“Let him go!” the man barked, stepping forward, waving the knife.

I titled my head, looking as if I didn't understand human language. Grabbing the boy’s arm, I twisted it into an unnatural angle, eliciting a piercing scream.

“You son of a whore!” the father shouted, lunging at me.

My control snapped at his words. I hurled the boy toward his father. The man instinctively pulled back the knife to not injure his son, making my job laughably simple. In one swift motion, I disarmed him and twisted his wrist until it cracked.

"Don't make me hurt you beyond repair. It's not worth it," I whispered.

Their cries of pain tingled my ears as I dragged them both to the living room, dumping them unceremoniously onto the floor. The wife stirred, her eyelids fluttering as she regained consciousness. Her gaze darted between me and her family, fear paralyzing her.

"No cries, no screams. Capeesh?" I told her without waiting for an answer.

“Take whatever you want,” the man rasped, his voice trembling. “Just take it and go.”

I crouched down, leveling my gaze with his. “Oh, but I didn’t come here to rob you.” I caressed his hair with the back of my hand.

“Then why?” he demanded, his voice breaking with frustration and fear. “What twisted reason brought you here? The guards would be alerted and-”

“To teach you and your son a valuable lesson.” My voice cut short his words. “You’ve failed to teach him respect and how to behave. You've failed to listen to the complaints of the other parents, to show your son how to be anything but a dick. So now I’m here to educate him—and you.”

His eyes widened, realization dawning too late. “No, wait—don’t—”

His plea was cut off by the rain of punches I unleashed upon him. It was too late for an apology. Too late to beg for my forgiveness.

. . .

The morning of my departure arrived cloaked in a heavy mist that clung to the air, softening the edges of the bustling group gathered at the gates. A low murmur of conversation rippled through the air, intertwining with the humid, acrid scent of smoke from cheap cigarettes—an odor that turned my stomach every time.

I adjusted my gear, finding a place as far as possible from the smoking guard to wait undisturbed.

Less then five minutes passed when, with a resonant creak, the massive doors of the hangar next to the stables began to part, pulled open by a pair of guards. From the hangar emerged a strange creature, crawling segment by segment into the dim morning light.

It was dark green, its chitinous plates covered with a faint sheen of moisture, and its movements were unnervingly fluid. Perched atop what seemed to be its head was an officer, his posture relaxed, as if astride a steed rather than this alien, insectoid form.

He's a level higher then me, I said to myself, sensing the officer's shard aura.

“Alright, everyone! Prepare to hop on!” a guard barked, gesturing toward the creature.

I stared at it, slack-jawed, unable to suppress the question that rose unbidden.

“What in hell is that?” I asked a man standing nearby, his spear resting casually against his shoulder.

The man chuckled, his weathered face breaking into an amused grin. “That,” he began, gesturing toward the immense centipede-like beast, “is a Symbiotic Crawler. They’re used to transport people, goods. Don’t let the looks fool you; it’s more efficient than any cart or carriage you’ve seen.”

“Efficient, sure,” I muttered, skepticism lacing my words as my eyes traced the undulating motion of its segmented body.

A second voice chimed in, this one younger, the owner’s wide grin barely visible beneath a hat. “Don’t worry,” he said, stepping forward to join the line forming near the crawler. “It’s more comfortable than it looks. You’ll see.”

A faint hum emanated from the creature as we boarded, almost as if it were alive in more then one way. It was without a doubt an engineered hybrid of biology and technology. The officer atop the crawler gave a sharp whistle, signaling readiness.

With a lurch, the crawler began to move, its segments undulating in perfect synchronization as it carried us forward.

** The group quickly left Karum behind. The city losing its form in the sea of vegetation.

Each ripple of movement from the crawler sent faint tremors through its armor, a sensation that had already tested the stomachs of several volunteers. The acidic tang of vomit hung faintly in the air, mixing with the rich, loamy scent of the surrounding forest.

This biomechanical marvel, the Symbiotic Crawler, was a living proof to the ingenuity of Lefeer’s bio-engineers. Its body, a fusion of flesh and metal, was perfectly adapted to traverse the unpredictable terrain.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Sensitive appendages brushed against the forest floor, reading the ground’s stability and avoiding pitfalls or dense undergrowth with uncanny precision. Along its underbelly, fine, hair-like cilia swept away clinging insects and errant plant matter, protecting the body from degradation.

On its hollowed back, passengers sat on comfortable beast hides, resting against the supply crates. Muted whispers of conversation were carried by the wind, annoying those wanting to relax. Azyen sat near a slit between the armor segments, admiring the ever-changing scenery.

When the monotony threatened to dull his senses and the stiffness of his body began to cause discomfort, he closed his eyes, breathing deeply and sinking into meditation.

"Won't we stop to camp through the night?" Jarlow, the man with the hat asked the officer guiding the crawler.

Awakened from his meditative state, the 3rd Sky officer took into consideration his surroundings. The night was hastily approaching.

"We'll only make short stops to relieve ourselves. If we camp through the night, not even the crawler's legs would remain by morning," he said before closing his eyes again.

With the descent of nightfall, the whispers among the volunteers faded into silence. Each held their weapon tightly, eyes closed but senses heightened.

The forest flanking the road was like an untamed masterpiece of life. Towering trees stretched skyward, their trunks twisted with age and wrapped in emerald vines. Thick, gnarled roots coiled across the forest floor like ancient serpents, weaving through carpets of ferns and carnivorous plants.

