They moved to the back edge of the group, near the shadow of the wall. From here, they could see most of the arena without being the first thing a Beast saw.
The metal gate on the far side rumbled.
The crowd above went quiet, then louder.
Jack's system popped up a window.
[Beast Presence Detected]
"Oh, folks," the announcer shouted, mana making his words roll across the sand like thunder. "I think this year is going to be different! There are only five three-star, second-level Beasts… but what type?"
A drumroll sound played from somewhere. Jack hated it instantly.
"These are Spatial Crabs!"
The crowd roared.
Jack frowned.
A blue‑haired girl three rows ahead of them turned to say something to the boy beside her.
She never finished the sentence because there was a loud, sharp snap.
For a heartbeat, nothing looked wrong.
Then the top half of her body slid sideways.
Her eyes were still open, and her mouth was still half‑shaped around a word.
The bottom half of her—from the waist down—stayed standing, legs shaking while her upper half hit the sand with a wet sound. Blood sprayed across the face of the boy next to her like someone threw a pot of red paint.
There was nothing near her.
No claw. No visible blade.
Just empty air.
Weirdly, no one screamed.
"What—" Tom started.
Another snap.
Someone else fell in three pieces.
Jack saw the system window and paled.
[Spatial Crab]
[Rank: 3‑Star, Level 7]
'Not good,' Jack thought, realising the announcers had either lied on purpose, or they didn't properly evaluate this beast.
The system window continued.
[Description: A four‑legged crustacean‑type Beast. Appears and disappears before prey can process danger. Limbs and stinger can cut space itself in short lines. They are easy to kill even if they are 3 stars.]
In front of them, more bodies were dropping.
Not all clean slices. Some were just missing arms. Others—heads.
One boy staggered around clutching his stomach, trying to hold in parts of him that didn't want to stay inside him.
Tom swallowed hard. His face had gone a shade paler.
"Oh gods," he whispered. "Spatial Crabs? This is bad."
"You know them?" Jack asked, eyes moving everywhere at once.
"I've heard stories," Tom said. "You don't see them in one piece until you're dead."
Jack's heart hammered.
He took a breath.
Watched.
Everyone in the front half of the arena had gone wild. Some rushed toward the metal gate, thinking they could kill the Beasts at the source.
Others tried to run back, only to slam into other competitors. Panic made people come together.
Which, of course, was a mistake.
Another snap. Three kids went down at once, red lines crossing their chests like someone had drawn on them with a laser.
"Watch the sand," Jack said suddenly.
"What?" Tom snapped.
"The sand," Jack repeated. "When it snaps, the sand jumps. Look."
They watched.
Another snap.
A thin line of sand puffed up in a straight path before it settled, like something invisible had dragged a blade through it.
"Lines," Jack said. "It's not random. They're cutting in straight lines. Like… like someone making slashes on a map."
"How does that help?" Tom said, voice high.
"Don't stand in open lines," Jack said. "Hug the walls. Don't stand alone in the middle of clear space. Those girls—" He pointed at where the blue‑haired girl's top half lay. "They were standing alone. No cover. Easy lines."
Tom stared at him for a second.
Then he grabbed Jack's sleeve and hauled him back even farther, right against the stone wall.
"Okay, man," Tom muttered. "We play corners."
On the far side, one of the Spatial Crabs finally showed itself.
It flickered into existence as if someone had clicked a bad hologram on.
Four thick legs dug into the sand.
Its body was a low, wide shell, dark green with jagged edges that seemed to bend the air around them. Two forelimbs curved forward like scythes, each edge humming with strange light. A long, segmented tail rose from the back, ending in a hooked stinger that dripped something that sizzled when it hit the ground.
Its eyes weren't in one place. Little glossy black orbs dotted its shell along the sides, blinking in weird patterns.
It didn't stay visible long.
As soon as some idiot with a spear charged it, it vanished with another snap.
The idiot kept running before his body stopped.
His head rolled off in a direction his feet weren't pointing.
"Jack," Tom said. "If we live, I owe you beer."
"I'm not old enough to drink, and you're not old enough to buy one," Jack retorted.
"This is not the Farmlands, buddy."
A weight slammed into Jack's shoulder.
He swung his sword reflexively, metal clanging through the air.
Tom cursed.
"Sorry," Jack said.
Tom had brought out something from thin air, the same way Stiles did.
But this time, it looked like a handgun. At least, it had a grip like one, but the barrel was short and thick, with glowing green lines pulsing along its sides.
