The wind across the silver dunes shifted.
A low chime resonated over the realm like a distant bell struck across the sky.
[ARMORY ACCESS GRANTED]
[ALL QUALIFIED PARTICIPANTS MAY SELECT EQUIPMENT]
[WEAPONS DATABASE: UNLOCKED — STANDARD HUMAN ARMAMENTS]
Metallic pillars rose from beneath the desert floor with a heavy grinding sound. Each one split open like blooming iron gates, revealing weapon racks fixed in place, neatly arranged with military precision.
This wasn't a fantasy armory.
It was human warfare—raw and honest.
Neatly lined were:
Standard issue assault rifles with fixed iron sights.
Semi-auto pistols with basic holsters and extra magazines.
Bolt-action sniper rifles wrapped in cloth for sand protection.
Combat knives, machetes, trench blades, and bayonets.
Carbon steel katanas, military sabers, short spears, tactical batons, tomahawks, sledgehammers, and crowbars.
Wooden and metal shields, riot shields reinforced with steel plating.
Everything was human-crafted. Nothing glowed. No futuristic attachments.
Just cold metal and ammunition.
A calm voice passed over the dunes like a verdict.
[You will not be judged by what you take.]
[You will be judged by how you use it.]
Participants stepped forward with calm discipline. No pushing. No scrambling. It looked like soldiers checking out gear before deployment.
Long-range teams took sniper rifles with canvas-wrapped stocks, checking barrels for sand.
Infantry-style players grabbed rifles, slung ammo pouches across their shoulders, loading magazines with practiced ease.
Close-combat specialists strapped knives to their boots, holstered pistols, and selected batons and machetes.
Martial fighters, those who relied more on hand-to-hand combat, picked lighter gear—bracers, knuckle guards, simple wraps around their hands and forearms.
There was no cheering and no fear.
Just the quiet efficiency of people who had trained for this.
From Unity Tower, Tony let out a slow whistle. "…Not a mob. A formation."
Aizen's eyes were still. "The most dangerous battlefield… is one filled with people who are already ready to die properly."
Back in the Ring Realm—
As the last rifle was loaded and the final blade sheathed, the weapon racks retracted back into the sand. The desert went still.
The three suns in the sky pulsed once.
[TRIAL 1: SURVIVAL MARCH — BEGIN.]
A faint tremor rolled through the dunes.
In the far distance, the sand shifted unnaturally. Something moved beneath—not large… just many.
The formation leaders were already calling positions.
Marksmen dropped to a knee, adjusting their rifles.
Shield carriers moved to the front, boots grinding in the sand.
Close-combat fighters crouched, weapons low and steady.
Flank units broke formation just enough to widen the perimeter, eyes scanning for movement.
No one yelled orders.
Hand signals. Short nods. Controlled breathing.
A ripple went across the dunes like a pulse before a storm.
Then—the desert split.
Dozens of metal forms burst from the sand, shaped like wolf-sized hunting machines — no energy core visible, no glowing eyes. Just polished steel frames, hydraulic limbs, jaws of metal teeth snapping as they sprinted across the dunes with terrifying speed.
Shuri leaned forward, "They're testing perimeter discipline."
Natasha's gaze sharpened. "Then they'll go for whoever hesitates first."
Above the charging metallic pack, one line of text shimmered in the blazing heat:
[PHASE 1.1 — FIND THE HESITANT.]
The first rifle cracked.
A single shot — clean, controlled — rang across the dunes.
The nearest metal hound jerked mid-sprint, a neat hole punched through the joint between its head and frame. It crumpled, sand scattering around it.
Then the line opened fire.
— Short controlled bursts, no panicked sprays.
— Shield carriers held steady, forming a staggered wall, rifles firing between gaps.
— Snipers did not rush their shots — every squeeze of the trigger was a kill.
The metal beasts lunged through the bullets, hydraulic limbs absorbing impacts — but the marksmen adjusted instantly, shifting aim to joints, neck plates, exposed wiring along the legs.
They didn't fire for dramatic kills.
They fired for function — disable, collapse, move on.
"Joints. Don't waste ammo on armor."
A squad leader's voice cut through the comms — flat, instructional, no emotion.
A flanking beast tried to circle left.
Two scouts were already waiting.
One slid low across the sand, baton hooking the leg, the other stepped in with a machete swung upward, severing the rear hinge. They didn't cheer. They simply moved back to position.
Hydraulics hissed.
Metal slammed into sand.
Bullets stitched lines through the pack.
In less than forty seconds, twenty-three metal beasts lay scattered across the dunes — twitching, sparking, or still.
Not a single human had fallen.
From Unity Tower, Steve exhaled slowly. "Tight formations. No panic. They've drilled for this."
Tony nodded. "Notice something? Not one of them went for flashy kills. No ego shooters. All hitting center mass variations and joint angles. That's… coordinated discipline."
Aizen's eyes moved to the field. His voice was calm, almost approving.
"They identified a threat, applied force, confirmed neutralization. Efficient. Ruthless. Human."
"well of course each country sent their best guys " Dave said as others nodded.
Back in the Ring Realm—
One of the team medics moved across the line, scanning for injuries. No one stopped him. They rotated fire without orders, watching the dunes as if expecting a second wave.
But the desert was still. Silent. Watching.
Those who had cut down constructs bent briefly, turning the bodies over, checking for something — enemy tags, kill markers, elimination prompts.
They found nothing.
The constructs did not bleed.
They did not drop markers.
There was no confirmation message.
And that was when a realization spread — not confusion, but analysis.
A squad leader knelt, wiped a line of dust across his glove, and murmured:
"…These aren't eliminations."
He stood and looked across the wasteland of fallen metal bodies.
"This is… just noise."
As if on cue, the voice returned — this time, colder.
[Elimination Count: 0]
[Correct Action Taken: Formation Integrity Maintained]
[Threat: Incomplete]
[Phase 1.1 — Ongoing]
The fallen machines on the ground twitched.
Their limbs shuddered.
Click. Click. Click.
They weren't dead.
They were re-calibrating.
And suddenly—
ALL of them stood back up at once.
No roar. No scream.
Just metal rising silently, eyes dead and cold — and this time, they moved smarter, splitting into coordinated packs, circling, attempting to break formation.
Tony's eyebrows lifted. "Ah. There it is. The second learning phase."
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