Vibrant bluebell-like flowers dotted the undergrowth, their petals shimmering faintly with phosphorescent hues, casting a dreamlike glow in the wild.

Every so often, on each side of the road, the forest’s chaotic advance was interrupted by the orderly presence of the Lifebloom Fungus. These gigantic fungi, with their broad, fan-like caps and pulsating stalks, exuded an aura of quiet authority.

Every three days, a mist of spores drifted lazily from their caps, spreading like an invisible veil over the surrounding flora. Within their radius, the rampant growth of the wilderness was subdued, the vegetation aligning itself in orderly patterns as though bowing to the fungus’s will.

These sanctuaries of balance carved pathways through the otherwise unrelenting forest, ensuring clear passage for travelers.

The crawler crested a hill on the fourth night of travel, and the dense forest gave way to a sprawling clearing. Before them lay the Southern Military Base, a fortress of order amidst the wilderness. A field of Lifebloom Fungus encircled the camp, their presence keeping the encroaching forest at bay.

Glowseed Lanterns lined the field like ghostly will-o'-the-wisps, casting a steady light that prevented the darkness from offering cover for enemies attempting to reach the base's walls unseen.

About the size of a cantaloupe, the lantern glimmered softly within its casing of Leaf Glass, a translucent material crafted from pressed leaves. The greenish tint blending seamlessly with the environment.

At the lantern's heart were the Glowfruit Seeds, harvested from tree plantations to ensure a steady supply. Their bio-luminescent glow ebbed and flowed with the rhythm of the day, brightening under the cover of night and dimming in sunlight.

Fed by a reservoir of flammable nutrient-rich gel, a mix of tree sap and luminescent enzymes, the seeds required only monthly refills, making the lantern ideal for long-term deployment in remote outposts.

A sturdy vine-wrapped handle allowed it to be slung over branches, carried during patrols, or mounted on wooden stakes. For temporary placement, the lantern’s resin base adhered securely to any type of surface.

The Glowseed Lantern was basically a tool of survival in the wild. Its modes catered to the battlefield: Stealth Glow for a dim, natural light; Beacon Mode for signaling allies; and Combat Strobe to disorient enemies.

Despite its versatility, the lantern operated silently, ensuring no stray hum or flicker betrayed its bearers to watchful foes.

The Symbiotic Crawler slowed, its movements transitioning from fluid undulations to a series of deliberate clicks and hisses. It came to a halt near the camp’s gate, where a soldier stepped into light on the wall.

"Name and departure point!" he shouted.

"Lieutenant Dobrik, Karum!" the officer on the centipede's head cried back. “I’ve brought supplies and volunteers.”

“Wait there for inspection,” the soldier on the wall commanded.

“Disembark! Prepare your profiles!” Dobrik ordered to those at his back.

Passengers filed out, stepping onto the forest-cleared ground reinforced by the intricate lattice of fungal roots. Azyen stretched his stiff body, like everyone else, and took in the scene—the hum of activity, the faint smell of overheated metal and melting wire, and the pungent smell of beast blood he was so accustomed with.

Far beyond the fortress, the dark forest seemed to loom threateningly, as if testing the resolve of the soldiers stationed there.

This was the southern base—a place where survival meant vigilance, discipline, and luck. Not a place as dangerous or modern as others, but not somewhere where one could forget about worries and indulge in beauty sleep either.

For many, it was a hardship to endure. For Azyen, it was the forge where he would refine his technique, gaining the experience and battle-hardened edge he craved for.

The massive gates of the camp creaked open, their sheer size serving as proof for the fortifications required at the kingdom’s untamed border. A group of armed soldiers marched out.

Commander Starvus was at the front, leading them. A man of imposing stature and sharp, calculating eyes that rarely missed a detail. Behind him, an officer with a clipboard and inkstone prepared to take notes on the new arrivals.

Lieutenant Dobrik, ever the opportunist, stepped forward to greet Starvus with a crisp salute. The two exchanged pleasantries, their familiarity quite evident from the relaxed undertone in their voices. Meanwhile, the rest of the newcomers, a motley assortment of mercenaries, commoners, and hunters, were ordered into a line.

The inspection proceeded with mechanical efficiency. The officer with the clipboard checked profiles, nodding quickly to approve of the recruits. When it was Azyen’s turn, however, the soldier paused, his brows furrowing as he studied the details on the hologram before him.

Without a word, he turned to consult his superior.

“A 2nd Sky at only sixteen?” Starvus asked, his sharp voice cutting through the murmurs. He stepped closer, his piercing gaze locking onto Azyen. “What are you doing here?”

“What? That brat is a 2nd Sky?” came Jarlow's incredulous voice.

“No kidding,” another volunteer muttered, his tone dripping with disbelief.

Azyen met the commander’s scrutiny without flinching. “I came to sharpen my edge,” he replied simply.

Starvus’ expression changed into one of faint amusement as he considered the boy’s words. "You’re registered as a volunteer,” he began, his tone measured. “But if you’re here to enlist in the military, I could notify the general. I’m certain he’d be pleased to welcome someone with your talent—if you truly are a natural.”

“It’s impossible for him to have reached 2nd Sky at his age without taking any enhancers, right?” Jarlow asked those near him.

“I heard the kids accepted into Lefeer’s Prodigy Academy are all like this,” one of the volunteers replied.

“But he’s here, not there,” another muttered, unwilling to accept that a mere brat had achieved what he himself had dreamed for years.