The Savage Pack
The brief silence George had earned was shattered not by the bats returning, but by the heavy tread of boots on stone. As he frantically searched for a way out of the dead-end corridor, a group of Harvesters, shrouded in the shifting shadows of the upper tiers, discovered him. Unlike the supportive students at the Academy, these were men and women driven by a fierce, unchecked ambition. They moved with a predatory grace, their eyes alight with a cold malice as they fixed their sights on the isolated boy from the village. This menacing group was no random collection of stragglers; they were skilled hunters and cunning strategists who had clearly decided that thinning the competition was the quickest path to victory.
"There! The one from the resonance field," a tall, gaunt Harvester hissed. Without warning, he swung his arm, launching a condensed wind ball.
George felt the air pressure spike and dove to the side, the projectile whistling past his shoulder and denting the stone wall. He barely had time to roll before another candidate, a woman with flame-red hair and a jagged scar across her cheek, unleashed a roaring fire ball. George gritted his teeth, thrusting his palms forward to conjure a gust of wind that redirected the heat, sending the flames spiraling toward the ceiling.
"Don't let him breathe!" a third attacker cried, firing a heavy sphere of high-pressure water. It moved too fast to dodge. The water ball crashed into George's ribs with the force of a battering ram, knocking the wind from his lungs and slamming him into the dirt.
George scrambled to his feet, tasting copper in his mouth. He realized with a jolt of terror that he was in the heart of a brutal, unmonitored competition. He was trapped in a city that demanded he outwit both its treacherous, shifting paths and the other candidates who were willing to kill for a higher ranking.
"Get him!" the leader yelled, his voice echoing off the high stone walls. "Kill him quickly, before the Maze rotate the sector!"
George ducked low as another fire ball wisped past his ear, crashing into the rubble behind him with a deafening thud. His heart raced, a frantic drumbeat against his ribs as he turned and sprinted. With the pack closing in, George delved deeper into the throat of the maze. The walls seemed to press inward, the corridors narrowing as if the city itself were trying to pin him down for his pursuers. The air hung thick with tension. Danger lurked behind every corner, and he saw glimpses of other skirmishes in the distance—alliances fracturing as quickly as they were formed. On the brink of a mental breaking point, with Nana and Kayn seemingly lost in the vastness of the labyrinth, the weight of the Harvest bore down on George like a mountain. In a heart-pounding moment, the path ahead suddenly narrowed into a sheer vertical drop. George skidded to a halt, turning only to find himself cornered. The pack of savage candidates fanned out, blocking his only exit. He was in serious trouble. The lead hunter stepped forward, a jagged blade of ice forming in his hand. This was a critical turning point—a test of resolve that went beyond anything Professor Iron-heart or Jinx Starwind could have simulated. George frantically considered impossible scenarios, his mind spinning like a compass in a storm. Despair settled over him like a suffocating shroud. He feared he'd never see his friends again or escape this stone tomb alive. The darkness pressed in, threatening to swallow him whole, and for a fleeting, weak moment, he teetered on the brink of giving up. Yet, in the very depths of that despair, George unearthed a well of inner strength he had never known he possessed. He recalled the sharp, analytical calm Flynn always maintained and the immovable mountain of Ren's courage. He realized he wasn't alone;
Drawing on this newfound determination, George hatched a daring, reckless plan. It was a strategy born of desperation, fueled by the fierce bond of friendship that had carried them this far. With a grim, defiant smile, George didn't attack. Instead, he taunted them, waving them forward before leaping into a narrow, downward-sloping ventilation shaft. He led the candidates on a wild, high-stakes chase through the shifting corridors, intentionally choosing paths that felt older and more decayed. He burst into a massive, vaulted chamber, his boots echoing on a floor littered with ancient bones. The candidates followed, convinced they had him trapped. But as they entered, Georges quick thinking finally paid off. George hadn't led them to a dead end; he had led them into a hive. From the alcoves, dozens of skeleton golems began to creak into motion. Their hollow eye sockets suddenly flared with a malicious, spectral red light. George ducked behind a fallen pillar as the ancient guardians turned their gaze toward the loudest, most aggressive presence in the room—the pack of hunters.