Pitch black! That was all I could see. We hardly ever experienced night time here on Vxxrrtoea, and if we did it was for a very short period. In fact, we referred to those periods as The Noir. None of us really knew what it felt like to be in complete darkness. It was a strange feeling. The darkness was so complete, it swallowed all sound, leaving only a hollow ringing in my ears. I tried to open my eyes but they felt very heavy. The massive blow must have done a number on me. Time seemed to have paused and everything was moving in slow motion. So, I harnessed the power of time, and tried to pull myself up. But, the air was heavy and thick, pressing in on me with an immense weight. Just then, my eyelids opened up a little and soon, sight! I defied the wind, struck my eyelids wide open and braced myself up for the next impact. “Next impact?” I thought to myself. “How about I become the next impact?” I looked Dallaxxs Blaxskn straight in the eye as a derisive smirk formed on my face. H

“Come on, let's take a little walk. I have a few things to share with you.” He got up holding me by the hand. I couldn't fathom what was actually happening. “Now we're taking walks?” “Do you know why we go through these rigorous training sessions to drive out a lot of you and emerge with only a few at the end?” He asked me. His questions were beginning to scare me but I answered them still. “Yes, Sir. To emerge as potential warriors that can protect our planet from threats.” I answered. “Wow! Smart boy. Yes, Yes. Now look around and tell me what you see?”“ I see lush and vibrant trees, Sir.” “Good, now look at the men, what do you see?”“ I see a gallery of survivors, Sir.” “ Yes, you see, the trials serve several crucial purposes for the Liberated Liions. They are more than just tests of strength; they are a fundamental part of the clan's culture and survival. The trials are a profound rite of passage. They are a test that connects each warrior to the clan's history and its foun

The sound of the trumpet was a raw, jarring blast that sliced through the pre-dawn quiet. It was the only signal we would get. I didn't wait. While others likely charged into the brush, I slid into the nearest thicket, becoming one with the shadows. The swamp was a living nightmare. The Venom-Swamp was a labyrinth of twisted roots and stagnant, black water. The hallucinogenic mist immediately took hold, making my mind a battleground. I saw faces in the swirling haze, heard whispers that called me by name—The Vyper Liions— and felt the chilling sensation of unseen eyes tracking my every move. I fought against the visions, focusing on the real sensations: the sharp sting of the humid air in my lungs, the feel of the cool mud on my skin, and the distant, subtle rustle of life that was not a ghost. This was the first test: staying sane in a world designed to break you.As I struggled my way through the mist, suddenly, I lost my balance and fell. It was strange. I couldn’t explain what had

All through my years as a young Silurix, I envisioned myself as a soldier in the Liberated Lion Army, standing tall alongside the finest warriors and representatives of the six clans. At first light, the thundering waves of their marching feet, the sound of their anthem, and their unending procession to keep the cities safe gave me a powerful sense of purpose. “Woah! That one's huge.” I remember saying to myself one time as I sighted one of the tallest soldiers from across my Aunt's window. We called him ‘Goran’— Mountain Man. My Aunt and Uncle never sent me to school so I really did have a lot of time on my hands. I wanted to be like Goran but, most importantly, I wanted to feel the sense of purpose that fueled the minds of these soldiers. So, I began putting myself through the most absurd training sessions. They made no sense, really. I remember practicing a 'war cry' in the middle of the grand marketplace but instead I let out the pathetic squawk. I didn’t realize how horrible I s

​The sound arrived like a physical blow.​It wasn't a roar of battle or a challenge; it was a pure, high-pitched shriek of sheer agony and terror, instantly recognizable, instantly wrong. It cut through the insulating silence of the swamp like a razor across velvet.​Titus!​The name tore through the haze of the hallucinogenic venom. All the spectral images—the disappointed faces of my aunt and uncle, the silent, judging figure of Titus—vanished. The mist, for one terrifying second, cleared enough for brutal reality to flood in. ​Titus was close. Too close. And he wasn't fighting the hallucinations; he was being torn apart. I had seen the sign. I had seen his image but I thought it was the swamp playing tricks on me. I ignored it.​Now that I had realized how reckless I had been, my feet moved before my mind could process it. A rush of pure, raw instinct—Friend. Danger! Save him! I plunged forward, heedless of the terrain, ripping through hanging moss that stung my skin. I could hear