CHAPTER 141: WORKING

Suddenly, without warning, Calien and Erik looked at each other—eyes sharp, determined, locked in the kind of silent communication that only came from countless drills, hours spent in simulations, and a shared will to survive.

There was no fear between them now, only resolve.

Far away, miles beyond the crumbling walls of the tower, Nolan stared into the shimmering magical projection that captured the scene with ghostly clarity.

A cold drop of sweat trickled down his temple.

"No... wait, what are they doing? What the? Am I seeing this for real?" he muttered.

Lirazel tilted her head curiously beside him, but said nothing. She could feel his shift in mood in disbelief.

Then Nolan’s voice cracked through the night like a whip, even if he knew no one could hear him. "You dumbass children! It’s not a game! It won’t work like that!"

But it was too late.

Within the tower, Chief Varros, still catching his breath and wiping grime from his forehead, sensed the shift too. His instincts screamed. "Stop—!" he shouted, stepping forward and reaching out with one hand. But Calien was already in motion.

In a blur, Calien spun, his arm swinging with perfect form, the blade in his hand slapping away Varros’s extended knife.

"We don’t have a choice!" Calien shouted, before launching forward.

Erik was already gone, dashing in the opposite direction, flanking the monstrous twin-tentacled creature from the right while Calien angled from the left.

Their boots struck the stone floor with rhythm, but not noise—footsteps muted with expert grace.

The room, cavernous and stinking with rot and dried blood, echoed only with the rising growl of the monstrous octopus hybrid as its massive head twisted, taking note of their movements.

Varros stumbled back, stunned. The attendants were speechless. And high above the battlefield, Nolan’s eyes widened in horror.

"Damn it, don’t try to do whatever you two are thinking-" Nolan immediately paused and screamed. "no—!"

But the boys were already in.

The massive creature swung its tentacles, the force behind them like trees whipping in a hurricane. One of them crashed into the wall where Erik had been half a second before. Dust exploded. Debris flew. Erik dove under, rolled, and was back on his feet before the echo even faded.

Calien mirrored his move, sliding across the floor as another massive limb came down like a guillotine. He skidded past it, momentum carrying him beneath the thick, rubbery tentacle, then popped up on the other side, blade poised.

They didn’t strike yet. They didn’t need to.

They were testing it.

Dodging. Baiting.

Wide swing.

Step left.

Spin.

Retreat.

Dive.

Redirect.

Strike a feint.

Let it commit.

Tentacles slammed into the stone again and again, each time missing by inches. The creature’s roars were enraged now, guttural and disoriented. It twisted one way, then the other, unsure of which target to crush first. Its eyes—beady, yellowish things set deep within its head—tracked both figures at once. But it couldn’t keep up.

From his distant perch, Nolan’s breath hitched. He leaned closer to the projection, whispering in disbelief. "They’re... they’re actually making it work?"

Lirazel blinked. "I thought you said this wasn’t like the game?"

"It isn’t," Nolan muttered, his voice dry. "But somehow... they’re adapting it."

Back inside the tower, the boys were hitting the second stage of their plan.

They weren’t just dodging anymore.

They were forcing it to twist.

Every dodge, every evasion, wasn’t just a survival move—it was deliberate. Purposeful.

Erik baited a leftward lunge—then cut back right, forcing the beast to twist at the waist. Calien mirrored it seconds later, pulling the opposite direction. The creature followed.

And then again.

And again.

Over and over, they lured it into sharp, sweeping swings that dragged its bloated body around like a twisted puppet. The tumors bulged redder. Its breathing grew harsher. The thick, grotesque tumors on its side began to swell from the stress, as if the tissues were overreacting to the violent strain.

Nolan’s eyes widened. "No... no way..."

Varros, back pressed against the wall, watched it unfold with a mix of awe and disbelief. "They’re wearing it out..."

The attendants were too stunned to speak.

Then came the final stage.

One tentacle swung wide, and Calien ducked low. The move created a brief, perfect opening—under its stretched right arm, at the seam just beneath its shoulder blade, where the tumor-flesh cracked ever so slightly.

"Now!" Erik shouted.

Calien didn’t hesitate.

His body whipped around like a coil, his knife arcing upward. The blade gleamed, then plunged—deep into the seam, splitting open a swollen sack of red-black pus and meat. The creature howled, a hideous, inhuman scream that made the walls quake and blood boil.

Erik followed. Another bait, another twist, and this time he struck behind the knee joint—another seam. Another tumor burst.

Splatters of hot, acidic fluid sprayed the stone, sizzling on contact.

It was working.

Over and over, they repeated the tactic. Bait. Twist. Seam. Strike.

The monster flailed wildly now, but every wild motion only worsened its own condition. Tumors ruptured. Flesh tore. Its movements slowed—barely—but enough for trained eyes to recognize.

"By the stars..." one of the attendants whispered.

"They’re actually doing it," said the other, his voice hollow.

Varros leaned forward, his eyes burning with both admiration and shock. "These... these boys..."

Nolan’s hands were trembling. He hadn’t realized it until now. "I thought it was just theory... I thought they’d break the moment it went wrong..."

But they hadn’t.

They fought.

They endured.

They learned—in real-time, under life-or-death pressure. And they executed.

Now, the creature was slowing. Its movements jerky, uncertain. Blood oozed from open sacs. Tentacles twitched involuntarily. It wasn’t dead yet—but it was in pain. And the tide had shifted.

Varros turned to his attendants, voice low. "Protect them. At all costs."

"Yes, Chief!"

And as the monstrous hybrid let out another roar—this one hoarse, weakened, and furious—Nolan, Varros, and the others could only stare, utterly stunned at what their students were accomplishing.