Daylight didn’t rise.

  It switched on.

  A cold white beam cut through the canopy like a surgical lamp.

  The artificial sky—flat, pale, merciless—flooded the forest with light and immediately exposed what the night had tried to hide.

  Blood.

  Not the warm red of a human wound, but a spectrum of fluids and residues: dark, metallic ichor that clung to metal leaves, scorch marks smeared across the soil like someone had dragged burning wires through mud.

  Z-69 stood in the center of it, motionless.

  Shattered Night Reaver remains littered the ground—fur fused with biometal, claw marks gouged deep into metal roots.

  The air reeked of burnt energy, blood, and hot alloy.

  His hands were stained.

  His sleeves were shredded.

  The flesh along his back had sealed in uneven lines, as if repaired by an impatient mechanic.

  The violet crystal embedded in his chest pulsed too quickly—an organ pretending to be calm.

  Ten slid down against a trunk gouged with claw marks and sat hard, the impact making his knees wobble.

  His face was pale, eyes unfocused, like he’d just crawled out of a drowning dream.

  “Did they…” Ten swallowed, his throat raw. “Did they finally leave?”

  Jin bent forward with his hands braced on his knees, breathing like he’d sprinted across a city.

  A hoarse laugh slipped out.

  “If they hadn’t, I’d have died from exhaustion before they got the chance to tear me apart.”

  Ten’s fingers still twitched as if feeling phantom vibrations.

  He stared at the ground, at the broken shells, at the torn fur, and tried to make sense of what they’d lived through.

  “After we ate…” Ten said softly, voice careful, like speaking too loud would bring them back. “They didn’t attack right away.”

  Jin’s eyes were dark. “They were doing it on purpose.”

  Memories resurfaced—hours of scratching at the edge of hearing, shadows that never crossed into full view, tiny disturbances designed to keep them awake.

  The Night Reavers hadn’t just hunted them.

  They’d played with them.

  A torture schedule.

  Z-69 finally spoke, voice quiet and flat. “They waited for the moment our reactions slowed.”

  Ten nodded slowly, as if admitting that made his lungs tighten. “Near dawn. They rushed all at once.”

  Z-69 remembered that surge with unpleasant clarity—the pack moving not like animals but like a coordinated blade, each unit angled to force separation, each feint designed to invite a mistake.

  If the lights hadn’t snapped back on when they did…

  The thought ended itself.

  A mechanical chime sounded overhead.

  A system voice followed, emotionless and absolute:

  “ANNOUNCEMENT: THE PATH TO FLOOR 5 WILL OPEN IN 8 HOURS.”

  “CONTESTANTS MUST REACH THE DESIGNATED LOCATION AND SURVIVE UNTIL THE GATE OPENS.”

  A second later, the forest responded.

  Somewhere deep in the artificial wilderness, a pillar of white-blue light erupted upward, piercing through the canopy and stabbing into the simulated sky.

  It was impossible to miss.

  Ten stared at it, chest tightening. “That’s… really far.”

  Jin glanced down at the timer on his wristband, then up at the beam again. “Eight hours. In this condition.”

  Z-69’s gaze didn’t waver.

  “Let’s move.” he said.

  Ten blinked. “N-now?”

  “Yes.”

  Jin lifted a brow. “No rest? No patching up?”

  Z-69 looked at them both. “We rest when the floor is done trying to kill us.”

  That was the only explanation he offered.

  They didn’t pack—there was nothing worth carrying.

  Their clothes were soaked in Night Reaver blood, a scent so thick it felt radioactive.

  And the forest quickly reacted to that.

  A roar rolled through the trees.

  Not the wet, quiet menace of the Reavers.

  This was heavier. Rougher. A daytime predator waking to a free meal.

  Ten’s shoulders jolted. “That’s not Reavers.”

  Jin’s eyes flicked left and right, reading the way the leaves trembled. “Reavers or not, they smelled us.”

