No second-guessing, no fear, just steps to take.
Outside, the launcher arms rotated into position.
Hydraulic clamps locked around the pod’s fra.
00:42...
He tilted his head slightly, eyes still watching.
This was the real test.
The one no simulation could copy.
Here, mistakes had weight. The beast zones weren’t just coded images. They weren’t designed to teach. They were just... real.
And for soone like him, that was enough.
The last few seconds ticked down.
A low rumble passed through the chamber as the first pods began to drop.
One by one.
Each vanishing into the ground launch tunnel.
No flashes or noise.
Just silence.
Until it was your turn.
Ethan’s pod slid forward.
00:12...
He didn’t grip the armrests or tense his legs.
He just closed his eyes for a mont.
Thought of the twins.
Of the house.
Of Lilith, sitting with tea in the lounge.
Then opened his eyes again.
00:05...
00:04...
00:03...
00:02...
00:01...
Drop Initiated.
anwhile, far from the launch site, deeper into the eastern edge of the forbidden zone, the world was different.
Trees were taller here, but not in the way normal forests grew. Their branches twisted into angles that didn’t match gravity.
Bark peeled back like scales. The leaves were long, flat, and glowed faintly when touched by the wind.
Everything was damp. The air was heavy. Every sound that moved through the forest ca out slower, like it had to crawl first.
In the middle of the twisted clearing, there was a stone altar.
It looked like it had been shoved out of the ground. The stones were sharp and uneven, held together by roots and dried blood.
Weird symbols were carved into the sides. They didn’t shine, but they gave off a strange feeling, like they were alive if you didn’t look at them directly.
Around the altar, people stood.
Dozens of them.
They wore white robes that were dirty and stained. Their faces were mostly covered, but their eyes showed—and they didn’t blink.
They didn’t speak normally.
Their chanting started low, like a growl rolled across a drum.
But it kept growing louder. Slower. Steady.
At the edges of the clearing, people in black cloaks dragged in bodies.
So of them were humans.
So were beasts.
All of them were still breathing.
One man scread. His face was pale, and his wrists glowed with chains. A second later, soone hit him hard. The scream stopped.
The cultists didn’t even look.
They were focused on the altar.
A woman stepped forward. Her robe was brighter, with gold thread on her sleeves. Her lips moved as she chanted, and her teeth were stained.
Behind her, others carved lines into the dirt.
Circles, marks, shapes that didn’t make sense unless you saw them from above.
Then they lit torches.
But the flas weren’t orange.
First green, then blue, then sothing else—like fire made out of bone.
Guards stood at the edge of the clearing. Fully ard, silent, and still like statues.
They weren’t cultists.
They were underworld rcenaries. The kind of people who took jobs no one else wanted. Guarding shady deals, smuggling cursed relics.
Silencing witnesses. Cruel work, dirty pay—but they never asked questions.
They weren’t here because they believed in the cult.
They were here because soone paid them well enough to stand still, no matter what they saw.
None of them flinched. None of them spoke.
Even when one of the beasts—a huge one, the size of a truck—let out a roar that shook the trees.
Nobody reacted.
A figure in a cloak walked up and stabbed a silver spike into the back of its neck.
The beast twitched, then dropped.
Its blood sizzled as it hit the altar stone.
The flas rose higher.
The air got colder.
Then, behind the altar, sothing started to rise.
It wasn’t human, not completely.
It had a long body and a bent back. Its skin looked like wet paper stretched over bones. It moved like smoke, like it didn’t belong here.
It had no eyes.
Just a mouth.
Long, too long, filled with teeth that moved.
The cultists all dropped to their knees.
The chanting stopped.
The silence was worse than the noise.
The creature leaned forward. Its body cracked as it moved. It looked at the altar, then at the people tied down nearby.
It didn’t say anything.
But everyone heard it.
The woman in gold gasped. Her mouth opened wide, and her eyes rolled back. She dropped to the ground and started laughing. The sound was dry and broken.
The air around the altar started to bend.
The light twisted.
Heat reversed.
Two of the torches went out without being touched.
Then the ground started bleeding.
Not from wounds. Not from pipes.
It just bled.
Thick black liquid poured up from cracks in the dirt. Dark roots followed. They writhed like snakes, hungry for sothing.
The roots wrapped around the stone. Around the bodies. Around the altar.
So guards stepped back.
So raised their guns.
None fired.
They had been warned.
No matter what happened, never interrupt the Offering.
More prisoners were dragged in.
A woman tried to crawl away.
She didn’t get far. One of the cloaked n stomped on her back. She stopped moving.
Another man spat at the cultists.
They slit his throat. He didn’t even make a sound.
His blood floated upward.
The roots grabbed it.
The creature’s mouth opened a little wider.
And one word filled the air.
It wasn’t spoken.
But everyone heard it.
"More."
The woman in gold snapped upright. Her back arched. Her mouth opened, and she scread—a high, broken sound.
It echoed far into the trees.
Birds took off—but they didn’t fly right. They had twisted wings, and so dropped before getting far.
The flas leaned toward the altar now, like they were being pulled in.
The roots grew longer. They spread past the stones. Past the guards. Into the forest.
The trees moved.
So bent to the side.
So turned toward the altar, as if they were watching.
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