The air inside the cave hung heavy with dust and tension. Shadows clung to jagged rock walls—until Alex Bezerin burst forward.
With a sharp shout, Alex twisted mid-air, his booted heel slamming into a massive boulder blocking the path.
CRACK!
A shockwave rippled out. Cracks zigzagged like lightning veins, and loose pebbles danced across the cave floor.
A few meters back, Danny Raines stood with arms crossed, his sharp eyes narrowing. The usual smirk faded, replaced by a flicker of interest.
He's not just brawn… he's reading the terrain too?
The boulder groaned—then shattered.
KRRSSHH!
Stone scattered across the narrow path, clearing the way.
Danny stepped through the settling dust, boots crunching rubble.
"Smart call, Alex. You cleared the way clean."
Alex steadied his breathing, glancing at Danny from the side, trying not to look eager.
Was that enough to earn his respect?
Outside, sunlight bathed the hillside. The civilians they helped earlier were safe now, gathered in groups under Crimson Riot Axis watch. Fear was fading into relief.
Alex and Danny walked back in silence. No words. Their boots spoke the rhythm of tension broken and effort spent.
Inside the main hall of Crimson Riot Axis, warmth replaced the cave's chill. The high ceilings echoed with boots, laughter, and distant sparring.
Leif Suhuro lounged across a couch by the entrance, feet up, arms folded behind his head. He smirked when they entered.
"Back already? Don't tell me you passed this one too?"
Alex didn't reply. His face was calm—somewhere between serious and tired.
From deeper inside, Rebecca Yui approached with her clipboard, her usual calm smile present.
"How'd he do?" she asked Danny.
Danny scratched his head, like he wasn't ready to say it.
"He's got talent," he admitted. "Reckless… but capable."
Rebecca raised an eyebrow. "So what's the verdict?"
Danny let out a breath and gave a half-smile. "After last night's fight? He's earned his spot."
Alex's heart skipped, but he didn't show it. He just stood straighter.
Before the moment could settle, Danny turned to Leif, smirking again.
"Kinda disappointed, though. Thought we'd be at your funeral today."
Leif clutched his chest with mock offense. "That's rude, Exemplar Danny! I survived—minimal injuries! Only emotional scars."
Rebecca rolled her eyes playfully as she turned toward the equipment room.
"I'll bring the scanner," she called over her shoulder.
Alex exhaled slowly as the door slid open behind her.
He had passed. He was in.
The hall buzzed—Axis members sharpening weapons, talking tactics—but that didn't stop Samuel Xenon from sliding into the scene like he was born to be in it. His wide, sunny grin cut through the atmosphere effortlessly.
"Congrats!" he said, slapping Alex's shoulder like they'd grown up together. "Getting Danny's attention is no joke."
Alex let out a light chuckle. "Yeah? I thought he was gonna burn holes through me with those eyes."
Leif snorted from the couch. "Please. Don't roll out a red carpet for Purple Lightning. One decent mission and suddenly he's our golden boy?"
Alex ignored the bait. He turned to Samuel, curious. "Sam, what kind of Pulse do you use?"
Samuel raised an eyebrow, about to answer—when a voice cut in.
"He doesn't. That's why we call him the Unoriginal."
The comment hung in the air. A few members chuckled from nearby. Leif perked up immediately.
Alex blinked. "Unoriginal?"
Leif leaned forward, clearly savoring the moment. "He's a Flare… without being a Flare."
Alex squinted. "You're losing me."
"No Pulse type. No elemental affinity. No flashy energy blasts," Leif narrated like it was some tragic tale. "And yet… he's still standing."
Samuel scratched the back of his neck. "Technically not breathing from my left lung anymore, but yeah."
Alex leaned in now, intrigued. "Okay, but then how do you… fight?"
Leif grinned and gestured like he was unveiling a magic trick. "Because this guy's a Cyborg. Human—mostly—but upgraded."
Samuel lifted his left arm and rolled up his sleeve. Metal plating caught the light. His joints shifted with mechanical ease, whirring softly as he flexed his fingers. A glow radiated faintly from under his skin—more blue than red, less warm and more calculated.
"After a certain mission went wrong, the docs said I could either live with half a body or try something crazy," he said. "I chose the fun option."
"And now he's basically a fridge with emotions," Leif added.
"Better than being a toaster with a death count," Samuel replied without missing a beat.
Before Alex could dive deeper into the cyborg mystery, the doors opened again. Rebecca walked in briskly, holding a sleek, compact device that pulsed softly with inner light. The scanner was a polished oval with a glowing surface on top—part tech, part art.
"Place your hand here, Alex," she instructed, setting the device on a pedestal.
