After six long hours of mandatory sleep, the cold monotony of Karnell was shattered by a harsh, commanding shout:
"ASSEMBLE! PHYSICAL TRAINING—MOVE!"
The order sliced through the quiet dormitory halls like a blade, jolting the test subjects awake. Their limbs ached, muscles stiff and bodies still trembling from yesterday's punishment, but discipline was absolute here. With no room for hesitation, they rose and formed ranks, their footsteps echoing through Karnell's steel corridors as they marched toward the training hall.
The training room was a cavernous arena, suffused with the lingering scent of sweat, burnt ozone, and raw power. Cold steel girders framed the space, walls scarred by past battles and power flares, punctuated by overhead lights that flickered weakly. Observation decks of reinforced glass ringed the room, where researchers and guards silently recorded every twitch and flare of power on their datapods, faces unreadable behind cold visors.
This was the crucible that tested every subject's strength and will—a place where pain was both weapon and lesson. The air buzzed with anticipation.
O-889 entered last, his brown eyes narrowing beneath furrowed brows. Four years in Karnell had carved him into a calculating survivor. His lean, scarred frame radiated quiet power, muscles taut and ready beneath sweat-damp skin. His short black hair clung to his forehead, a stark contrast to the pallid, almost ghostly faces around him. Despite being only twelve, he carried the weight of countless battles in his stoic gaze. Known quietly as "the shadow spine," O-889 was a leader by force, respected but not loved, his arrogance as sharp as the scars crisscrossing his arms.
And though many followed him, not one could say he led Chamber 5 like a real leader. O-889 wasn't a strategist like R-932,
nor a synchronizing savant like the S-Twins, whose minds moved as one. He didn't analyze patterns, didn't calculate outcomes—he attacked, and kept attacking, until his opponent stopped moving or he was satisfied that he'd won. Pure brutality shaped his approach. His power class—O—was the second rarest genetic class in Karnell, a rare breed blessed with immense strength and healing ability. It was tailor-made for someone like him. Unlike the instantaneous regeneration of Y-Class, O-Class healing was slow and agonizing—each recovery searing pain through torn flesh, the body mending but never without suffering. This torturous process forged warriors who endured pain as much as they wielded power.
O-889 endured it gladly. He fed on pain. It suited him.
In the dorms, he was feared not just for his strength, but for his hunger. He often took from others in his chamber—extra rations, bedding, Even the food off his own roommate's plate, He left them hungry. Survival came first. And for O-889, survival meant power, and power meant taking. He followed no moral, gave no comfort. He was a child shaped by blood and instinct, not ideals.
As the subjects settled into the hall, a voice rang out—cold and commanding:
"O-889, fight with the S-Twins." It was Halgen who commanded.
The S-Twins—S-410 and S-411—were a terror all their own. Although they were only six years old… From the moment they arrived in Karnell, they moved as one—two halves of a single deadly entity. Their minds linked, thoughts synchronized with uncanny precision. Pyrokinetic fire was their weapon, a blazing force that danced with cruel grace, lighting the room with hellish glow. They were feared, respected, and the subjects of constant study.
"Since they arrived, they never fight apart," one researcher murmured, fingers flying over a datapod. "Their minds operate as one. According to Director Scoff, they are one."
Scoff Karios himself stood watching today—not hidden away in the depths of the labs, but overlooking the training floor from the glass observation deck. His cold gaze flicked from O-889 to the twins, eyes narrowing with dark anticipation.
The fight began with a burst of violence. The S-Twins circled O-889 like vipers, flames crackling from their fingertips, scorching arcs of fire swirling dangerously close. Their attacks were swift, relentless—striking from one side only to vanish and reappear on the other. O-889 was trapped, a rabbit caught between two coiling snakes, forced to dodge and weave through searing infernos.
His lean muscles tensed as he tried to close the distance. Every time he lunged, the twins melted away, laughing silently as they kept him at bay.
From the sidelines, R-932 calculated every movement with sharp eyes, lips barely moving as he analyzed patterns. Nearby, Y-271's face twisted into a frown. "This is madness." she muttered under her breath, watching the brutal exchange. But deep down, she knew—Karnell was never fair. Only results mattered here.
Meanwhile, O-243 clenched his fists, excitement burning in his eyes. "I wish I could join," he whispered. "This is what real fight is."
The fight escalated. O-889, fueled by fierce determination and raw power, suddenly snatched S-410 and slammed her head hard against the concrete floor. The hall echoed with gasps as her body twitched violently. But S-411 struck immediately—her hand ignited with new fiery energy, a sudden attack that caught O-889 squarely in the arm.
His skin melted and blistered, half of his hand burning red and black. A flicker of pain cracked his usual stoic mask. But his O-Class healing surged, slow and agonizing, stitching flesh back together even as every nerve screamed in torment.
Livia barked from the side, stepping forward:
"Stop this! Both are valuable test subjects."
The room grew tense as several guards moved to intervene. But behind the observation glass, Scoff Karios's voice cut like a blade:
"No." he commanded, voice low and unwavering. "Let them continue. This is exactly the data we need. Pain, endurance, breaking points—this is how power is forged. We do not stop until one falls or both transcend."
Livia hesitated but obeyed. The brutal dance continued.
The twins, drained by the energy cost of their S-Class pyrokinetic power, began to show signs of fatigue—their flames dimming slightly, their movements just a fraction slower. Still, they pressed their relentless assault, weaving fire and psychic precision in perfect unison.
O-889's arms burned fiercely where he blocked attacks, but he gritted his teeth and endured. Every block, every counter, every step forward was agony wrapped in defiance.
Summoning every ounce of strength, O-889 lunged again, seizing S-411 and using S-410's burning body as a shield against a fiery counterattack. Flames consumed the twins' clothes, but their immunity to fire kept them fighting.
He attempted to choke S-411, but she writhed violently, her leg striking with a fiery kick—an ability never before seen or documented. The new move sent a shock through the observers, who quickly began updating their datapods with detailed notes and measurements.
R-932 whispered in his head. "This is the brutality of Karnell," he muttered. "No one is safe, no one spared. But power—power alone is king."
O-889's half-burned face healed slowly under his painful regeneration. His left eye burned with a defiant fire matching the flames around him. This fight wasn't only evolution—it was survival.
And in Karnell, only the strongest survived.