The Sol's corpse hadn't stoppedq twitching when the whistle blew.
Isaac lowered his blade, chest rising and falling, black blood dripping from the edge onto the arena floor. The smell hit him a second later—burnt flesh, iron, something rotten beneath it all. He swallowed hard but didn't look away.
"TARGET ELIMINATED," an instructor announced. "NEXT PAIR—MOVE."
The containment field flared again, sealing the corpse in crackling energy. Maintenance drones descended, shredding the remains into nothing more than mist and bone fragments.
Isaac stepped back into line.
Lisa slapped his shoulder hard. "Nice kill."
"Messy," Lane said quietly, eyes still on the bloodstain where the Sol had died.
Vance didn't comment. He never did during drills. Praise made people sloppy.
The next Sol dropped—this one faster, leaner, all claws and spine. It tore into a trainee before anyone reacted. Screams erupted as bone snapped, blood spraying across the arena wall. The Sol didn't stop to savor it.
It didn't need to.
"DON'T FREEZE!"
"KILL IT!"
"MOVE OR DIE!"
Isaac watched as the trainee fell, clutching what was left of his abdomen. His intestines spilled out between trembling fingers. The Sol crushed his skull a heartbeat later.
Silence followed.
No pause. No ceremony.
"NEXT."
Lisa's jaw clenched. Lane looked away.
Isaac didn't.
This was GRIMM.
Later, in the locker halls, the noise faded into something heavier. The kind of quiet that settled after people realized they'd survived another day.
Isaac rinsed blood from his hands, watching it spiral down the drain.
"You hesitated," Vance said from behind him.
Isaac stiffened. "I didn't."
"You did," Vance replied calmly. "Half a second. You watched him die."
Isaac turned. "He was already dead."
"That thinking will get you killed," Vance said. His eyes were sharp, not angry—worse. Disappointed. "You don't have the luxury of observation."
Lisa stepped between them. "He killed his Sol. That's what matters."
Vance looked at her. "For now."
He turned and walked away.
Isaac clenched his fists.
Lane lingered. "He's hard on you because—"
"—because he's perfect?" Isaac snapped.
Lane flinched
Isaac exhaled, rubbing his face. "Sorry. I didn't mean—"
"I know," Lane said softly.
She always did.
That night, the Demonio quarters were quiet.
Lisa lay sprawled across her bed, boots still on, staring at the ceiling. Lane sat cross-legged on the floor, cleaning dried blood from her gauntlets. Isaac leaned against the window, watching the Rift Towers pulse red in the distance.
"Do you ever think about before?" Lisa asked suddenly.
"Before what?" Isaac said.
"Before all this," she replied. "Before the Phenomenon."
Isaac shrugged. "No one remembers it. Might as well be a myth."
Lane hesitated. "Some people do."
Lisa looked at her. "Who?"
Lane shook her head. "Doesn't matter."
Silence again.
Isaac pressed his forehead against the glass. For a moment—just a moment—he felt something strange. Like a pressure behind his eyes. Like something tugging at him from somewhere far away.
He blinked.
It was gone.
"Hey," Lisa said, forcing a grin. "Tomorrow's joint ops. Vance said we might get field clearance soon."
Isaac smirked. "About damn time."
Lane didn't smile.
.....
Far beneath GRIMM, in a place no Reaper was allowed to know existed, a throne of bone and shadow pulsed with Black Force.
The mysterious sinister figure sat comfortably, fingers steepled, watching echoes of Isaac's fight replay in fractured reality.
"So much rage," He murmured. "So much potential."
A presence stirred beside him—something ancient, something bound.
"He isn't ready," it whispered.
He smiled wider.
"No," he agreed. "But his brother is."
The echo shifted.
Vance Demonio stood on a battlefield soaked in blood.
And fate quietly locked into place.