization. Territory."

  The beasts—twelve, maybe fifteen of the same feline-like nightmares that had claimed JT during their first days—moved about the space with purpose. Their rippling gray fur cascaded along spines, blending into shorter black across flanks. Muscles shifted beneath hide with every movement, power barely contained within forms built for violence. Some carried objects in their curved claws: shining stones, colorful feathers, bits of armor plates harvested from other creatures. They arranged these treasures in piles before sleeping areas, each collection apparently belonging to a specific beast.

  Kyle tensed when one creature rose suddenly on hind legs, standing nearly eight feet tall, and hissed at another approaching its collection. The sound scraped against his eardrums like steel on concrete.

  "Mine!" The word—clear, harsh, unmistakable—cut through the jungle's background noise.

  Kyle's blood froze. His eyes flicked to Marcus, whose face had gone slack with shock, then to Dex, whose jaw muscle twitched beneath stubbled skin.

  "Did that thing just—" Dex began.

  "Speak," Marcus finished, voice barely audible. "English."

  Another confrontation erupted near the edge of the clearing. One beast backed away from a larger one, its head lowered in submission.

  "Back!" The larger beast growled, claw sweeping toward its territory.

  Kyle's mind raced, connections forming between disparate facts. The way these creatures moved with intention. The way they collected and categorized objects. The way they communicated—not just with sounds but with words.

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  "Maybe it's not English," he whispered, the thought breaking through shock. "Maybe we hear it as English because whatever brought us here is translating. Like our brains are rewired to understand."

  Marcus nodded slowly, eyes never leaving the scene below. "Translation matrix. Makes sense."

  Their whispered theorizing cut short when Kyle noticed movement at the far side of the encampment. A large beast emerged from beneath a canopy of woven branches—its gait distinctive, its movements authoritative. When it turned, Kyle heard Dex's sharp intake of breath beside him.

  The left eye socket held nothing but scarred tissue.

  "That's him," Dex hissed, body coiling tight as if preparing to spring. "That's the one that got JT."

  Kyle laid a restraining hand on Dex's forearm, feeling the muscles beneath skin bunched hard as stone. "Easy. Watch first."

  Left-Eye moved through the camp with the confidence of authority, other beasts yielding space as it passed. Not the leader—Kyle realized as he watched—but something like a lieutenant. The creature stopped before the largest structure, a shelter built against a massive boulder, and made a sound halfway between a growl and a purr.

  From the shelter emerged an even larger beast, its coat darker than the others, decorated with what appeared to be primitive ornaments—bones hung from sinew around its neck, bright flowers woven into the fur along its shoulders. This one moved with languid certainty, the kind that comes from absolute dominance. Around it clustered three smaller beasts with lighter coloring—females, Kyle guessed, watching how they groomed the dominant male's fur.

  "Their leader," Marcus murmured. "Looks comfortable."

  Kyle studied the leader's behavior, noting how it accepted the ministrations of the females while maintaining awareness of everything happening in the camp. When two subordinates began fighting over a shiny object—something metallic that caught the filtered sunlight—the leader merely flicked its gaze in their direction. Both combatants immediately separated, heads lowered.

  Power recognized. Power respected. Same rules everywhere.

  The beasts lacked weapons—no spears or blades or clubs—but Kyle understood with sudden clarity that they didn't need them. Their bodies were weapons: paw-like hands ending in claws longer than his fingers, jaws that could snap bone with casual ease. He'd seen what those teeth had done to JT, had heard the scream cut off mid-sound when jaws closed around throat.

  A commotion drew his attention to the opposite side of the camp, where two nearly identical beasts faced each other, fur bristling along their spines. Low growls emerged from both, escalating in volume until they became roars that shook leaves and scattered smaller creatures from nearby trees.

  "Take!" one snarled, gesturing toward something clutched in the other's claws.

  "Mine! Go!" the second responded, backing toward its sleeping area.

  What happened next took only seconds but seared itself into Kyle's memory. The challenger lunged, teeth bared. The defender met the attack head-on, claws raking across the challenger's shoulder. They collided in mid-air, a tangle of fur and fangs and fury that hit the ground with earth-shaking force. The camp erupted into howls as other beasts gathered to watch, forming a circle around the combatants.

  Blood spattered the trampled soil—dark green against dull brown—as claws found purchase in flesh. The challenger, wounded but not defeated, unleashed a final desperate attack. And something happened.

