"A man can be destroyed but not defeated."— Ernest Hemingway, The Old Man and the Sea
Silence gripped the air, broken only by the faint rustle of wind sweeping through the ruined streets, carrying with it dry leaves and scattered debris.
The runners lay sprawled across the ground like corpses, their grey uniforms dusted over with a thin layer of grit.
Alexei stirred first.
His body shifted weakly as he tried to rise, though his movements were sluggish, his mind still clouded. The events of the night before had not yet returned to him. A sudden gust swept dust into his face, and his eyes fluttered open.
"What? Why am I on the ground? How did this happen? Wasn't I just…? Did I sleepwalk?"
The thought barely formed before his body tensed. His chest heaved as memories surged back in a rush. Panic followed. His head pounded, pain tearing through his skull like a blade.
"Ahh—my head, it hurts… it hurts so bad," he groaned, clutching his temple.
For a moment, the world spun into fractured shapes, a blur of shadow and light. He forced his eyes open, and slowly his vision cleared.
The smoke—the same smoke that had swallowed them whole—was gone. The walls of the building had vanished. They were somewhere else entirely.
"No… not again," he muttered. "Where am I now?"
Turning his head, he saw the others scattered nearby, still unconscious.
"Get up. Get up, guys!" he shouted, his voice breaking through the silence as he tried to rouse them.
They stirred sluggishly, their bodies slow to respond. Alexei reached for Theo, who was closest, patting him roughly on the side.
"Come on! Wake up! We don't have time for this." His voice rose to a yell. "Have you completely forgotten about last night? The aliens!"
His words struck like a whip.
The others jerked awake, groaning and clutching their heads as memories slammed into them with the same sharp pain Alexei had endured.
"So, now you decide to get up," Alexei said with a grim smile that held no humor. "Get your wits together. We're in serious trouble."
They recovered quickly, though questions and complaints tumbled out of them all at once. Their voices overlapped in frantic tones, each demanding answers that did not exist.
Then silence returned as their eyes turned outward, taking in the terrain.
They were in a city.
Buildings crowded tightly together, perfectly aligned in grid-like order, though every one of them stood shattered. Debris littered the streets—broken concrete, rusted metal, corroded cars with doors torn open, shattered street lamps, many half-buried beneath the earth. Trees had forced their way through cracks in the asphalt, and bushes had overgrown sidewalks and courtyards.
It was a capital, perhaps. Or at least it had been. Now it was nothing but ruins.
Elira stood still, her eyes wide with disbelief, her thoughts sinking to her daughter. Her voice shook. "I thought we had only been abducted… but it looks like the invasion is over. Everyone is gone." She turned toward Xavier, desperation in her gaze. "How much time has passed?"
Xavier's expression hardened. He hesitated only a moment before answering. "About a hundred years. Closer to two hundred. I wasn't sure before… but I am now."
The truth was worse. Two hundred and seventy-six years had passed since the invasion. Time was nothing to the Vexari, who lived for millennia. They had waited patiently, as they always did, for the perfect time to begin their hunts.
The hunts had started fifteen years ago. Two years earlier, runners from this same ranch had attempted escape. All had died—except for one, who had somehow slipped through the defenses and vanished into the wild.
Elira broke down. Tears streamed as her voice cracked, her daughter's name spilling from her lips in despair. She couldn't hold it in any longer. It was the worst possible time to unravel, but grief devoured her.
Others who had once clung to family broke as well, voices choking with sobs, hearts buckling under the weight of loss. Some tried to console them, though their own despair was just as raw.
The sound of their cries carried through the ruins.
And it drew them.
Two Trophy Hunters.
From the top of a tall building, they arrived—figures of nightmare. One crouched, tentacles flaring in excitement, a spear in hand. The other gripped a long pole tipped with a massive axe.
The first leaped.
In less than a heartbeat, he dropped from the height, crashing into the center of the runners. The force of his landing was a gust of wind that knocked several off balance.
His spear arced through the air and found Elira.
She had been on the ground, still weeping, too lost in despair to react.
The strike pierced her cleanly. Blood gushed from her wound as the spear was pulled free, spilling across her chest and from her mouth. She gasped, choking, trying to speak through the flood.
"Ruh… Ruh… rh…"
She collapsed before she could finish the word. But everyone knew what she had meant.
Run.
The group scattered in different directions, panic seizing their limbs.
But before they could find escape, the second hunter dropped in front of Alexei. His axe sliced upward in a blur, cutting through Alexei's lower body, cleaving him in half.
