The air quaked under the Giganotosaurus Prime's roar. Its cavernous jaws opened, releasing a blast of heat and steam that tasted like burning rock and raw power. Its crimson scales shimmered beneath shafts of filtered sunlight that broke through the biodome canopy—like molten armor cast by some forgotten god of war, impossibly thick and impervious. Each thunderous step sank deep into the fractured soil, fracturing deeper roots and scattering the dusty bones of lesser beasts in every direction. The creature was an avatar of pure, consuming rage, its movements less like a beast and more like a catastrophic geological event, leaving seismic shockwaves in its wake.
Zander stood several paces ahead of Aethros, placing himself squarely in the Tyrant's line of sight. He inhaled deeply, drawing on the sense of equilibrium he had woken with, and his twin blades ignited in a brilliant, cross-arc of silver and azure light. The monster's eyes glowed like two pools of living magma, fixed entirely on the human figure daring to challenge it, its immense brain focused only on crushing the tiny nuisance.
"Front and back," Aethros growled, his voice a low vibration in the dust, his fur bristling with savage resolve. "You take his gaze. Keep his head turning. I'll take his spine."
Zander nodded once, a sharp, minimal motion—and launched forward. He didn't run; he catapulted, a tight coil of kinetic energy released. The ground beneath his boots momentarily smoked from the force of his departure.
The Giganotosaurus struck first, responding to the threat with disproportionate, crushing force. Its tail, thick as a utility pole and tipped with jagged bone plates, ripped through the air, slicing a nearby tree clean in half with a sound like tearing metal and compressed wood fiber. Zander vaulted high over the sweeping attack, his senses processing the motion faster than light. His blades crossed midair, carving twin streaks of blue-white light that raked shallow, burning grooves across the monster's neck armor. The creature's retaliatory roar became a physical wall of sound, pressing against Zander's chest and threatening to rupture his eardrums.
Aetheros executed his part of the plan flawlessly, coming from behind like a streak of white fire, a low-slung, furious blur. His powerful claws struck deep into the Tyrant's massive hind leg, muscles straining with Herculean effort. His fangs sank through the scaled hide, searching for muscle fiber. Thick, dark blood—hot and viscous, like heavy oil—spattered the ground like burning coals, sizzling the fine red ash and sending up wisps of crimson steam.
But the Crimson Tyrant was not merely strong; it was unnaturally fast. It spun with impossible speed, a dizzying pivot that used its own pain as leverage, hurling Aethros aside with a swipe of its forearm. The cat rolled violently midair, a flurry of white fur and fury, crashed through a broken trunk with a splintering impact that sounded like a gunshot, and landed hard, skidding across the stone. For a dangerous heartbeat, his characteristic growl turned into a rasping, pained cough, the air knocked from his lungs.
Then, fueled by ancestral hatred and the fierce loyalty to his lost pack, he rose again, albeit slower, a testament to his unbreakable will and sheer, primal resilience.
Zander seized the momentary distraction. He darted low beneath the creature's next colossal swing, channeling Heaven Duality Flow: Second Form — Flowing Current. The technique was a sensory overload—the world slowed to a crawl, the Tyrant's flailing limb moved with the deceptive languor of syrup, and Zander's body blurred into an almost invisible stream of motion. Every step was fluid and deceptive, calculated to the millimeter, his twin blades leaving shimmering trails of mirrored light that confused the monster's primitive vision. In this heightened state, he could predict the exact moment the beast's immense weight would shift onto a heel, creating a micro-second of immobility that was his opportunity. The Tyrant struck again and again, jaws snapping with frustration, claws gouging massive, futile trenches into the soil, but each bite met only empty air or the ghost of an afterimage.
Zander slid under its immense belly, navigating the shifting landscape of its colossal body, the heat radiating off its scales like a furnace. He struck upward—a concentrated burst of force aimed at a less-armored joint near the ribcage. Sparks flew where his blade finally met scale with enough force to matter, smelling of burnt keratin and ozone. The beast bellowed in renewed fury, its head snapping down, trying to crush him. A sudden plasma burst shot from the small drone Zander wore on his belt, scorching a perfect, agonizing mark against its eye ridge. The sting was a psychological weapon that completely enraged it, causing it to thrash wildly and randomly.
"Now!" Zander shouted, a voice that sounded small against the beast's thunder, but carried the resonance of command.
From the shadows, a chorus of answering growls erupted. Dozens of felines—saber-toothed, striped, shadow-furred, some merely cubs but driven by the pack's fever—surged forward. They leapt, bit, and clawed at the titan's lower legs and flanks, a furious, living wave of diversionary tactics. Their claws raked, their teeth found tendon, and they paid for every shallow wound with their lives. The Giganotosaurus thrashed violently, its tail whipping through them like a destructive, bloody storm. One by one, bodies fell, their sacrifice measured in seconds of distraction and the life of their alpha.
Aethros, having regained his feet, bounded onto the Tyrant's back, claws tearing deep into its flesh, fueled by the agonizing deaths of his kin. "For the fallen!" he roared, driving his fangs into the softer tissue at the base of its skull, anchoring himself despite the tremendous movement.
The Tyrant convulsed, staggering, its movements becoming clumsy and desperate. Its colossal nervous system was failing under the combined assault.
