Echoes of Power

The jungle still held its breath, even in death. The massive, black-furred beast lay motionless on the jungle floor, its glowing red eyes now nothing more than empty, lifeless orbs. The battle had been fought on pure instinct—an unrelenting clash between hardened warriors and something far beyond the natural predators they had once known. The squad stood victorious, but a heavy weight pressed upon them. This creature had been more than just a monster. It had intelligence. It had purpose.

As the squad steadied themselves, Oliver knelt beside Julius, with Felix supporting him. The soldier's breathing was ragged, his body trembling as blood soaked into the jungle floor. His right arm was barely attached, held by shreds of skin and tendon, while deep claw marks grazed his ribcage, leaving his side exposed to the air. It was a wound too severe to survive the journey back.

Oliver turned his sharp blue eyes to Felix, searching for even a glimmer of hope. Felix barely shook his head, his expression grim. No words were needed—Julius wouldn't make it. The painkillers were kept back. They wouldn't waste medicine on a man who already knew his fate.

Julius himself understood. He looked up at Olek, who stood not too far away, silent, his hands clenched into fists. The wounded soldier forced a weak grin, his voice hoarse but steady.

"Don't worry about me," Julius said. "Fight for me in the future. Make sure I didn't save you for nothing, understood?"

Olek's throat tightened, his heart heavy with guilt. He should have been stronger, should have reacted faster. Julius had thrown himself into danger to protect him, and now the price was paid in blood. But he would not let this weight drag him down. He would carry it—not as a burden, but as a responsibility.

"I will fight for you, comrade," Olek said, his voice somber but firm. "I'll do a damn good job for both of us. And I'll make sure to drink to your name." Julius chuckled weakly, though pain laced his breath. His gaze drifted toward Oliver. "Captain… I'm gone. Thank you for everything."

His eyes closed for the last time.

Silence fell over the squad. Everyone had heard his final words—a farewell to a fellow soldier, to a captain he respected. Oliver bowed his head for a moment before exhaling sharply and locking eyes with Olek. "It's your responsibility to carry him back."

Bogi said nothing, but he agreed. He would have done the same. His voice was steady as he issued orders. "Lazar, Michael, carry the water. Olek brings back Julius' body. Nothing else."

Then he turned to Roki and Rashid. "With me. We're securing weapons from the panther."

As they approached the creature's corpse, the eerie stillness of the jungle settled upon them once more. The beast's fur was thick, its claws massive and sharp enough to cut through trees with ease. Bogi carefully retrieved the plasma blade he had embedded into its skull, and as he pulled it free, something unexpected happened.

A small, crystal-like gem tumbled from the wound, hitting the ground with a soft thud.

Bogi reached for it, inspecting the smooth, glassy surface. But before he could fully grasp what he was holding, the gem dissolved into dust, scattering into the air like smoke. A strange sensation followed—not something seen, but felt.

A surge of energy rippled through them.

Invisible yet undeniable.

Almost instantly, every soldier present felt lighter, their senses sharpening, their minds clearing as if their instincts had been heightened to unnatural levels. It wasn't just them—back at the camp, soldiers who had no knowledge of what had just transpired also felt the same shift. A sudden, inexplicable clarity. A refinement of their reactions. A sharpening of their perception.

For Bogi and Oliver, however, the feeling was even stronger.

It was an evolution of what had saved them in the battle—a surge of awareness that now burned ever-present in their minds, like a current of power running beneath their skin.

Confusion spread through the ranks. Bogi, still staring at his empty hand, spoke his thoughts aloud. "Is it possible… that we absorbed it?" Oliver, deep in thought, barely registered his own voice when he muttered, "It feels that way."

No one had answers.

The first to break the trance was not Bogi or Oliver—it was Olek. His voice was firm, breaking through the haze of uncertainty. "Captains, we need to move. We're exposed here."

"Right," Bogi responded, forcing himself to focus. "We're heading back."

The return journey was carried out with the same caution as before, yet the jungle seemed different. The unnatural tension was gone, as if whatever force had watched them had withdrawn. The storm had passed. The sky cleared.

When they finally arrived at the mountain pass, the entrance to their valley loomed before them like a bastion of hope and security. The barricades stood firm, and as they passed through, the soldiers guarding the perimeter took in the sight of the returning squad—bloodied, exhausted, and carrying the body of a fallen comrade.