  Red energy, faint but visible even from Kyle's elevated position, flickered across the challenger's body. For a heartbeat, its movements blurred with unnatural speed, its strike landing with force that sent the defender tumbling backward.

  "Holy shit," Kyle breathed. "See that?"

  Marcus nodded, eyes wide. "Energy manifestation. Rage affinity, like Dex's."

  The defender, momentarily stunned, recovered quickly. It rose, its own energy flickering to life—similar red wisps trailing from its claws. The brief flare of power dissipated almost immediately, but in that moment, both creatures moved faster, struck harder, than seemed possible for their size.

  The dominant male watched from his position of comfort, showing no inclination to intervene. Left-Eye, however, circled the fight with obvious interest, head tilting as if studying the energy manifestations.

  "They're awakening," Marcus said, voice tight with implications. "Or starting to."

  The fight ended as suddenly as it had begun, the defender driving the challenger to the ground, teeth closing around its throat—not to kill but to establish dominance. The challenger went limp, submission immediate and total. When released, it slunk away, defeat written in every line of its posture.

  Kyle's mind worked through what they'd witnessed. These creatures weren't just animals—they communicated, they built, they established hierarchy. And now, some showed signs of the same energy awakening that had transformed him and his brothers.

  "How much time before they're all awakened?" he wondered aloud. "Before they're as strong as us? Stronger?"

  Dex's breathing had grown shallow, his eyes never leaving Left-Eye. "Don't matter. Won't let them get that far."

  The silence that followed carried weight—decision crystallizing from observation. Kyle exchanged glances with Marcus, reading in his friend's expression the same calculation he felt forming in his own mind. If these beasts fully awakened, gained control of the energy flaring within them, the jungle's balance would shift. The hunters might become hunted once more.

  Kyle reached for the silver spatial bead at his neck, feeling its cool smoothness between his fingers. Four energy types where others had one—both gift and burden. The knowledge that had come with his awakening whispered through his consciousness: power implies purpose; imbalance suggests design.

  "We take them now," he decided, voice low but firm. "While we still have advantage."

  "Hell yes," Dex's agreement came instantly, hunger evident in every syllable.

  Marcus studied the camp layout once more, mentally mapping approaches and exits. "Perimeter guards first. Silent. Then strike from three points."

  They withdrew from the observation point, moving backward into denser foliage where they could speak more freely. Kyle felt the familiar pre-fight tension building in his gut—not fear exactly, but heightened awareness of mortality, of consequence, of the thin membrane separating life from whatever came after.

  "I want Left-Eye," Dex said immediately, no room for negotiation in his tone. "Been waiting for this since day one."

  Kyle nodded, understanding the need for closure, for revenge, for balancing the cosmic ledger. "You take center. Marcus and I flank. You hit Left-Eye, we handle perimeter, then converge on the leader."

  The plan formed with the efficiency of men who had fought together since childhood—first with fists in schoolyards, then with knives in alleyways, finally with bullets on street corners. Different context, same brotherhood, same understanding of each other's movements and intentions.

  "We take positions around the perimeter," Kyle continued, drawing their approach in the dirt with his finger. "Signal when ready. Take down guards simultaneously, then move into camp from three directions."

  Dex rolled a red energy bead between his fingers, the rage within it responding to his proximity, swirling faster beneath its surface. His voice dropped to a register Kyle recognized from their darkest moments back in the Five-Eight. "No mercy. We kill them all."

  Kyle hesitated only briefly. The beasts were intelligent, communicating, building. But they had also killed JT without hesitation. They would kill again if given opportunity. The rules of the Cosmore remained brutally simple: kill or be killed, grow stronger or die.

  "No mercy," he echoed, decision made.

  They separated, each moving toward pre-designated positions around the camp's perimeter. Kyle circled wide, keeping to shadows, avoiding patches of ground that might announce his presence with snapping twigs or rustling leaves.

  Three perimeter guards patrolled the camp's edges—if "patrolled" was the right word for their meandering vigilance. They moved from position to position, occasionally sniffing the air, ears swiveling toward jungle sounds that warranted investigation. Kyle stalked the nearest, measuring distance, wind direction, the creature's patterns of attention.

  When all three hunters had reached positions, Kyle gave the signal—a soft bird call they'd practiced during previous hunts. The response came immediately from both Dex and Marcus, confirmation they were ready.

  Kyle drew his knife—Beast Bite gleaming dully in filtered sunlight, its edge honed sharp enough to part flesh with minimal resistance. The guard nearest him paused, head lifting as if sensing something amiss. Too late.

