CRUCIFY THE SMILE
Chapter Eight: The Lion's Teeth
A giant crown of satellites and spaceships rotated slowly above the blue portal.
The Orbital Ring Portal Station.
It was massive—a ring of metal and light, circling the tear in space like a mechanical halo. Ships docked and undocked. Platforms extended and retracted. Warning beacons flashed in rhythm, red and white, red and white, marking the boundary between the dead planet and the nightmare beyond.
Citizens from the Mid-Spires and Upper Spires moved in gangs. Hunters. Dozens of them. They wore high-tech armor and carried weapons that hummed with stored energy. They entered the portal in clusters—four here, seven there, a squad of twelve moving together like a wolf pack.
The portal swallowed them whole.
One by one. Gang by gang.
Then it spat them into Mystical Eraland.
The forest was wrong today.
Giant trees pulsed—not with wind, but with something internal. Something alive. Their bark glowed faintly, dimming and brightening like a slow heartbeat. The air moved faster than it should, whipping past Kael's face in sudden gusts that seemed to come from nowhere.
Thorns crawled on the ground.
Not rolled. Not fell. Crawled. Like insects made of wood, dragging themselves across the soil, searching for something to pierce.
Kael kept his eyes forward.
"Hey."
Calvin walked close beside him. His reddish-pink hair was tied back today. His headband was fresh.
"You followed us today. Is your body healed?"
Kael folded his arms. His back still ached from the self-inflicted wounds. His legs still felt wrong—too strong, too fast, like they belonged to someone else.
"I have no choice," he said.
He walked behind the group as usual. Quiet. Watching.
The squad had been reduced to five. Doman rode on his red bull—bronze hooves, low epic rank. Two of his fingers were gone now, lost to the rock worm. Bandages wrapped his hand. Blood had soaked through.
Calvin sighed. He placed his hand around Kael's shoulder.
"Luckily you made it back alive. Try to be more careful."
Kael smiled. Warm. Fake.
"Thanks," he muttered.
The Doman squad had combined with another hunter squad. Ten hunters total now. They were all silent, walking back from a kill. The air smelled like blood and ozone.
Calvin and Kael had gotten the smallest pieces of the beast meat. The stronger hunters had taken the rest. Calvin held his portion in his hand—a wet, glistening strip no bigger than his palm.
Kael placed his portion into his screen. A holographic icon appeared—a small box with a meat symbol inside. Beast meat storage. Available. Waiting.
[Beast Meat: Low Tier. 1 Serving.]
His screen flickered and went dark.
"This isn't fair," Calvin muttered. He stared at his meat. "Look how small it is."
THUD.
Kael stopped moving.
His boot froze mid-step. His ears strained.
He had heard it. A heavy sound. Dense. Like something massive had just touched the ground.
The others kept walking. Unaware. Talking among themselves. Doman was complaining about his fingers. A female hunter was laughing at something.
"Hey." Calvin looked back. "Anything wrong with you?"
Kael didn't answer. His eyes scanned the trees. The shadows. The spaces between the trunks.
THUD.
There it was again. Closer.
Kael sighed. He had no choice.
"Come close."
He grabbed Calvin's arm. Pulled him backward. Dragged him behind a massive tree—bark black as charcoal, thorns like swords jutting from its trunk.
"Hey! What are you doing?" Calvin's voice was sharp.
"Shh."
Kael pressed his back to the bark. Pulled Calvin beside him.
The other hunters kept walking. Their voices faded. Doman was saying something about the old days. Laughter. Boots on soft earth.
Then the ground quaked.
THUD.
THUD.
THUD.
The trees shook. Leaves rained down. The thorns on the ground scattered like frightened insects.
A giant salamander stepped into view.
It was six meters long. Three meters tall. Its skin was wet and black, glistening like oil. Its eyes were yellow slits, scanning the hunters with cold intelligence. Steam rose from its nostrils.
Epic Rank.
A muscular man sat on its back.
He was shirtless. His chest was covered in scars—patterns, not wounds, like someone had carved symbols into his flesh. His arms were thick as branches. His jaw was square. His eyes were empty.
Doman's face went pale.
"Dr... Droller?"
The name came out as a whisper.
Doman's hands trembled. He looked at the man on the salamander—then looked away, like eye contact was a death sentence.
Droller was part of the Lion's Dude gang. One of the most powerful Mutated Class hunters in Geotequar.
And he was here.
"Petty ants."
Droller grinned. His teeth were yellow. His breath fogged in the cold air.
He jumped down from his mount. His boots hit the ground with a heavy thud. A bronze light erupted from his chest—spreading across his body, coating him in armor. Beast soul armor. Scales and plates, shifting like liquid metal.
Calvin peeped from behind the tree. His eyes went wide.
"Oh no," he breathed. "We need to help."
"Look." His voice was low. Fast. "If you go, you die. Let's leave here now."
"What? Now?" Calvin's head snapped toward him. "We can't leave them."
Kael placed his palm over Calvin's mouth. Pressed hard.
"Shh."
Calvin's eyes burned with confusion. Anger. Fear.
Kael leaned close. His voice was barely a whisper.
"I don't mind you going there. But you must not alarm them and implicate me."
Calvin stared at him.
"You—"
"Yeah." Kael cut him off. "There's nothing we can do. Follow me—or you die. The choice is yours."
He turned and ran.
Calvin paused. Looked back at the squad. At Doman. At the other hunters, frozen in fear. At Droller, grinning, already reaching for the nearest throat.
He clenched his fist.
Then he ran after Kael.
They moved from tree to tree. Silently. Quickly. Kael's boots made no sound on the soft earth. Calvin's boots crunched once—Kael turned and glared—and Calvin learned to step more carefully.
They were fifty meters from the squad now. Thirty. Twenty.
Then Kael saw them.
Hunters. Hiding behind trees. Weapons drawn. Armor gleaming.
Ambush.
Droller's gang. Waiting for anyone who tried to run.
Shit.
Kael spotted one—a woman with a crossbow, crouched behind a root—and pulled Calvin behind a massive trunk. They pressed themselves flat against the bark.
"Wh- who is that?" Calvin's voice was a panicked whisper.
"Our life is in danger," Kael hissed. "So be silent."
Droller walked toward the squad.
His boots left deep prints in the soil. His bronze armor gleamed. His eyes moved slowly across the hunters—assessing, weighing, dismissing.
Doman stood his ground. His missing fingers throbbed beneath their bandages. His red bull mount shifted nervously behind him.
"What do you want?" Doman's voice cracked.
Droller stopped walking.
He looked at Doman. Then at the other hunters. Then at the beast meat in their hands, the storage icons on their screens, the weapons at their hips.
"Everyone." His voice was calm. Quiet. "Hand over your beast soul."
Silence.
No one moved.
Droller sighed. Like he was bored. Like this was beneath him.
He reached out—fast, faster than a man his size should be able to move—and grabbed a female hunter by the neck.
"Noooo!"
She struggled. Her feet kicked. Her hands clawed at his arm.
Crack.
Her neck broke in his grip.
Her body went limp. Droller let her fall. She hit the ground like a sack of meat.
"Or you end up like her," he added.
No one spoke.
No one breathed.
Droller smiled.
Kael watched from behind the tree.
Calvin was shaking beside him. His breath came in short, sharp gasps. His hands were clenched into fists.
"We have to—"
"We have to leave," Kael finished. "Now."
He grabbed Calvin's wrist. Pulled him deeper into the forest.
Behind them, Droller's laughter echoed through the trees.
End of Chapter Eight.