No words were spoken, but their expressions said enough. They were saddened, but they did not show it. They couldn't afford to.

Sergei immediately carried out his assigned task, delivering the panther's claws to Dante and Corvin for weapon crafting. Meanwhile, Lazar and Michael distributed the precious water supply, ensuring it was stored safely in the resource tent.

Zeke and Ogar dispersed, returning to their duties. Olek, Roki, and Rashid remained behind, standing over Julius' body. They would help him find his final rest.

Oliver turned to Bogi, his voice quieter now, but firm.

"We need to talk."

Bogi met his gaze and nodded. He already knew what this was about. Something had happened back there—something they didn't understand. And they needed to figure out whether it was a gift… or a curse.

Oliver entered the command tent ahead of Bogi, his steps quick and determined. But Bogi lingered outside for a moment, his gaze drifting upward as the twin suns of this alien world began their slow descent. The sky shifted, its golden hues giving way to deep purples, and barely visible against the fading light, the five moons began to take form. Their presence was haunting, foreign—just like everything else here.

He exhaled heavily. Unknowable thoughts weighed on his mind, pressing down like a force unseen.

With a quiet sigh, he turned and stepped into the tent—

BAM!

A fist shot toward him without warning.

Bogi's body moved before his mind caught up—his right arm snapped up, shielding himself with an almost inhuman speed. His reflexes were flawless, effortless, as if his body had already anticipated the strike before it came. Instinct kicked in before thought, and his left arm counterattacked in a brutal, boxer-style swing.

Oliver dodged, his footwork just as sharp, falling back in time to avoid the blow.

"Stop!" Oliver called out, hands raised in defense.

Bogi remained in his stance, muscles tensed, his right hand instinctively hovering over his plasma blade, ready to draw. His pulse pounded, not out of fear, but out of something deeper—pure, sharpened instinct.

"What the hell was that?" Bogi growled.

"It's a misunderstanding! Wait!" Oliver said quickly, his breath slightly ragged from the brief exchange. Then, as if something dawned on him, a grin spread across his face—wild, exhilarated, almost maniacal.

"Think about it!" he exclaimed. "You didn't even see my arm move, yet you blocked it! You counterattacked before your mind could even process it! Bogi, we were upgraded!" His voice carried an excitement that was almost unsettling, a manic energy that didn't fit the calm, calculating Oliver that Bogi had known.

Bogi frowned, still on edge. His fingers curled tighter around the hilt of his blade, ready for anything.

"Calm down," he said, his voice sharp. "I almost drew on you. Did you even think this through? What if you had hit me? I hadn't even entered the damn tent properly! If anyone outside had seen that, they'd have thought we were turning on each other. I thought you were a rational and controlled man."

Oliver suddenly froze, the weight of Bogi's words sinking in. His excitement drained as if doused by cold water. Slowly, he straightened, and for the first time, his expression showed something close to shame.

"You're right," he admitted, his voice lower now. "I… I let it get to me. I felt so alive—so refreshed—that I let it cloud my judgment. I'm sorry." He bowed his head slightly, a rare display of humility.

Bogi studied him for a long moment before sighing. He finally allowed his stance to relax, though the tension in his muscles remained.

"I feel it too," he admitted. "This clarity, this sharpened instinct… It's like my body moves on its own, and my thoughts only come after. It's unnatural."

His voice grew somber. "And I don't like it."

Oliver was silent for a moment, clearly lost in thought. Then, after a pause, he spoke again.

"We have water now. Our men will last longer. We should take this opportunity to scout a wider perimeter. If there are more creatures like that panther… we should find them. Kill them. And get stronger."

Bogi's eyes snapped to Oliver's. Something in his tone—something in his reasoning—made his blood run cold.

"OLIVER!"

His voice thundered through the tent, through the walls, through the entire camp.

Every soldier outside stopped. Conversations halted. Movements stilled. The sheer force behind Bogi's voice was enough to send a ripple of tension through the air.

Inside the tent, Oliver's eyes widened in shock. The clarity in Bogi's voice struck him like a slap across the face, shattering whatever hold that intoxicating feeling had on him. His head hung low, realization dawning over him.

"...I didn't notice," he muttered. "I'm sorry."

Bogi let out a long breath, a wave of relief washing over him. For a moment, he had feared that strange energy had corrupted Oliver, twisting his mind, making him crave more power at any cost.

Because Bogi couldn't deny it—it was intoxicating.

