I remain still, unsure of how to proceed.

There are twenty-two of them. Not exactly the kind of odds I want to test, especially not under higher gravity.

But… they don't advance.

They just stand there. Watching.

Unmoving.

Odd.

Every creature so far has attacked on sight. No hesitation. No exceptions.

But these?

They're just observing me.

Curiosity starts to override caution. I stay where I am, eyes locked on the herd, staring back.

As I watch more closely, I begin to notice differences—small at first. Not all of them are the same size. Some are bulkier. The larger ones have wider, more extensive plating, almost like it's grown with them.

The color of the armor varies too. Faint gradients across the herd—some tinted red, others yellow, a few with deep shades of green.

One stands out.

At the front.

Taller than the rest—just over six meters. Its plating carries a deep blue sheen. So do its antennae.

It doesn't move, but it feels different. Centered. Fixed. Like the others take their cues from it.

Their leader?

The alpha of the pack?

What is this?

Up until now, everything we've faced was uniform—copied and pasted, no variations. No groups. No social structure. No behavior patterns like this.

This… this is different.

This whole stage clearly is.

But as my gaze lingers, I notice it.

Some of them begin to shift—slowly turning their heads away. One after another. Then… they start moving again.

Not toward me.

Just continuing along their path.

What the…

That's it? They're going to ignore me just like that?

I squint, tracking their movements more closely. A few actually stop along the way and lower their heads, pulling at the tall, thick grass with their jaws.

You have to be kidding me. Creatures eating? That's a first since arriving at The Tower.

The behavior reminds me of the kangaroo packs back in Australia. Calm until provoked. Quiet until they're not. Watching you for a while if you got too close—then ignoring you altogether.

Well… what to do?

I should probably continue on my way to Imani, maybe loop around the herd and—

My senses spike.

Faint vibrations travel through the ground.

I push Overdrive.

The world snaps into sharp, staggering clarity.

Wind slams against my helmet. Blades of grass slap against my armor, loud and clear.

Each breath comes faster, harder. Gravity drags at every step, every leap, but I'm already moving too fast to care.

Vibrations. Behind me.

Something's coming.

Leaves blur past. Stalks split underfoot. My waves spread like a net—fast, wide, erratic. Searching.

Nothing.

No—wait.

Distortion.

A shimmer in the brush. Leaves twitch the wrong way. Branches bend with no weight. Something's there. Big. Fast.

And close.

I cut left. Sharp. My boots skid across thick moss. A rush of air brushes my shoulder—not wind. Something just missed me.

No time to think.

I stay low. Pulse steady. Steps tight. The terrain slopes—bad. Can't slow down.

Ahead—open ground. Too open.

And the herd.

They're already moving.

Some scatter. A ripple through their formation. Most flee uphill, but a few hold position. The biggest ones. The blue-tinted alpha.

Why are they running?

Can't dwell on it. The thing behind me—whatever it is—it's not stopping.

Either they're protecting themselves from me… or from it.

My money's on the second.

Then I notice it. The alpha steps forward.

The other nine that stayed behind halt—tight formation, legs braced, antennae twitching in unison.

And then—sound.

Not a roar. A screech.

Sharp. Piercing. Like metal tearing inside my skull.

All ten unleash it at once—echoing across the valley. Their antennae pulse, flaring bright. Then a shockwave.

A wall of invisible force slams through the air.

I feel it—crashing into my head, crackling against my mind. My vision flickers for half a breath. Balance teeters. My limbs tighten. But only for a moment.

Not strong enough to stop me.

But…

Behind me—something changes.

I feel it before I see it.

No more distortions. No more gaps in the air.

There it is.

Seven meters tall. Longer than a bus. All coiled muscle and jagged plating.

It reminds me of a raptor—scaled up, stretched out. Perhaps an enhanced version of a Utahraptor crossed with a biomech experiment.

Two hind legs, built for speed and power. A long, sinewed tail, flexing with control, not drag. The mouth—wide, predatory, packed with serrated teeth like industrial blades.

Its plating isn't sleek like the herd's. This one consists of interlocking plates jutting like broken glass, with spines curling from its shoulders and hips. The gaps between the metal shimmer with taut black flesh, pulsing as it moves.

