The timer pulsed in red.
00:58... 00:57... 00:56...
Tension thickened inside the metallic lobby chamber as the countdown continued. Dozens of Turbet aliens stood beneath the glowing digits, knowing that at zero, they would descend to their battlefield—Blue Crock City, now nothing more than scorched ruins.
But the Fowk weren't finished.
"How about we make this a little fun while we wait?" echoed the mocking voice of the Fowk captain through the ship's speakers.
With a thunderous hiss, the steel-plated lobby doors behind them groaned open.
From the darkness beyond came thirty monstrous behemoths.
Each creature was twice the height of an armored truck, its glistening black skin etched with glowing red glyphs. Gigantic horns coiled like spirals of bone from its shoulders, and a massive single horn jutted from its head like a battering ram. Worse still, razor-sharp plates slid rhythmically along its back—like natural chainsaws grinding bone.
With a deafening roar, the first behemoth charged, pulverizing two Turbet aliens into pulp against the wall. Another rammed through a pillar, causing debris to rain down.
"Haha! Now that's much better!" cackled the captain. "Your fight for survival began when we invaded your planet. And guess what? It never ends."
Panic erupted.
Aliens screamed and scattered. Some ducked and dodged between the rampaging beasts, while others were flattened mid-run—flesh splattering against the walls.
But amidst the chaos, one alien didn't move.
Baluu.
The rebel leader stood still, eyes vacant, arms limp. He didn't even flinch when a behemoth's shadow loomed over him.
He had given up.
"Hey! Watch out!" a gravelly voice shouted.
An old alien—wrinkled, gray, and missing an eye—lunged, pulling Baluu to the side just in time as the behemoth's claws crashed into the floor where he had stood.
Breathing heavily, the old one shook him. "Snap out of it, kid! What's your name?"
"Baluu," he muttered, barely audible.
"Baluu?" the old alien blinked. "Wait—you're the rebel leader? Hah. Got yourself a hero complex, huh?"
Baluu didn't respond. His gaze was empty.
"Listen to me," the old alien said, gripping his shoulder. "Here's a little trade secret: you can't save everyone. Stop trying to. You'll break."
He looked around at the carnage, shaking his head.
"These bastards… I've seen what they do. Let me guess—they killed someone close to you? That's their game. They cut out your heart and leave it bleeding. But unless you've got no one left to fight for… you've got to stand the hell up."
The words echoed inside Baluu's hollow chest.
Then—
BEEP BEEP BEEP.
00:00
The floor beneath them opened like a mechanical trap, and all fifty-three remaining Turbets—and all thirty behemoths—fell.
The sky swallowed them.
Wind howled past their ears as they plummeted from the Death Ark into the ruined remains of Blue Crock City below. Rubble stretched for miles. Broken towers. Ash-filled skies.
The fall should have been fatal.
Baluu's heart raced as he looked down. He still had two kids alive. His wives. The old alien's words lit a fire within him. I can't save them if I die now.
Then his eyes widened.
The old alien was diving toward one of the falling behemoths.
"WHAT IS HE DOING?!"
The old man twisted mid-air, reached the massive beast's underside, and—tore open its stomach with a crackling plasma blade, crawling inside.
"Oh! The behemoth will soften his landing!" one alien shouted mid-descent.
Others saw it too.
And suddenly, it became a fight for survival.
Only thirty behemoths.
Fifty-three aliens.
Seven had already died in the lobby, trampled.
Now, fisty-three were falling, and every one of them lunged for a behemoth.
Mid-air.
Some punched. Others slashed. Fists met bone. Claws raked skin.
Teeth ripped into throats. Limbs were torn. Eyes were gouged.
Blood trailed like shooting stars through the sky.
The battle royale had already begun.
Baluu's eyes snapped open. He spotted a behemoth beneath him.
But he wasn't alone.
Another Turbet—a terrifying, scar-covered brute, twice Baluu's size—was gunning for the same target.
If Baluu wanted to live, he had to fight.
The two collided in mid-air, clawing at each other as gravity screamed around them.
They grappled.
Their weightless struggle made punches fly wide.
Baluu shoved downward, flipping the brute below him.
He tucked his three legs into his chest—then lashed out with a triple kick, smashing into the brute's abdomen.
The other alien screamed—propelled downwards—directly into the open mouth of a behemoth.
CRUNCH!
The jaws snapped shut.
Half the alien vanished in a single bite.
No longer contested, Baluu dived for the behemoth.
He tore into its abdomen with bloodied hands, pulled apart the flesh, and slid inside.
"I… will… live," he whispered, as the creature's intestines wrapped around him, concealing him in a warm, wet grave.
Some aliens floated helplessly in the sky, too far from a behemoth.
One, desperate to live, hurtled toward Baluu's behemoth, howling as he landed on the carcass.
He pried at its stomach, determined to pull Baluu out and take his place.
The guts split open—
A hand shot out.
Baluu's fist gripped the intruder's throat and yanked him closer.
Then—with a sickening twist—ripped it out.
Blood sprayed over the behemoth's belly.
The body slid limply away into the wind.
Behemoths landed at different zones of Blue Crock City.
Their massive corpses splattered against broken towers and shattered highways, but the aliens inside lived. Their fall had been cushioned.
Baluu's behemoth landed with a sickening crunch.
Darkness.
Then movement.
He pushed open the creature's chest cavity and crawled out, drenched in fluids, breathing hard.
"I made it," he whispered. "I… survived."
His limbs shook. But he stood.
Then—
SHINK.
Pain exploded through his back.
He froze.
Looking down, blood poured from a blade protruding from his chest.
He turned.
Behind him stood the old alien.
The one who had saved him.
The one who had inspired him.
Holding a twisted knife soaked in Baluu's blood.
"I know what you're thinking, kid," the old one muttered. "Why would I kill you after all that?"
His face was calm. No rage. No remorse.
"Well… the answer's simple."
He leaned in.
"Killing the rebel leader gives bonus points."
Baluu gasped.
"I couldn't let you die in the lobby. Had to be here. Had to be my kill."
The old one pulled the blade free.
Baluu collapsed, blood pooling beneath him.
"Rest in peace, kid," the old one said. "Maybe in the next life… we're friends."
He walked away.
And above them all, from hidden thrones in distant galaxies…
The Lords watched.
And they laughed.