[Location: AUN Military Cadet Training Camp – Barracks, Sector 17]

  Day 1 – Induction

  The bus rumbled to a stop, its reinforced steel doors groaning open. A blast of cold morning air hit them as James and his group stepped out onto the concrete platform. The facility loomed before them—a vast compound of gray buildings, watchtowers, and training fields stretching beyond the horizon. Razor-wire fences surrounded the perimeter, a stark reminder that leaving wasn’t an option.

  A group of instructors stood in formation near the entrance, their uniforms crisp, their faces cold and unreadable. At the center stood Commander Rourke, a man built like a war machine—tall, broad, and utterly unshaken. His piercing gaze swept over the new recruits like a predator sizing up prey.

  James squared his shoulders. Sam, Amanda, Sophia, Jonathan, and William did the same.

  Without warning, Rourke’s voice boomed across the platform.

  "Welcome to hell."

  Silence.

  "From this moment on, you are no longer civilians. You belong to the AUN. Your body, your mind, your life—all of it will be reforged. Those who break will be discarded. Those who endure will become weapons."

  He took a step forward, eyes locking onto each of them.

  "I don’t care who you were before. The only thing that matters now is survival. And most of you?" His lip curled. "You won’t make it."

  The recruits stood frozen. Some gulped. A few looked like they were already questioning their decision to enlist.

  "Cadet Instructor Vincent!" Rourke barked.

  A familiar figure stepped forward—Trainer Vincent, the same man who had tested them. He gave James a brief glance before addressing the group.

  "Your barracks are in Sector 17. You have ten minutes to get there. I suggest you move."

  The moment the words left his mouth, the alarms blared.

  Red lights flashed. Sirens screamed.

  And then—chaos.

  The Sprint to the Barracks

  "MOVE! MOVE! MOVE!"

  They barely had time to react before gunfire erupted. Not at them—but around them. Live rounds hit the ground near their feet, kicking up dust and concrete.

  A cadet screamed. Others ran. James and his group bolted.

  The instructors were firing warning shots—forcing them to sprint toward the barracks under simulated battlefield conditions.

  James’ breath came hard and fast as his boots pounded against the pavement. His muscles burned, his lungs ached, but he pushed forward. Everyone did.

  Amanda and William, the fastest among them, weaved through the chaos with ease. Sam and Sophia stayed close, dodging the falling shell casings. Jonathan, despite his bulk, kept pace—but his heavier build made the sprint brutal.

  Some recruits tripped. Others collapsed, hands over their heads, too paralyzed to move. Those who fell… weren’t given a second chance.

  Instructors dragged them out of the running path—some yelling at them to get up, others simply shaking their heads.

  James refused to fall.

  By the time they reached the barracks, sweat dripped from their brows. Their legs trembled. Their lungs screamed.

  But they were still standing.

  The Barracks – Reality Check

  The barracks were worse than expected.

  A long, dimly lit hall stretched before them—rows of metal bunk beds crammed together with just enough space to walk between them. The air was thick with dust, the walls stained with sweat and age. There were no mattresses, only thin sheets.

  A single, rusted pipe ran along the ceiling, occasionally dripping water.

  Sam swore under his breath. “This is a prison.”

  Jonathan wiped sweat from his brow. “I’ve seen worse.”

  Sophia ran a hand along the wall. “I haven’t.”

  Before they could catch their breath, the door slammed open.

  Instructor Vincent strode in, flanked by two armed guards.

  "You have exactly five minutes to prepare for physical training. Failure to comply will result in punishment. Welcome to military life."

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  And just like that—the real training began.

  Week 1 – The Breaking Point

  4 AM Wake-Ups

  There was no alarm clock—just a deafening air horn.

  Every morning, it blasted through the barracks at exactly 4:00 AM.

  No warnings. No mercy.

  Some recruits groaned. Others didn’t wake up fast enough.

  Those who didn’t? The instructors dragged them out of bed and threw them onto the cold concrete floor.

  James and his group learned quickly. By the third day, they were up before the horn.

  Physical Training – Hell on Earth

  The training field was brutal.

  - Five-mile runs. No stopping. No water.

  - Obstacle courses designed to break bones. Barbed wire, trenches, high walls.

  - Weight training with live ammunition. Some were forced to carry crates of actual bullets across the field.

  Jonathan pushed through sheer strength, but even he struggled. Sam, despite his speed, found himself drained by the relentless pace. Amanda and William had endurance, but even they faltered.

  James?

  He endured.

  Every muscle screamed, every joint ached—but he never collapsed.

  And the instructors noticed.

  Combat Drills – Learning to Kill

  They weren’t trained to fight. They were trained to disable and kill.

