The sound of cheers roared across the vast holding grounds, rising like a wave that threatened to swallow the entire camp in noise.
It was deafening—sharp, frenzied, and unstoppable—as dozens of massive floating projections came to life above the slave compound.
Their light painted the sky in flickering hues, each screen displaying twisted, monstrous forests in eerie shades of green and red.
The pale morning clouds were brushed aside by this artificial glow, creating a strange blend of anticipation and dread in the air.
Civilians lined the outer walls beyond the transparent barriers, their mouths agape, eyes wide with excitement, pointing up at the projections, as if expecting a story to begin.
Then the name was spoken—projected, whispered, and screamed.
"Gravemarch."
The single word rolled through the encampment like thunder, drawing gasps, wide eyes, and shivers.
It didn't need explanation.
To the common people of Zeraf, to the nobles who watched from the upper decks of luxury, and to the countless slaves below—
it was a name already written in blood and legend.
Gravemarch was no ordinary battleground.
It was a planet infamous throughout the empire's records, feared and respected in equal measure.
Entire noble lines boasted ancestors who survived its trials.
But few ever spoke of the details.
Its entire surface was blanketed in wild, sprawling forest—trees that stretched impossibly high into the clouds and formed an unbroken canopy so thick that even sunlight could rarely pierce through.
Beneath that suffocating veil, life twisted into something dark and unnatural.
Beasts that drank blood
. Creatures that slithered without form.
Roots that moved like snakes.
It was a place where even the brave dared not enter without an army at their back.
To the crowd watching, it was a spectacle of nightmares.
To the slaves below, it was a sentence.
A quiet unease began to ripple across the field.
Then—
*RUMBLE...
A low vibration trembled through the ground, so faint at first that many thought they were imagining it.
But then it deepened, growing louder and more violent with every second, like the breathing of some great mechanical beast rising from slumber beneath the earth.
*Clack! *Clack!
*RUMBLE...!
The center of the arena groaned, a grinding, thunderous roar echoing from beneath the very feet of the captives.
Dust burst from the cracks as the stone plates began to shudder and pull apart, revealing the teeth of some immense mechanism hidden below.
"MOVE BACK! MOVE BACK!" came a sharp, familiar voice—one that carved through the noise like a blade.
Evakhell.
The warden's voice carried with it a command that turned immediately into action.
Soldiers snapped to motion, pushing and shoving through the crowd, grabbing slaves by the arms and yanking them away from the center platform.
The tremors worsened.
Heat surged from below.
Then came the sound of steel against steel.
*SKRRR!!!
With an agonized screech, a massive structure began to rise from the ground—metal grinding against metal, gears locking into place as a giant platform ascended into the open air.
At its core was a wide circular pit, perfectly smooth, perfectly dark, its center like the pupil of a massive eye.
*HISSSS!!!
Vents burst open along the sides, spewing white-hot steam into the air as thick tubes hissed and pulsed.
The machine was alive.
Its surface shimmered faintly with the glow of activated eidra—lines of blue and violet crawling like veins through the steel.
It slammed into place with a thunderous
*CLANG!
the final piece of the machine now fully exposed.
For a moment, everything stilled.
Then—
*CHEERING!!!
Even louder than before, the audience erupted again, as if this monstrous machine had been a performer taking center stage.
Their anticipation was wild, rabid.
Jinn narrowed his gaze at the device, his eyes sharp and unreadable.
It was massive.
Towering.
Unmistakably crafted with precision and power.
The machine's size alone dwarfed every other object in the arena, and though its center remained dormant for now, the quiet hum of energy beneath its surface hinted at something far more dangerous.
This wasn't just for display.
This was functional.
It was important.
Vox stepped forward, his arms crossed, lenses of his glasses glinting in the projection light.
He studied the patterns, the size, the channels of energy visible across its surface.
"It's a teleporter," he said calmly. "A large-scale one. I'd stake my life on it."
The others glanced at him, then at the machine again. The theory made sense.
"It's definitely built to move something," Orin said dryly. "Hopefully not into our graves, though…"
"No—he's right," Biyo rumbled, stepping up beside them, arms folded as his eyes locked on the structure.
His voice lowered. "That's an eidra lane."
"A what?" Jinn turned his head.
"It's a specialized transport conduit," Biyo explained, his tone now serious.
"The Zeraf deploy these when launching assaults on hostile worlds. They use them to flood the battlefield with reinforcements—wave after wave, without pause. It links directly to a gate system already planted on Gravemarch."
Jinn's expression darkened, jaw tightening.
"Then that means… we're going straight into the heart of it."
No trials, no delay, no preparation.
Just thrown directly into Gravemarch's lungs.
Suddenly, the announcer's voice returned—gleeful and excited, filled with theatrical flair.
"Well then!" he laughed through the loudspeakers.
"Let's not keep our brave contestants waiting!"
*click!
With a simple press of his hand against the glowing control console, the machine began to stir again.
The circular pit at its center lit up, rings of steel rotating in opposite directions.
The hum grew louder.
The air turned heavy.
Energy rippled outward in waves of heat and pressure.
At last, light exploded from the machine's core,
*VRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!
a swirling mass of bright particles twisting upward into a vortex.
A rippling distortion opened, expanding outward until it formed a stable, shimmering portal—its surface bubbling like water, yet reflecting nothing at all.
The portal was ready.
The machine let out a final hiss as the vortex stabilized, and the ground trembled slightly beneath their feet.
Then, the announcer raised both of his arms into the air with exaggerated flair, fingers wide and splayed as he shouted:
"The second ritual begins now! Form yourselves into groups of TEN! And be quick—the timer starts now!"
Above them, a holographic display burst into life, casting large red numbers across the sky:
5:00
The countdown had begun.
Chaos followed instantly.
Panic flooded the camp like a dam had broken. Slaves turned in every direction—grabbing, shouting, pleading, fighting—not to be left behind
. Some screamed names.
Others pulled strangers into their ranks, desperate not to be cast out.
Jinn wasted no time.
He turned to Biyo, voice clear and commanding.
"Biyo. You're with us."
The towering man gave a firm nod.
"You're the only group I trust and know. I'll take my chances with you."
"Then we just need two more," Jinn muttered, eyes scanning the sea of bodies.
Already groups were forming all around them.
Some solidified quickly—others crumbled under disorganization.
The time ticked down.
Then, something clicked in Jinn's mind.
His eyes widened.
Without another word, he spun on his heel.
"Wait here," he ordered. "I'll find the last two."
And before anyone could argue, he was gone—moving like wind through the chaos.
He weaved through the stampede, ducking under flailing arms, slipping past screaming captives, the seconds ticking louder in his mind than the actual timer.
He ignored the noise, the shouts, the hands grabbing at him, the collapsing figures, the blood beginning to spill.
He had a destination in mind.
And then—
he saw him.
The man who had Orin's necklace.
Standing alone at the edge of the crowd, arms at his side, head tilted slightly as he watched the chaos with quiet eyes.
No group.
No movement.
Just stillness.
Jinn slowed his pace as he approached.
Their eyes met—and instantly, the man shifted his foot back.
A small movement, but enough.
He was ready to run.
"I mean no harm," Jinn said, his voice steady and calm despite the storm around them. "But the timer's ticking. You want to survive or not?"
He paused, stepping closer, hands open and empty.
"Join our team. We have room."
The seconds kept falling.
The tension between them was sharp as a blade.
And Jinn waited—
for an answer.