The first thing he tasted was iron. It was a thick, metallic taste that coated the back of his throat. Blood. His blood.The second thing he felt was the cold, wet sensation of dirty concrete against his cheek. The floor smelled of old sweat, bleach, and urine. It was the smell of the Academy locker room, a place where the weak were reminded of their place."Get up, trash."The voice was heavy, arrogant. It belonged to Jace. Jace was big, fed on expensive protein blocks and supplements since birth. To him, the boy on the floor was nothing more than a bug to be crushed.The boy on the floor tried to move. A sharp, hot fire exploded in his left side. A rib was cracked. Maybe two. He gasped, sucking in air that smelled of dust. His vision was blurry, swimming in tears and pain."I said, get up!"A heavy boot slammed into his stomach. The boy curled into a ball, coughing violently. Red droplets spattered onto the grey tiles."He’s done, Jace," another voice laughed from the side. "Look at

The spoon scraped against the bottom of the grey plastic bowl. Scrape. Clink.Silas lifted the spoon to his mouth. It was filled with "Nutri-Sludge," the standard meal for the lower caste at the Academy. It looked like wet cement and tasted like burnt rubber.He put it in his mouth. He didn't swallow immediately.One. Two. Three.He chewed. He chewed exactly thirty times. His jaw moved with machine-like precision. He needed to break down every enzyme. He needed his stomach to absorb every single calorie. Kian’s body was starving, running on fumes, and he had to fuel the engine before he could drive it.Around him, the cafeteria was loud. Hundreds of cadets in grey and black uniforms sat at long metal tables. But around Silas, there was a circle of isolation. No one sat near "The Corpse.""Look at him," a voice whispered from the next table. "He’s eating like nothing happened.""He’s in shock," another student laughed. "He signed a Death Waiver against Torian. He’s going to be paste on

The roar of the crowd was not just a sound. It was a physical weight. It pressed down on the center of the arena, heavy and suffocating.Silas Kapito stood on the grey concrete floor of the Ring. The lights above were blindingly white, designed to expose every drop of blood spilled. He squinted slightly, not from fear, but to adjust his pupils.Opposite him, twenty feet away, stood Torian.Torian looked like a tank made of human skin and steel. His hydraulic exoskeleton gleamed under the floodlights. The pistons on his left leg hissed—tshhh, tshhh—venting steam like a breathing dragon. He bounced on the balls of his feet, the metal frame clanking rhythmically.High above in the commentator’s booth, a voice boomed over the speakers, shaking the glass walls of the spectator stands."Welcome, students of Valhalla!" the announcer screamed. "Today, we witness a sanctioned correction! In the red corner, rank 50, the Iron Hammer, the Future of Warfare... TORIAN!"The crowd erupted. Thousands

The digital clock on the wall blinked red: 02:00 AM.The dormitory was a symphony of snoring. Hundreds of exhausted cadets slept in their bunks, dreaming of passing grades and warm food. The air smelled of recycled oxygen and unwashed bodies.Silas Kapito was awake.He lay on his thin mattress, staring at the bottom of the bunk above him. His body ached. His torn thigh muscle throbbed with a dull, hot rhythm. But his mind was cold."Defense is for castles," Silas whispered to the darkness. "Offense is for conquerors."He had humiliated Torian. He had threatened Bront. The Syndicate would not let this slide. They would come for him tonight, or tomorrow. They would try to catch him sleeping. They would try to hurt Elara to break him.Silas sat up. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He did not put on his boots. He needed to be silent. He put on his grey PT socks and slid out of the room like a ghost.He wasn't running away. He was going hunting.The communal shower block was loc