Elion knew that roar.

  That loud, scary roar kicked his survival instincts into high gear, and he seriously thought about just packing up, moving somewhere far away, and living a laid-back life as a farmer.

  His stomach was in knots. “You can’t be serious…” His voice was shaky as he looked at Ronan. "Don't tell me..."

  The cowboy took a moment before he replied. His face was unreadable, but his nod was all the confirmation Elion needed.

  “The same ones that chased us before we teleported,” Ronan said.

  A shiver ran down Elion’s spine. The same ones? He wondered what they were.

  Tigers? Lions? He wasn’t exactly an expert on jungle predators, but one thing was certain—it didn’t matter what they were.

  If it had claws, fangs, and a habit of roaring like it just escaped from a horror movie, that was more than enough reason for him to start trembling violently.

  Last time, at least, they’d had the distraction of the club—blaring music, flashing lights, screaming clubbers running in every direction. A real mess.

  But now?

  They were alone.

  No streets. No buildings. Just trees. A whole lot of trees. And shadows stretching for miles in every direction.

  They had nowhere to hide.

  And as the distant roars echoed through the forest, rattling the ground beneath them, another thought nagged at the back of Elion’s mind—something so obvious he couldn’t believe he hadn’t realized it earlier.

  Where the hell were the authorities?

  If a single firework went off in the city center, cops would swarm the place in minutes. But now? Total silence.

  Like, seriously.

  Where were the helicopters, the sirens, the news choppers? Where was the absolute panic that should be shaking the city to its core?

  'Is someone suppressing the information?' That was Elion's first thought.

  Only if he knew how chaotic it actually was back in the city.

  The club was obliterated. The streets? Littered with bodies. People had lost their minds—especially the victims' families, the clubbers who had survived, and anyone unlucky enough to have witnessed a seven-foot-tall, blood-drenched bear-man going full horror movie in downtown New Orleans.

  The city was already in meltdown mode.

  Police were overwhelmed. SWAT teams had been deployed. Evacuations were happening. There were rumors of a military lockdown.

  But here they were. In the woods. Disconnected from all of it.

  No sirens. No searchlights cutting through the trees. No news alerts flashing about the terrifying mutant monsters rampaging through the city.

  Something wasn’t right.

  Elion’s fingers twitched, itching to check his phone. If he had even one bar of signal, he was sure his inbox would be flooded with frantic messages from his mom, government warnings, and chaotic headlines.

  Maybe it was for the best that he couldn’t check. He could already imagine the social media meltdown.

  "BREAKING NEWS: GIANT WERE-BEASTS ATTACK NEW ORLEANS!"

  "LIVE FOOTAGE: WHAT THE HELL IS THAT THING?!"

  "IS THIS THE END OF TIMES?! EXPERTS WEIGH IN!"

  And the worst one…

  "LOCAL MAN ACCIDENTALLY LEFT HIS GROCERIES AT A CRIME SCENE. AUTHORITIES BAFFLED."

  Elion groaned, running a hand down his face.

  Great. He was going to jail. Or worse.

  And yet, despite all of this, Jordan stretched his arms, looking more excited than afraid.

  “So… do we take these guys head-on, or what?”

  Elion blinked. 'Did he just—?'

  Ronan turned to Jordan so slowly, so deliberately, that even Elion—who wasn’t the target—felt secondhand fear and... embarrassment.

  His expression was pure, absolute blankness. No frustration. No disbelief.

  Just… void.

  Like he was re-evaluating his entire life choices and how they had led him to this exact moment.

  Elion could physically see Ronan losing brain cells just by existing near Jordan right now.

  Jordan, still blissfully unaware of the level of stupidity he had just spewed, blinked. “What?”

  Ronan exhaled sharply, rubbing the bridge of his nose like he was experiencing the worst migraine of his life. Then, finally, he looked at Jordan like he had just asked if they could defeat a tank with a spoon.

  “You just unlocked your First Mana Gate,” Ronan said, voice dangerously calm.

  Jordan nodded. “Yup.”

  “You have zero training in the Beast Slaying Arts.”

  “Correct.”

  “You can’t control the energy running through you.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And now—you wanna fight a beast-man?”

  Jordan grinned. “I mean, yeah? Gotta start somewhere—”

  “How?” Ronan cut him off. “You planning to punch them to death?”

  Jordan hesitated. “…I mean, is that an option?”

  Ronan let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “You’d need the strength of a Titan just to make them flinch.”

  Elion froze. Titan? As in, the fifty-foot-tall, building-smashing monstrosities from movies and anime?

  If that was the standard, then he was about several zeroes short in the strength stat.

  Only if he knew that the Titans Ronan was talking about were nothing like the ones he’d seen on screen.

  He cleared his throat, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut. “So, uh… what do we do instead?”

  Ronan’s eyes flicked toward the cave entrance.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  “We move,” he said. “Fast. And we don’t stop until we’re out of their range.”