Blood sprayed across the ground as his upper torso fell, eyes wide with rage even in death.
The hunter had chosen him deliberately. Alexei was the strongest among them, and so he was the first to fall.
The others bolted in new directions, sprinting in raw terror.
The hunters followed, tentacles flaring wildly, their screams cutting through the ruins. The sound was not only pain. It was a victory. It was nourishment. Their cries echoed through the streets, into the hearts of those still alive.
Only ten seconds had passed since the first hunter's leap.
And already, two were dead.
The rest ran harder than they had ever run in their lives. Each breath burned their lungs. Each step was fueled by instinct, adrenaline, and something more—something unnatural that drove them forward, the very same force that made survival possible.
And then, in silence, every runner realized the truth.
The messages were right. We are being hunted. This is a hunting ground.
Sera's breath hitched as she darted through debris, Xavier close at her side. Her whisper trembled.
"How many are out there? Am I going to die? What am I supposed to do… die fighting?"
The thought of suicide never crossed her mind. Or rather, it tried to—but vanished almost immediately. As though something chemical, something unnatural, had forced it out of her head. The Vexari had ensured it.
Runners were never tagged with tracking devices. The Vexari didn't want an easy hunt. They wanted spectacle. They wanted prey that believed they still had a chance.
Elsewhere, a Starter Hunter crept silently.
A lone runner had taken refuge behind a tree, crouched low in the bushes, chest rising in shallow bursts. The hunter's gauntlet glimmered faintly with Zark energy as his tentacles writhed in anticipation.
He struck.
With pure instinct, the runner twisted aside just as the gauntlet's blade pierced the air.
Tavi Ferrari—with slicked black hair, slightly waved, and olive-toned skin marked by tattoos on both arms and across his neck—stood at about 5'11". In his mid-twenties, lean and muscular, he carried the hardened edge of a man forged in violence. Once an Italian mobster, he had fought his way out of a collapsing prison in Sardinia during the invasion, bolting from his hiding place with eyes burning in fear. Yet his body moved with feral desperation, driven not by panic, but by the instinct to survive.
He vaulted over fallen logs, twisted through trees, dodging plasma bolts that screamed past him. His movements were a display of acrobatics, raw instinct born of a life running from both the law and death.
But it wasn't enough.
The hunter blurred, moving with impossible speed. In an instant, he appeared at Tavi's blind spot.
The kill was clean.
Tavi's head rolled across the dirt, his body collapsing a second later.
Fifteen minutes into the hunt. Three runners were already dead.
The ruins seemed alive, shadows stretching and twisting with purpose. Dust swirled in the air, debris shifting as though the city itself was in sync with the hunt.
The survivors scattered, hiding where they could, running when they had to. The hunters did not pursue relentlessly. They paced themselves, savoring the spectacle, dragging the fear out of every second.
Kaito darted between collapsed walls, his body moving with precision. Every muscle memory from his time swimming through the submerged ruins of Tokyo came alive here. His strides were swift, his motions sharp, his balance perfect even across broken ground.
Amara, not far behind, vaulted corroded buses and leapt lightly from rusted frames. Her mind raced as fast as her body.
"If we split too far, we're finished. I need to find someone. Anyone. If I stay alone, I'm dead."
She pushed forward, breath ragged, eyes sharp, weaving between rubble and shadow. Minutes later, she spotted Kaito in the distance. Relief flickered in her chest, but she didn't call out. To make a sound would be to summon death.
She followed quietly, dashing between cover, always scanning, always wary.
Nyah stayed close to Jalen.
Her body trembled, fear etched into her every movement. She was no fighter. She had been captured because of her knowledge as a medic, not because she could withstand terror like this.
Her chest rose and fell in shallow bursts.
Jalen slid down beside her, one hand pressing firmly against her shoulder. His voice was sharp, low. "Quiet. They're closing in."
"Oh my God… oh my God…" she whispered, trying—and failing—to steady herself.
Jalen didn't waste time. He yanked her toward the ruins of a building and dragged her down into its basement. Dust fell in light streams from the ceiling as they ducked into an empty room.
"Stay here. Don't make a sound," he hissed.
But the hunters were already moving.
They weren't heading toward Jalen and Nyah. Not because they had seen them—but because they had sensed and emotional burst.
Amara.
She had been trying to close in on Kaito. She saw the hunters shift toward him, and her heart lurched.
Her pace quickened.
The hunters were too fast. She could never reach him in time.
