The air hung heavy with tension, the scent of blood and burnt wood mingling with the crisp night air.

  Torin's body lay motionless on the forest floor, steam rising from his skin as his body slowly cooled. James, Lucas, and their teams stood panting, bruised, and exhausted, their weapons slick with sweat and blood. The battle against the Rogue Awakened had pushed them past their limits.

  But the fight wasn’t over.

  As they caught their breath, shadows began to shift in the treetops.

  The oppressive silence was shattered by the crunch of boots on dirt.

  James looked up—and his stomach twisted into knots.

  Figures emerged from the darkness, one after another. Their eyes gleamed with predatory hunger, their muscles taut with suppressed power. They weren’t just some stragglers looking for a fight.

  These were more Rogues.

  And the man leading them was something far worse.

  The Rogue leader stepped forward, his sheer presence smothering the battlefield like a heavy fog.

  A giant of a man, his body covered in jagged scars that told stories of countless battles. His bald head gleamed under the moonlight, and his eyes burned with a cold, calculated rage. Every movement he made was precise, controlled, like a predator who knew exactly how much effort was needed to kill his prey.

  James felt a weight pressing down on him, his instincts screaming at him to run.

  Sam took a step back, his face pale. He swallowed hard.

  "We’re dead."

  The Rogue leader’s voice was deep, almost lazy, as if he was already bored of the encounter.

  He scoffed, nudging Torin’s lifeless body with his boot. "Pathetic."

  James’ team had fought with everything they had to bring Torin down, and yet this man dismissed the effort like it was a child’s game.

  Then, his gaze landed on James.

  “You must be their leader.” A grin spread across his face, slow and predatory. “I think I’ll break you first.”

  The other Rogues laughed darkly, their weapons gleaming in the firelight.

  Lucas’ team was just as shaken. Ethan tightened his grip around his stolen rations, his fingers trembling.

  This wasn’t a fight they could even think of wining.

  Just as the Rogues were about to close in, a new voice shattered the night.

  “Pathetic.”

  The word was spoken with pure contempt.

  The temperature around them seemed to drop, the weight in the air shifting—not fear, but something greater.

  From the darkness, two figures stepped into the firelight.

  James recognized them instantly.

  Commander Rourke. Trainer Vincent.

  A surge of relief mixed with fear flooded his chest. They weren’t just anyone. These were warriors.

  True Awakened.

  The atmosphere changed instantly.

  The Rogues stiffened, eyes flickering with recognition.

  The leader's smug expression twitched, his stance adjusting ever so slightly. It was subtle—but James caught it.

  He knew who these men were.

  Rourke cracked his knuckles, his massive frame radiating raw power. His presence alone sent a shiver through the battlefield.

  Vincent, standing beside him, gave a lopsided smirk. His lean frame was deceptive, hiding a speed and lethality few could match.

  “Let me show you what a real fight looks like.” Rourke rolled his shoulders. “Come on, you bastards. Try not to bore me.”

  The Rogue leader—Dante—gritted his teeth. He knew they were outmatched.

  But he was no coward.

  “Kill them.” His voice was calm, but his eyes burned with fury.

  The Rogues attacked.

  Rourke vs. Dante, Riley, and the Red-Haired Woman

  Dante moved first. His speed was monstrous, his body a blur as he closed the distance in an instant.

  Rourke didn’t flinch.

  Dante’s fist came down like a hammer—Rourke caught it with one hand.

  The force sent shockwaves through the ground, cracking the dirt beneath them.

  “Too slow.”

  Rourke twisted, yanking Dante off balance, and slammed his elbow into his ribs. The impact was brutal—Dante flew backward, smashing through a tree.

  Before he could recover, two more Rogues lunged at Rourke.

  Riley—a gaunt, pale man with dead eyes—came from the left, twin daggers aimed for Rourke’s throat.

  The red-haired woman—her blade burning with raw energy—struck from the right.

  A perfect assassination attempt.

  Rourke grinned.

  “Pathetic. You don’t even have a cup ability.”

  His body ignited.

  A wave of crimson energy exploded outward, the sheer force sending both Rogues skidding back.

  Dante, coughing, forced himself to his feet—just in time to see Rourke’s fist glowing with raw power.

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  BOOM.

  The punch connected with Dante’s face—and the Rogue leader vanished.

  His body rocketed through the forest, smashing through trees like a meteor.

  Riley and the red-haired woman barely had time to react before Rourke was already on them.

  His Second Cup Ability had activated.

  Vincent vs 5 rouge awakened

  Vincent didn’t wait. The moment the fight started, he disappeared.

