Chapter 66: The Predator and the Prey!
Seeing it, Bruce stopped and squinted, observing carefully. The wind carried a faint stench, musky and animalistic. So this was it.
He approached with slow, cautious steps, lowering his stance as he neared the entrance. The inside was dark, almost pitch-black, the kind of darkness that devoured light.
But Bruce wasn’t blind to it.
Ever since his blinding encounter with Ash’s transformation light during their encounter with Vaelith, his eyes had changed. His pupils had adapted unnaturally fast to contrast, adjusting fluidly to bright and dim conditions alike. Night vision wasn’t foreign to him anymore.
Still, compared to true nocturnal beasts, his vision was only halfway there, enough to see, but not perfect.
So, with a steady breath, he circulated a small portion of his regenerated mana to heal his eyes, not heal in normal sense but to technically to enhance its night vision.
His pupils glowed faintly silver. The world sharpened instantly. Shadows gained form, movement, texture.
And that’s when he saw them.
Dozens of eyes glinting faintly from the cracks and crevices above.
Mutant bats, each the size of wolves, hung motionless from the stone ceilings. A few snakes, their scales glinting faintly like burnished steel, slithered silently along the rocks, tongues flicking the air as they watched him.
Bruce’s expression didn’t waver.
He drew his daggers soundlessly, the faint hum of mana resonating through the blades. Then he moved.
One slash and a bat fell, head cleaved clean. Another and a snake went limp, its fangs still dripping venom. His movements were silent and precise, every strike guided by instinct and restraint. The last thing he wanted was to alert whatever else lurked deeper inside.
By the time he was done, the cave’s outer corridor was littered with corpses. His smart bracelet pulsed faintly.
[Points +50]
[Total: 350]
He wiped the blades clean against his sleeve and stepped deeper inside.
The air grew heavier. The scent of musk, heat, and raw power filled his nose. His steps slowed, and his grip tightened on his weapons.
Something was wrong.
This wasn’t the territory of hyenas.
His eyes adjusted further, and what he saw made his breath still.
Massive figures lay sprawled across the cavern floor, their sleek bodies rising and falling with slow, heavy breaths. Eyes gleamed faintly in the dark, golden and sharp, watching even in slumber.
Mutant lions.
Not one. Not two. A pride.
But as Bruce observed closer, realization struck. None of them had manes.
Every single one of them was a lioness.
Predators at rest. A den of silent, sleeping death.
Bruce’s expression hardened as he slowly exhaled through his nose, his gaze flicking toward the exit behind him.
"Well," he muttered under his breath, his tone calm but edged with tension, "looks like I found someone else’s home."
They were all resting. Most were deep in slumber, their slow, rhythmic breathing echoing softly through the cavern.
Bruce’s eyes narrowed.
Perfect.
An opportunity like this was rare. A den full of sleeping beasts, powerful ones, yes, but vulnerable. He wasn’t about to let it slip.
Without hesitation, he moved.
Silent as a shadow, his steps barely disturbed the dust beneath his feet. The faint gleam of his dagger flashed once, and a sleeping lioness’s throat was cut cleanly open. Before her dying gasp even left her lips, he had already crossed to the next.
Two fell in mere seconds.
But that was when the others awoke.
A deep, guttural growl rumbled through the cavern, followed by the furious roars of the rest of the pride. The air trembled. Dozens of golden eyes snapped open in the dark, sharp, enraged, and filled with bloodlust.
And Bruce realized instantly that these weren’t ordinary beasts.
They were strong.
At least five of them radiated A-rank mana fluctuations, while the rest, fifteen more, pulsed with the steady pressure of B-rank power. Their muscles rippled as they rose, their movements coordinated, predatory.
The moment the fight began, they activated a shared skill, their bodies flaring with crimson light as vitality and strength surged through them like wildfire.
"Annoying," Bruce thought.
Still, even exhausted, even drained of mana, his eyes gleamed with a faint spark of thrill.
As the first lioness lunged, he ducked low, slashing her abdomen with a swift, precise cut that spilled her entrails across the cavern floor. He pivoted, dragging his blade upward to parry another’s claws, using her momentum to throw her aside.
Another came from behind; he spun, grabbed her neck, and drove his dagger straight into her skull.
Each movement was deliberate, efficient.
Every strike was a kill.
Even as their roars shook the cave, Bruce remained eerily calm. Blood sprayed, claws raked, and yet he moved through them like a surgeon dissecting flesh, each motion guided by pure instinct and precision.
When the last beast fell, silence reclaimed the den. The cavern floor was painted red, littered with mangled corpses and flickering embers of fading mana.
Bruce exhaled slowly, his shoulders rising and falling with steady breath.
Then, as if it were just another routine task, he began cleaning the cave, dragging the bodies deeper inside and clearing space near the entrance. He wanted no distractions, no lingering scent that could draw others.
Once he was done, he set to work preparing for the night.
He gathered dry leaves, twigs, and brittle branches, placing them carefully near the cave’s mouth. With a few minutes of friction and patience, a spark caught, and soon, a soft flame began to grow.
The fire crackled quietly, its light flickering across the stone walls. Bruce watched it for a moment before feeding it with more fuel until it burned bright enough to illuminate the entrance.
Not too big, just enough to ward off intruders.
Fire was a deterrent to mutants. Even the strongest avoided its glow.
Satisfied, he used his dagger to fashion a crude barrier of rocks and logs, leaving enough space for air to flow but blocking the view from the outside. It was enough to keep beasts wary and at bay.
Finally, when everything was in place, Bruce sighed and sat down near the fire.
The warmth was comforting. His muscles, still sore from the day’s battles, eased slightly as he leaned back against the wall. He unrolled the three hyena furs he’d skinned earlier, layering them beneath him into a makeshift bed.
It wasn’t luxury. It wasn’t comfort. But it was peace.
The fire popped softly, casting shifting shadows across the cavern. Outside, the savannah was alive with distant howls and screeches, but here, it was quiet.
For the first time since entering the trial, Bruce allowed himself to rest.
His daggers rested within arm’s reach, his mind half-alert, but exhaustion slowly claimed him. The flames reflected in his eyes one last time before they closed.
He drifted into sleep, deep, steady, unshaken.
And as he slept, the night deepened.
Elsewhere, across the vast expanse of the trial grounds, other recruits struggled to find rest. The mutants grew more active under the cover of darkness, forcing the participants into skirmishes just to survive.
Every few minutes, someone fought. Someone killed. Someone screamed.
By midnight, even the weakest recruits had gained enough points to push past the hundred mark.
But as the rest of the recruits slowly succumbed to fatigue, one didn’t.
While Bruce slept soundly by his fire, and Sophie rested within her distant cave, in fact everyone was resting, but a lone figure streaked through the night like a phantom, flames trailing faintly behind his every step.
Ozai. He wasn’t resting. He wasn’t content.
He was hunting.
And his prey?
Bruce Ackerman.
"In this trial, you’re my prey, Bruce," he muttered into the night, sprinting through the darkness. "By tomorrow, your life will be mine. Sophie will see I’m the one for her."
But was it really that simple?
Who is the Predator, and who is the prey?