Survival First

The meeting was done.

Bogi turned to Lazar, his voice firm. "Summon the scouting squad for a report." Lazar gave a sharp nod and moved without hesitation. Then, Bogi's gaze shifted to Michael and Ogar. His next words carried a weight that pressed against the air. "You two—round up the water supply squad. Prepare them mentally."

Neither of them needed an explanation. They had listened. They knew. Half of them would be unarmed. Michael's jaw tightened, his hands flexing at his sides. This wasn't just a logistical issue—this was a psychological blow.

Ogar remained silent, but the stiffness in his posture spoke louder than words. He understood what this would do to the men. The room felt heavier. No one wanted to be the ones without weapons. But someone had to be.

Oliver's voice broke the silence, steady but firm. "Choose among yourselves who will go without." His tone was neutral—no hesitation, no command. Just a simple, undeniable fact.

He wasn't going to decide for them. This wasn't about rank. This wasn't about experience. This was about trust. The men who left camp unarmed would have to put their lives in the hands of their brothers.

And that decision—who would bear that weight, who would walk into danger with nothing but faith in their comrades—had to be made together.

As the three men left, Bogi turned to Zeke. "Go and see if Dante and Corvin have done anything with those claws." Zeke gave a nod, his usual arrogance absent, and left without a word. Now, with Zeke gone, only Bogi and Oliver remained.

No one spoke. For the first time in a long time, the air inside the tent was not filled with orders or strategy, but something much heavier. Bogi exhaled slowly. This was the right way. Now, they had to see if their soldiers were strong enough to face it.

A silence settled between them—not the comfortable kind, but the kind that carried unspoken thoughts, heavy questions, and the weight of something unknown.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then, finally, Oliver exhaled, his voice breaking the tension. "I know you feel it." His tone was different this time—not uncertain, not shaken. Just steady. Resolved.

"I feel it too. It's like there's something inside me—some kind of energy. Not just strength, but something… more. It's like something built a foundation in me." He paused, his blue eyes narrowing slightly. "And if I concentrate, I can almost see it. A structure. A pillar."

Bogi listened carefully, and after a moment, he gave a slow nod. "I agree. It does feel like that. But…" His voice dropped slightly. "What is it?" The question hung between them, unanswered. "Will the others evolve like us?" Bogi questioned again.

That thought lingered, unsettling in its implications. If this power was something they had absorbed, then what about the rest of the squad? Would they change too? Or was this something unique to them?

Bogi's expression darkened as he considered the bigger picture. "If this is only the start, then what kind of energy was needed to bring us here?" Oliver's gaze sharpened.

Bogi clenched his fists slightly. "Because I can feel it—this is just the beginning. It can be built upon. Upgraded. And with just this much, I already feel almost three times stronger than before."

Oliver nodded, his posture rigid. "Yes… I feel it too." There was a certainty in his voice now. A cold understanding. "And I think it has something to do with that crystal you found in the panther's skull."

Bogi exhaled slowly. He had considered the possibility before, but hearing Oliver say it made it feel more real. "I suggest we find another one," Oliver continued. "Hunt it. Kill it. See if the same thing happens."

But this time, as Oliver spoke, there was no recklessness, no hunger for power like last night. His voice was measured, sharp, calculated. Bogi could see it—this was no longer a reckless pursuit of strength. Oliver had learned his lesson. He was approaching this as a commander, not a desperate man.

That, more than anything, convinced Bogi. "We need to know what this is," Bogi admitted. "But I want caution. The scouting squad will check the perimeter first. We aren't rushing into this."

Oliver gave a slow nod. He wasn't arguing. He wasn't pushing to go after it immediately. That was a good sign. Bogi sighed, rubbing his temple. "And this isn't our only problem. Food."

Oliver frowned. "We have two, maybe three days' worth left. If we don't find a source soon, this will be the next major problem we face." His gaze hardened. "The scouts will need to focus on that first. Then we can deal with whatever the hell this power is."

Oliver exhaled, his mind clearly working through the priorities. For now, this discussion was over.

"Survival comes first."

Last night. After Bogi and Oliver's exchange, the camp was stirred—but not Dante and Corvin. They had been assigned a task. As weapon specialists and mechanics, they didn't concern themselves with the power struggles between captains. Since arriving, they had worked together on orders to inspect the truck's functionality and study the plasma blades and Blue Human weapons. Through this, a camaraderie had formed.

Now, however, they faced a new challenge—crafting weapons from the claws scavenged off the beast that the kill squad had slain. A massive panther, its claws were almost 40 cm long, curved and wickedly sharp.

Dante scoffed as he turned the talons over in his hands. "Captain must be joking."

Nearby, Sergei simply shrugged before walking off, his voice carrying from a few meters ahead. "Not my problem, haha."

Corvin almost lost his temper, his fists clenching, but Dante placed a hand on his shoulder. "That's just how he is. Don't concern yourself with him. We need to see what these things can do."

Together, they ran tests, striking the claws against scraps salvaged from the laboratory ruins. To their surprise, the claws sliced clean through light metal—razor-sharp by nature. However, when they attempted to cut them down with their knives, the blades barely left a scratch.

"Not so resistant to heat, though," Dante observed, watching as a test flame slowly wore down the base. He turned to Corvin with a grin. "Make a blueprint for karambit knives. We should be able to make them work."

