The monsters of Isola Krein did not roar.
They moved.
That alone told Azelar everything he needed to know.
Across the broken highlands west of the training grounds, the earth lay crushed into layered plates, as if gravity itself had pressed the land flat and forgotten to let go. The air shimmered faintly—residual distortion from a region where gravity no longer behaved like a rule, but a condition.
Ninety times the world's pull.
And the monsters stood upright inside it.
Not struggling.
Not trembling.
Adapting.
Christine felt it the moment she stepped into the field.
Her boots sank an inch into the stone. Her lungs tightened. Her heartbeat doubled, then stabilized as her body adjusted—slowly, painfully.
Nyk rolled his shoulders, grin sharp and feral. "Okay. I'll admit it. This place hates us."
Azelar stood between them, calm as ever, hands clasped behind his back, bare chest marked with old scars that gravity itself seemed to respect.
"These creatures," he said, "were born weak."
The monsters ahead shifted—towering shapes of bone, chitin, and muscle layered like armor forged by evolution itself. Their limbs were too dense, their movements too precise for their size.
"They survived," Azelar continued, "by changing faster than the world tried to kill them."
Christine swallowed. "So… what are we?"
Azelar glanced at her. "Students."
Then he stepped aside.
"Begin."
The first monster moved.
Not with brute force—but with intent.
It vanished from its original position, reappearing in front of Christine in less than a blink, adapted muscles compressing and releasing with terrifying efficiency.
Christine raised her gun—
—and froze.
No.
Azelar's voice cut through her hesitation like a blade.
"Don't."
The monster's claw scraped across her shoulder, tearing fabric and skin. Pain flared white-hot, but she held her ground.
"Christine," Azelar said calmly, "you rely on the medium because you're afraid of yourself."
Her teeth clenched. "I'm not afraid."
"You're cautious," he corrected. "That's different. But today, caution will get you killed."
The monster reared back.
Christine exhaled—and lowered the gun.
Her hand rose instead.
Two fingers extended.
The world listened.
The monster lunged.
Christine pointed.
And judged.
There was no sound.
No flash.
The creature stumbled mid-stride—not stopped, not erased, but hesitant. As if the universe itself had raised an eyebrow.
Christine's eyes widened.
"I— I didn't fire."
"No," Azelar said. "You issued intent."
The monster screamed—not in pain, but in resistance. It fought the verdict, adapted mind trying to evolve past judgment itself.
Christine felt the strain immediately.
Sweat beaded on her brow. Her chest tightened.
"It's alive," she whispered. "It's choosing."
"Yes," Azelar said softly. "Now decide."
Christine's hand trembled.
She saw it then—not futures, not trajectories, but weight. The lives this thing would end. The suffering it would spread—not out of malice, but because it could.
Her jaw set.
"Guilty," she said.
Her fingers curled.
The monster collapsed—bones folding inward, muscles locking, consciousness extinguished without violence.
It lived.
But it would never harm again.
Christine staggered back, gasping.
Nyk caught her before she fell. "Hey—easy."
Her voice shook. "That was harder than killing."
Azelar nodded. "Because killing is simple. Judgment is not."
Nyk didn't wait.
He launched himself forward, gravity screaming as his body tore through it, fists crackling with ruinous potential. His first punch shattered a monster's torso, sending fragments skidding across the stone.
Another adapted instantly—its body compressing, muscles reorienting, speed doubling.
It struck Nyk square in the ribs.
Something cracked.
He skidded backward, coughing blood, laughing through it. "Okay. Okay. That one hurt."
"Erase it," Azelar called out. "End the fight."
Nyk looked at the monster.
At the way it moved. Learned. Changed.
And hesitated.
"No," he said.
Azelar's brow furrowed. "Explain."
"If I erase it," Nyk said between breaths, "I learn nothing. And it learns nothing."
The monster lunged again.
Nyk shifted—not erasing the creature, but the possibility of its next strike.
The attack missed by inches—space itself betraying the monster's intent.
But adaptation was relentless.
The creature felt the absence.
It changed again.
Faster.
Stronger.
Smarter.
Its next blow landed.
Hard.
Nyk hit the ground, vision swimming, ribs screaming.
Azelar was there instantly—but did not intervene.
"Cost," Azelar said. "This is the cost."
Nyk forced himself up, blood dripping from his mouth. "Yeah. I know."
He looked at the monster again—not as an enemy, but as a lesson.
This time, he reached deeper.
Not erasing existence.
Not erasing possibility.
He erased advantage.
The monster froze mid-motion—still alive, still present, but suddenly… equal.
Nyk moved.
One clean strike.
The creature fell.
Nyk dropped to one knee, breathing hard, pain flooding in all at once.
Christine ran to him. "You idiot—why didn't you just end it?"
He grinned weakly. "Because… if I always choose the end… I become it."
Azelar placed a hand on his shoulder.
"You refused the easy path," he said. "And paid for it."
Nyk winced. "Still worth it."
The days that followed were brutal.
Christine trained without the gun more often than with it—learning to channel verdict through gesture, through gaze, through presence. Each judgment drained less of her resonance, steadier, cleaner.
"The medium is a crutch," Azelar told her. "A useful one—but not essential."
By the end of the second week, she could condemn a target with a glance and a word.
Nyk trained under increasing gravity, learning restraint through suffering—choosing what not to erase, even when it hurt.
"You don't win by ending everything," Azelar reminded him. "You win by choosing what must end."
At night, they sat together, bruised and exhausted, watching the stars bend faintly under Isola Krein's strange sky.
Christine rested her head on Nyk's shoulder. "You ever think about how far we've come?"
He chuckled softly. "Yeah. And how far he's gone."
Somewhere—far deeper than gravity, far darker than night—Rayon trained.
And the monsters of Isola Krein learned fear.
Not of power.
But of judgment.