"What's this gonna do?" Alex asked, already moving toward it.
Samuel stepped beside him, almost like a guide at a museum exhibit. "It scans your Pulse energy, reads your internal Zenith signature, and evaluates your rank."
Behind them, a holographic panel flickered to life. A floating chart hovered above, listing:
Flare Rank Chart:
Flicker
Kindle
Ember
Beacon
Breaker
Pioneer
Vanguard
Sentinel
Luminary
Paragon
Alex gave a low whistle. "That's a lotta stairs to climb."
"Some people never even reach Ember," Samuel said with a shrug. "Let's see where you land."
Alex inhaled and pressed his palm to the scanner.
The surface lit up, and a soft hum resonated through the device. Glowing lines shot out, forming a spherical projection above the pedestal. Energy signatures spun and twisted inside the orb like lightning trapped in a bottle.
A crowd slowly gathered. Hushed voices filled the room.
"Huh… readings are climbing…"
"No way. That can't be right."
The scanner beeped again—once, twice, then finally a sharp chime.
The floating data sphere solidified into bold words that pulsed bright gold:
Pulse Power: 9578
Type: Elemental
Assigned Rank: Pioneer
Dead silence.
And then—
"WHAT?!" Leif yelped, practically leaping off the floor. His glasses teetered on the bridge of his nose, wobbling like they were about to flee his face out of secondhand embarrassment. "No way this guy outranked me!"
Danny leaned against the wall with arms crossed, a cocky smirk playing on his lips as the holographic Pulse rank hovered between them all.
"That's a rare start," he said, nodding slowly. "Pioneer on day one? Not bad at all."
Alex felt a mix of pride and disbelief. Pioneer wasn't just a rank—it was a milestone. Most took months, sometimes years, to climb up there. And here he was, barely stepping into the Axis and already shaking the ground.
Rebecca, ever calm and kind, stepped forward. Her smile was gentle but firm, the kind of expression that made you feel both welcomed and challenged.
"You've reached my rank already," she said, looking directly at Alex. "Welcome to the Axis—officially."
It hit Alex like a new weight on his shoulders. This wasn't just a test anymore. This was his new reality.
Just then, a sharp beep cut through the quiet hum of the hall. Everyone spun toward the source as the alert echoed again,
BEEP BEEP!
urgent and commanding attention.
"Is that... urgent?" one member whispered, eyes narrowing.
The large main screen flickered to life, flooding the room with a bright glow. The message was clear, official, and impossible to ignore:
Three months from now – The Official Best Flare Tournament, hosted by the Government.
Eligibility: Ranks Beacon to Vanguard
Reward: 1,500,000 creds.
— President Lazarus Drexar
The murmurs exploded like a storm in the hall. A flood of excitement mixed with disbelief rippled through the gathered members.
"1.5 million creds?!" someone exclaimed, practically bouncing on their toes.
"Yeah, but you're not even a Beacon," another voice teased. "Don't start dreaming too big."
The first shot back quickly, "Says the Kindle clown!" — and laughter followed.
Leif, the ever-lazy but sharp-eyed spectator, pushed up his glasses with an exaggerated air of seriousness.
"This is my moment," he said, eyes gleaming with determination—or maybe just dramatic flair.
Danny snorted loudly, cutting in. "To die? Go for it, man. Full send to heaven, my guy."
Behind them, on a nearby wall, a board hung proudly with the heading "Leif's Death Count – 18."
"We stopped counting after 15," Danny added, shaking his head.
Alex just shook his head at the spectacle of Leif's eternal battle with fate. But soon enough, the talk shifted back to him.
Samuel plopped down on a worn couch, patting the spot next to him like an old mentor.
"You joining the tournament?" he asked, eyes locked on Alex. "You're eligible now."
Alex folded his arms, weighing the offer carefully.
"Maybe..." he said, his voice cautious. "I need time."
Samuel nodded understandingly but was quick to change the subject.
"So... how much do we earn with normal jobs?" Alex asked, his curiosity piqued.
From the shadows behind a nearby wall, Leif's voice cut in like a taunt.
"Greedy demon."
Alex smirked, shooting back without missing a beat. "Go oil your mouth, Leif."
The group laughed, and Samuel lifted his hands as if about to launch a lecture.
"Well, here's a quick guide," he said, pulling up a small holographic chart, the numbers floating clearly beside him.
Mission Pay Scale:
Level 1: 400–500 creds
Level 2: ~1000 creds
Level 3: ~2000 creds
Level 4: ~2500 creds
Level 5: ~3500 creds
Level 6: ~5000 creds
Level 7: ~7000 creds
Level 8: ~10,000 creds
Level 9: ~25,000 creds
Alex blinked at the scale. "So what level was today's mission?"