Antennae thicker than the others—frayed at the tips, twitching like short-circuited wires.

And the eyes—

Glowing. Red.

Focused only on me.

Visible now.

Locked.

It's angry.

The illusion's gone—shattered by the shockwave.

I have to choose now. Run or—

No.

I was attacked. I was hunted.

This is a golden chance. If I run now… it's wasted.

I throw my backpack aside.

Mid-stride, I twist. Heel digs into the ground. A full 180.

Hands on my swords.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Flight's off the table. In this gravity, I'd be a sluggish target, not an aerial threat. My weight would fight me every inch.

I close my eyes for half a breath. Visualize.

Its structure. Its gait. The angle of its claws. The coil in its torso.

Every joint mapped. Every motion accounted for.

Attack patterns—thrusts, swipes, charges.

Reactions—sidesteps, tail whips, leaps.

Vectors bloom across its frame, lines of possible reactions.

And from there—paths. Dozens. No—hundreds.

Some risky. Some safe.

I analyse.

I choose.

Overdrive spikes.

My body tenses, then flows.

Pulse sharpens. Time stretches. But the mind—

Clear. Focused.

I press.

The ground splits under my boots—dust kicks, grass shears. A crater forms behind me as I launch.

All my waves surge into my body accelerating it forward.

Running is over.

It's time to hunt.

I blur forward.

The predator lunges—fast. A blur of sleek muscle and plated limbs. Its claws slice the air. One swing would take my head off.

I drop under it. My knees hit earth. Dirt sprays as I slide. The claw misses by millimetres.

The second strike comes low, sweeping. A tail, thick and bladed with a curve of bone-metal.

I push one hand down, twist my torso, and lean back into the slide—almost parallel to the ground.

The blade whistles over me. Wind peels past my visor.

I roll sideways—break momentum—spring upright.

Its jaw snaps shut where I was an instant ago.

I answer.

My left blade arcs up, grazing the underside of its arm. Sparks fly. The skin is tough—no give. I redirect. Pivot. Lunge.

Right blade slashes across the tendons behind its front knee.

This time it bites.

A crack. A stagger.

The leg falters—just for a breath—before it steadies again, already preparing the next strike.

But I'm already gone.

Backstep. Turn. Reassess.

Overdrive drops—barely.

My mind runs.

I replay every step—every twitch, every feint, every tell.

Data refines. Vectors sharpen. Uncertainty narrows. New sequences open—less risk, more control.

I choose.

Again.

I slam Overdrive back on.

I vanish forward.

The creature rears, roaring—louder now. Aggressive. Wounded.

But not slow.

It turns into me—fangs out, slicing toward my ribs.

I spin left, blade dragging against its mouthplate, the friction ringing through my wrist. My foot lands off balance—but I correct mid-step, shifting weight and riding the momentum into a tight circle.

A claw tears the air behind me. Misses.

I duck, jump, land sideways on a jut of rock.

Then—

Push off.

Hard.

Both blades drawn back like spears.

It swipes with its good arm—telegraphed. I dive under. Dirt kicks up in my wake.

I rise inside its guard.

Slash.

Left hamstring—cut clean.

The leg jerks. Fails. It stumbles.

And now it can't turn properly.

Another tendon gone.

Its motion—crippled.

I feel the shift.

Its motion—off rhythm.

Its weight—displaced.

The creature tries to compensate, but it's not designed for this. Not when it's being read in real time. Not when every move feeds the pattern.

My eyes narrow.

I see them.

More than a dozen paths.

All leading to the same end.

This is over.

I push.

Overdrive ignites.

A second wind—stronger. Sharper. Cleaner.

My blood boils. My heart hammers in my chest.

But my mind?

Calm. Clear. Composed.

I dash left, blade skimming its flank—a feint.

It turns—instinct. Tries to follow.

Too slow.

I'm already at its side—then gone again.

My feet barely touch the ground. Each step rides the force of the last.

A high leap. One foot lands on its forearm as it tries to swat me. I push off, twist mid-air—

First slash. Across the back of the neck. Sparks. It roars.

I land behind it, blades reversed.

It spins—desperate.

I pivot under the swing. My shoulder clips its tail. Pain flares—but I ride it. Use the torque. My entire body whips into motion.

The final step.

