Verusa Island Departure.

In a cage underground, chaos ruled. Blood painted the steel bars, and people howled like animals. A man lay sprawled on the concrete, face down in a pool of red, twitching once—then nothing.

At the entrance, a girl walked in.

Not more than eighteen. Cute face, chin bandaged with a cartoon plasta. Her jacket was ripped, patched with spikes and slogans. Chains hung from her belt, and her boots clunked with attitude. She stopped at the host's table like she owned the place.

"I want your best fighter," she said.

The host, a thick guy with a busted nose and attitude to match, snorted. "This ain't no charity, brat. You want the big guys, you cough up big money."

She crossed her arms. "Double the pay if I win. Otherwise, pay me nothing."

"F*** off. You get the regular cut like everyone else."

She leaned closer. "Then I'll f*** off with your top fighter's teeth in my pocket."

The host laughed, not because it was funny—because he was pissed. But he gestured her toward the registration counter.

She walked up, eyes scanning the room like a hunter. A man behind her leaned in too close.

"Back the f*** up," she said, not even turning.

A woman seated nearby scoffed. "Rude much?"

The girl glanced over. The woman folded her arms, smug.

Nova ignored her and placed her palm on the round scanner-ball. It glowed blue. D-rank.

The woman laughed. "Rude, mean, and a f***ing D-rank? What a combo."

Nova slammed her hand down again. "At least I'm not a washed-up C-rank with stretch marks on her ego."

The woman stood up, furious. "You little b***h—put her up against Drew! Let's see if her mouth survives that!"

The host looked from the woman to Nova.

Nova smirked. "Make sure my payment's ready."

Inside the cage, the crowd buzzed as the host grabbed a mic.

"Alright, freaks and gamblers, we got a new meatball tonight. What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Nova."

The host rolled his eyes. "Great. Nova. Another ego with soft bones."

He turned to the crowd. "And her opponent—Drew!"

Cheers exploded. A tank of a man stepped into the ring. Tattoos from neck to toe. Bald. Grinning like a psycho. The floor shook under his steps.

Host pointed between them. "No killing. Win by knock out or tap out. Once the cage locks, no one's backing out."

The metal door slammed shut behind them. A thick padlock clicked in place. Good quality—but it looked like it had seen better days.

Far away, in a quiet space drenched in incense, Saint meditated cross-legged. Calm. Eyes closed.

A man entered. Loyal, precise. "Sir, the men are ready. We move out in fifteen."

Saint opened one eye. "Nova will be pissed."

"She's... enjoying herself."

Saint laughed. "Let her."

Back in the cage, Nova walked up to Drew like he was a tree stump. Relaxed, hands in pockets.

"Hey, big guy. I go easy, you split the winnings fifty-fifty?"

Drew laughed like thunder, then backhanded her across the ring.

She slammed into the chains. The host winced. "Yikes."

Nova groaned. Tried to stand. Legs wobbled.

Drew grinned. "That's why they call me Goliath."

He raised his arm—his skill activating. A red aura shimmered. [Skill: Dominance]—his body bulked, muscles pulsing like they were alive.

He walked over, lifted her by the head like a doll.

"Tiny little thing. Should've stayed in school."

Nova coughed—and laughed. Her nails gleamed suddenly. Sharp. Black.

She slashed across his wrist.

"F***!" Drew yelled, tossing her.

She hit the cage wall, but this time—spun mid-air. Grabbed the chains. Landed like a cat.

"You're strong," she said, cracking her neck. "Fast too."

Drew charged.

Nova dodged. Then again. And again.

Blurs of motion. She sliced his arms, legs, back. Fast and clean.

"You're faster than me…" she whispered, appearing behind him. "But they don't call me the Black Pantheress for nothing."

She leapt onto his back, dug her claws into his face—deep.

Drew howled. Collapsed.

Nova licked the blood from her fingers. "Tastes like regret."

The host couldn't even speak.

The moment the cage was opened, Nova walked out, snatched her cash.

"That your strongest?" she mocked. "Weak f***ing lineup."

"F*** you!" the host yelled after her.

Outside the towering doors of a gigantic mansion, the night air was still.

Saint stood calm as ever, hands in his coat pockets, while the matte-black armored vehicle rumbled to life just beyond the marble steps. It looked like a war machine from the future—reinforced plating, mounted drones, and shield generators humming faintly in the dark. Inside, his men were already suited up, faceless behind their tactical visors.

He took one last glance at them, then gave a subtle nod.

"Stay sharp. Verusa Island's supposed to be on lockdown, but with the Hunters scrambling to contain that portal, you'll slide in easy," he said, his voice smooth and relaxed, like he was giving directions to a dinner party.

One of the men checked the radar on his wrist. Another sealed the rear hatch. No one spoke. They didn't need to.

"Once you land, things'll tighten," Saint added, slipping his gloves on. "Military won't play nice forever. You know what to do."

From the mansion's shadowed doorway, Mara watched the scene unfold with her arms crossed.

"They don't even flinch," she muttered, almost to herself. "How do you get dogs that loyal?"

Saint turned his head slightly, smirking without looking at her.

"You just feed them the right purpose."

As the heavy vehicle rolled out of the estate gates, the ground trembled slightly—off to Verusa Island, where the real game was about to begin.