Corvin's eyes lit up. He loved crafting—loved creating. Though Sergei's dismissive attitude had soured his mood, the excitement of forging something new quickly overtook him. He nodded and got to work, sketching designs on salvaged parchment.

Meanwhile, Dante hurried through the camp in search of Michael. He found him near Bogi's tent, just as Michael and Lazar were leaving—clearly frustrated after being turned down by their captain. The tension in Michael's stance was obvious.

Lazar, noticing Dante approach, muttered something under his breath but kept walking, disappearing into the dimly lit camp. Michael, sighing, turned his attention to Dante. "What can I do for you?"

Dante wasted no time. "I need a plasma blade for the task I was assigned."

Michael studied him for a moment, then wordlessly unstrapped his own plasma blade and handed it over.

As Dante took it, he glanced at Lazar's retreating back and muttered under his breath. "Thank God that little devil left me alone this time."

With his prize secured, he turned and made his way back to Corvin. They wasted no time and worked tirelessly through the night, their hands steady despite the creeping exhaustion. There had been 16 claws at first, but failed attempts to cut and shape them correctly had left them with only 10 karambits. The last two were crafted with extra precision—more refined, almost as if their hands had learned from their mistakes, making them sharper, deadlier than the rest.

Just before they could finish the last karambit, they were interrupted early in the morning. Michael appeared at the entrance of their workshop tent, his expression serious. "You two, get up. Oliver wants everyone together. Now."

Dante groaned, stretching his aching back. Corvin rubbed his tired eyes, exchanging a look with Dante before sighing. "Guess sleep can wait."

Reluctantly, they left their work unfinished and made their way to the gathering, where Oliver addressed the entire camp. Though their minds were still half-focused on their unfinished weapons, they listened carefully to every word. When it finally concluded, Dante and Corvin wasted no time returning to their work.

Back in their tent, they sat down and resumed shaping the final karambit, their exhaustion weighing on them. With one last careful stroke of the plasma blade, the final weapon was complete.

As they set down the last blade a voice interrupted them.

"You look like shit, man."

Corvin turned to see Zeke standing at the tent entrance, arms crossed, his usual smug smirk in place. Corvin glared at him, already too tired to deal with his antics. "What do you want?"

Zeke didn't answer immediately. His eyes flicked to the karambit knives, their curved edges gleaming under the morning light. Without asking, Zeke reached down and grabbed the karambits, inspecting them with an approving nod. He turned one over in his hand, testing its balance before tucking them away into his belt.

Zeke snorted, muttered something under his breath, and turned to leave without another word.

Dante watched him go, shaking his head. "Lazar's the same. I hate his guts, but I respect him. He saved my life once."

Corvin exhaled through his nose, rubbing the exhaustion from his eyes. "Yeah… Zeke did the same thing for me once. But it doesn't stop him from being an asshole."

Dante chuckled. "That sounds about right." He stood, rolling his sore shoulders. "I'm getting some sleep. You should do the same. I don't think anybody else will need us today."

Corvin gave a tired nod, his gaze drifting back to the empty workbench where the karambits had been. Their task was done.

Roki, Luke, Rashid, Nikolai, Peter, Edric, Tomas, and Sergei gathered in front of the command tent as Bogi and Oliver addressed them.

"I need you to prepare. You leave in an hour." Bogi's tone was firm, his gaze sweeping over the group. "We need more ground scouted, and food. We will be left without very soon. Keep in mind—your survival comes first. Be careful. If anything strange happens, you leave. Stay close to each other."

Oliver stepped forward, arms crossed. "You'll be given four plasma blades—Roki, Rashid, Luke, and Sergei will carry them. Everyone will have a handgun. Additionally, each of you will be given a knife. Use it if necessary, but remember—your weapons are last resorts."

His blue eyes hardened as he continued. "And we will say it again—no fighting unless necessary!"

Bogi nodded in agreement. "The Water Supply Squad will move in after you. Your first job is to secure the perimeter for them. Use the radio to confirm it's safe before they enter. Once that's done, expand your scouting range."

As they spoke, the Water Supply Squad arrived, their faces uneasy. They already knew—Ogar and Michael had informed them beforehand. There was no need to repeat it. They had accepted the situation, even if they didn't like it.

As the Scouting Squad processed their orders and the Water Supply Squad waited for theirs, Zeke stepped up to Bogi and Oliver. His usual smirk was absent, replaced with something almost satisfied.

"Dante and Corvin finished crafting the karambit knives," he announced. Bogi and Oliver exchanged glances before stepping forward to inspect the weapons. The curved blades were wickedly sharp—designed for speed, precision, and deadly efficiency.

After a brief moment of evaluation, Bogi turned to the Scouting Squad, making a swift adjustment.

"Roki, Luke, Rashid, Sergei—you take karambits."

The four soldiers gave nods of acknowledgment, understanding that these weapons were far more suited to their fast, close-quarters combat style than standard knives.

Bogi then turned to the Water Supply Squad, his voice firm.

"You will be given four karambits and four knives. Three of you will take assault rifles. One takes a sniper rifle. Make the adjustments among yourselves."

The Water Squad absorbed the change without protest—they had already expected the imbalance in their armament, but now, thanks to Dante and Corvin's efforts, at least everyone had a close-combat weapon.

Oliver crossed his arms, nodding slightly. "This ensures no one goes out completely unarmed. Make your final preparations. You all move soon."

With that, the squads turned to equip themselves, the weight of their mission sinking in. The suns were already high in the sky, marking the approaching hour of their departure.