Zander saw his chance—the final, perfect, geometric line of attack. He leapt onto a nearby fallen trunk, using its stability to launch himself high into the air, spinning midair as his blades coalesced into a single, radiant, concentrated strike of energy. All the power of the Flowing Current, the sense of absolute equilibrium, and his stored kinetic energy channeled into this one axis.
"Heaven Duality Flow — Flowing Current!"
The blade cut through the side of the monster's neck—the critical spot exposed by Aethros's ferocious distraction—in a blinding shower of blood, scales, and blinding blue light. The light was so intense it momentarily bleached the color from the valley. The Tyrant's head jerked, its massive jaws gnashing one last, empty time, and then—with one final, shuddering roar that seemed to shake the entire biodome's foundation and crack the very earth—it collapsed.
The ground trembled violently for long seconds, the seismic shock slowly dying out into a deathly stillness.
Silence. The sudden absence of the beast's sound was more deafening than its roar, a physical void in the atmosphere. The heavy scent of iron and ozone hung thick and unmoving over the carnage.
Only the distant, mechanical hum of Zander's drone remained, flickering faintly as it hovered above the wreckage, its mission successfully completed.
Aethros limped forward, his body soaked in blood, but utterly victorious. His chest rose and fell in ragged, deep gasps, and his wounds began to close faintly as he dug his regenerative fangs into the creature's flank, drawing latent energy from its immense carcass, a slow, steady pulse of crimson power. His eyes regained a faint, triumphant crimson gleam.
Elsewhere…
Raixin watched from afar, a half-mile away, positioned in the high, dense forest canopy outside the immediate battle zone. His tactical visor reflected the still form of the colossal beast now lying dead in the dust. His expression, obscured by the metallic sheen of his helmet, didn't change—a perfect mask of control—but the faint, rapid pulse registered in his temple readout revealed both shock at Zander's capability and a cold, ruthless calculation. The scope had confirmed the execution was not luck, but a mastery of kinetic energy far beyond their initial profile.
"Found you," he muttered, the words flat and devoid of emotion. He zoomed the thermal imaging across the valley floor, his focus snapping instantly from the dead Tyrant to the two figures below.
The specialized drones circling his position projected faint, data-rich holograms of the entire fight sequence, annotating the unexpected speed and power of Zander's final technique. One drone hovered closer to the wreckage, confirming the kill and sending a secure burst transmission containing Zander's newly calculated combat metrics to the Echelon command.
Raixin slung the long rifle off his back—a sleek, carbon-edged weapon humming with internally compressed plasma. It wasn't designed for beasts; it was designed for targets that moved like Zander. "Engage pursuit protocol. They won't leave that dome alive," he ordered, his voice clipped and precise.
He brought the rifle to his shoulder, the cooling fans cycling immediately with a low, hydraulic sigh. The high-powered scope locked onto Zander's heat signature. With a faint, almost imperceptible click, he shifted the targeting slightly, intentionally aiming not for the human, but for his companion, understanding the tactical value of disabling the feline. The first shot lanced through the air—a blinding streak of superheated light, faster than sound, preceded only by a ripping hiss of displaced air that served as a cruel warning.
Back in the dome…
Aethros jerked back with a primal roar of pain. The plasma shot had pierced his hind leg, sizzling flesh and fur, vaporizing the regenerative energy he had just absorbed, leaving a smoking, chemical wound. He collapsed briefly, snarling in agony at a pain that was precise and targeted, designed to incapacitate.
"Sniper fire! Get down!" Zander shouted, the sound of the crack echoing seconds after the impact. He grabbed the massive feline's shoulder and dragged him, straining with effort, behind the colossal shield of the fallen titan's carcass, the ground scraping against his knuckles.
Another shot whizzed past, striking the dust where Zander's head had been a second before, creating a small, superheated crater that popped and fizzled. The next shot was closer still, grazing Zander's shoulder and tearing through the fabric of his combat suit, leaving a smoking, painful welt beneath. His reflexes—honed from weeks of relentless, brutal bullet-dodging drills—saved him from being skewered outright, but the burn still sizzled, spreading cold numbness through his arm, a stark reminder of the deadly skill of his opponent.
"We can't stay," Aetheros growled through tightly gritted teeth, struggling to stand, his wounded leg useless beneath him. "That… energy signature—it's tempered. It's not a pack rifle. He's far above us."
"I know," Zander said, his eyes narrowing, scanning the dense treeline on the ridge, looking for the tell-tale shimmer of heat or scope reflection. "The high ground and the range favor him. We run. Now."
The two bolted toward the inner forest, Zander partially supporting the weight of the wounded feline, dodging between wreckage, roots, and the smoking remains of the battlefield. Behind them, Raixin's rifle hummed again, each shot a sonic boom and a blast of plasma, tearing apart thick trees, exploding soil, and turning the air into static electricity. One final blast struck near Zander's heel, forcing him to roll midair before regaining his footing, the heat of the blast scorching his hair and forcing him to push his body beyond the point of exhaustion.
Branches snapped and exploded into charcoal. Leaves burned and disintegrated. Dark blood dripped from Aetheros's wounded leg, but his speed, driven by survival and adrenaline, didn't falter.
As they vanished deeper into the shadows of the biodome, swallowed by the dense undergrowth, Raixin lowered his rifle. His eyes glowed faintly behind the visor, still tracking the residual heat signatures of their escape.
"Run all you want," he murmured, reloading with cold, mechanical precision. "The hunt has just begun."