Kurai's sightless stare pinned Captain John to the spot. In the hush that followed the slaughter, the man's bravado seemed to evaporate like morning dew under a scorching sun. Blood pooled among the scattered debris, and the limp forms of his defeated enforcers lay in silent testament to the ferocity Kurai and Gaius had unleashed.

  "Wait—wait!" John sputtered, struggling to keep his voice steady. "I—I know something you'd want to hear. Please, just listen!"

  The tip of Kurai's naginata hovered inches from John's throat, unwavering. "Speak," Kurai said, low and frigid.

  John licked his lips, mind racing as he recalled the half-whispered tales that had drifted into his camp only a day before—news he'd learned from a scout he later executed out of paranoia. "There's a bigger camp… about half a day's travel west," he began, darting a quick, fearful glance at Gaius, who glowered beside Kurai. "They control the river that splits off from this one. The man who runs it… calls himself King. Sefu Okonjo is his name."

  At the mention of another settlement—a substantial one, by John's implication—Kurai's expression barely shifted, yet Gaius noted the subtle tilt of his head, as if in silent consideration. The battered gladiator took a half-step closer, spear angled in caution.

  "You learned this from… a scout?" Gaius asked evenly.

  John nodded frantically, Adam's apple bobbing. "Yes. He came sniffing around our camp a day or two ago. Told me all sorts of things about Sefu's domain. Boasted that their group was stronger than ours, better-equipped." He swallowed, remembering how he'd dismissed the man's warnings. "I— I killed him, of course. Didn't want him snooping. But I heard enough."

  John spilled everything he knew about Sefu Okonjo and the distant western camp, words tumbling over themselves in a frantic rush. His eyes darted between Kurai's blind, unreadable face and Gaius's grim expression, hoping desperation alone might grant him mercy.

  When he finished, an uneasy hush lingered. John swallowed, then tried to muster a smile. "So you see," he said quietly, "you need me. I can—"

  He never got to finish.

  Kurai's naginata flashed in a single, decisive stroke. John staggered, a thin line of crimson marking his chest before he collapsed to the ground, eyes wide with disbelief.

  Silence followed, broken only by the desert wind stirring bits of debris around the battered camp. Gaius exhaled, leaning on his spear, but said nothing. Kurai lowered his blade, turning away with rigid calm. There was no gloating or grand speech—merely the subdued finality of a man who had weighed justice and acted without hesitation.

  Leaving John's body behind, they gathered what supplies they needed. The rules of this new world were harsh, Kurai would not leave an enemy at his back.

  A tense hush fell over the half-ruined camp as Kurai and Gaius made final preparations to leave. A few of John's ex-enforcers lurked nearby, uncertain whether to join or flee. Most survivors scattered, tending wounded or hoarding resources, casting wary glances at the two men who had toppled their world in one brutal morning.

  Initially, talk of heading west lingered between Gaius and Kurai. With the self proclaimed "King" Sefu Okonjo there was a good reason to seek him out, but Gaius found his gaze drifting north, toward the dense green of the jungle.

  At last, he spoke: "Kurai, we can't go west. Not now. We need to find them."

  Kurai tilted his head slightly, sightless eyes giving him an inscrutable air. "You think they survived?"

  Gaius sighed, recalling the night they lost contact with their companions they had once fought alongside. "I don't know for sure. But if they're still alive, the jungle's where they'd try to regroup, close to river perhaps. If nothing else, we have to look. I don't leave anyone behind."

  Kurai's silence stretched for a beat; then he nodded, the faint hum of his space senses shimmering around him. "Then north it is. Back into the jungle."

  A flicker of relief passed over Gaius's features. "Thank you."

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  They departed soon after. Two of John's former subordinates approached timidly, but neither seemed eager to venture into unknown danger. So it was just Kurai and Gaius setting forth, leaving the desert behind. No one stood in their way—or dared to.

  ***

  Two days had slipped by since the night Gaius and Kurai vanished into the chaos of winged horrors. In that time, Jace, Mira, Theo, Elias, Joran, Aera, and Darin had endured their own punishing ordeal.

  They had left the shattered camp in the dead of night, half-expecting the monstrous beasts to pursue them. With Joran still bearing a fresh wound (a deep gash along his side) and several others scraped or bruised, Mira scrambled to perform what first aid she could. Thankfully, she had the Basic Medical Kit they'd purchased from the System, allowing her to clean and bandage injuries before infection set in.