  Z-69 crouched. “Ten. Up.”

  Ten hesitated half a second—then climbed onto Z-69’s back, arms wrapping around his neck with a grip that was equal parts trust and terror.

  Z-69 adjusted his stance like the extra weight meant nothing.

  “Hold tight.” he said.

  Ten’s voice came out thin. “I… I can sense them.”

  “Then we better run fast.” Z-69 replied.

  Jin was already moving ahead in quick bursts, not full speed, conserving for what mattered. “Southeast. Multiple. Fast.”

  The undergrowth behind them exploded.

  A beast the size of a bull tore into view, plates of biometal along its shoulders, jaw crackling with static energy.

  It bit into empty air where Ten’s legs had been a second ago. The snap of its teeth sounded like a steel trap.

  Ten shouted, “Behind!”

  Z-69 accelerated.

  Not sprinting—charging, heavy steps hammering the ground.

  Ten bounced with each stride, jaw clenched so hard it hurt.

  The world blurred at the edges from speed and adrenaline.

  Jin cut ahead, slashing through brush, choosing paths that weren’t paths—routes between trunks where the ground felt slightly firmer, slightly less likely to swallow an ankle.

  The first pursuer lunged again.

  Ten twisted around on Z-69’s back, raised the energy pistol with shaking hands, and fired.

  The bolt struck the beast’s shoulder plate and burst into a bloom of light.

  The monster staggered, not dead, but disrupted—the kind of disruption that mattered in a chase.

  Another roar answered, closer.

  Ten’s voice cracked. “More—left side!”

  A second beast burst out, lower to the ground, long forelimbs digging into soil as it sprinted, its eyes fixed on Ten like prey pinned in a spotlight.

  Jin flickered sideways and smashed its knee joint with a brutal kick mid-stride.

  The joint bent wrong.

  The beast rolled, shrieking.

  But Jin didn’t stop to finish it.

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  Finishing was for safe worlds.

  This world punished you for finishing.

  They ran.

  Branches cut at their faces.

  Metallic leaves rattled overhead like knives being shaken in a drawer.

  The forest tried to funnel them—subtle shifts in terrain, clusters of trunks arranged like a maze. It didn’t feel random.

  It felt curated.

  Ten pressed his palm briefly to Z-69’s shoulder—more for grounding than sensing.

  “The ground ahead—soft. Don’t step on it—there’s a hollow.”

  Z-69 adjusted a half-step, avoiding a patch where the soil looked normal but vibrated wrong.

  Behind them, one of the beasts hit that patch and sank knee-deep, snarling as the ground clamped around it like mud with teeth.

  Jin glanced back, eyes sharp. “Kid’s useful.”

  Ten would’ve laughed if he had lungs to spare.

  The pillar of light grew closer, but so did the sounds behind them.

  A chorus now. Multiple throats. Multiple sets of claws.

  They weren’t just being chased.

  They were being herded.

  Ten realized it first. “They’re… they’re pushing us toward something.”

  Jin’s expression hardened. “Ambush zone.”

  Z-69 didn’t answer, but his crystal pulsed, and his grip tightened on the blade hilt at his hip.

  The ground leveled out.

  The canopy thinned.

  And ahead—between two massive trunks—stood the gate.

  A colossal steel structure driven deep into the earth, high enough that the top disappeared into mist.

  Thick cables ran along its sides like veins. The beam of light rose directly behind it, marking it as the exit point.

  Ten exhaled a shaky sound. “We made it.”

  Jin didn’t relax. “Too easy.”

  Z-69’s eyes narrowed.

  Two shapes stood in front of the gate like statues.

  At first glance, they looked like machines.

  Then the antlers caught the light—long, branching structures of energy-lit alloy that radiated pressure so dense the air seemed to thicken.

  Colossus Stags.

  Massive quadrupeds armored in biometal, hooves sunk into the ground like anchors.

  Their heads moved slowly, controlled.