Her voice tore free anyway, carried by the wind. "Run! Run, Kaito! They're coming!"
Kaito's head snapped around at the sound. He didn't hesitate. He sprinted harder, his body a blur.
Amara swallowed hard. She had drawn attention to herself.
Too late.
The two hunters split. One pursued Kaito. The other, Amara.
An hour into the hunt. Two hours remained.
Xavier and Sera tore through an alley. His lungs burned, every stride rattling his chest. Beside him, Sera stumbled, her steps uneven.
"Don't run blind!" Xavier barked. "Keep your angles tight. Conserve your energy! The messages on the walls said Stay alive for the next hunt. That means it has to end. We just need to last long enough."
Sera gritted her teeth, nodding.
A plasma bolt screamed past them, slamming into the wall ahead. Xavier shoved her sideways, both of them crashing to the ground.
Sera's ankle twisted under her. Pain shot through her leg, and she cried out.
"I can't—my ankle," she gasped. "It's dislocated, not broken."
Xavier grabbed her around the waist, hauling her up. "Lets move! They're almost on us. Don't you dare stop now."
Her eyes burned with pain, sweat streaking down her temple. "I know what to do. Twist it back. Now."
Xavier's eyes widened. "Here? You'll scream. They'll hear."
"You want me to keep slowing you down, or do you want me to run?" she snapped, trembling. "Do it. Now."
He swallowed hard, nodded, and knelt. His fingers gripped her ankle. "On three. One—"
He didn't wait for two. He twisted sharply.
Sera's scream ripped through the alley, raw and guttural.
The hunter heard. Tentacles flared as he closed in.
A plasma bolt shrieked toward them, blasting the wall behind into molten stone. Sparks rained around them.
The hunter's shadow stretched at the mouth of the alley, gauntlet glowing.
"Move!" Xavier shouted, hauling Sera up again.
Her teeth clenched, body shaking, but the joint held. They staggered into a run, Xavier half-carrying her as plasma bolts scorched the walls around them.
At the last second, Xavier shoved her into a gap between two collapsed walls. They slid through, scrambling out into another street.
The hunter roared, his tentacles snapping in frustration.
Theo and Kira staggered through the wreckage of a collapsed overpass. Their footsteps echoed against broken slabs of concrete, every step sharp and hurried.
Theo glanced back, his pale face tense, blond hair sticking to his sweat-damp skin. His voice was low but firm. "Stay with me. Don't lose focus. We keep moving until this is over."
Kira panted, chest heaving, but managed a faint smile. "I'm not slowing you down. I can still keep up."
Her words were cut short.
A shadow dropped from above.
The Starter Hunter crashed down with bone-shaking force, tentacles flaring outward. In his hands gleamed a weapon—a concave sword that shimmered with Zark energy, its edges glowing like liquid fire.
Theo shoved Kira behind him, shouting, "Run!"
The blade swept across the space where he had stood. He dove backward, narrowly missing its edge. The strike gouged the ground, the sheer force of it rattling his bones.
Theo scrambled to his feet, panic in his eyes. But Kira hadn't moved fast enough.
The sword rose again, then fell.
It cut cleanly through her from shoulder to waist.
Blood sprayed across the ground as she gasped, eyes wide with shock. Her lips trembled. "Theo…" Her voice was faint, broken. "Run…"
She collapsed to her knees, blood soaking her uniform.
Theo's scream tore through the ruins. He lunged toward her, but the hunter was already on her. The blade rose a third time.
Instinct seized him. Theo flung himself through a narrow gap in the debris, arms scraping against jagged stone.
Kira's final scream cut short as the blade struck. Her head rolled free, her body slumping into the spreading pool of blood.
Theo's heart twisted with agony. Tears stung his eyes, blood smeared across his arms.
"I should've died with her… No—I can't. Not now. Not like this. I have to make it," he hissed to himself, sprinting into the ruins.
Behind him, Kira's silence burned.
Across the city, Kaito was still alive—barely.
He had been running, weaving through shattered streets, changing direction again and again. For nearly two hours, he had evaded death, his movements sharp and precise.
For a moment, he believed he had gotten away.
But the hunters never forgot.
The Trophy Hunter's flail swung through the air, its massive head embedded with shards that shimmered with Zark energy. Each swing warped the air, rattled the earth, tore through anything in its path.
Kaito vaulted over a wall, lungs screaming, but the flail crashed through a bus beside him. The metal caved inward, crumpling like paper. The shockwave hurled him off his feet.
