Run, Fight or Die

Elion recognized that roar.

It rolled through the forest like a nightmare with lungs—deep, guttural, and soaked in the kind of primal rage that didn't just scream danger; it promised death. Every nerve in his body fired at once, a full-body red alert.

For one brief second, he genuinely considered giving up on this whole hero thing, moving to the mountains, and living a quiet, rice-farming life where beast-men weren't on the guest list.

His stomach tied itself to an origami crane. His breath caught in his throat. "You can't be serious…" he croaked, eyes locking onto Ronan. "Don't tell me—"

Ronan didn't speak right away. His expression was unreadable—stone-faced like he was deciding whether to lie or just ruin their night in one sentence. Then he nodded once.

"Yeah. The same ones that chased us before the portal jump."

That single sentence landed like a hammer.

Jordan, standing nearby, blinked. He had forgotten whether he had heard the roar before they'd escaped the alley—since he'd leaped into the portal early—due to the excitement. But the way Elion paled and Ronan stiffened was enough for him to shut up and not crack a joke.

Elion's voice was barely a whisper. "The same ones…"

Then, a worse thought hit him—one that twisted deeper than the roar. "How did they find us?"

Ronan's jaw tightened. "Scent. The worst-case scenario happened."

It took a second. Then it clicked.

"My… backpack," Elion breathed.

Ronan didn't say anything, but the look in his eyes said yes. And maybe it's too late.

Jordan gulped. He hadn't paid much attention when Elion was worried about his backpack. But now that he thought about it… yeah, Elion had dropped it right in the middle of the alley during the fight. And it had Elion's scent. He thought Ronan was exaggerating when he mentioned scent memory, as it sounded too implausible.

Jordan glanced at Ronan. "So that's really enough for them to trace us?"

"More than enough," Ronan said grimly. "Scent, aura, maybe even something else. Either way, they're coming."

A fresh wave of dread settled in Elion's chest like wet cement. He scanned the forest—the shadows between the trees, the way the wind moved through the branches like something was breathing out there. He didn't even know what they were. Wolves? Bears? Jungle mutants on steroids? Still, it didn't matter. If it had claws, fangs, and the vocal range of a horror movie villain, he wanted no part of it.

"Why does it feel worse now?" Elion wondered. Back at the club, he believed that the chaos had masked the fear—music, lights, panic, people screaming in every direction. A distraction buffet.

But here in the forest?

Silence.

Just rustling leaves. Branches creaking. Shadows leaning in like they wanted to listen. No buildings. No streets. No crowds. And worse of all? No one they could hope to come to the rescue. Elion swallowed hard. His voice was quiet. The only person between them and whatever was out there and the only hope?

It was Ronan—their only hope.

"Stay alert," Ronan muttered.

That was when the next roar hit—closer, louder, and deep enough to rattle the ground beneath their feet. The trees shuddered. Elion felt it in his bones like the forest itself was flinching. Even Jordan—Mr. Eternal Confidence, king of reckless grins—lost the smirk. His lips were tight. His shoulders were stiff. His eyes locked on the darkness like it might swallow them whole.

He cleared his throat, his voice lower than usual. "So… not to panic or anything, but—are we sure these Mana Gates are gonna help? 'Cause right now, I'm feeling… very killable."

"Focus on staying alive," Ronan said, his tone steady and sharp. "I'll handle the rest."

That was when a thought slammed into Elion's brain—clear, urgent, and way too late.

Where were the authorities?

If someone so much as jaywalked with fireworks in downtown New Orleans, the place would light up with sirens and patrol cars in under five minutes. But now? After everything that had happened?

Silence.

No helicopters.

No police drones.

No panicked alerts buzzing on their phones.

Just trees. Crickets. And the distant promise of death carried on the wind. It didn't make sense. The club had been annihilated. People were slaughtered in the club. A freaking bear-man exploded through a crowd like a wrecking ball dipped in blood. And yet—no sirens.

No SWAT teams hunting through the woods. No screaming headlines interrupting the calm. Elion's hand twitched toward his pocket, even though he already knew there was no signal. But if there was—he could picture the notifications now.

"BREAKING NEWS: GIANT WERE-BEASTS ATTACK NEW ORLEANS!"

"LIVE FOOTAGE: WHAT THE HELL IS THAT THING?!"

"IS THIS THE END OF TIMES?! EXPERTS WEIGH IN!"