  Their eyes weren’t animal.

  They were sensors.

  They turned toward the approaching trio as one.

  Ten’s breath stopped.

  Behind them, the roar of daytime predators closed in—near enough that Ten could hear individual breaths.

  Jin’s lips peeled back in a grim smile. “Boxed.”

  Z-69’s gaze flicked between gate, Stags, and the incoming wave.

  Then he spoke, simple and clear: “Lead them in.”

  Jin looked at him. “You want to—”

  “Yes.”

  Jin’s eyes brightened with understanding, the kind you got when survival and violence aligned into one plan.

  He flashed left, making noise—kicking a trunk, slashing brush, drawing attention.

  Ten raised the pistol and fired once—not at a monster, but at a tree near the Stags.

  The bolt detonated into light and crackle.

  A signal.

  The charging predators didn’t think.

  They surged toward the sound like starving dogs.

  The first collision shook the forest.

  A daytime beast slammed into the nearest Colossus Stag and was immediately impaled—antlers skewering it through the chest.

  The Stag flicked its head and threw the carcass aside like trash.

  More beasts rushed in.

  The second Stag stomped.

  The ground cracked.

  The shockwave knocked two predators off their feet.

  It lowered its antlers and plowed forward, turning living bodies into pulp.

  For a moment, the Stags looked unstoppable—two armored gods in a slaughter pit.

  Then the predators adapted.

  They swarmed, climbing, biting at joint seams, attempting to topple the giants through mass and persistence.

  The Stags responded with brute force—ramming, crushing, gore-splitting strikes that sent bodies flying.

  The forest filled with screams and metal shrieks.

  Ten stared, horrified. “They’re killing each other…”

  Z-69’s voice was cold. “That’s the point.”

  Jin flashed in and out of the chaos, striking predators that slipped past.

  “We can’t just wait,” he barked. “The Stags are going to finish the herd and then turn on us.”

  He was right.

  Even as the herd thinned, the Stags remained standing—injured, yes, but not slowed enough.

  And Z-69 could feel something else: the Stags weren’t simply guarding the gate.

  They were guarding it as part of the test.

  A gate you reached wasn’t a gate you earned.

  You still had to fight for it.

  Z-69 stepped forward.

  The nearest Colossus Stag turned its head.

  Its antlers hummed.

  Then it attacked.

  No warning.

  It launched with terrifying speed for something that large, antlers sweeping in a wide arc meant to cut Z-69 in half.

  Z-69 blocked with the Heaven-Sundering Blade.

  The impact threw him backward like he’d been hit by a truck.

  His heels tore trenches in the soil.

  Ten nearly slipped off his back, clinging tighter.

  “GET DOWN!” Z-69 snapped.

  Ten slid off, stumbling behind a trunk.

  Jin shouted, “I’ll keep the small ones off you!”

  Z-69 didn’t answer.

  The Stag’s second strike came down—vertical—aimed to crush him.

  Z-69 sidestepped, blade carving across the Stag’s foreleg seam.

  Sparks sprayed.

  The Stag didn’t flinch, it kicked.

  The hoof hit Z-69’s ribs.

  Bone cracked.

  Z-69’s vision flashed white.

  His crystal surged.

  Regeneration energy flooded his body like fire in reverse.

  And with the energy came the price.

  A voice inside him—soft, hungry, amused.

  Eat**.**

  Z-69 clenched his jaw hard enough to grind teeth. Not now.

  The second Stag joined in, flanking.

  Their coordination was mechanical, perfect.

  One pressured, one intercepted, rotating roles like gears.

  Z-69 was forced to retreat, step by step, into the space where predator corpses lay thick.

  Jin flashed past, severing a beast’s spine mid-lunge, but even he couldn’t stay long.

  The Stags’ strikes forced wide zones of danger.

  Ten fired a shot that distracted a predator about to bite Jin’s ankle.

  Jin didn’t look back. “Good!”

