Meeting the Strongests PT-2

Maya collapsed to her knees, her fingers digging into the damp earth as the ship carrying Mark and Ren shrank to a speck in the sky. A choked sob escaped her lips—raw, guttural, the sound of something vital being torn away. Around her, colonists froze, their faces slack with shock. No one moved to comfort her. No one dared.

Then the moment broke.

Kael was the first to act, his burned hands curling into fists. **"We're getting them back,"** he snarled, flames licking at his fingertips.

Lira, her infected arm oozing green-tinged blood, grabbed his shoulder. **"Don't be an idiot. That ship could be halfway across the continent by now."**

Maya didn't hear them. Her pendant pulsed against her chest, its glow deepening to an angry crimson. *Mark was gone.* The last thread tethering her to the person she'd been before cryo—before the monsters, before all of this and she just*—had snapped.

She wiped her face with the back of her hand and stood.

**"We survive,"** she said, her voice steadier than she felt. **"Until they return."**

---

The interior was a mausoleum of steel and flickering blue light. Mark pressed his palm against the viewport, watching the camp vanish beneath the clouds. Ren stood rigid beside him.

The twenty-five others—recruits, prisoners, *whatever they were*—huddled in silence. A girl with a scarred lip met Mark's gaze, then quickly looked away.

**"You."**

Mark turned. One of the uniformed men loomed over him, a data pad in hand. **"Name?"**

**"You already know it,"** Mark said flatly.

The man's smile didn't reach his eyes. **"Procedure. Humor me."**

**"Mark."**

**"Rank?"**

**"Mortal."**

A pause. The man's fingers tapped the screen. **"Are you a mutated?"**

Mark's left eye burned. **" Yes, Blood Demon. Four percent."**

The man's smile widened. **"Good. You'll need it."**

The ship lurched, throwing several recruits against the walls. Mark braced himself, his demon eye flaring as the vessel *screamed* through the atmosphere.

---

When the hatch opened, sunlight poured in, blinding after the ship's artificial glow. Mark stepped out first, his boots sinking into damp grass.

The structure before them wasn't just a camp—it was a *fortress*.

Towering wooden walls, lashed together with sinew and reinforced with bone, encircled a compound the size of a small city. Watchtowers jutted like broken teeth, their platforms manned by archers with glowing arrows. And at the center, rising above it all, was a dais carved from what looked like a single, massive vertebra.

A man stood atop it.

He was tall, his frame wrapped in a cloak of stitched-together hides. Two figures flanked him—one armored in what appeared to be chitin, the other bare-chested, his skin etched with luminescent tattoos.

**"Welcome,"** the man said, his voice carrying across the field without amplification. **"To the Crucible."**

Five hundred faces turned toward the new arrivals. Some were curious. Most were hostile.

A recruit behind Mark whispered, **"What the hell is this place?"**

The man on the dais spread his arms. **"One month ago, we woke on this planet expecting farmland. Instead, we found *this*."** He gestured to the fortress, the armed guards, the *things* lurking in the tree line beyond the walls. **"A world that wants us dead. A system that rewards slaughter. And *you*—"** His gaze locked onto everyone. **"—are the next wave of survivors."**

Mark's fingers twitched toward his katana. **"What do you want?"**

The man laughed. **"Strength. The strong live. The weak become fodder for the cause."**

Then he *jumped*.

The dais shuddered as he landed twenty feet below, the impact cratering the earth. But it wasn't just him—a *thing* appeared in his wake, a five-meter-tall skeleton wreathed in ghostly flame. Its hollow eye sockets burned with violet fire, and in its clawed grip was a sword longer than Mark was tall.

**"This,"** the man said, patting the creature's ribcage, **"is a Willforged. My other half. And when you reached Mortal Ascension rank, you'll awaken your own."**

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. The man continued, **"But there's a catch. You only forge a Willcreature on the brink of death. *Your* death."**

Silence.

Then the man from the ship—the one who'd questioned Mark—stepped forward. **"We'll evaluate you now. The strongest will train under Commander Dain. The rest…"** He shrugged. **"Well, the walls need reinforcing."**

No one moved.

A full minute passed. The commander's smile faded. **"No volunteers? Then we'll—"**

Mark stepped forward.

**"I'll go."**

The crowd parted as he walked toward the dais, his demon eye pulsing. The Willforged creature *growled*, its sword igniting with spectral flame.

Commander Dain grinned. **"Finally. Someone with spine."**