The weeks that followed were the most brutal Youri had ever endured.
There was no longer any pretense of learning. No lectures, no gradual progression, no room for mistakes. The academy had shed its final layer of mercy. Training began before dawn and ended long after nightfall, compressing months of battlefield conditioning into a handful of relentless days. Every hour was accounted for—live-fire drills, zero-atmosphere maneuvering, neural endurance tests, reactor failure simulations, and combat scenarios so punishing they bordered on cruelty.
Sleep became a rumor. Pain became familiar.
By the end of the first week, eight recruits remained.
By the end of the second, six.
And by the third and final week, only five pilots still stood.
Those who failed were not shamed. They were congratulated, awarded their wings, and offered commissions as full Terrian military pilots—an honor in its own right. But they were escorted out of the hangars with a quiet finality that made it clear: this path no longer belonged to them.
The five who remained understood something fundamental.
This was no longer about passing.
It was about surviving each other.
They stood in Hangar six, a structure larger than any before it, its ceiling disappearing into shadow. The air hummed with restrained power. Five orbitons stood in a wide circle, each separated by equal distance, each dormant but alert—machines waiting for a verdict.
Varos paced before them, hands clasped behind his back.
"You have reached the final test," he said calmly. "There will be no instructors intervening. No safety overrides beyond lethal thresholds. What you are about to do mirrors real combat as closely as the academy allows."
He stopped, turning slowly to face them.
"You will fight one another."
The words settled heavily.
"This is not a tournament," Varos continued. "This is an evaluation of resolve, adaptability, restraint, and lethality. You will be paired. One pilot will advance immediately. The loser's fate will depend on performance."
A pause.
"The final remaining pilot will face the winner of the first bout."
Youri's jaw tightened.
Varos activated his datapad. Holographic brackets appeared in the air.
"First match: Kess Pert versus Ceko Vale."
Kess exhaled sharply, then nodded, his expression sharpening into focus. He stepped toward his assigned orbiton without a word.
"Second match," Varos said, his gaze lifting slightly. "Youri Kronos… versus Aiden Roe."
The hangar went silent.
Youri didn't look at Aiden immediately. He didn't need to. He could feel him—rigid, coiled, simmering with something dangerously close to satisfaction.
"So it's you," Aiden said at last, his voice carrying easily. "Figures."
Youri met his gaze calmly. "Guess simulations weren't enough for you."
Aiden smiled thinly. "I'm going to enjoy proving that."
The battlefield was a sealed combat dome beyond the hangar—a vast, modular arena that could shift terrain mid-fight. As Youri's Minerva unit lowered into position, the familiar weight settled around him like armor over bone.
The cockpit sealed.
Neural link engaged.
The world expanded.
Across the arena, Aiden's Minerva powered up, its gold-accented armor gleaming under artificial light. His unit stood aggressively, rifle already raised, shield angled forward.
"Combatants ready," Varos's voice echoed through the dome."Begin."
Aiden moved instantly.
He didn't test the field. He didn't probe. He charged.
His Minerva surged forward with brutal efficiency, thrusters flaring as he closed the distance, rifle barking pulse-fire meant to overwhelm Youri's defenses before he could settle into rhythm.
Youri raised his shield just in time.
The impact rattled him to the core. Warning lights flared across his HUD as the Minerva absorbed the punishment.
ARMOR INTEGRITY: 88%
Youri slid backward across the arena floor, boots carving trenches into the composite ground. He gritted his teeth.
Aiden pressed the advantage, switching to a heavier firing mode, pulse rounds slamming in relentless succession.
"You're too slow, Kronos!" Aiden shouted over comms. "Always reacting!"
Youri said nothing.
He let the Minerva absorb. Let the machine feel the pattern.
Then he stepped sideways.
Not back. Aside.
Aiden overextended.
Youri dropped his shield just long enough to fire a precise counter-shot. The pulse struck Aiden's shoulder plating, staggering the Minerva and forcing it to pivot awkwardly.
Youri surged forward.
The two orbitons collided with titanic force, shields grinding, armor screeching. Youri felt the strain ripple through his spine as he shoved against Aiden's superior raw aggression.
Aiden laughed. "That all you've got?"
Youri leaned deeper into the neural link, ignoring the burn behind his eyes.
"No," he whispered.
He disengaged suddenly, ducking low and sweeping Aiden's legs with a calculated strike. The Minerva's reinforced shin slammed into Aiden's knee joint.
Aiden's unit stumbled.
Not enough to fall—but enough.
Youri fired again, this time at close range.
The blast struck Aiden square in the chest, sending him crashing backward across the arena. His Minerva skidded, armor sparking violently as it struck a raised ridge and came to a halt.
Youri didn't celebrate.
He advanced cautiously, weapon raised, breath heavy.
Aiden's Minerva began to rise again—slowly, shakily.
AIDEN – ARMOR INTEGRITY: 41%
"You think this is over?" Aiden growled.
He triggered his thrusters in a reckless burst, launching himself forward in a final, desperate charge.
Youri reacted on instinct.
He braced.
Shield up. Feet planted.
The impact was catastrophic.
Both orbitons slammed together, the force tearing through dampeners. Youri screamed as neural feedback surged, white-hot agony flooding his senses.
Alarms screamed.
CORE STABILITY CRITICALSYNC DROPPING
Youri felt himself slipping.
This was the moment simulations never prepared you for—the moment where the machine threatened to tear you apart.
And still—
He held on.
With a roar that echoed through the dome, Youri redirected the force, twisting at the last second and driving his shield edge-first into Aiden's cockpit housing.
The Minerva cracked against the reinforced barrier.
Aiden's unit went limp.
Emergency locks engaged.
Silence.
Youri's Minerva dropped to one knee, systems flickering wildly.
He barely registered Varos's voice.
"Match concluded."
Youri slumped back in the seat, chest heaving, vision blurred.
VICTORY – CONDITIONALPILOT STATUS: CRITICAL FATIGUE
When the cockpits opened, med crews rushed in—but Varos raised a hand, stopping them short.
Aiden was pulled free first, unconscious but alive. As medics worked on him, Varos studied the readouts, his expression unreadable.
Then he turned to Youri.
"You won," Varos said simply. "Barely."
Youri forced himself to stand.
"And Aiden?" he asked hoarsely.
Varos glanced toward the stretcher. "He fought like hell."
That was all he said.
Kess's match ended shortly after.
It was decisive.
Efficient.
Kess dismantled his opponent with calculated precision, exploiting every mistake without excess force. When the fight ended, his Minerva still stood tall, armor scarred but stable.
The hangar fell silent once more as the three remaining pilots—Youri, Kess, and the recovering Aiden—stood before Varos and Presley.
Varos stepped forward.
"You have proven yourselves," he said. "Not as the strongest. Not as the fastest. But as those willing to endure beyond reason."
He paused.
"The Terrian Empire does not need more pilots."
Another pause.
"It needs gods."
The words sent a chill through them all.
"You three will graduate today," Varos continued. "And effective immediately, you will be assigned to the highest classified combat unit in the empire."
Presley activated the holodisplay.
A symbol appeared—ancient, stylized, unmistakable.
GOD UNIT – ACTIVE STATUS
Youri swallowed hard.
Aiden, pale but standing, met Youri's gaze briefly. There was no hatred left there.
Only respect.
Kess exhaled slowly, almost laughing in disbelief.
Varos saluted.
"Congratulations, pilots," he said. "You no longer belong to this academy."
A pause.
"You belong to history."