  A blur of motion.

  Five Rogues lunged for him—they never even saw him move.

  The first one—dead in an instant. A clean cut across the throat.

  The second—his weapon shattered as Vincent’s blade pierced his heart.

  The third—he saw Vincent’s smirk just as the dagger plunged into his ribcage.

  The fourth and fifth tried to retreat.

  Too late.

  Vincent activated his ability.

  The air around him distorted—his body flickering in and out of focus. Like a ghost.

  One step. Gone.

  He reappeared behind them.

  Two swift slashes.

  Blood sprayed across the trees.

  The fight was over before it even began.

  The Aftermath

  Dante lay in a broken heap, gasping for air.

  The remaining Rogues were either dead or unable to move.

  Rourke loomed over Dante’s shattered body, his expression disgusted.

  “Not even worth my time.”

  “I should be proud that the mighty Rourke. The national hero was the one to defeat me”. Dante eyes lost consciousness as he let out the words out of his mouth.

  Vincent flicked the blood off his blade, his smirk never fading.

  James and Lucas’ teams stood frozen, watching in stunned silence.

  This was the difference.

  This was the power of true Awakened fighters.

  Rourke turned to James, his eyes cold.

  “You cadets still think you’re ready for the real world? ”

  James team clenched their fists. Their recklessness almost led to their deaths.

  This fight had changed everything.

  If they wanted to survive…

  They had to become stronger.

  The battlefield was still.

  The only sounds were the crackling of distant flames and the ragged breaths of those still standing. The once-mighty Rogues lay scattered across the clearing—some unconscious, others unmoving. The bloodied dirt beneath them was proof of the brutal fight that had just ended.

  James’ arms felt like lead, his vision blurred with exhaustion. His grip on his blade was loose, the edge slick with dark crimson. He wasn’t sure if it was his blood or someone else’s. Probably both.

  Lucas sat slumped against a tree, clutching his ribs, his face twisted in pain. Sam stood near him, his knuckles white against his sword hilt, while Amanda and William kept their eyes locked on the bodies, as if expecting them to rise again.

  Then—

  Clap.

  Clap.

  The slow, deliberate sound echoed across the battlefield.

  James turned.

  Commander Rourke.

  The man stood in the middle of the devastation, his massive frame untouched, his expression unreadable. Beside him, Trainer Vincent smirked, looking far too amused for someone who had just fought through hell.

  “You call that a fight?” Rourke’s voice was calm, but the weight behind it made the air feel heavier.

  No one answered.

  “Pathetic.” He stepped forward, eyes scanning the exhausted cadets. “One Rogue nearly wiped you all out. And you think you’re ready to survive out there? ”

  Lucas, still breathing heavily, wiped blood from his mouth and let out a bitter chuckle. “We won, didn’t we?”

  Rourke’s gaze snapped to him.

  CRACK.

  Lucas barely had time to react before Rourke’s fist met his stomach.

  His body folded inward. The impact sent him skidding across the ground, coughing violently as he clutched his ribs.

  “Winning?” Rourke’s voice was cold. “That thing was playing with you,That was the only reason you won in the first place.”

  No one moved.

  “Your teams were running like scared animals,” Vincent added, his tone playful but sharp. “If we hadn’t shown up, you’d be corpses right now. Face it—you’re weak.”

  James clenched his jaw. He knew it was true. Every second of the fight had felt like he was barely holding on—like any wrong move would be his last.

  And yet, hearing it out loud made his stomach churn.

  Jonathan took a shaky step forward, his fists clenched. “Then tell us—what the hell were we supposed to do?”

  Rourke’s eyes narrowed.

  “You should have been stronger. In this new system strength is all that matters,The world is changing because of nobody had enough strength to control it.”

  Silence.

  It wasn’t just an insult. It was the brutal truth, delivered without hesitation.

  “You think fighting among yourselves makes you warriors?” Rourke took another step, his presence suffocating. “You let your pride, your little rivalry, cloud your judgment. That’s the only reason you’re standing here half-dead instead of handling that Rogue yourselves.”

  Amanda gritted her teeth. “That thing—Torin—it was a monster. Stronger than anything we’ve faced.”

  “Then get stronger. You well all selected to be trained even during the worlds peril to be the hope for the next generation”

  Rourke’s words were absolute.

  James exhaled slowly, his fingers twitching against his blade. His legs ached, his body screamed for rest, but something about the way Rourke said it made his exhaustion feel irrelevant.

  Strength.

  That was the only thing that mattered.