  Ten’s hands shook. “I’m… trying!”

  Z-69 took a hit to the shoulder.

  Another to his back.

  His crystal pulsed faster.

  Each repair surge sharpened hunger.

  The Hunger didn’t scream.

  It waited, patient as disease.

  The first Stag lowered its head, antlers aimed straight at Z-69’s chest.

  A kill charge.

  Z-69 braced, blade angled.

  The Stag hit like a battering ram.

  Z-69’s feet left the ground.

  He crashed through a cluster of roots and rolled, vision fragmenting.

  His wristband flashed red.

  Ten shouted, “Z-69!”

  Z-69 forced himself up.

  His chest crystal vibrated violently, erratic.

  The Hunger’s voice was clearer now.

  You are hurt. You are burning. Let me out.

  Z-69’s hands trembled.

  No.

  If The Hunger took over here, Jin and Ten would become food.

  The Stag charged again.

  Z-69 moved to intercept—And his body hesitated.

  A fraction.

  Too small for a human to notice.

  Big enough for a predator to exploit.

  The antlers struck.

  Z-69 flew.

  He hit the ground hard enough to crater it.

  The crystal erupted with energy.

  His wounds sealed, but his consciousness… slipped.

  For a second, his eyes were red.

  Not green.

  Ten froze. “Oh no…”

  Jin looked up from killing a beast and saw it.

  His expression changed instantly.

  The Hunger rose.

  Not smoothly.

  Like something wearing him stood up.

  The Stags paused—just for a beat—as if even they recognized the shift in threat profile.

  Then The Hunger moved.

  It body blurred forward—not Jin’s speed, but a brutal, direct acceleration then slammed into the first Stag’s chest with bare hands.

  Metal dented.

  The Stag staggered.

  The Hunger laughed—silent, internal—and tore into it.

  No technique. No elegance. Just force and appetite.

  It ripped plating apart and bit into something glowing beneath.

  Energy erupted.

  The Stag screamed.

  The second Stag gored The Hunger from the side, antlers punching into it’s abdomen.

  For a human, it would’ve been a clean kill.

  For The Hunger, it was nothing.

  The Hunger clamped onto the antlers, snapped them with a crack of tortured alloy, and drove a fist into the Stag’s skull housing.

  Something inside shattered.

  The second Stag collapsed.

  The first Stag tried to retreat—one step back, reorient—but The Hunger chased, grabbed its neck plating, and dragged it down.

  Then it tore out the core like ripping out a heart.

  The first Stag died with a trembling, mechanical exhale.

  Silence, sudden.

  The remaining daytime predators—those still alive—paused, sensing the new apex.

  Then they ran.

  Even monsters knew when the table had flipped.

  Ten stood frozen, pistol half raised, eyes wide.

  Jin’s breath was ragged.

  He turned slowly oward The Hunger—who stood amid the carcasses, chest crystal pulsing like a beacon.

  Then The Hunger’s head tilted.

  It smelled.

  Two humans.

  Ten froze. “Z-69…?”

  Jin felt his stomach drop. “Shit. It’s happening.”

  The Hunger took one step.

  Ten’s throat tightened

  He couldn’t even scream.

  Z-69—no, the thing wearing him—moved toward Ten first, because Ten was smaller, weaker, easier.

  Jin reacted.

  He flashed forward and drop-kicked The Hunger in the chest.

  The force threw Z-69’s body backward a step—only a step, but it broke the line.

  Jin landed, immediately planting himself between The Hunger and Ten.

  He immediately grabbed a pack of high-energy dried meat from his belt, Z-69 had given Jin this pack the night before just in case for this situation.

  Jin then forced Z-69’s jaws open and shoved the meat straight into his mouth.

  “CHEW, DAMN IT!”

  “TEN—GET THE CORE. NOW!” Jin shouted.

  Ten flinched like he’d been slapped awake.

  He moved.

  Not gracefully—desperately.

