Chapter 24
RYAN'S RAGE
In the makeshift zone outside The Hold, between scattered tents and hastily constructed buildings, a large crowd had gathered. The air was thick with fatigue. Some wore tattered rags barely holding together at the seams; others donned work uniforms or faded middle-class attire. No matter their background, everyone shared one thing—exhaustion.
They'd been herded together, held outside the gates for several grueling hours as thier information was checked and verified to ensure their proof of them volunteering was legit.
IAM stood somewhere in the middle of the restless horde, his eyes fixed on the temporary podium rigged from scraps of old transport crates and metal scaffolding. A man stood on it—loud, animated, commanding.
He was delivering a speech. Rousing in tone. But laced with a very clear warning.
His voice rang out over the crowd:
"—You must remember, the Deadline is not your only enemy. There is still Claw. And make no mistake, they are not behind us. They walk the same road. They too aim to take The Hold for themselves. They will fight through the creatures just as we will. "
The man was a descendent of THE Elf, he had no hair and an extremely bushy moustache, and stood at 5foot 9. His back was straight and one could see how passionate he was as spit flew out of his mouth and he moved his arms in gestures enthusiastically.
The speaker was a descendant of The Elf. He had a bald head that had an unruly, aggressive mustache that seemed to twitch with every syllable. Though he stood just 5'9", his presence stretched far taller. His posture was flawless—back straight, shoulders squared, arms sweeping the air with every word, flinging droplets of spit in every direction as he spoke.
But IAM wasn't distracted by the theatrics.
What really caught his eye were the four glinting stars stitched into the man's hoodie—shimmering under the light like tiny suns.
Four stars.
That was all anyone needed to see.
This was Hise Grave.
A military legend in his own right. An elite. A man with enough achievements, kills, and contributions to earn a four-star ranking—something fewer than one in a thousand ever accomplished. He was a descendant of the Elves, yes, but more importantly, he was a master in his own terrifying way.
And he wasn't here to inspire them.
Not really.
He was here to warn them.
After the impassioned speech, the crowd—buzzing with nerves and fatigue—was split up and slowly filtered under the cold watch of seasoned soldiers. Recruits, both fresh and weathered, were directed toward the temporary living quarters. The fog still hung low and thick, veiling the rows of tents like a funeral shroud. Orders were barked through the grey air: a maximum of four per tent.
IAM and Ryan, still slightly awkward around each other since IAM had left the health ward, ended up together once again. Their silence was broken by the arrival of their two new tentmates.
The first was a short man with mop-like brown hair and unnervingly bright blue eyes. He introduced himself as Hen. To which IAM giggles and wondered why he wasn't called cock instead.
The second man stepped forward and offered a familiar grin that contrasted sharply with the dreary setting.
"Kepa," he said. Medium height, black hair, brown eyes—there was something unmistakably Hope's End about him. His shoulders were toughened by hardship. He seemed very excited to see fellow slum buddies and gave IAM and Ryan big hugs,a smile plastered on his face.
Their tent, while dry, was far from cozy—metal poles groaned in the wind, and the canvas walls offered little insulation from the biting chill of the air.
Eventually, the four of them found themselves deep in conversation, unburdening slowly over the thin warmth of a shared meal packet. As stories were exchanged and jokes shared, the talk turned to the circumstances that brought each of them here. This led to IAM and Ryan finding about the little scam, the boss had played on them.
IAM was dumbfounded and slightly surprised, but not too much, after all he had called it, it was too suspicious and such a weird way of doing things and he couldn't believe that 'IAM' had fallen for such a ploy.
Inside the tent, the mood soured. Silence fell—not the peaceful kind, but the sort that crept into the bones.
As IAM slowly shook his head in exasperation, a sharp CRACK ripped through the air like a gunshot.
His head snapped toward the source of the sound.
Ryan stood completely still, one hand clenched around a snapped wooden support beam of the tent—splinters now biting into his palm. The jagged edges jutted from both sides like broken bone. IAM's eyes narrowed, his heart skipping a beat—not from fear of Ryan's strength.
IAM eyes shrunk, he was not too surprised about the strength that Ryan had displayed... After all after spending most of his time in the library reading like a man possessed, he was far more knowledgeable.
IAM remembered reading that once the avien was formed, mana coursed directly into the bloodstream and down to the genetic level, reinforcing tissue, rewiring neurons, pushing the body into something... more.
Tougher skin. Faster reflexes. Superhuman stamina. Strength beyond normal comprehension. Enhanced regeneration. Quicker thought processes.
What did shock IAM, was Ryan's face.
The ever-smiling, oddly calm guy from the slums... was gone.
In his place stood something else. Someone else.
His face was a twisted mask of rage, jaw locked, veins crawling up his temple like angry roots, and that eternal smile had been replaced by a look that could curdle blood. It wasn't human. It was as if the devil had taken a chisel and carved hate into every line of his face.
Even the air in the tent shifted, dense and choking, the kind of pressure that warned predators to keep away.
Then Ryan spoke—his voice guttural, low, and seething with hatred:
"I... WILL... MURDERIZE... THAT... ONE... EYED... BITCH... AND... SHOVE... MY... COCK... UP... HIS... EMPTY... EYE... SOCKET."
IAM blinked.
The silence was thick—too thick. His brain did the only thing it could in the face of what he was witnessing: make a joke.
"Uhhh..." IAM cleared his throat, voice high and uncertain. "If you're gonna do that... I'd recommend wearing a condom. I hear Plan B's a nightmare."
The others didn't laugh.
IAM trailed off as Ryan's gaze—those bright green eyes—locked onto him.
And for a heartbeat, IAM would've sworn on his left nut... those eyes weren't green anymore.
They were red. Blood-red. Wild. Brimming with venom and something deeper—something primal.
Like a beast that had finally decided to stop pretending it was human.