He scrambled upright, hands clutching a length of rusted rebar. He gripped it like a spear, his jaw clenched, his chest rising and falling in ragged bursts.
"Let's go then," he muttered under his breath. His voice cracked, but his eyes glimmered with defiance. "Am I going to die here? No. I'm not dying. Not yet."
With a roar, he lunged.
The rebar scraped across the hunter's armor and did nothing. Not even a mark.
Tentacles writhed in irritation.
The flail swung again. Kaito twisted his body, vaulting himself backward. He landed hard, rolling across the rubble.
Every motion screamed of desperation, of a man determined to make his death costly.
But the hunter was faster.
The flail came down in a savage arc, smashing into Kaito's chest.
The crack of bone echoed across the ruins. Blood sprayed into the air in a violent burst.
Kaito hit the ground, vision fragmenting. Pain wracked his body, but a bitter smile curved his lips.
"At least… I tried," he whispered. His voice trembled. "I'll see you soon, little sis."
The flail rose again and slammed into his head.
Darkness swallowed him.
Two hours and thirty minutes had passed.
Amara staggered into the shell of a broken structure. The air was heavy with dust and mildew, the stench clogging her throat.
Her heart pounded violently, her breath short and sharp. She backed against a cracked wall, her body trembling as she fought to calm herself.
Then she heard it.
The scrape of a spear against stone. Slow. Deliberate. Predatory.
Her stomach dropped.
The hunter entered, tall and broad, emerald eyes glowing faintly in the dimness. Tentacles writhed around him as he dragged his spear across the ground, sparks flying with each scrape.
Amara's pulse quickened. "Too close. He's too close."
He closed the distance in strides. The spear lifted, gleaming with deadly light.
It came down in a ferocious arc.
Amara twisted, her body moving on pure instinct. The blade sliced past her, close enough to shear a strand of hair. It smashed through the concrete behind her, shattering it into rubble.
She hit the floor hard, dust exploding around her.
The hunter loomed, raising his spear again. The ground cracked beneath his weight, stone groaning as if in fear.
Amara stumbled backward. Her eyes widened as the concrete floor gave way under the hunter's massive weight. It had been weaken from the spears impact.
The ground collapsed.
The hunter dropped through, crashing into the level below. His tentacles lashed wildly as he fell.
But not before he threw his spear.
It cut the air toward her like a streak of lightning.
Amara dove aside, rolling across the floor as the spear shattered the wall beside her.
The ruin trembled, walls shaking as though the building itself groaned under the violence.
Amara didn't wait to see if the hunter rose again. She bolted, sprinting through the corridors, her feet pounding against rubble.
Her lungs burned, her chest heaving, but a grim smile cut across her face.
"By a hair," she whispered to herself.
She didn't dare look back.
outside, silence thickened.
The hunters slowed their pursuit. Tentacles twitched in agitation as they tilted their heads upward, emerald eyes narrowing at something unseen.
Then the air shifted.
Purple mist rolled in—silent, heavy, curling through the streets like liquid shadow. It poured from every direction, swallowing alleys, creeping through collapsed highways, flooding over shattered stone.
Sera's voice cracked as she clung to Xavier's arm. "No… not again. Not the smoke."
The other survivors stumbled into view. Amara, coughing as she sprinted across a broken avenue. Theo, wild-eyed, clutching his bleeding side. Jalen and Nyah emerged together, dust clinging to their sweat-soaked faces.
"What now?" Theo gasped, his voice frantic. "What the hell is this?!"
The hunters withdrew, their towering figures fading into the haze. They screeched once, a sound of finality, before vanishing completely.
The mist thickened, wrapping around the runners like a living shroud.
They coughed, staggered, tried to resist—but there was nowhere to go. No escape.
One by one, they collapsed into darkness.
Theo woke first.
Cold stone pressed against his back. His chest rose sharply as he sat upright, choking on his own breath.
He froze.
The ranch.
The building.
The silence.
The same corridors, the same walls smeared with human markings. But the pods—the obsidian chambers that had brought them here—were gone. Removed.
They had been taken after the transfer to the hunting ground.
Sera stirred next, groaning softly, followed by Xavier, Amara, Nyah, and Jalen. They pushed themselves upright, their bodies trembling, their uniforms dirty, faces streaked with dirt and blood.
The six looked at one another. Haunted. Broken.
They had survived. But only barely.
Nyah broke first.
Her fists slammed against the wall, the sound cracking through the silence. "I can't! I can't do this anymore!"
