The transport ships opened their bay doors.
Wind SCREAMED into the holding areas. The twin suns of Ashmar blazed in the distance. Below, the desert stretched endlessly, dotted with rocky formations and scattered vegetation.
And in the center of it all, the arena.
Massive. Kilometers wide. Natural terrain mixed with artificial structures. Towers. Bridges. Caves. Obstacles designed to create chaos.
"CADETS!" The announcement boomed through every ship simultaneously. "WELCOME TO THE CRUCIBLE! ON MY MARK, YOU WILL DEPLOY! REMEMBER THE RULES! TOP SIXTEEN ADVANCE! DEFEAT OPPONENTS FOR POINTS! SURVIVE THE ENVIRONMENT! YOUR TRACKERS ARE ACTIVE! GOOD LUCK!"
A pause.
Then the countdown.
"THREE!"
Cadets moved to the edge of bay doors. Hearts pounding. Adrenaline surging.
"TWO!"
Juli cracked his knuckles. His red eyes burned with excitement.
"ONE!"
"DEPLOY!"
Hundreds of cadets LAUNCHED themselves into the sky.
It was beautiful.
Like a meteor shower in reverse. Bodies plummeting through the atmosphere, silhouetted against the twin suns. Gliders deployed from their backs, metallic wings catching the light. The sky became a kaleidoscope of colors as cadets descended in controlled falls.
Cameras captured everything. Every angle. Every moment.
The galaxy watched, mesmerized.
Juli fell headfirst, arms at his sides, body aerodynamic. Wind tore at his uniform. His blonde hair whipped wildly. His grin was manic.
The descent was almost identical to how Ragnar had fallen on Verdara. Like a meteor. Like a weapon being dropped from orbit.
His glider deployed with a mechanical hiss, red fabric spreading like wings. He adjusted his trajectory, banking hard toward the center of the arena.
Around him, hundreds of others did the same. A coordinated chaos. Some headed for high ground. Others aimed for cover. A few, like Juli, dove straight for the heart of the battlefield.
The ground rushed up fast.
Juli pulled up at the last second, his glider catching air. He hit the sand in a roll, coming up in a crouch. The glider detached automatically, folding back into his pack.
He was down.
The Crucible had begun.
Cadets landed everywhere. The arena erupted into motion.
Some immediately sought cover. Others formed defensive positions. The smart ones observed, calculated, waited.
The hot-blooded ones charged.
Pam landed gracefully near a rocky outcrop, Tessa right beside her. They quickly moved to cover, weapons ready.
"Juli? Kade?" Pam called out through their team comm.
Silence.
She turned, her heightened senses scanning. "Where are—"
"THEY'RE ALREADY FIGHTING!" Tessa pointed.
In the distance, two figures were already engaged with enemy cadets. One blonde, one orange-striped.
Of course.
Pam sighed. "Idiots."
Polo's Position
Five cadets surrounded him. Various species. Various weapons. All confident they had the numbers advantage.
They were wrong.
Polo moved.
His dual pistols came up in a blur. Energy rounds screamed from the barrels. One shot. Two shots. Three. Each one perfectly placed. Not lethal, but devastating. The trackers registered hits. Three cadets teleported out immediately, eliminated.
The remaining two charged.
Polo holstered one pistol mid-motion. Caught the first attacker's punch with his bare hand. Twisted. The sound of something popping. The cadet screamed. Polo's knee came up, connecting with their gut. They crumpled.
The last one swung a blade.
Polo leaned back, the weapon missing by millimeters. He pivoted, using the attacker's momentum against them. His elbow slammed into their spine. They went down hard.
Four seconds. Five enemies. Done.
His black eyes remained cold. Neutral. Like he was doing basic drills.
"Polo!" Hanna landed beside him, her wings fluttering. "We're moving northeast!"
She wielded a mallet that looked too big for her small frame, but she swung it with practiced ease. A nearby cadet tried to ambush them. She spun, the mallet connecting with a sickening THUD. They flew backward, eliminated before they hit the ground.
"Lead the way," Polo said quietly.
They moved as a unit. Efficient. Deadly.
Javar's Position
"YO YO YO!" Javar soared overhead, wings spread wide. "Di birdy comin' through!"
Three cadets looked up too late.
Javar's wings SHIMMERED. Feathers detached like missiles, shooting downward in a barrage. They struck with shocking force, embedding in armor, shields, and flesh. The cadets' trackers registered critical hits. Eliminated.
Javar laughed, looping through the air. "Too easy, mon! Too EASY!"
He dove low, grabbing a cadet by their shoulders. Lifted them ten meters up. Then dropped them.
They screamed. Hit the sand. Tracker beeped. Gone.
"WICKED!" Javar spun mid-air, dodging return fire. His aerial maneuverability was insane. Impossible to track. Impossible to hit.
A brave soul tried to jump and grab him.
Javar caught their wrist, used the momentum to swing them in a full circle, then released. They crashed into two other cadets. All three eliminated.
His fighting style was nonchalant. Almost playful. Like this was a game to him.
And maybe it was.
Stone's Position
Stone stood on a raised platform, surveying the chaos below. His cybernetic eye zoomed in, tracking movements. Calculating trajectories.
"Alright," he muttered. "Time to make an entrance."
His mechanical arm TRANSFORMED. Plating shifted. Components rearranged. In seconds, his entire left arm had become a massive plasma cannon, glowing with blue energy.
He aimed at a cluster of cadets trying to form a defensive position.
"Sorry y'all."
The cannon FIRED.
A beam of pure plasma screamed across the arena. It hit the ground near the cadets, exploding in a burst of light and force. They scattered, some eliminated by the shockwave alone.
The visual was SPECTACULAR. Cameras zoomed in, capturing every detail. The crowd watching across the galaxy gasped.
Stone's arm transformed back, plating sliding into place with mechanical precision.
"That's what I'm talkin' about."
He jumped from the platform, his cybernetic enhancements absorbing the impact. Then he started running.
His target was clear.
The blonde kid everyone was talking about.
Time to test the hype.
Juli's Position
Juli stood in an open area. Bad tactics. Terrible positioning.
And he was surrounded.
Ten cadets. Maybe more. They'd converged on him like sharks sensing blood. The famous Julian Weiper. The Ragnar survivor. The tournament favorite.
Taking him down meant points. Meant glory. Meant proving yourself.
They closed in from all sides.
Juli didn't move. Just stood there, hands in his pockets. Watching them approach.
One cadet, a massive reptilian with confidence oozing from every scale, stepped forward. "You're the big shot, huh? Let's see if you're worth the hype!"
Others laughed. Agreed. Weapons raised.
The cameras focused in. This was the moment. The first real test of the tournament's favorite.
Juli's hands came out of his pockets slowly.
His trademark grin spread across his face.
That cocky, reckless, absolutely fearless grin.
"You're gonna get your heads kicked in!"