  Kyle struck from behind, blade driving upward beneath the jaw. The creature's death came silently, muscles locking then failing as Kyle eased its body to the ground. Across the camp, he glimpsed two other guards falling simultaneously—Marcus and Dex executing their kills with identical efficiency.

  Phase one complete. Phase two—the assault—would allow no such quiet.

  Kyle wiped his blade clean on leaves, resheathed it, and drew his twin spears—The Spine and The Fang. He closed his eyes for one heartbeat, reaching inward to the core of energy nestled beneath his sternum. Silver spatial energy answered first—the most responsive of his four affinities—flowing through veins, muscles, nerves.

  The world shifted subtly, perception expanding as space itself yielded to his influence. Not enough to warp reality, but enough to enhance awareness of distances, trajectories, opportunities for movement. He added threads of yellow-silver time energy, feeling it interweave with spatial, creating a composite that altered his personal relationship with time's flow. Again, nothing so dramatic as stopping or reversing seconds—merely an enhanced processing speed that made external events seem fractionally slower.

  Kyle rolled his shoulders, feeling power settle into his frame. Across the camp, Dex's outline blurred slightly with red rage energy, while Marcus gleamed with frost-blue highlights barely visible in daylight.

  The signal came—Dex's war cry shattering jungle silence, raw and savage and vengeful. The sound of brotherhood deferred but not forgotten, of debt unpaid until this moment. Kyle and Marcus launched simultaneously from opposite sides of the camp, their synchronized attack leaving the beasts no time to organize defense.

  Kyle burst from cover, spears extended before him. The first beast turned toward the commotion—Dex charging through center camp—and never saw Kyle coming. The Spine punched through scaled hide at the junction between shoulder and neck, driving deep into vital tissue. The beast collapsed, dead before comprehension could register in its amber eyes.

  Kyle yanked his weapon free with a twist, already locating his next target. Three beasts had turned toward him, registering this new threat from their flank. Their confusion lasted only seconds before instinct took over, turning them into coordinated predators once more.

  The largest of the three charged, covering ground with shocking speed considering its bulk.He sidestepped the rush, The Fang sweeping in a horizontal arc that opened the beast's side from shoulder to hip. Dark green blood sprayed across trampled dirt, across Kyle's legs, across nearby vegetation.

  No time to finish that one—its wound would bleed it out soon enough. The remaining two attacked in tandem, one high, one low, instinctively coordinating to overwhelm his defenses. Kyle channeled more energy through his system, feeling the strain as silver and yellow-silver threads burned through muscle tissue, demanding payment for power borrowed.

  He met the high attacker with The Spine, weapon blurring faster than unenhanced human could move, striking with force greater than his frame suggested possible. The spear point took the beast through its throat, momentum carrying the dying creature past Kyle to crash into undergrowth.

  The low attacker connected, shoulder ramming into Kyle's knees, the impact enough to stagger him despite enhanced reflexes. He rolled with the blow.

  Kyle's back hit earth, breath expelling from lungs, but his legs were already moving, knees drawing up to chest then extending with explosive force into the beast's midsection. The creature flew backward, giving Kyle space to regain his feet. He closed distance while the beast was still regaining its own balance, The Fang driving downward through the top of its skull with bone-splitting force.

  Two down dead. One bleeding out. Kyle's mind cataloged victory without emotion, already seeking new targets.

  The noise was tremendous—roars of pain and rage, the wet sounds of weapons finding flesh, the crash of bodies hitting dirt and vegetation. Kyle spotted Marcus on the opposite side of camp, moving between targets, his spear a blue-tinted blur that left death in its wake. The frost energy running through him lent an eerie stillness to his movements—economy of motion.

  And at the camp's center, pure chaos reigned.

  Dex had found Left-Eye immediately, targeting the beast with single-minded fury that transformed him into something more than human, something carved from rage and honed by hatred. Red energy cascaded across his body, turning hair into crimson flame, skin into burnished copper. His spears—Soul Splitter and Blood Letter—moved with such speed they seemed to multiply, attacking from impossible angles, drawing screams of pain from the creature that had stolen their brother.

  Left-Eye fought with the desperation of a cornered predator, claws seeking purchase in Dex's flesh, teeth snapping at limbs that blurred just beyond reach. The beast's own rage energy flared in response to threat, but it was untrained, uncontrolled—a candle held against Dex's inferno.

