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## **Sam's POV**
Stepping out of the shuttle, I took a slow walk through the outpost, the air heavy—as if I were surrounded by corpses. My hand stayed in my pocket, my gaze low. Just a ghost passing by.
I bumped into someone. Didn't even see him standing.
The man turned, his battle armor marked with the color scheme of a new recruit—though slightly different in shade. A cruel grin stretched across his face.
"Kid, you lost?" he sneered, eyes narrowing as if looking for trouble.
Another one—carrying a scythe, clearly melee class—stepped in. "Whoa, what do we have here?"
"You know this kid?" the first one asked.
That's when I saw the recognition flash in his eyes.
Sam.
The last man standing from Pablo Squad. He'd already survived two full squads—both annihilated. The fact that he was still alive was... disturbing. Legendary, in a cursed sort of way.
I remembered his last captain—Christuff. Good man. Didn't deserve what happened.
The scythe-wielder scoffed. "Christuff's team? No wonder they died. Weaklings."
My fist clenched.
So it's look like right now he got accepted in another tier squad
"Shut your fucking mouth," I said, my voice sharp and ice cold.
The first guy turned back to me, his grin widening like a shark sensing blood.
"What was that?"
The next second, his fist slammed into my face. I hit the ground hard, head ringing, my vision blurring.
He wwasn't over yet. It exploded into a full-on brawl.
Nobody tried to stopped it.
No one tried to intervene. Not even a single tier squads watching from the edge—just faces frozen in fear.
In that moment, it hit me.
This place was rotten.
The so-called high Ranking soldiers were just as lost as the rookies—pretending to be stronger, but trembling behind polished armor. Maybe that's why the far side of the room felt so different.
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****
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He kept hitting me. Over and over.
I could taste blood. My body refused to move.
But then—everything stopped.
A heavy silence fell.
I forced my eyes open.
Standing between me and the attacker was Vice Captain Nyx.
"Sam, are you okay?" His voice was sharp, but I could hear the concern buried in it. "What kind of trouble did you get into? This doesn't look like your fault... Why didn't you call us?"
I struggled to sit up. "Didn't think I needed to."
The bastard looming over me clicked his tongue. "So another pest shows up. Get outta here, new recruit—unless you wanted some broken bones ."
Nyx tilted his head, completely unfazed. "And what if I don't want to?"
I saw the attacker's scowl deepen. Nyx was calm—but I noticed the tension in his clenched fist. He was afraid.
"Just leave it," I muttered. "What kind of vice captain would leave his crew in this kind of situation? Don't worry, I'm already in a lot of trouble."
Nyx didn't flinch. He kept his eyes on the attacker but listened closely.
"Rest until you can stand," he said.
*You should've come earlier…*
I looked up at him, frustrated. *Why now, when it's already this bad?*
Nyx muttered under his breath, "Jeez… how am I supposed to face this guy? I don't have my weapon. And even if I did… I'm to useless at this distance."
Still, he stepped forward.
Then he spoke—loud enough for everyone to hear.
"Hey, big ogre," he said casually. "If you really want to get close to my crew… shouldn't you go through me first?"
The crowd stirred. Tension crackled in the air.
Nyx's eyes hardened.
"What I hate most," he said, "are cowards who act tough against the weak opponents. It makes me want to vomit."
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****
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"What are you waiting for, ugly ogre?" Nyx said, his tone icy.
One of the thug's companions leaned forward. "Boss, can I slice that sharp tongue off the new guy?"
"You'll get your turn," the boss growled. "For now, just watch."
Nyx stepped forward, calm but deadly. His footwork was fluid—almost graceful—as he shifted into a fighting stance. Then, in a blink, he moved.
The brute lunged first, swinging recklessly.
Nyx weaved aside, then countered with a precise upward kick to the man's jaw before dancing back out of reach. The movement was seamless. Effortless.
The crowd stirred.
The brute snarled and came again—this time faster, stronger.
But Nyx was faster.
He launched a storm of kicks—sharp and rapid, more speed than strength. Each strike was like a whip crack, landing with surgical precision. The brute staggered as the flurry continued, his armor denting with each blow.
"You're really slow," Nyx said coolly.
Still, his eyes narrowed.
*I need more time,* he thought.
The brute wiped blood from his mouth and grinned. "Slow?" he echoed. "I can tell you're burning out. Your legs are slowing down."
"I'm still too fast for you," Nyx shot back—but there was strain in his voice now.
Then everything shifted.
The air grew heavier. A dangerous aura erupted from the brute like a rising tide. His movements sharpened, his strikes more calculated.
This time, when he swung—Nyx barely dodged.
He was getting read.
His rhythm… was exposed.
Nyx's body lagged a fraction. His breathing grew heavier. For the first time, his fatigue was visible. The brute smirked, recognizing it.
"You're running out of steam, pretty boy."
Nyx didn't respond. The next strike came in hard—and Nyx didn't dodge.
Instead, he caught the attack with his bare hands, bracing himself with a grunt.
Pain flashed across his face, but he held.
"That's all you've got?" the brute sneered, towering over him.
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******
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**(NYX POV)**
My limbs feel like lead.
My body is growing heavy
—consciousness slipping with every breath.
This… is the price of pushing myself beyond my limits.
*Just a little more time…*
A wave of nostalgia washes over me. I remember someone finally listened, someone who didn't mock my dreams.
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**10-meter shot:** *Hit.*
**30-meter shot:** *Hit.*
**50-meter shot:** *Hit.*
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"You're getting better every second," the instructor had said, their voice flat, but trying to sound impressed.
"It's just the fluid inside me," I replied back then, already knowing the truth behind their forced praise. Their praise was hollow, masked their envy.
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