[T-minus 56 Days Until Dimensional Event Ritual Completion]

The sky above the clearing hadn't changed. Still that same sunless grey, like the world was stuck between breath and exhale. But on the scorched earth where three husk-demons had fallen, something had shifted.

The group stood in a loose formation – Max in the centre, Ferron to the side, Alpha and Omega flanking like sentinels. Behind them: cracked dirt, smeared ichor, and the weight of a fight survived but not mastered.

Alpha walked the circle slowly, boots crunching ash. "You're not soldiers. That's obvious. But that doesn't mean you have to be civilians either."

Victor snorted. "I've seen military training. This feels more like an exorcism."

"Maybe it is," Ferron muttered. He held a soul-forged chalk in one hand, drawing a rune just outside the training circle. "We're not training bodies. We're preparing souls."

Max stepped forward. His voice was steadier today. The colour had returned to his face, though faint lines of exhaustion still traced under his eyes.

"You all felt that yesterday," he said. "The way the air changed. The way those husks moved. It was like Singapore all over again."

He hesitated, then glanced at Ferron.

"That wasn't a real threat," he said. "Those things were husks – bottom rung demons. In Contractor terms, Category One. Initiated. Crude. Loud. They don't think. They just move. Blind hunger wrapped in a borrowed corpse."

Chloe blinked. "Category?"

Alpha folded her arms. "Classification scale. Contractor tiers. Grimm's little secret."

Ferron nodded. "The Institute doesn't advertise it. But internally, every awakened subject is ranked. Five categories. From Initiate to what they call Theoretical Apex."

Dan frowned. "And we're... what? Zero?"

"No," Ferron said. "You're One. Initiated. Power exists, but it doesn't obey. Think of it like touching lightning for the first time and not knowing if it'll burn you or help you see."

"Great," Alyssa muttered. "So, we're unstable lightning rods."

"Until you stabilize," Alpha said, "yes."

Alyssa frowned. "So how do we... go up?"

Ferron turned the chalk over in his fingers. "Experience. Control. Survival. And more than that – growth. You don't move from One to Two by lifting heavier things. You evolve."

He tapped the runes.

"To reach Category Two, you need to stabilize. That means your power no longer controls you. No surges, no burnout, no twitch reflexes. You choose when to act – and when not to."

Chloe's face tightened. She remembered blinking a second too late.

Ferron continued. "Category Three? That's different. That's when the power evolves with you. Usually during a life-or-death moment. Something breaks – and something else survives."

Victor folded his arms. "That's what happened to me, isn't it? Against Kimaris."

Ferron nodded. "You were dying. You didn't retreat. Your soul answered. That's how most hit Category Three – by breaking through their own limits."

A silence fell.

"Category Four," Alpha said, voice low, "isn't growth. It's theft."

They all turned toward her.

"You don't earn it. You take it. From demons. From empowered souls. From the ones who've reached Three and don't make it to Four. You devour what they couldn't hold."

Her gaze flicked to Max.

"And sometimes… the price is worse than death."

Max didn't speak right away. His eyes were distant, jaw tight.

"When I fought Mammon," he said finally, "I felt everything. Liz's pain. Her soul – twisting in the dark. And I broke. Something inside me cracked wide open and all the Hellfire came pouring out. It burned him. Maybe it saved her."

He paused.

"But it broke me too. That kind of power… it wasn't mine. Not really. After the fight, I didn't feel stronger. Just emptier. Like I'd spent something I can't get back."

Ferron nodded once, grim.

"That's what happens when you punch through the ceiling. Sometimes there's a sky. Sometimes it's just a long fall."

Dan looked down at his hands. "So, what happens if we try... and fail?"

"You don't fail," Alpha said. "You die. Or worse."

No one spoke.

Ferron stepped forward and drew a line in the dirt. "This is where we start. You're Initiated. If you want to reach Liz, you'll need more. So today... we stabilize."

Alpha unsheathed her blade with a sound like tearing silk.

Omega flexed his hands. Bone creaked.

Max gave them a grim smile. "Let's see what breaks – and what holds."

…………………

The clearing's grey light has sharpened just enough to cast hard shadows. Ferron's soul-marked circle pulses faintly beneath their feet, etched in chalk and bone ash. No wind. Just the breath of tension and training ahead.