  Kyle tore his attention away, focusing on his own section of the battlefield. The camp had devolved into pandemonium—beasts running in all directions, some attempting to flee, others turning to fight what they'd initially mistaken for easy prey. Kyle intercepted two trying to escape, the yellow silver Time energy letting him cross distances with supernatural speed.

  The Spine took the first through its spine—a killing blow delivered with surgical precision. The second managed to rake claws across Kyle's bicep before The Fang found its heart. Pain flared hot and immediate, blood welling from four parallel gashes where the beast's natural weapons had penetrated his armor.

  Sloppy. Getting overconfident. He adjusted his grip, compensating for injured arm.

  Across the clearing, the dominant male had finally engaged, roaring challenge that shook leaves from branches overhead. The beast charged toward Marcus, recognizing him as the most methodical threat. Three females accompanied their leader, transforming a single opponent into a coordinated hunting pack.

  Kyle altered course immediately, moving to support his brother. His damaged arm throbbed in counterpoint to his heartbeat, but he pushed the pain down, compartmentalizing it like he'd done with so many injuries before. The silver spatial energy burned hotter, compensating for physical limitation, pushing his body beyond normal human constraints.

  He reached Marcus just as the dominant male pounced, massive form launching from ten feet away to close distance in a single bound. Marcus rolled beneath the attack, frost energy making his movements impossibly fluid, but one of the females caught him with a glancing blow that opened his cheek to bone.

  Kyle drove The Spine into the female's flank, the weapon penetrating from one side through to the other. The creature convulsed once, then collapsed. Kyle spun immediately, bringing The Fang up to meet a second female's charge. The blade caught under her jaw, driving upward into brain tissue.

  Marcus had regained his feet, blood streaming down his face but stance solid, spear held before him in perfect defensive position. The dominant male circled, watching them with intelligence that seemed to grow with each passing second.

  "Together," Kyle called, not needing to elaborate further.

  They moved as one unit, attacking from two angles. The beast responded with shocking agility, body twisting to avoid both strikes. Kyle felt his spear graze hide but fail to penetrate. The dominant male countered, claws slashing toward Kyle's throat with killing intent.

  Kyle bent backward, the silver spatial energy making impossible contortion possible. Claws passed inches from his face, close enough that he felt air displacement against his skin. Marcus seized the opening, driving his spear toward the beast's exposed side. The tip penetrated but failed to reach vital organs, instead lodging between ribs.

  The dominant male roared—pain and rage mixed in equal measure—and tore away, the spear ripping free with a spray of green blood. It backed up, reassessing, fury evident in every line of its massive frame. Kyle and Marcus advanced steadily, no communication needed to coordinate their attack.

  The beast surprised them both by charging directly into their weapons—impaling itself deeper to gain proximity. Momentum carried all three to the ground in a tangle of limbs, weapons, claws. Kyle felt hot breath against his face, teeth snapping inches from his throat. The beast's weight pinned his right arm, The Spine trapped beneath its bulk.

  Marcus struck from beside them, driving a knife into the creature's eye. The beast's scream hit Kyle like physical force, the sound reverberating through his skull, scrambling thought. He managed to free The Fang, driving it upward with all his strength into the soft tissue beneath the beast's jaw. The blade punched through into brain matter, ending the scream with brutal finality.

  Kyle shoved the massive corpse aside, pulling himself free with effort that sent fresh pain lancing through his injured arm. He rose to his feet, scanning the battlefield for new threats, for brothers requiring aid.

  Most of the beasts lay dead or dying. A few had escaped into the jungle—five, maybe six if Kyle counted correctly. Not enough to regroup, to mount counter-attack. Not enough to matter.

  At the center of camp, Dex still fought Left-Eye—not from necessity but from choice, drawing out the conflict, making the beast suffer for JT's death. The outcome was never in doubt. Left-Eye fought with primal fury but lacked the focused rage, the enhanced capabilities, the weapons that made Dex unstoppable.

  Kyle watched as his brother finally ended it—Soul Splitter driving through Left-Eye's chest with force that lifted the beast from its feet before pinning it to earth. Death came seconds later, but only after Dex had whispered something into the creature's ear—words too quiet for Kyle to catch but whose meaning he understood perfectly.

  Debt paid. Balance restored. Brother avenged.

  The camp fell silent except for their breathing—heavy but controlled, the exhalations of victors surveying conquest. Kyle met Marcus's eyes across the blood-soaked clearing, both acknowledging what they'd accomplished without need for words. Then both turned toward Dex, who stood motionless over Left-Eye's corpse, eyes closed, hands still gripping his spear.

  "It's done," Kyle said simply.