The rush, the heightened senses, the feeling of absolute control over one's own body. It was a power no soldier could ignore.

But at what price?

They had already lost Julius. They were stranded in an unknown world.

This was no blessing. It was a double-edged sword.

"...I agree on one thing," Bogi finally said. "We need to know the surrounding terrain. And we need to know if there are more of those creatures. Not to hunt for power—but for our own security."

Oliver nodded slowly, his eyes carrying less of that manic excitement and more of the cold, rational focus that Bogi recognized.

"Agreed," he said.

Bogi exhaled and glanced toward the exit of the tent, where the soldiers outside were still silent, still waiting.

"Let's make sure we don't lose anyone else," he muttered.

Oliver nodded again.

As their exchange came to an end, a sudden commotion at the entrance of the command tent broke the silence. Lazar, Zeke, Ogar, and Michael rushed in without so much as an approval, their boots hitting the ground with urgency. Their postures were tense, eyes darting between their captains, demanding answers without speaking a word.

Bogi's patience, already frayed from the events of the night, snapped. His jaw clenched, his gaze sharp as he turned to Oliver.

"Are you going to let this happen?" he asked, his voice laced with irritation.

Oliver exhaled, fully aware of his mistake. The tension he had stirred, the lack of control—he had been the cause. He turned to his four sub-captains, his commanding tone returning at full force.

"What the hell are you doing here, huh?! This is the command tent, not some playground! Step aside—NOW!"

The words cracked through the air like a whip.

Bogi grunted in agreement, his gaze settling on Lazar and Michael. Their heads hung low, acknowledging their misstep. Without another word, the four turned and left the tent, the weight of their captains' displeasure heavy on their backs.

Upon stepping outside, they paused, exchanging glances. The tension between them remained, unspoken but understood. Then, Bogi's voice rang from inside the tent—

"DISPERSE! NOW!"

The command sent them scattering, each going their separate ways, heads still hung low. Twice in one night, they had been put in their place. That was rare, and it sat uncomfortably with them.

Now alone again, Bogi turned back to Oliver, his expression unreadable.

"I don't like that you lost control," he admitted, his voice quieter now but no less firm. "It was too early for that… and now, we'll have problems ahead of us. This was the start of something good, and already…" He trailed off, his words tinged with regret.

Oliver felt the weight of Bogi's words deeply. He sighed, guilt flashing across his features before he nodded.

"I know. I was careless. It won't happen again."

But then, after a beat, his brows furrowed in thought.

"Maybe it was the rush of energy," he mused, his voice shifting back into its usual analytical tone. "Can you feel it? It's… ever-present. It hasn't faded. We can call upon it at any time."

Bogi nodded, his expression dark. "Yeah. And that's exactly why we need to be careful."

A brief silence passed between them, the weight of uncertainty pressing down.

"We'll dwell on it more tomorrow," Bogi finally said. "But for now, we need rest. Both of us. Let it sink in. Clear our heads. We'll talk in the morning—rationally. How about that?"

Oliver considered for a moment before giving a single nod.

"Agreed."

He knew Bogi was right—his outburst had thrown everything off balance. They couldn't even speak straight right now, let alone discuss something this important.

Bogi turned and left the tent, leaving Oliver alone with his thoughts.

Oliver sighed, running a hand through his hair. His mind still buzzed with restless energy, but he forced himself to breathe.

"I need to calm down," he muttered to himself, closing his eyes for a moment.

Bogi moved through the dimly lit camp, his boots crunching lightly against the dirt. As he neared his tent, he found Lazar and Michael waiting outside, standing silently.

They didn't ask. They didn't need to.

"Not now," Bogi said, shaking his head. "Tomorrow. I need rest."

Lazar and Michael exchanged a glance but nodded without argument. Their captain rarely showed exhaustion—if he was pushing for rest, it meant he truly needed it. Without another word, Bogi entered his tent.

The familiar space greeted him, but something felt… off. He reached for his pack of cigarettes, lit one with a practiced flick of his lighter, and took a long drag. But—it wasn't the same.

The smoke didn't soothe him. It felt wrong. Off-putting. Like his body rejected it. His fingers hesitated around the cigarette, and after a moment, he flicked it to the ground. He didn't even watch it burn out. Instead, he lay down, his muscles aching with exhaustion, his mind swirling with too many thoughts.

Sleep took him almost immediately.