Begin (2) 14: Let The Games…
Begin (2) As Atlas, Lucien, and the others rose into the skies, their linked hands forming a trembling chain of bodies against the black canopy of the forest, the true hunt began before a single word of relief could escape any of their throats.
The black-furred wolf remained hidden within the darkness it had claimed as its own, a vast and living shadow concealed so well that no one present could follow.
From its concealment, it moved with such absolute silence that its prey had no clue it was on the way.
Far below, the first of the terrified nobles who broke free from the group and bolted upward in blind panic never even saw their fate closing in.
CRUNCHHHHH!!!!!
In a single step, the wolf appeared ten kilometers up in the sky, its enormous maw lined with teeth longer than a grown man’s arm, erupting from the darkness.
The noble’s body was seized mid-flight and bitten cleanly in half at the waist.
The upper torso spun away in a spray of arterial blood that painted the leaves below in sudden crimson.
At the same time, the lower half continued rising for a heartbeat longer before gravity claimed it.
“What…
in the hell?” Atlas muttered as the chain of hands yanked hard.
His grip on Alice’s hand to one side and Alan’s to the other tightened, knuckles pale, breath caught in his throat.
“That thing…
it’s too fast.
Way too fast.” He kept his eyes wide, searching the shifting darkness for the slightest sign of movement as those around him realized that being higher up didn’t mean they were safe.
Before he could even process what was happening, another noblewoman, her silks still rippling from her rapid climb, tried to veer sharply left.
The darkness suddenly opened beneath her, almost like an all-consuming portal.
But it wasn’t a portal at all.
RIIIIIPPPP!!!!
The wolf’s jaws clamped down over her head and shoulders with a wet, crushing snap.
Her bones cracked sharply in the silence, followed by the slick rip of flesh as the wolf gave a single violent jerk.
The body collapsed headless, blood spraying from the torn neck in a long arc that fell in crimson drops through the canopy.
“This… what kind of wolf could possibly be so…” King Arden’s voice trailed off, the words dying before they could fully form, as if no words could capture what lay before his eyes.
His hand clamped tighter around Lea’s wrist, the color draining completely from his face.
Beside him, the Advisor’s other hand quivered against the King’s arm, each measured breath shallow and deliberate, his gaze flicking rapidly from one shifting shadow to another.
And…
the killings didn’t slow.
One by one, the wolf kept up its hunt, leaving nothing behind but death.
HOOOOOWWWLLLL!!!!!
The wolf’s abilities rolled through the forest a second time, lower and hungrier than before, and the remaining stragglers who still believed flight could save them broke completely.
Some dropped in sheer panic, while others shot upward, screaming, only to be snatched from the air one after another.
Bodies tore apart, heads vanished into a gaping black maw, and blood fell like warm rain through the leaves.
In under five minutes, the wild swarm of fifty or so nobles that had filled the night sky was nothing more than scattered scraps of meat and silk drifting down through the trees.
Through it all, the core group held their formation, twelve pairs of hands locked in a desperate circle of survival as they continued to rise.
But below them, the forest had gone unnaturally quiet once more.
The black-furred wolf, immense beyond any natural measure, circled unseen within its stolen darkness, its hunger only sharpened by the feast.
“Neon, buddy…” Atlas called out, “Are you going to stop prancing around now?” In that moment, it was clear that Atlas and everyone left were more than just scared—they were terrified.
Yet, even through the fear, there was still a flicker of excitement in Atlas, that spark from his geeky side refusing to fade.
Still, he knew that if he stepped forward to face the wolf, the rest of them—standing together, hands linked—would be left defenseless.
They were all technically starting from the same place, but that didn’t mean everyone could so easily come to terms with the fact that the world had completely changed.
— Far from the survivors, deep within the crater of shattered trunks and torn earth where his body had come to rest, Neon lay utterly still.
But his stillness wasn’t from injury or fatigue; his body had already healed itself instantly, even while the shallow crater around him still sent up wisps of smoke from the force of his earlier fall.
What rooted him in place was far more dangerous—the slow, deliberate cracking of the walls within his own mind.
It felt as though the caged beast had finally decided the bars were no longer enough.
As if something ancient and furious slammed against the core of his existence with rhythmic, relentless force, each impact sending tremors through every thought he possessed.
‘You can…
never fall,’ the voice murmured.
‘You can…
never falter…’ ‘You are here…
to make existence kneel!’ The voice that emerged from the darkness carried his own tone, yet felt older, hungrier, and utterly unwilling to accept any limitation.
The words did not merely echo; they carved themselves into the foundation of who he was, demanding recognition.
In that moment, Neon’s awareness drifted further inward, not into some neatly defined soul space or crafted world, but into an unavoidable place that every awakened being must face when the reality of who they truly are can no longer be ignored.
The gritty world of dirt, blood, and darkness faded, giving way to an endless stretch of pure, blank white that extended in every direction, with no horizon or shadow in sight.
Before him stood an identical version of himself.
A supremely handsome young man with short, messy white hair that seemed to catch light even in the absence of any source, smooth pale skin unmarked by hardship, and clear red eyes that held both familiarity and an unnerving depth.
Neon studied the figure for a long moment, then slowly turned his head to take in the endless white before shifting his focus back.
He tilted his head slightly, the motion small and almost curious.
“What are you?” he asked bluntly, feeling no trace of malice—only a strange sense of familiarity in the presence before him.
The other him smiled, a quiet, knowing curve of the lips that held neither arrogance nor pity.
He stepped closer, lifting one hand, and gently pressed the tip of a single finger to the center of Neon’s chest, right where his essence always gathered most.
“I’m you,” the figure said, voice calm and certain.
“The Defiant Usurper.” In that very moment, the words struck deeper than any physical blow.
They resonated through Neon’s entire being as though the title had always been waiting there, buried beneath layers of ordinary life and half-formed ambitions.
He drew a slow, steady breath, the first true breath he had taken since the internal storm began, and instead of circling the revelation or arguing with it, he asked the only question that mattered.
“Is this going to change who I am?” Ever since awakening, he’d felt a rush of excitement, urgency, and other emotions he couldn’t quite put into words.
Neon knew it all stemmed from his Existential Path, recalling the earlier status messages that now felt like an unavoidable warning.
‘I guess there’s no running from it…’ he thought, and as the thought crossed his mind, the other him shook his head, the smile never fading.
“No.
This is only who….
we were always meant to be.” Neon held that red-eyed gaze for another heartbeat, then gave a single, decisive nod.
In that moment, the two figures drew even closer, slowly beginning to merge.
There was no flash of light, no dramatic shattering of form—just a seamless, inevitable blending, as every distinction between them dissolved completely.