  Jordan frowned. “I thought you said they could track our scent?”

  “They can.” Ronan’s tone was clipped. “But they have a range. If we put enough distance between us, we’ll be out of their hunting zone."

  "And right now?” He glanced at them. “That’s our best shot.”

  Elion’s stomach churned. “And if we don’t get out in time?”

  Ronan’s smirk was slow, sharp, and absolutely not reassuring. “Then you’ll get to find out exactly how quickly a human body can be ripped apart.”

  Jordan let out a very nervous laugh, already backing up toward the cave entrance. “Right. Okay. Moving sounds great. Let’s do that.”

  No one needed to say anything else. The three of them started to run.

  The second they started sprinting, Elion felt something was totally different.

  His legs? Not burning.

  His lungs? Not screaming for air.

  He glanced at Jordan—who looked thrilled.

  “Dude!” Jordan whooped. “We’re so fast!”

  And yeah. They were.

  Their feet barely touched the ground. Their strides stretched twice as long as usual. They weren’t running. They were flying.

  Well, at least to them, they felt that way.

  Elion was about to yell something stupid, but then he noticed Ronan. The cowboy was much faster.

  Ronan was coasting, jogging effortlessly, while Elion and Jordan were tearing through the forest like caffeinated track stars.

  "Don't get too excited," Ronan warned. "Speed is important, but control is essential."

  Elion barely had time to process that before he saw Ronan doing something weird.

  Every few strides, the cowboy would casually toss something behind them. Small pinches of powder, barely visible in the low light.

  At first, Elion didn’t think much of it. But then, Ronan frowned. His usual lazy confidence was gone.

  And that’s when Elion knew something was wrong.

  “Okay… what’s wrong?” he asked, still running.

  Ronan didn’t answer immediately. His eyes flicked behind them.

  Then, finally, he exhaled sharply. “They’re still chasing us.”

  Jordan, still riding his speed high, huffed. “Yeah, no kidding.”

  Ronan shook his head. “No. Normally, they should’ve stopped.”

  Elion’s breath caught. “Stopped?”

  Ronan kept his stride, his voice growing sharper. “Once we put a few hundred meters between us, the chase should’ve ended."

  He paused for a few seconds before adding, "Besides, the powder I used is meant to disrupt their ability to track us.”

  Elion’s pulse spiked. “And it’s not working?”

  Ronan’s jaw tightened. “It rarely fails.”

  Jordan shot them both a look. “Or… maybe rarely failing just happens to include right now?”

  That’s when the forest behind them exploded.

  Three massive, broad-shouldered ape-men barreled into view, their thick fur glistening under the moonlight.

  Jordan skidded to a halt, pointing.

  “WHAT THE HECK?! I thought the roars were from a tiger or something! But monkeys?!”

  Elion, despite the absolute terror of the moment, corrected him. “Not monkeys. Apes.”

  Ronan smirked. “Same thing. Lower-tier beasts.”

  Then, the largest ape-man roared.

  Jordan’s grin vanished. “Yeah. That doesn’t make me feel better.”

  Now, all of them completely stopped and stood still.

  Not because they wanted to. Not because it was a good idea. But because the three massive ape-men standing in front of them made stopping the only option.

  Elion’s pulse pounded in his ears. His body screamed to run, but his feet refused to move. Not this time.

  The largest ape-man took a step forward, its deep-set yellow eyes gleaming in the moonlight. Its fur bristled as its lips curled into something vaguely resembling a grin.

  Then, it spoke.

  “Ronan Cross.” The voice was guttural, thick with something ancient and primal. “Do not meddle with the Lord’s plan.”

  Elion’s stomach plummeted.

  They could talk? He wasn’t sure why that surprised him after everything, but it did. Instinct told him that the easier-to-handle beast-men should only growl, snarl, scream—not speak in full sentences like a mafia enforcer delivering a death threat.

  If they were like this? It meant that they were as strong as the bull-man.

  Jordan tensed beside him, but Ronan?

  Ronan didn’t flinch.

  He met the ape-man’s gaze with that same lazy, unbothered look, one hand resting casually on his revolver. Not a single hint of worry.

  Then he smirked. “And if I don’t want to?”

  The ape-men growled low in their throats.

  Ronan tilted his head, his voice mockingly casual. “What now? You apes gonna stop me?”

  The largest ape snarled, taking another step closer, but Ronan still didn’t move.

  Instead, he let out a slow, deliberate exhale. “Funny thing…” He glanced at the beast’s claws, at its sharp, bared teeth. “Every beast-man who’s told me that? They’re all dead now.”

  The air shifted.

  The weight of those words hit hard, and for a second, the apes hesitated.

  Elion swallowed, his hands tightening into fists.

  Jordan, despite his usual tendency to let his mouth run, said nothing. He was locked in, focused.

  The beasts growled, their fury rising, but Ronan remained as still as a statue.