  Dex nodded once, sharp and final. When he opened his eyes, something had changed in them—a weight lifted, a burden set down after carrying it too long. "Yeah," he agreed. "It's finally done."

  Kyle turned his attention to the dominant male's massive corpse. Such kills would provide materials for better armor, better weapons, advancement in levels that would push them closer to whatever endpoint the Cosmore intended for them.

  But before they could begin harvesting, movement caught Kyle's eye. One of the dying beasts—not quite dead despite mortal wounds—began convulsing, its body arching unnaturally. Red energy sparked across its form, more intense than anything they'd witnessed during the earlier confrontations.

  Dex ran over, red energy flaring and stomped its skull in.

  —----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  Movement from a hollowed tree trunk caught Marcus's attention—subtle, barely perceptible against post-battle chaos. His spear lifted instantly, trained by habit on potential threat; blue frost energy rimmed the weapon's edge, throwing ghostly light across his blood-splattered face. Then he paused, head tilting slightly while his eyes narrowed.

  "Hold," Marcus called, his tone tight with something Kyle couldn't immediately classify. "Dex, over here."

  The sound carried across the camp—now a graveyard of feline nightmares, green blood soaking into soil—and Dex responded with predictable irritation. His hands and forearms dripped verdant gore, the red energy that had blazed around him during combat now reduced to ember-like flickers..

  "What?" Dex's voice scraped raw from battle cries and exertion, and the word carried all the subtlety of a brick through glass. He strode toward Marcus, stepping over fallen bodies with casual disregard, still riding the high of vengeance achieved. "Find something worth keeping?"

  Marcus didn't answer, instead crouching before the hollow, spear lowered but not discarded. His body blocked Kyle's view of whatever had caught his attention, creating mystery where clarity should reign.

  What the fuck now? Kyle thought, fatigue and satisfaction competing for dominance as he crossed the clearing. Every step through death-churned mud brought fresh squelching sounds, reminded him just how thoroughly they'd exterminated the settlement.

  When Kyle reached them, Marcus shifted sideways, revealing what had triggered his call. Inside the hollow, pressed against rotting wood as if it could somehow phase through solid matter to escape, crouched a juvenile beast—not quite cub but nowhere near adult size. Its eyes—wide golden orbs dominated by pupils blown wide with terror—darted between the three men, whiskers trembling with each shallow breath it took.

  "Missed one," Dex said, grinning without warmth or humor while lifting his bloodied spear. The weapon, still baptized in Left-Eye's heart's blood, caught dull light like an executioner's blade awaiting the signal. "I got this."

  Marcus raised his hand—palm out, fingers splayed—directly across Dex's intended path. "No."

  The single syllable hung between them, simple yet charged with meaning beyond its sound.

  "The fuck you mean 'no'?" Dex demanded, disbelief radiating from him. His jaw muscle twitched, the tell that had preceded countless violent outbursts. "These fuckers killed JT. This one's just smaller."

  "It's a child." Marcus's voice rarely carried emotion beyond calculated neutrality now, which made the current edge all the more notable. His eyes never left the trembling creature, which had curled tighter into itself with each word spoken. "A cub."

  Kyle watched the exchange, his own reaction split in ways that surprised him. Part of him agreed instantly with Dex—the only good beast was a dead beast, especially these speaking, tool-using monsters. But another part—one he thought long buried beneath concrete and violence and survival at any cost—recognized something in Marcus's stance that whispered of lines not yet crossed, boundaries worth preserving.

  "Marcus," Kyle said, the name buying time. "It'll grow up. Maybe come after us."

  "Maybe." Marcus nodded, acknowledging the possibility without surrendering his position. His hand remained extended, creating a barrier between Dex's rage and the cowering cub. "Or maybe not. Depends what we teach it."

  Dex's laughter barked harsh and sudden across the clearing, startling nearby scavenger birds into temporary flight. "Teach it? What, you planning on raising it like some fucking pet? Have you lost your fucking mind?"

  "Maybe I found something instead," Marcus replied, quiet intensity undercutting Dex's volume. The cub's eyes fixed on him now, some primitive recognition that perhaps, among these terrible predators, one might offer defense. "Maybe we all lost something back on that corner on 58th. Something we need to find again."

  Kyle understood then—saw what Marcus was reaching for, what he'd recognized in this moment. Mercy. Compassion. The ability to see suffering and choose not to increase it, even when doing so came at no personal cost. Qualities that had no place in Spanish Harlem's streets, where weakness invited exploitation and violence was currency. Qualities that might, paradoxically, be more valuable in this world that demanded endless killing to survive.