  Vincent rolled his shoulders and smirked. “You wanna keep playing soldier, or do you actually want to survive the real world?”

  Again, no one answered.

  Rourke studied them all for a moment, then scoffed. “If this was a real battlefield, you’d already be dead. Go lick your wounds. The real training starts tomorrow.”

  He turned and walked off, Vincent following close behind.

  No one moved until they were gone.

  That night, James lay awake.

  The campfire flickered weakly, casting shadows across the trees. Around him, his team rested in silence, their bodies battered, their spirits drained.

  “I guess we really are weaker than we thought” Sam words. broke the silence as he stared at the sky.

  “I guess so Sophia replied”. Although she never revealed her feelings she hated loosing more than anyone.

  “But James what was that Sam stared”. curiously at James “ what was?”

  “You know the thing you did when we were fighting Torin”. James stared at his bruised hands. “I don't Know, and at the same time I feel like I do”

  “What do you mean” William who wasn't even paying attention to the conversation was now interested with what James meant.

  “It wasn't my first time killing to survive before, about a year ago I did the exact same thing, my body moved on its own but at that time I thought it was out of anger when I lost my family to the lycons that poured out of the rifts. But now that I think about it clearly it makes no sense that a 15 yeah old was able to kill such a beast with no training and just a regular knife.”

  James staring at the distant sky looked back down on earth, just to see how everyone stares were focused just at him.

  “Is anything wrong?” James surprised by the gazes that were staring at him.

  A few feet away, Commander Rourke stood with his back to them, the dim glow of his holo-phone casting sharp lines across his face.

  The call had just connected.

  A low, gravelly voice filled the air.

  “Rourke. Report.”

  It was Warden Gregory—the man who pulled the strings behind the scenes.

  Rourke exhaled, rolling the tension out of his shoulders. "You were right. There’s something about these kids."

  A brief silence. Then Gregory spoke again. "How many?"

  Rourke glanced toward the cadets, watching them in the dim light. "At least four, maybe five. Could be more."

  Gregory’s voice remained calm, but there was something sharper beneath it. "And James?"

  Rourke hesitated. His gaze lingered on the young man, still catching his breath from the fight. He had fought like a man with too much to lose and too little to prove—like someone who hadn’t realized he was different yet.

  "That one’s a wildcard," Rourke admitted. "He moves like he already knows what he's doing. It’s raw, but instinctive."

  Gregory hummed. "Then he might already be close."

  There was weight in those words. Rourke narrowed his eyes. "You keep saying that. 'Close to what?'"

  Gregory didn't answer immediately. Instead, he asked, "Have you told them?"

  Rourke snorted. "Told them what? That they’re already halfway to becoming monsters? That’s a damn good way to make sure they reach it."

  Gregory let out a slow breath. "They have to figure it out themselves."

  Rourke didn’t like that answer, but he understood it. A soldier who knew he was meant to be powerful would grow complacent. A soldier who doubted would push harder. That was the difference between awakened and forgotten.

  Still, something about Gregory’s tone wasn’t sitting right.

  "What aren’t you telling me?" Rourke pressed.

  Gregory remained silent for a moment. Then, finally, he spoke:

  "Nigeria has the highest rate of Second Cup Awakenings in the world."

  Rourke stiffened. "What?"

  "It’s not random," Gregory continued. "Our analysts have been tracking Awakening trends since the first year of the Shift. You already know that Special and True Awakenings are rare. But Second Cup Awakenings? Those are even rarer. Except here.That is the reason why we are hosting such a program even with how reckless it is."

  Rourke clenched his jaw. "Why?"

  Gregory's voice dropped lower, as if he didn’t want anyone else hearing—even from across the planet.

  "We have theories. One? Environment. Something about this land is different—the energy here is stronger, more concentrated. Two? The people. Nigerians are already accustomed to struggle. Life conditions force them to adapt, push their limits, survive. The stronger the mind and body, the easier it is to form a Second Cup."

  Rourke didn’t respond. He was already thinking back to the battle. To how James, Lucas, and the others had kept going, even when they should’ve broken.

  Gregory’s voice was steady now, measured.

  "You know what it takes to Awaken a Second Cup, Rourke."

  A heavy pause.

  Then Gregory spoke again, this time with finality.

  "Keep an eye on them. And whatever you do, don’t let them know the truth. Not yet."

  The call ended.

  Rourke stayed still for a long moment, staring at the dead screen in his hand. Then he glanced back toward the cadets—beaten, tired, but still standing.

  He sighed.

  "Damn kids don’t even know what they are."