Alpha stood at the perimeter of the rune circle, arms crossed. "Begin."

No ceremony. No countdown. Just pressure.

Chloe exhaled and stepped forward first.

Her face was pale but set. She closed her eyes, focused, and whispered: "Phase. Shift. Phase—"

Her body trembled.

And then it fractured.

Her form blinked an inch left – no, half an inch down – before snapping halfway into sync with itself. Her arm disappeared into air, her chest went translucent. Her mouth opened, but no sound came.

Max was already moving.

He caught her just as her shoulder re-materialized mid-blink. She dropped like a cut wire, gasping for breath.

"I can't – I can't make it happen," she choked.

Alpha crouched beside her, expression unreadable. "You don't control your gift. It controls you. That's a Category One flaw."

Chloe turned away, shame burning across her cheeks. Behind her, Alyssa clenched her fists.

"Fine," Alyssa muttered, stepping into the ring. "My turn."

She inhaled once, bracing. Her body shimmered, the air around her thickening like gravity had multiplied. Her stance widened, and the soil beneath her cracked – then caved, a crater spreading under her boots.

The density was too much.

A sickening creak came from her knees. Her arms trembled.

Max shouted, "Alyssa—!"

Before she collapsed, Alpha was there.

She tapped Alyssa's shoulder – light, surgical.

The effect broke.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Alyssa gasped as the pressure bled from her skin. She staggered back a step, looking ready to punch the ground out of spite.

Alpha's voice cut sharp.

"Control, not force. You're trying to collapse the world instead of walking through it."

Alyssa growled. "You think I don't know that?"

From the sidelines, Chloe coughed and gave a weak smirk.

"You know, this is starting to make punching Mammon look easy."

Alyssa shot her a look. "At least I punched Mammon. You were busy cuddling The Mirror."

"Hey—!"

Chloe flushed. "That thing was a psychic maze from Hell, thank you very much!"

Max raised an eyebrow. "Teamwork, people."

Dan stepped in next, eyes closed, breathing slow. The golden staff in his hand hummed faintly, uncertain.

He centred his weight. Planted his feet. Lifted the staff.

The hum became a tone. Clear. Steady.

Then – flare.

A warm, golden aura erupted from his body – no burst, just a pulse. Steady. Expansive.

The air changed. The tension in Chloe's shoulders eased. Alyssa stopped clenching her jaw. Even Victor looked up, blinking like something inside him had quieted.

Dan's staff locked into place – perfect length, perfect balance. The sigils along its shaft glowed in rhythm with his breath.

Ferron's eyebrows lifted. A slow nod. "Anchor confirmed. That's stabilization."

Alyssa blinked. "When the hell did you learn that?"

Dan smiled sheepishly. "I... didn't. I just stopped trying."

Then came Victor.

He cracked his neck. Exhaled once. Then opened himself.

The flicker of beast-form rippled across his skin – dark fur, skeletal plating, ridged eyes. But it twitched. Started, then snapped back. His hands clenched. His spine cracked—but wouldn't transform.

He snarled. "Come on—"

Nothing.

The flicker faded. His jaw tightened.

Ferron stepped closer, calm but firm. "Stop. You're forcing it."

Victor growled. "You said I broke through against Kimaris. So what, I'm not angry enough?"

Ferron shook his head. "No. That's the problem. You're angry. But Category Three isn't rage. It's rhythm."

Victor glared. "What's that even mean?"

Ferron lowered his voice. "You're a predator. But even predators rest. They move with intent. With breath. You're trying to be chaos. What you need… is calm."

Victor stared at his hands. The flicker of transformation crawled under his skin, unstable. I don't know if I can.

Alpha clapped once, sharp. "Enough. First round's done."

The team regrouped. Sweating. Panting. Shaken.

Max met each of their eyes.

The line between weakness and potential had never felt thinner.

He stepped forward, cracked his knuckles, and said,

"Good. Now let's do it again."

Max watched them – bruised, scattered, but standing. Rough, raw, unfinished – but not broken. There was something to build on. There had to be.

…………………

The fire crackled low in the pit, barely more than a handful of embers. No one spoke at first. Sweat cooled on skin. Bruises formed where pride had been.

Max sat on a scorched log, elbows on his knees, watching the fire like it might rearrange itself into answers.

