We saw it in the distance—tents, scattered across the landscape like a temporary city. As we got closer, the sounds hit us: shouting, metal clashing, voices barking orders.
This was the camp.
The gates loomed ahead, iron and intimidating. A gatekeeper stood watch, arms crossed, eyes scanning us as we approached.
"What do you want?" he asked flatly.
"We're here for potential training," I said. "We're new."
"Names."
I gestured to my crew. "That's Dixon. Cast. Jax." I hesitated. "And I don't have one."
The gatekeeper raised an eyebrow. "No name?"
"No."
He shrugged. "You'll wear a number then. You're Zero."
"Why zero?"
"Because you're the first no-name I've logged." He scribbled something on his ledger. "Ages?"
"We're all fifteen."
"Fine. You may enter."
The iron gates groaned open.
Every head in the entrance turned toward us. Dozens of faces—hard, watchful, intimidating. We kept our eyes forward and moved.
We found the registration station beneath a tall wooden sign: REGISTER NOW.
A woman handed us numbered tags without looking up. "Take these. Stand with your designated group."
I looked at mine: 1090.
The others followed in sequence—1091, 1092, 1093.
We waited.
Ten minutes passed. Then a voice erupted across the camp like a sonic boom.
"GROUPS 1–100, 101–200, 201–300—CAMP THETA. 301–400, 401–500—CAMP CHETORAN. THE REST OF YOU STAY HERE. WITH ME."
I finally saw who was speaking.
My stomach dropped.
The man was a giant. A walking mountain of muscle wrapped in a full-body jumpsuit. His hair was short, thick, and white. His eyes were red—red, like something not fully human. The kind of eyes that could stare down a dungeon master without blinking.
At that moment, I made a mental note: stay far away from this man.
Our training began immediately.
The instructor stood before us, arms behind his back, scanning the crowd like we were already disappointing him.
"I am Instructor Ridgway," he said, voice cutting through the air. "I will be teaching you maggots how to unlock your potential."
No preamble. No warm-up.
"Your first task: run one hundred miles north—and back. You have unlimited time."
He paused.
"You start now."
We ran.
No talking. No wasted breath. Every ounce of energy had to count.
By mile ten, people were already collapsing. I glanced back and saw bodies scattered across the trail—trainees who'd pushed too hard, too fast.
We started with over a thousand.
By mile ten, we were down to seven hundred.
The terrain shifted. Mud. Rocks. Uneven ground that punished every step.
Three hours in—mile twenty-five. Six hundred left.
The dropouts kept coming. People gave up, fell over, stopped moving entirely. Some cried. Some just sat in the dirt and stared at nothing.
Fifteen hours in—mile forty-nine.
My legs screamed. My lungs burned. But something inside me refused to quit.
Then came the mountain.
The climb broke us. Half the remaining trainees collapsed on the slope. Every ten steps, another body hit the ground.
I kept going.
Mile fifty-something.
Then—
Nothing.
I blacked out.
When I woke, I was back at camp.
Dixon sat beside me, already conscious. He looked drained.
"No one made it," he said. "We all got picked up eventually. The farthest anyone reached was mile sixty-seven."
"What about you?"
"Fifty." He exhaled. "That was it."
"Jax and Cast?"
"Still asleep in their tent. But..." He paused. "We've got more training today. Don't know what."
I sat up slowly, every muscle protesting.
"I need food."
"Same."
We found the cafeteria—a wide tent filled with long tables and the smell of something edible. We grabbed trays, loaded up, sat down, and ate in silence.
When we stood to leave, a group blocked the exit.
The leader stepped forward. Tall. Smug. The kind of guy who'd never been told no.
"Haven't seen you before," he said. "You must be new."
I didn't respond.
"Let me explain how things work here." He smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "We own this camp. Whatever I say, you do. Understood?"
I didn't think. I just moved.
The Blade of Fury materialized in my hand, glowing with heat.
The entire cafeteria went silent. People stumbled back. Eyes widened.
The leader's smirk faltered—then returned, sharper.