Her hand closed around a jagged shard of stone. In one motion, she raised it toward her own throat.
But the strike never came.
Her hand froze, trembling in mid-air as if chained by something unseen.
A scream tore from her chest, raw and desperate. "Why?! Why won't it work?!"
She tried again, her arm trembling violently, but her body refused to obey.
Jalen stared in disbelief. "What the hell are you doing? Were you trying to—" His voice cracked, lowering to a whisper. "Were you trying to kill yourself?"
Nyah's breath hitched. Tears streaked her face. "Yes! Yes, because we're going to die anyway. But I can't. My mind… my body… it won't let me."
Jalen grabbed the shard himself, pressed it against his wrist—and froze. His arm wouldn't move either. His jaw clenched, frustration twisting his face.
Nyah's voice shook. "Maybe it's a drug. They dosed us before bringing us here. Something in our blood… something that stops us. We can't take our own lives. And we can't hurt each other. Not intentionally."
Amara sank back against the wall, her voice hollow. "So even death isn't ours to choose."
Sera wrapped her arms tightly around herself, whispering like a child in the dark. "We're just cattle. Kept alive only to be thrown back in."
The room fell silent.
That night, they didn't bother barricading the doors. No one suggested it. It was pointless.
Xavier finally said aloud what they were all thinking. His voice was low, but steady. "We'll close our eyes here, and when we open them, we'll be somewhere else. Barricades won't change that."
No one argued.
They lay down in the barracks, exhaustion dragging them into restless sleep. Each one feared the same thing: that when they woke, the world would have shifted again.
Morning came.
Exhaustion weighed heavily in their bones, every step slow.
Then the silence broke.
The metallic groan of hydraulics. The hiss of decompression. The shriek of pods descending.
New arrivals.
The six staggered outside, hearts pounding. Steam curled into the sky as black pods split open. Figures stumbled out, dazed and confused—just as they once had.
One fell hard to the ground, coughing. Jalen rushed forward, hauling him upright. The man shook him off, eyes wide with confusion. "Who are you? Where am I?"
Jalen knelt, his face grim. "Listen to me. Look around. This is real. Welcome to the ranch. Come on inside"
The man hesitated, then rose, following uncertainly.
The newcomers gathered at the entrance. Jalen turned back to the others. "THere are more of us up there."
Nyah, still trembling from yesterday, forced her voice steady. "Welcome," she whispered. Then, louder, though her words cracked. "Welcome to hell."
Xavier stepped forward, his tone flat and cold. "You're runners now. You'll train with us. You'll run, or you'll die."
The new arrivals looked around, fear dawning as confusion turned to dread. Soon enough, their memories began to flood back—the invasion, their capture, the moment the blacked out.
Terror spread across their faces, as it had once spread across the six.
Days passed.
Training became routine.
Running laps until their lungs burned. Climbing walls until their hands bled. Carrying logs like soldiers. Pushing their bodies until exhaustion became normal.
Food was rationed—mysteriously restocked every time the hunts ended. Wounds were patched by Nyah, who used every scrap of knowledge she had. Sleep came only in fits, haunted by nightmares.
Every scar, every bruise, was practice for the next hunt.
And then, a week later, the purple mist came again.
It rolled across the ranch, heavy and silent, swallowing the building whole.
When it cleared, they were back in the hunting grounds.
Weeks bled into blood and terror. The cycle repeated.
One by one, the survivors of the first hunt fell.
Nyah was the first, dragged screaming into the trees by a hunter. Her voice echoed long after her body disappeared.
Theo followed soon after, rage driving him until his luck ran out. His scream was brief. Final.
Jalen lasted two hunts before a spear tore through his chest, leaving him gasping on the ground.
Sera endured two hunts as well. A spear pinned her to the earth, her eyes dimming as the world slipped away.
Xavier, the calm and calculating one, survived two hunts before his body broke beneath a hunter's hammer.
And last of all, Amara.
She endured longer than the rest. Three hunts. Three cycles of blood, smoke, and terror. But in the end, even she was brought down, marked with cruel precision.
None of the first runners lasted more than a month.
Time passed.
Days blurred into weeks, weeks into months.
The pods kept coming. New runners kept arriving. And they died, again and again.
But then something changed.
A new generation arrived. And for the first time, runners survived beyond months.
Malik Haruna. Thomas Ried.
They endured what no others had, lasting months in the cycle. An impossible feat.
And their survival drew the attention of Korr'Vex himself, watching from his chamber high above the ranch, aboard a ship hidden in the sky.