Ferron sat a little apart, sharpening his kusarigama blade with slow, deliberate strokes.

Alpha and Omega patrolled the perimeter like twin shades, too restless to sit still.

Victor leaned back against a fence post, arms folded tight across his chest.

"You know," he muttered finally, voice low, "this feels a lot like Syria."

Dan glanced at him. "The fighting?"

Victor snorted. "No. The waiting. The wondering if you're good enough when it actually matters."

Chloe drew her knees to her chest. "Were you?"

Victor smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"No. Not then. That's why April yanked me out. Said watching lions hunt was safer than fighting humans who forgot why they bled."

He stared up at the grey sky.

"Thought maybe studying predators would make more sense. Thought maybe nature had rules humans forgot."

Victir still stared at the sky, unseeing.

"Didn't think I'd end up back in a different kind of war."

Max's fingers dug into the fabric of his pants. He remembered those days – Victor in uniform, younger, harder around the edges. Remembered April pushing Victor toward biology, toward something cleaner.

Something that didn't stink of death.

Chloe broke the silence.

"April must have been amazing."

Max blinked. The words caught him off-guard.

"Yeah," he said finally. His voice roughened. "She was."

Dan stirred the fire with a stick. Sparks jumped. "She saved us, you know. In a way. All of us. If you hadn't kept fighting for Liz... none of us would be here."

Max didn't answer.

Because in the dark corners of his mind, he wasn't sure if that was salvation – or damnation.

Alyssa lay sprawled on her back in the dirt, one arm thrown over her eyes.

"This world's broken," she said, voice hollow. "You can feel it. Like the cracks are getting bigger every day."

Chloe dropped her forehead against her twin's shoulder.

"Maybe that's why we're here. Not to survive it. To fix it."

Alyssa let out a shaky laugh.

"Fix it? We can barely fix ourselves."

Dan's golden aura flared faintly around him – gentle, soothing, warm.

"Maybe that's enough," he said quietly. "Maybe fixing one broken thing is how it starts."

The girls were quiet for a beat.

Victor chuckled under his breath.

"Listen to that. The guy with the shiny stick's smarter than the rest of us."

Dan smiled a little, tired but real.

"Hope isn't stupid," he said. "It's stubborn."

Max looked at the weary faces gathered around the fire.

Hope wasn't stupid. Hope was a weapon.

It cut through despair the way soulfire cut through flesh – reckless, imperfect, but burning all the same.

Max pushed himself to his feet, feeling the ache settle into his bones.

"Tomorrow," he said, voice low, "we do it again. Harder. Smarter."

The group groaned collectively.

But none of them said no.

Because hope – or maybe stubbornness – was all they had left.

And tomorrow, they'd need it.

…………………

Chloe couldn't sleep.

The cold didn't bother her. The ache in her limbs didn't matter. It was the quiet that gnawed at her. The creeping, hollow thought:

What if I blinked wrong again? What if I froze? What if it's me that costs them everything?

She sat hugging her knees by the dying embers, watching the smoke curl toward a sky with no stars.

A soft sound made her turn.

Dan sat a few feet away, stirring the ashes with a stick, drawing lazy spirals.

For a while, they didn't speak.

Finally, Chloe asked, almost too quiet:

"Do you think we'll be enough?"

Dan didn't answer right away. He drew another slow spiral in the dirt.

Then:

"I think it doesn't matter."

Chloe frowned. "What?"

Dan smiled – tired, but kind.

"I think Liz matters. And Alyssa. And Max. And everyone who's still fighting. Even if we're not enough... we try anyway."

Chloe blinked at him.

"That's stupid."

Dan chuckled softly.

"Yeah. Hope usually is."

Chloe dropped her forehead onto her arms again. Hiding the little smile she couldn't stop.

"Hey, Dan?" she said after a moment.

"Yeah?"

"If you die, I'm going to find your ghost and punch you."

Dan laughed – a real one, low and broken and real.

"Deal."

Above them, the sky didn't change.

But something in the camp's heartbeat did.

Maybe – just maybe – they had a chance after all.

…………………

The mist clung to the clearing like smoke that had forgotten how to rise.