"You challenging me?"
He raised his hand. A blade formed—crackling with high-frequency energy. The Cosmic Blade.
"We can end this right now," he said.
I held my ground. "Back off. Fighting isn't necessary."
Tension hung in the air like a drawn bowstring.
Then Instructor Ridgway appeared.
He didn't speak. Didn't need to. His presence alone was enough.
The crowd parted. The leader lowered his blade. I did the same.
Ridgway looked at both of us, then walked away.
We slipped out before anything else could happen.
Jax and Cast were awake when we returned. We filled them in on everything.
Then thecampbelll rang.
All trainees gathered outside.
Ridgway stood at the center, towering over us.
"Next task," he announced. "Tallest mountain. I will teach you physical combat. You will copy my movements. You will use them against each other."
I thought it sounded pointless.
I was wrong.
Five hours in, my body was breaking.
We'd been drilling the same techniques over and over—blocks, strikes, counters, footwork. Every mistake earned a correction. Every correction hurt.
Ridgway watched us like a hawk.
"Ten hours minimum," he said. "If you can't remember the forms by then, you're expelled. Permanently."
Ten hours later, one hundred and five trainees remained.
My crew and I were among them.
Ridgway surveyed the survivors.
"Two more tasks remain," he said. "These will likely kill some of you. If you can't handle death—leave now."
Silence.
The thirty people walked away.
Ridgway smiled. Cold and satisfied.
"For those still standing... one final task."
Someone behind me muttered, "So that was a test. Thank god."
Ridgway ignored it.
"The final task is combat. No rules. Killing is permitted."
The air shifted.
Faces around me flickered between fear and arrogance.
"You will each be assigned an opponent," Ridgway continued. "Find them. Begin when ready."
I looked at my assignment.
Of course.
It was him. The guy from the cafeteria.
He found me near the eastern ridge.
Smirking. Confident.
"Ready to die, newbie?"
I summoned the Blade of Fury. "Your move."
"Cute."
He raised his hand—but the blade that formed wasn't the Cosmic Blade.
It was something else.
Dark. Unstable. Pulsing with volatile energy.
The Blade of Eruption.
One wrong move, and it would detonate on contact.
Great.
He vanished.
I didn't even see him move.
Pain exploded across my back as his strike connected. The blast sent me flying tumoring across the dirt.
I forced myself up, grunting.
"Now I'm pissed."
He laughed. "Good. But you're too weak. You can't win."
I steadied my breathing.
Formation O.
Make him come to me.
"That's all you've got?" I called out. "Didn't expect much—but damn."
His expression darkened.
Murder in his eyes.
There it is.
He launched at me—fast, reckless.
I sidestepped.
He skidded to a stop. I circled him, faster and faster, kicking up dust until visibility dropped to nothing.
Then I struck.
I leaped through the cloud and drove the Blade of Fury into his chest plate. The armor cracked, fell, hit the ground—and began to melt.
He stumbled back, exposed. Shocked.
"Formation Solo W," I said calmly. "This one kills. If you don't want to burn—yield."
He spat. "You'll die first."
"Your choice."
I began to spin, building momentum—
Then he spoke.
"No name, huh? That's rough."
I hesitated.
"Guess the ones who can't be loved don't deserve one."
Something snapped.
My vision blurred. My chest burned—not from exhaustion. From rage.
Hate. Pain. Years of being called a boy.
And then—hope.
A single spark, buried deep.
I didn't understand it.
But I felt it.
Fire.
In my eyes.
He stumbled back. "What— What are you? Why are your eyes—?"
I didn't let him finish.
Formation W.
I moved faster than I ever had. The world blurred. Heat exploded from me in every direction.
He didn't have time to dodge.
One strike.
Then—
Darkness.
When I woke, my crew was standing over me.
"You okay?" Dixon asked.
I blinked. "...Did I win?"
"Yeah." His voice was tight. "But there's something you need to know. It's bad."
Before I could ask, the tent flap opened.
Instructor Ridgway stepped inside.
He was missing an arm.
"We need to talk."