  But Dex saw none of this, perceived only threat postponed and vengeance incomplete. "Kill it," he ordered Kyle, transferring responsibility when Marcus proved immovable. "You know I'm right. These things are smart enough to remember. To hate. We leave it alive, we're just creating future problems."

  The cub shrank deeper into its hollow, somehow understanding the death sentence in Dex's tone if not his exact words. Its ears flattened against its skull while paws covered its face in futile self-defense—mimicking the way a human child might hide behind hands to make monsters disappear.

  "Kyle—" Marcus began.

  "Shut up," Dex cut him off. "You've gone soft. Both of you. These are the same things that took JT. Same species, same killers. Just smaller packaging." His knuckles gripped around his spear shaft. "So either help me finish the job, or get the fuck out of my way."

  They'd stood like this before—a triangle of tension with violence hovering between them.

  Kyle rolled a silver spatial bead between his fingers, buying seconds while weighing implications. The choice before him balanced more than the cub's life—it set precedent for what they would become in this place that continuously reshaped them through blood and advancement. Kill everything that might threaten. Show no quarter. Leave nothing alive that could conceivably become an enemy. Or recognize that conquest without compassion created only wasteland, that strength without restraint birthed only tyrants.

  What would JT do? The thought came unbidden, surprising Kyle with its clarity. JT, who'd once stopped them from beating a rival dealer to death, saying, "He's down, that's enough. We ain't animals." JT, whose moral compass had somehow survived their environment mostly intact, whose jokes often hid wisdom they'd been too young and angry to appreciate.

  "We take it with us," Kyle decided finally, the words falling like stones into still water. "Not as pet. Not as prisoner. As..." He struggled, trying to articulate concepts without appropriate vocabulary. "As a student. Witness. It sees what we can do, what we choose to do. That's power too."

  Dex stared at him, disbelief written across features suddenly foreign despite years of friendship. "You're fucking with me," he said, shaking his head. "Both of you gone crazy at once. These things killed JT. They'd kill us all if they could."

  "And we killed them," Kyle replied, gesturing across the carnage surrounding them. "Everyone who could've raised a claw against us is dead. We Made our point." He met Dex's gaze without flinching. "Now we choose what happens next."

  For one heartbeat, Kyle thought Dex might attack—might redirect the rage that had burned through Left-Eye toward his brothers instead. The tension hummed between them.

  Then something unexpected happened. The cub whimpered—a sound so pitiful and familiar it momentarily transported them back to Spanish Harlem, to hiding places they'd each found during childhood when adult rage threatened to consume them. The sound carried no language but conveyed universal fear—the terror of small things at the mercy of larger powers.

  Dex's stance shifted subtly, just enough for Kyle to register release of killing intent. His jaw worked side to side before he spat on the ground, his disgust plain but his objection withdrawn. "Your pet, your problem," he growled, turning away. "But when it grows up and rips your throat out, don't expect me to avenge your stupid ass."

  Kyle exhaled slowly. Marcus's shoulders lowered fractionally—relief rather than relaxation—before he turned his attention back to the cub.

  "How do we get it out?" Kyle asked, studying the hollow's narrow opening. He crouched beside Marcus, trying to appear less threatening despite blood covering nearly every visible inch of his body. "Can't reach in there without losing fingers."

  "We wait," Marcus replied simply. "Give it time. Space." His eyes tracked the cub's movements as it shifted slightly, golden eyes darting between them. "It's not leaving while we're all looming over it."

  They backed away several paces, allowing the cub room to potentially emerge on its own. Dex positioned himself farther away, busying himself with gathering useful materials from the camp, his back deliberately turned to demonstrate continued disapproval.

  While they waited, white motes began rising from the cooling corpses—the familiar energy particles that granted them power from kills. The lights swirled like fireflies above green blood and stiffening bodies, more numerous than any previous hunt had yielded, and mixed among them, Kyle noticed something different—blue motes, fewer but somehow more substantial, rising exclusively from the beasts that had demonstrated energy awakening during their observation.

  "Blue ones," he whispered to Marcus, pointing.

  Marcus nodded, eyes widening slightly. "Different quality. Different value."

  When the motes finally converged, streaming toward the three humans in rivers of white and blue light, the sensation surpassed all previous advancements. Cold fire seared through Kyle's veins. Wounds closing instantly.

  [Congratulations, you have reached Level 10]

  [Class Selection available]