  Then, the cowboy glanced at Elion and Jordan. “Well, I think this is a good training.”

  Elion’s breath hitched.

  “Training?” Jordan echoed, blinking. “Like, right now? Against them?”

  Ronan nodded once.

  Jordan took a moment to process that. Then he smiled. He was waiting for this moment. "Are you going to let us use the Beast Rings?"

  Ronan shook his head. "Without the rings for now."

  Elion's thoughts were all over the place. Going bare-handed against a beast-man? Just a few hours ago, that would’ve sounded like the dumbest idea ever.

  But then he thought about the First Crafter.

  He thought about the war—the way beasts had ruled humans like they were nothing. He remembered the slaughter, the fear, and the way humanity had fought back.

  And something inside him shifted. He still felt fear. Of course, he did.

  But now?

  There was one more thing going on. Something that gave him some guts.

  Jordan clenched his fists, his usual grin nowhere to be found. His breathing was steady, his stance solid. For once, he wasn’t just talking.

  He was ready.

  Because if he could take down something like this—if he could go toe-to-toe with a beast-man—then The Grand Tarung?

  He would win it. No doubt.

  Elion, on the other hand, wasn’t thinking about glory. This wasn’t about tournaments. This wasn’t about proving himself.

  This was about survival.

  Because if he couldn’t fight here—if he couldn’t face this?

  He wouldn’t make it, not in this world.

  He exhaled sharply, then nodded.

  Jordan nodded, too.

  Ronan, seeing both Elion and Jordan finally ready, reached into his dimensional storage.

  Elion still had no idea how that worked. One second, Ronan’s hands were empty—the next, he was pulling out a metal pipe.

  But not just any metal pipe.

  It was etched with strange, glowing symbols, pulsing faintly like it was alive.

  Ronan tossed it at Jordan. “Here.”

  Jordan caught it midair, immediately testing the weight. “Oh, yeah. This’ll do.” His grin was back, but there was an edge to it now—more focused, more serious.

  Ronan, meanwhile, drew his revolver.

  Elion blinked. "Wait."

  "Jordan got a weapon. Jordan got a cool, glowing, possibly magic metal pipe. That means…" he added.

  Elion held out his hands expectantly. His turn.

  But Ronan?

  Ronan gave him nothing.

  Elion frowned. “Uh… Ronan?”

  Nothing.

  He cleared his throat. “I mean… you do see that I’m standing right here, right?”

  Ronan barely glanced at him. They were lucky because the ape-men were wary of Ronan. That’s why they could just chill and chat like this.

  Elion’s fingers twitched. “Like, I could also use a pipe. Or, you know, a gun. Guns are cool. Guns work.”

  Still nothing.

  Finally, Ronan exhaled sharply as if this was exhausting for him. He didn’t even look at Elion when he spoke.

  “You’re not getting a weapon.”

  Elion froze. “…Excuse me?”

  Jordan snorted. “Oof. Tough luck, buddy.”

  Elion turned to Ronan, hands up in disbelief. “Wait—so he gets a magic pipe, and you get a gun. And I get… what? Moral support? A motivational speech?”

  Ronan finally looked at him. “You get a job.”

  Elion was seconds away from throwing a tantrum. “Oh, well, in that case—”

  “You’re the bait.”

  Elion’s brain short-circuited. “I’m sorry. The what now?”

  Ronan nodded toward the ape-men. “You distract. Jordan attacks. Simple.”

  Jordan brightened. “Oh, I like that plan.”

  Elion whirled on him. “Of course you do.”

  But Ronan wasn’t done. He tilted his hat back slightly, his tone as casual as ever. “While you two handle one, I’ll take care of the other two.”

  Elion felt his soul leave his body. “You’re taking two?”

  "I can handle all three, but that’ll just eat up my time showing you about the Mana Gates," Ronan said, his smirk getting sharper.

  He then added, “You wanted a weapon? Here’s your answer. Your speed and wisdom.”

  Elion let out a strangled sound. “That’s not a weapon! That’s a death sentence!”

  Jordan twirled his pipe experimentally. “Nah. We got this.”

  Elion stared at him. “Jordan. We don’t even know what ‘this’ is yet.”

  But Jordan’s eyes were locked onto the nearest ape-man, his grip tightening on the pipe. “We have no choice.”

  For once, he wasn’t just running his mouth.

  And maybe, just maybe… Elion wasn’t so against this anymore.

  Because deep down, he knew—there was no running from this world anymore.

  He had seen the First Crafter’s memories. He had seen what humans had endured. And if they had fought back against monsters like these, then…

  Maybe it was Elion's turn to follow suit. He took a deep breath and steadied himself. Then he gave a nod.

  Jordan smirked. “That’s the spirit.”

  The ape-men snarled, muscles coiling as they prepared to charge.

  Ronan didn’t even blink.

  Instead, he tilted his revolver upward, spun the chamber, and smirked.

  “Try not to die.”

  And then, the fight began.