  He ran to the nearest Colossus Stag corpse, hands slick with blood, and pried open a chest seam with shaking fingers.

  The heat inside nearly burned him.

  He found the core.

  He yanked it free.

  It pulsed in his hand like a dying star.

  He sprinted back.

  Jin was grappling Z-69’s body, holding his arms down, muscles trembling from the strain. “Hurry up! He’s stronger like this!”

  Ten shoved the core into Z-69’s mouth.

  The Hunger snarled, biting down.

  Energy flooded in.

  Z-69’s body convulsed.

  The crystal in his chest stabilized—still bright, but no longer erratic.

  The Hunger’s posture faltered.

  It took a step back.

  Another.

  Like a tide forced to retreat.

  His eyes faded back to green.

  He inhaled sharply, as if waking underwater.

  Jin released him cautiously, ready to move again if needed. “You back?”

  Z-69’s voice was hoarse. “Yes.”

  Ten collapsed to his knees, trembling so hard he could barely speak. ““You… you almost ate us.”

  “I know.” Z-69 said quietly.

  He looked down at his hands, still dripping with blood and core residue.

  “I warned you guy about this.”

  Jin let out a humorless laugh. “I thought you were exaggerating. Turns out you were being polite.”

  Ten hugged his arms around himself. “You scared me.”

  Z-69’s gaze shifted toward the gate.

  The beam of light still rose behind it.

  The system’s rules still held.

  And time still moved.

  They sat in silence for a moment, surrounded by corpses.

  Jin checked the timer. “Two hours until the gate opens.”

  Z-69 looked at the battlefield—then at the massive Colossus Stag carcasses.

  His stomach growled.

  Loud.

  Ten blinked. “Did… did you stomach just—”

  “Yes.” Z-69 said. “I’m still hungry.”

  He stood, already moving toward the carcass.

  Jin stared. “At least now he doesn't want to eat us anymore.”

  Using Heaven-Sundering Blade as knife, Z-69 began butchering in a controlled, efficient way—clean cuts, removing usable meat, avoiding waste, separating dense muscle from armored plating.

  He didn't look at all like the ravenous monster he had been a few minutes earlier, but rather like a seasoned chef.

  Ten watched, stunned. “Are we… really doing this?”

  Z-69 glanced back. “What do you think about having a deer barbecue while we wait?”

  There was a beat.

  Then Jin snorted. “You’re insane.”

  Ten swallowed. “…But also not wrong this time.”

  They gathered metal leaves again—thick, vein-lined.

  With a tiny controlled spark, Z-69 heated their internal filaments until they glowed faintly.

  A low, hidden heat source.

  No big flame to attract attention.

  He laid a few strips of meat on the heated leaves.

  A quiet sizzle.

  The smell rose—rich, fatty, real.

  Ten’s stomach growled loudly, betraying him.

  Jin glanced at him with a sharp little grin. “Kid.”

  Ten’s cheeks flushed. “Shut up.”

  Jin took a bite, grimaced—then ate more. “Damn it. That’s actually good.”

  Ten laughed weakly, relief breaking through fear. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

  Z-69 chewed calmly, eyes on the gate.

  Somewhere far away, something howled—day predators marking territory, or the remnants of night hunters retreating deeper into shadow.

  Ten stared at the pillar of light and whispered, “So…we just have to hold here… right?”

  Z-69 didn’t answer immediately.

  He could still feel The Hunger, quieter now, fed but not gone.

  It was patient.

  It would always be patient.

  He looked at Jin and Ten—two fragile variables that, somehow, had kept him human-shaped.

  Then he looked back at the gate.

  “We hold.” Z-69 said. “And when it opens… we leave.”

  Jin exhaled through his nose. “Good. Because I’m done with this forest.”

  Ten nodded weakly, chewing slowly. “Me too.”

  Z-69 kept eating, savoring the meal he had paid for with blood, while waiting for the gate to open and the next challenge begin.