And the worst one…

"LOCAL MAN ACCIDENTALLY LEFT HIS GROCERIES AND BACKPACK AT A CRIME SCENE. AUTHORITIES BAFFLED."

Elion groaned, running a hand down his face. Great. He was going to jail. Or worse. And yet, despite everything—the roars, the weight of the silence, the crushing dread in the air—Jordan stretched his arms like he was warming up for a casual jog, not a potential death match.

That reckless glint had returned to his eyes. The fear was still there, buried deep, but his usual brand of misplaced confidence had clawed its way back to the surface. Elion could almost hear the internal switch flip. Great. The foolishness had officially returned.

"So… do we take these guys head-on, or what?" Jordan asked.

Elion blinked. "What do you mean? Taking them on?"

Ronan turned to Jordan so slowly, so deliberately, that even Elion—who wasn't the target—felt secondhand fear and… embarrassment. His expression was pure, absolute blankness. No frustration. No disbelief. Just… void. Like Ronan was re-evaluating his entire life choices and how they had led him to this exact moment.

Elion could physically see Ronan losing brain cells just by existing near Jordan right now.

Jordan, still blissfully unaware of the level of stupidity he had just spewed, blinked.

"What?" he asked.

Ronan exhaled sharply, rubbing the bridge of his nose like he was experiencing the worst migraine of his life. Then, finally, he looked at Jordan like he had just asked if they could defeat a tank with a spoon.

"You just unlocked your First Mana Gate," Ronan said, voice dangerously calm.

Jordan nodded. "Yup."

"You have zero training in the Beast Slaying Arts."

"Correct."

"You can't control the energy running through you."

"Uh-huh."

"And now—you wanna fight a beast-man?"

Jordan grinned. "I mean, yeah? Gotta start somewhere—"

"How?" Ronan cut him off. "You planning to punch them to death?"

Jordan hesitated. "I mean… is that an option?"

Ronan let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "You'd need the strength of a Titan just to make them flinch."

Elion froze. Titan? As in, the fifty-foot-tall, building-smashing monstrosities from movies and anime? If that was the standard, then he believed he was about several zeroes short in the strength stat. Only if he knew the Titans that Ronan was talking about were nothing like the ones he'd seen on internet, manga or films.

Elion cleared his throat, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut and to redirect their focus to the incoming danger. "So, uh… what do we do instead?"

Ronan's eyes flicked toward the cave entrance.

"We move," he said. "Fast. And we don't stop until we're out of their range."

Jordan frowned. "I thought you said they could track our scent?"

"They could." Ronan's tone was clipped. "But they have a range. If we put enough distance between us, we'll be out of their hunting zone. For a while."

"We can't fight them?" Jordan asked. Again, with his silly question.

"Right now?" He glanced at them. "Running away is our best shot."

Elion's stomach churned. "And if we don't get out in time?"

Ronan's smirk was slow, sharp, and absolutely not reassuring. "Then you'll get to find out exactly how quickly a human body can be ripped apart."

Jordan let out a very nervous laugh, already backing up toward the cave entrance. "Right. Okay. Moving sounds great. Let's do that."

No one needed to say anything else. The three of them started to run. However, the second they started sprinting, Elion felt something was totally different.

His legs? Not burning.

His lungs? Not screaming for air.

He glanced at Jordan—who looked thrilled.

"Dude!" Jordan whooped. "We're so fast!"

And yeah. They were.

Their feet barely touched the ground. Their strides stretched twice as long as usual. They weren't running. They were flying. Well, at least to them, they felt that way. Elion was about to yell something stupid, but then he noticed Ronan. The cowboy was much faster. Ronan was coasting, jogging effortlessly, while Elion and Jordan were tearing through the forest like caffeinated track stars.

"Don't get too excited," Ronan warned. "Speed is important, but control is essential."

Elion barely had time to process that before he saw Ronan doing something weird. Every few strides, the cowboy would casually toss something behind them. Small pinches of powder, barely visible in the low light. At first, Elion didn't think much of it. But then, Ronan frowned. His usual lazy confidence was gone. And that's when Elion knew something was wrong.

"Okay… what's wrong?" Elion asked, still running.

Ronan didn't answer immediately. His eyes flicked behind them. He kept silent for a few minutes. Then, finally, he exhaled sharply.

"They're still chasing us."

Jordan, still riding his speed high, huffed. "You're not kidding, right?"