Samuel hesitated, glancing sideways like the answer might disappoint.
"Uh..."
Before he could finish, Rebecca's voice came from off-panel, cool and direct.
"Level 2. But no payment—it was a test."
Alex made a face like he just bit into a sour fruit, slumping forward in mock defeat.
"That's daylight robbery," he muttered.
Samuel burst into laughter. "Cheer up. You're in now. Next time, you take a real mission."
The room lightened again, but Alex's mind lingered on the upcoming tournament, the ranks, and the long road ahead. For now, though, the path was clear.
Rebecca tapped on her sleek tablet, the screen illuminating her face with a soft glow. A small holographic window hovered in front of her, displaying the active mission logs across the region. She scrolled swiftly, fingers moving with practiced ease.
"Seven Level 3 missions still open," she said, glancing toward Alex. "Want one?"
Alex, still lounging half-seated on the armrest of the couch beside Samuel, tilted his head back dramatically.
"Pfft. Nah," he grinned. "I'm chilling today. Gotta enjoy my first day of fame, right?"
Leif, leaning against a nearby pillar, scoffed loud enough for everyone to hear.
"Fame lasts a day. Failure lasts forever," he muttered, mostly to himself but just enough to provoke.
Alex shot a lazy glance at him. "Aw, don't worry. I'll carve your quote on your tombstone."
Samuel tried to stifle a laugh but failed miserably, while Rebecca merely rolled her eyes—used to their nonsense already.
"Alright, hotshot," she said, tapping one last time on the screen before closing the interface. "Where's your room again?"
Alex scratched his head. "Yeah... about that. Where is it?"
"Room 28," Rebecca replied, pointing upward without even looking. "Second floor, left wing. Don't break anything."
"I make no promises," he called back with a two-finger salute as he headed toward the stairs.
Leif called out from behind, "Make sure to trip on the way up!"
Alex didn't even turn. "Trip on your own ego first!"
The group's laughter trailed behind as Alex disappeared around the corner, his footsteps echoing faintly down the hall.
The laughter faded, and silence returned to the Axis headquarters. Night had begun to fall outside the tall windows—long shadows stretched across the walls, and the building settled into its quiet lull.
Far beyond the safety of the Crimson Riot Axis compound, deep within a dense forest, the world turned grim.
Dark clouds loomed above like a suffocating ceiling, lightning flickering faintly behind them as though waiting for permission to strike. Wind rustled through the trees, but no birds sang. No animals stirred. Only silence—and a faint, eerie hum pulsing from the earth.
Nestled in a forest clearing was a jagged crystal, jutting out of the ground like a cursed monument. Faint purple light throbbed inside it, quickening with every passing second—like a heartbeat out of sync with nature itself.
On a weathered stone beside it sat a shadowed figure cloaked in black, the end of his long coat fluttering slightly in the breeze. His face was hidden beneath the hood, but the aura around him was unmistakable—heavy, suffocating, deliberate.
He reached into his coat and pulled out a compact FTR communicator, sleek and angular. With a click, it lit up, displaying a glowing screen bearing one name:
SIMON
The signal connected. A voice buzzed through the device, calm but with an undercurrent of tension.
SIMON (through communicator): "How's it progressing?"
The cloaked figure didn't hesitate. His voice was cool, unbothered.
YOU:"Don't worry. Just have the money ready."
There was a pause. Then static. Then silence.
He shut the communicator without waiting for a reply, eyes shifting toward the crystal again as its glow brightened ominously.
Elsewhere, hundreds of miles away—inside an underground facility hidden behind the face of a rocky hill—a cold lab flickered under dim violet lighting. Beakers bubbled. Metallic arms clicked and rotated. Monitors tracked Pulse energy signatures with obsessive precision.
At the center of it all, a man hunched over a workbench, pouring a viscous black substance into a circular glyph etched into a crystal base.
Simon Graves.
His lab coat was stained, the edges frayed from countless nights spent in this place. His once-slick hair hung around his face in damp curls, but he didn't care.
He didn't need rest. Not yet.
His gloved fingers moved quickly, adding powders, liquids, drops of blood from vials labeled with strange Pulse types. The mixture hissed. Smoked. Then settled.
Simon leaned in close to observe the reaction, his pupils dilated with anticipation. The glow from the beaker reflected in his eyes, making them appear almost reptilian.
A smile curled across his lips, twisted with hunger. Power... old, forbidden power, was humming back to life in his hands.
SIMON (whispering to himself): "The Shadow Emperor... will awaken soon."
To be continued...