"What is that?" Jack asked.
"Hunter's Bolt," Tom said. "Mana‑gun, if you want it simple. It fires condensed mana as shots. Green because I'm cool."
He winked, but it didn't land. His hands were shaking as he checked the charge.
"You have mana," Jack said.
"Enough for a few shots," Tom smiled before he continued. "Then I'm dry. So, you'd better make your brain count. I could tell you were brilliant yesterday, but today, you join in to get slaughtered, so I'm reevaluating you."
They heard another snap.
Closer this time.
Sand jumped in a long, thin line right in front of them, from one side of the arena wall to the other.
Both boys froze, but nothing hit them.
But a chunk of stone from the wall above them slid down and crashed at their feet. Jack realised the line had gone just over their heads, carving rock.
"That would've taken our heads off," Tom said faintly.
"Yeah," Jack said.
They weren't safe at the back. Just slightly less likely to die first.
A scream tore through the air to their left.
A boy in leather armour had decided to run toward them, probably thinking along the same lines they did about safety.
Halfway there, he just… came apart. Torso sliding, legs folding.
His hand kept going, still clutching his sword for a second before dropping it.
Something hot and sticky hit Jack's cheeks. It was blood. The boy's blood.
He didn't wipe it away.
"This is the strength of a level seven 3-star?" Jack said, his hands shaking for a bit.
"Oh, you noticed," Tom said, smirking. "Few people have a keen eye to know these things aren't level two. I'm people."
Despite everything, Jack huffed.
He forced his eyes to keep moving.
Every time there was a snap, he watched what happened after—a trick he had picked up with his life in the secret service.
Where the sand jumped. Where the bodies fell. Where the crab flickered in and out for a split second.
A pattern began to form.
"They like…edges," he said slowly.
"What?" Tom said.
"They don't swing in tight circles," Jack said. "It's like they draw long lines and then vanish. They're cutting straight through clusters. If we stay on broken ground, behind bodies, behind rocks—"
Tom frowned. "You want to use bodies as cover?"
Jack looked at him.
"You want to die with clean boots?" he asked.
Tom grimaced. "Fair."
They moved sideways, keeping their backs to the wall, feet crunching on sand and stone. Jack made sure there was always something between them and the open centre—fallen people, dropped weapons, bits of broken wall.
A snap went off ahead of them. A long line of sand jumped, but the path curved slightly to avoid a big rock.
The Beast couldn't cut through it.
"See?" Jack said. "They don't go through everything. Just free space."
Tom nodded tightly.
"Smart," he said. "Still hate it. But smart."
A shadow flickered in front of them, indicating danger.
Jack didn't think.
"Left!" he shouted.
Tom swung the mana‑gun up and fired.
The weapon hummed. A lance of green light shot out in a straight line, hitting empty air—and then hitting something that wasn't empty anymore.
The Spatial Crab appeared mid‑shift, half in, half out, right where the shot was.
The bolt punched into one of its side eyes and burned straight through. Green light exploded out the back in a shower of black and red.
The Beast screeched. The sound made Jack's teeth hurt.
It staggered, legs digging ruts in the sand.
Then it vanished again.
"Did we kill it?" Tom panted.
"No," Jack said. "But now I fear we made it mad."
Right as he said those words, Jack felt something slam into his back.
There were no lines. No indicators.
It punched through his lower side, just above the hip, and out the front in a burst of hot pain.
For a second, there was no sound.
No crowd of panicked competitors, or Tom.
Just the hiss of whatever coated that stinger, burning his flesh.
He looked down.
The black, hooked tip stuck out of his stomach, slick with his blood. More of it ran down, dark and too much.
His sword slipped from his hand, and his knees wanted to fold.
Jack could feel the Beast behind him, body pressed close, legs digging into the sand. It had shifted in right at his blind spot. Right where he wouldn't look.
'Idiot,' he cursed himself.
His vision went blurry at the edges.
Somewhere in his vision, he could see it.
[CONSTITUTION: 5 (-40)]
[YOU ARE CURRENTLY IN A DIRE SITUATION.]
[ACTIVATE INSTINCT OVERRIDE? Y/N]
He wanted to laugh. Two days in a row.
'You don't want me to die,' he thought. 'Yet, you keep pushing me into situations like this.'
The stinger twisted a little.
White flashed behind his eyes.
He ground his teeth.
'I have to activate it,' he thought. 'Instinct Override.'
The system acknowledged his choice.
Then the world went black once more.