Elion was confused, too. They had been running at a high speed for a while now. At least, based on Ronan's confidence before, there must be a gap already between them and the beasts.

Ronan shook his head. "No. Normally, they should've stopped."

Elion's breath caught. "Stopped?"

Ronan kept his stride, his voice growing sharper. "Once we put a few hundred meters between us, the chase should've ended."

He paused for a few seconds before adding, "Besides, the powder I used is meant to disrupt their ability to track us."

Elion's pulse spiked. "And it's not working?"

Ronan's jaw tightened. "It rarely fails."

Jordan shot them both a look. "Or… maybe rarely failing just happens to include right now?"

That's when the forest behind them exploded. Three massive, broad-shouldered ape-men barreled into view, their thick fur glistening under the moonlight. Jordan skidded to a halt, pointing. "WHAT THE HECK?!" he shouted in disbelief. "I thought the roars were from a tiger or something! But monkeys?!"

Elion, despite the absolute terror of the moment, corrected him. "Not monkeys. Apes."

Ronan smirked. "Same thing. But we're lucky. They're just high-tier beasts."

"Lucky? Higher-tier and lucky?" Jordan was utterly confused.

"They've just opened their First Mana Gates—same as you two. But they've been handed high-tier Corrupted Beast Rings. That makes them… a little problem," Ronan explained.

Jordan's grin vanished. "Yeah. That doesn't make me feel better."

Now, all of them completely stopped and stood still. Not because they wanted to. Not because it was a good idea. But because the three massive ape-men standing in front of them made stopping the only option.

Elion's pulse pounded in his ears. His body screamed to run, but his feet refused to move. Not this time. The largest ape-man took a step forward, its deep-set yellow eyes gleaming in the moonlight. Its fur bristled as its lips curled into something vaguely resembling a grin. Then, it spoke.

"Ronan Cross." The voice was guttural, thick with something ancient and primal. "Do not mess with the Lord's plan."

Elion's stomach plummeted. He wasn't sure why that surprised him after everything, but it did. Instinct told him that the easier-to-handle beast-men should only growl, snarl, scream—not speak in full sentences like a mafia delivering a death threat. If they were like this? It meant that they were as strong as the bull-man.

"That line again…" Ronan muttered, his voice flat with boredom.

It was almost impressive—how every beast-man chasing him apparently came pre-installed with the exact same dramatic monologue. Word for word. Ronan was starting to think they all read from the same evil script. The largest ape snarled, taking another step closer, but Ronan still didn't move.

Instead, he let out a slow, deliberate exhale. "Funny thing is…" He glanced at the beast's claws, at its sharp, bared teeth. "Every beast-man who's told me that? They're all dead now."

The air shifted. The weight of those words hit hard, and for a second, the apes hesitated. They had been told to be wary of Ronan. If they could choose, they would not chase after Ronan. But, the order was absolute.

Elion swallowed, his hands tightening into fists. Jordan, despite his usual tendency to let his mouth run, said nothing. He was locked in, focused. The beasts growled, their fury rising, but Ronan remained as still as a statue.

Then, the cowboy glanced at Elion and Jordan. "Well, I think this is a good training."

"Training?" Jordan echoed, blinking. "Like, right now? Against them?"

Ronan nodded once.

Jordan took a moment to process that. Then he smiled. He was waiting for this moment. "Are you going to let us use the Beast Rings?"

Ronan shook his head. "Without the rings for now."

"Bare-handed against beast-men?"Elion's thoughts spun like a storm on fast-forward.

Just a few hours ago, that would've been the kind of idea he'd laugh at—right before running in the opposite direction. But now, after seeing what he'd seen—the First Slayer, the war, the horror of what the world Ronan came from used to be—it didn't sound that ridiculous anymore.

He remembered the way beasts had ruled over humans like kings over ants. The way cities fell. The way people screamed and vanished under claws the size of doors. But he also remembered how humans fought back. How one man—one crafter, not even a warrior—had defied it all. The fear was still there. Gnawing at the edges of his brain, whispering how bad this could go.

But now there was something else.

Resolve.

Beside him, Jordan clenched his fists. The cocky smile was gone. Replaced by quiet, solid focus. His breathing was steady. His stance was sharp. This wasn't a joke to him anymore. And Elion got it. Because if Jordan could go toe-to-toe with a beast-man—if he could survive this and land a hit—then the Grand Tarung? It was more than just possible.