A full-body rotation. Both blades aligned.

I cut.

Low to high—upward, diagonal. The edge bites beneath its plated jaw and carves through tendon, flesh, muscle.

A flash of red across blue sky. A spray of sparks where blade meets bio-metal.

Its cry gurgles—choked. Limbs twitch once.

Then stillness.

It crashes—slow, like a building folding inward. The earth shakes.

I land, boots sliding across scaled flesh. Knees bent. Breath ragged.

I hold still. Just for a moment.

Then slowly—rise.

My waves sweep outward, scouting.

Nothing. No distortions. No motion. No anomalies.

Overdrive drops.

The world settles.

Silence follows.

I steady my breath as my eyes meet the alpha's.

The herd hasn't moved since they fired that shockwave—breaking the raptor's camouflage.

Which makes me think, unlikely as it sounds…

They knew.

They knew what it was. What it was doing. And what to do about it.

Predator and prey.

I remember them eating earlier—ripping up stalks, chewing grass.

Herbivores?

Then the raptor must be the predator. Carnivorous.

There's a food chain here.

An actual ecosystem.

I don't know if that's a good sign or a bad one.

Only time will tell.

I meet the alpha's gaze—and I see it.

Recognition.

Measured judgment.

They know I'm not one of them. But they're not moving. Not attacking. Just watching.

Assessing whether I'm a threat or not.

Just like the smarter animals back on Earth.

I hold the look a moment longer.

Then I turn back toward the raptor's corpse, my attention shifting.

I can already spot several body parts that could be scavenged—materials that might come in handy.

But my gaze focuses on the lower part of its feet. There's some kind of elastic puff underneath, like padded footing. Is that what muffled its steps?

But what about the wind? How did it move without disturbing the air around it? I can believe that with owls back on Earth—but for a seven-meter raptor? Hard to buy. Unless whatever camouflage field it was using could distort more than just EM waves.

Well, now's not the time. I'll figure that out later—once I regroup with the others.

After all, while this creature shouldn't be a life-threatening challenge for any of the main squad—maybe with the exception of Lukas if he's caught alone—for the rest… they'd definitely die. Probably without even realizing what hit them.

I just hope I was either unlucky… or The Tower is tailoring spawn locations based on our abilities. Fingers crossed.

I turn toward Imani's direction.

"It's Alonso. Can you hear me better?"

"Imani here. Yes. What about you?"

"Good. I'm moving in your direction. How's the situation over there? Any enemies in sight?"

"Enemies… I'm not sure. I spotted a group of creatures that looked like dinosaurs moving together. They noticed me, but didn't engage."

"Same. But beware—a camouflaged raptor's been moving around. Stay alert. See you soon."

"Ok."

Imani should be fine for now.

I glance back at the raptor. Might as well check that quickly before moving on.

I step toward the skull.

It's thick—jagged plates of overlapping bone and grown metal, fused tight. I move to the side of the head, trace the shape of the eye socket, then down along the ridge behind the jaw.

I wedge one blade in and pry. Bone cracks, metal shifts. I brace with my foot, drive the second sword in deeper. A twist. The tension snaps. A piece of plating comes loose, exposing the darker bone beneath.

Another strike. Another pry.

Then I see it.

Just under the skull, nestled behind the brainstem—a faint shimmer. Smooth. Almost translucent, with the faintest pulse of white light.

An orb.

So it does have one.

I stretch my hand forward. The moment my fingers touch the surface, it bypasses the gauntlet and sinks into my skin.

Stage 1 – 7.623%

I feel it—strength tightening in my limbs, the clarity in my mind just a little sharper.

But… 0.062%?

That's an odd number for a first kill. Especially of a new type.

Wait—type.

I turn my gaze back toward the herd. The alpha is still there, still watching.

These creatures clearly aren't identical. Not like before. There are variations—sizes, plating, colors.

So… how does the 49-orb limit per creature type work here?

Does it even apply?

Has the mechanic changed entirely?

Nothing I can answer now. I'll have to wait and see.

I exhale, walk back, and pick up my backpack, slinging it over my shoulders.

Time to move.

I give the leader one last look.

Several thoughts cross my mind but…

I just smile and nod.

Thanks for the shockwave, big fella.

Then I turn, and rush towards Imani.

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