Most of the camp slept – or tried to. Chloe and Alyssa curled near the faint warmth of the firepit. Dan rested with his staff across his lap. Victor was sprawled under a tarp, snoring like a wounded bear.

Only Max and Ferron remained awake.

Ferron crouched near the edge of the ritual circle, smoothing dirt with his palm. From inside his coat, he pulled a thin slab of slate – no bigger than a notebook. Carved with spiderwebs of old runes, it shimmered faintly under the mist.

Max raised an eyebrow. "New toy?"

Ferron smirked. "Call it a soul-trace manifold. Built it from the broken weapon cores you left lying around."

He placed the slate flat on the ground between them.

"Put your hand here."

Max hesitated, then knelt and pressed his palm flat against the stone.

For a moment – nothing.

Then the surface of the slate rippled like disturbed water, and a crude map bloomed to life in ember-red light.

Rivers. Mountains. The jagged skeleton of southwest China.

A single pulse flickered westward – faint, red, almost lost in the static.

Max's breath caught.

He felt it. Not just saw it — felt it. A heartbeat thrumming through the weave of the world. Weak. Thready. But alive.

Liz.

Ferron watched him carefully.

"You're still linked to her."

Max nodded, jaw tight.

Ferron tapped the glowing point on the map.

"Best I can triangulate, it's somewhere in Chengdu. Maybe a little beyond, but not by much."

Max's throat was dry. "How far?"

Ferron shrugged slightly.

"Close enough to reach. If you survive the journey."

Max curled his hand into a fist over the slate. The pulse responded – beating once, stubborn, refusing to die.

"She's waiting," he said under his breath.

Ferron stood, dusting off his knees.

"She's surviving," he corrected. "It's up to you to make sure it stays that way."

Max rose slowly, the image burning behind his eyes even after the map faded.

Tomorrow, the training would get harder.

Tomorrow, they'd start forging themselves into something that could reach her.

Because if they didn't—

There would be nothing left to save.

…………………

The fire crackled low, throwing faint orange light across the clearing. Most of the team had drifted toward the edge of the camp – training weapons stacked, battered gear stripped away, silence falling like a blanket.

Max sat near the heart of the fire, elbows on his knees, staring into the flames.

Victor sat a few feet away, sharpening a broken blade with slow, deliberate strokes. Dan rested with his back to a tree, staff across his lap, golden light still faintly pulsing from his hands even in sleep. Alyssa and Chloe were lying side by side, heads tilted back, whispering about nothing important – the kind of exhausted banter that filled the space where fear used to live.

It should have felt like a victory.

It didn't.

Ferron crouched beside the fire, tapping a twig into the embers. "They're getting better."

Max nodded absently.

"Not fast enough," Max said quietly.

Ferron didn't argue. He just turned the twig slowly, letting it blacken.

Max leaned back and let the night air wash over him, cool and sharp. He could still feel it - just faintly – that tether to Liz, pulling westward, pulsing with every heartbeat.

She was still alive.

Still waiting.

Still suffering.

And here he was. Sitting around a fire. Training. Waiting.

It gnawed at him. Every hour that passed.

Max clenched his fists until his knuckles cracked.

"They need more time," Ferron said, watching him. "So do you."

"I know."

"She's strong, Max. Stronger than she should be. She'll hold."

Max didn't answer right away. He looked at the others – at the tired faces, the shaking hands, the blood and bruises that hadn't yet faded.

They weren't ready for what waited in Chengdu.

Maybe they never would be.

But giving up wasn't an option.

Max reached into his jacket, pulled out a scrap of fabric – torn from the blanket Liz had once used in the hospital. He held it between his hands, feeling the faint echo of her aura, the warmth that refused to die even now.

Max crushed the fabric in his fist, knuckles white.

"I'm coming for you," he said aloud – not to Liz. Not even to himself.

To the world. To every demon listening.

"And when I reach you – I'll burn it all down."

He closed his eyes.

Breathed.

And made a promise that only death could break.

He would claw their way forward, inch by bloody inch, until they were strong enough. Or until there was nothing left of him but ash and soulfire.

The fire had burned low now – barely more than sullen coals. Like a clock ticking down. Like the last heartbeat of something fading.

Hold on, Liz. I'm coming.

Tomorrow, the fire wouldn't just survive.

It would roar.

And it would devour everything that stood in its way.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.