  To their collective relief, the winged abominations did not follow. Perhaps the creatures had found other prey—or perhaps hunting them in the dark was too difficult. Whatever the reason, the group clung to the fleeting calm, moving as quickly as their battered bodies allowed.

  By dawn, they stumbled upon another river—or possibly the same river continued, twisting unseen through the jungle. The urgent need for water compelled them to stop, fill their makeshift containers, and wash some of the grime from their wounds. Yet trust in any water's edge was now scarce; they remembered all too well how the last camp had been no refuge against the horrors of this realm.

  Despite this, the morning provided a small reprieve, and they pressed onward, following the river's course. The terrain was dense with foliage, and eerie shrieks still echoed at a distance, but at least they had a direction to go.

  It wasn't long before they encountered a grim reminder of the larger fliers. While not as colossal as the nightmares that had torn Gaius's arm from its socket, these smaller, winged creatures still boasted black, sinewy bodies and talons sharp enough to cleave flesh. They descended on the group in a sudden ambush, screeching and buffeting the air with their membranous wings.

  Exhausted though they were, the survivors fought back in a desperate flurry of thrusts and slashes. Jace, cursing every missed strike, managed to spear one at close range; Theo fumbled a few strikes but rallied to defend Mira, who'd taken position behind him. Aera and Darin struck from the flanks, while Elias calmly barked instructions, trying to keep them from tripping over each other. Eventually, the creatures were driven off, though not without leaving fresh cuts and bruises.

  Not long after, the group confronted an even stranger threat: giant ant-like beasts the size of large dogs, each bearing the same slick, black sheen as the jungle's other abominations. Ten or more swarmed from hidden tunnels in the riverbank, clicking mandibles echoing in the humid air.

  The fight proved vicious. Joran nearly collapsed, his earlier wound tearing open. Mira worked frantically to keep him stable while the others hacked and bashed at the relentless insects. In the end, they prevailed through coordinated strikes—Elias and Jace driving back the bulk of the ants while Aera and Darin pinned others in place for Theo's finishing blows.

  Bloody, panting, and drained, they retreated to the river's edge to regroup. With nightfall closing in, they decided to fortify the small clearing, scrounging driftwood to bolster what minimal defenses they could. Waves of ants tested those defenses through the night, but each time the group fought them off, forced to remain on high alert until dawn's hazy light.

  Not long after, the group confronted an even stranger threat: giant ant-like beasts the size of large dogs, each bearing the same slick, black sheen as the jungle's other abominations. Ten or more swarmed from hidden tunnels in the riverbank, clicking mandibles echoing in the humid air.

  The fight proved vicious. Joran nearly collapsed, his earlier wound tearing open. Mira worked frantically to keep him stable while the others hacked and bashed at the relentless insects. In the end, they prevailed through coordinated strikes—Elias and Jace driving back the bulk of the ants while Aera and Darin pinned others in place for Theo's finishing blows.

  Bloody, panting, and drained, they retreated to the river's edge to regroup. With nightfall closing in, they decided to fortify the small clearing, scrounging driftwood to bolster what minimal defenses they could. Waves of ants tested those defenses through the night, but each time the group fought them off, forced to remain on high alert until dawn's hazy light.

  The morning found them battered, hungry, and low on supplies. Yet the aether in their blood kept them upright, fueling bodies that should have collapsed from pain and fatigue hours earlier. Joran in particular lagged behind, his face pale beneath a sheen of sweat. Mira's medical kit was nearly depleted, and the group's morale wavered.

  Still, they trudged forward along the river's banks, hoping it might lead to a safer zone—or perhaps an unexpected answer to their plight. Around midday, the dense trees gave way to a slightly clearer path, and they glimpsed fresh footprints in the mud—human footprints, possibly. A spark of hope glimmered, but also wariness. Anyone could be out here, and not all survivors were friendly.

  A sudden rustle in the brush snapped everyone's attention. Weapons came up, hearts pounding as they braced for another swarm of horrors. Instead, two figures emerged— one dark-skinned man and another olived skinned dressed in rough leather armor, steel spears gleaming under the midday sun. Their postures were poised, their expressions firm but not immediately hostile.

  They spoke in practiced unison, voices resonant with authority:

  "We bid you welcome to the domain of Warrior King Sefu!"