It was his.

But Elion wasn't thinking about tournaments. He wasn't thinking about titles or proving anyone wrong. He was thinking about staying alive. Because if he couldn't stand here—now—against something that wanted to tear him apart limb by limb… then he didn't belong in this world. Not the world it was becoming.

This wasn't about pride.

This was about survival.

Elion exhaled. A slow, steadying breath. Then gave a nod. Just once. Jordan nodded, too. No words. They didn't need any.

Ronan, watching them both like a blacksmith eyeing new steel, reached into his dimensional storage. Jordan still had no idea how that worked—one second, Ronan's hands were empty. The next, he was pulling out what looked like a weapon. But not just any weapon. It was a metal pipe, long and dense, etched with glowing runes that pulsed with a faint, rhythmic light. Like it was breathing.

Alive.

Ready.

Ronan tossed it at Jordan. "Here."

At first, Jordan's face fell just a little. He'd been hoping for something cooler—maybe a sleek sword or at least a blade with fire-imbued edges. He was hoping for something with flair. Something that screamed beast-slayer and not an emergency plumbing tool. But as the glowing runes along the pipe pulsed in his grip—soft, steady, alive—something shifted behind his eyes. His grin came back.

"Oh yeah," he muttered under his breath, eyes locked on the beast-men ahead. "This'll do just fine."

Ronan, meanwhile, drew his revolver.

Elion blinked. "Wait."

Ronan and Jordan paused, both turning toward him.

Elion gestured between them. "Jordan gets a glowing, rune-covered, probably-magical metal pipe. You have a revolver that looks like it could shoot through mountains."

He held out his hands expectantly, eyebrows raised. "And me?"

Ronan barely spared him a glance—and for a brief, baffling moment, they were all just standing around like this was a picnic. The only reason they could talk like this without being torn limb from limb was because the ape-men hadn't made a move yet.

Actually, one of them had twitched, a fraction too eager to lunge. But something—something Ronan did—shut it down fast. Elion and Jordan didn't catch what it was. A look? A shift in pressure? Maybe a subtle pulse of killing intent? Whatever it was, it worked.

Jordan winced a little for Elion. "At least give him something. He could also work with a gun. You know. Pew-pew. Problem solved."

That was when Ronan finally exhaled—long, sharp, and filled with the kind of exhausted patience that only existed in people who babysat chaos professionally.

"You're not getting a weapon."

Elion froze. "Excuse me?"

Jordan snorted. "Tough luck, buddy."

Elion turned to Ronan, hands up in disbelief. "So Jordan gets a glowing pipe, you've got a hand cannon, and I'm what—emotional support?"

Ronan finally looked at him. "You get a job."

Elion was seconds away from throwing a tantrum. "Oh, well, in that case—"

"You're the bait."

Elion's brain short-circuited. "I'm sorry. The what now?"

Ronan nodded toward the ape-men. "You distract. Jordan attacks. Simple."

Jordan brightened. "Oh, I like that plan."

Elion whirled on him. "Of course you do."

But Ronan wasn't done. He tilted his hat back slightly, his tone as casual as ever. "While you two handle one, I'll take care of the other two."

Elion felt his soul leave his body. "You're taking two?"

"I can handle all three, but that'll just eat up my time showing you about the Mana Gates," Ronan said, his smirk getting sharper.

He then added, "You wanted a weapon? Here's your answer. Your speed and wisdom."

Elion let out a strangled sound. "That's not a weapon! That's a death sentence!"

Jordan twirled his pipe experimentally. "Nah. We got this."

Elion stared at him. "We don't even know what 'this' is yet."

But Jordan's eyes were locked onto the nearest ape-man, his grip tightening on the pipe. "We have no choice."

For once, he wasn't just running his mouth. And maybe, just maybe… Elion wasn't so against this anymore. Because deep down, he knew—there was no running from this world anymore. He had seen the First Crafter's memories. He had seen what humans had endured. And if they had fought back against monsters like these, then… Maybe it was Elion's turn to follow suit. He took a deep breath and steadied himself. Then he gave a nod.

"Alright. I'll be the bait."

Jordan smirked. "That's the spirit."

The ape-men snarled, muscles coiling as they prepared to charge.

Ronan didn't even blink. Instead, he tilted his revolver upward, spun the chamber, and smirked.

"Try not to die."

And then, the fight began.