  - Hand-to-hand combat. No padding. No rules.

  - Live-weapon sparring. Blunted blades that still cut.

  - Group battles. Outnumbered. Forced to fight with strategy.

  Blood hit the sand more than once.

  By the second week, half the recruits had dropped out.

  James and his group did not.

  Survival Training – Starvation & Isolation

  On the 10th day, they were dropped into the wilderness with nothing.

  - No food.

  - No water.

  - No weapons.

  Their task? Survive for 72 hours.

  Some failed immediately.

  Jonathan hunted small animals. Amanda and Sophia found edible plants. William scouted. Sam kept them moving.

  James?

  He made sure they survived.

  When a rival group tried to steal their supplies, James fought.

  He didn’t win.

  But he didn’t lose either.

  When they returned—bruised, battered, and starving—the instructors didn’t congratulate them.

  They just sent them straight to the next drill.

  End of Week 2 – A New Mindset

  James looked around the barracks.

  A third of the bunks were empty.

  Some cadets had broken. Others had been injured and removed.

  Only the strong remained.

  As James sat on his bunk, wrapping his bruised knuckles, he glanced at his team.

  Jonathan was massaging his sore muscles.

  Sam was sharpening a knife.

  Amanda and Sophia were strategizing.

  William was sitting in silence, eyes calculating.

  None of them spoke.

  They didn’t have to.

  They had survived.

  But this was only the beginning.

  [Location: AUN Military Training Facility – Armory]

  The scent of metal and oil filled the air as James and his squad stood in a dimly lit armory, the hum of energy-infused weapons vibrating softly in their hands. The room was cold, sterile, lined with racks of weapons—not firearms, but blades, axes, spears, and other melee arms. The only sound was the faint crackle of power running through the weapons as they pulsed in an almost hypnotic rhythm.

  At the front of the room, standing with his arms crossed, was Commander Rourke. A towering man with grizzled features, his sharp blue eyes scanned the recruits like a predator assessing prey. His presence alone commanded silence, though hushed whispers from other cadets filtered through the air.

  "Void weapons… real ones?"

  "I heard a single one could sell for a fortune on the black market."

  "These are just the low-grade ones. Imagine what the high-rank officers get."

  "Cold weapons only… so it’s true, then. Guns are worthless against those things."

  The murmurs stopped the moment Rourke stepped forward.

  "Listen up," he said, his voice like gravel scraping against stone. His gaze swept over them, lingering a second longer on James and his team. "You’ve just been given your first Void Weapons. Energy-infused melee weapons—designed to cut through creatures that bullets can’t even scratch."

  He motioned to the weapons in their hands. "What you’re holding is the lowest grade of Void Weaponry. Even so, these are worth more than your damn lives. Do not lose them. Do not break them. And do not underestimate them."

  James looked down at the weapon in his grip—a short blade, its edge lined with a faint glow. He could feel it, a pulse of energy that thrummed in sync with his own heartbeat. It felt alive.

  Beside him, Jonathan tested the weight of his battle-ax, the massive weapon fitting his brute strength perfectly. He gave it a small swing, the air humming as it cut through. Powerful, but heavy. Exactly what he needed.

  William, the smallest and fastest of the group, flipped a pair of daggers in his hands, their sleek edges shimmering faintly. He barely seemed to be holding them; they moved like extensions of his fingers.

  Amanda stepped forward next, her eyes sharp as she observed the selection. She reached for a lightweight spear, its shaft reinforced with energy ore. She spun it once, testing its weight, and nodded to herself. "Fast. Precise. Good reach," she muttered. A weapon for someone who fought smart, not head-on.

  Sophia, standing beside her, watched carefully. She was a quick thinker—always analyzing, always adapting. Her hand finally settled on a thin, curved saber. Unlike the others, who tested their weapons openly, she simply gripped the hilt, closing her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, there was no hesitation. It was the right choice.

  Commander Rourke watched their selections with a knowing smirk.

  "Good," he said. "Your weapons should feel like an extension of your own body. If it doesn’t feel right, it’s useless in a real fight. That’s why we’re starting with basic models—no complex abilities, just raw energy. You either master them, or you die."

  He let his words sink in before continuing.

  "Now, let me make one thing very clear." His voice dropped slightly, but the weight behind it doubled. "You will never use firearms in the field. Guns are useless."

  Some cadets shifted uncomfortably. Others frowned.

  Rourke scoffed. "I see some of you don’t believe me. Let me put it this way—bullets do nothing to Void creatures. Even armor-piercing rounds bounce off. The only way to kill them is with direct energy-infused melee strikes. That’s why every awakened soldier fights with a blade, an axe, a spear—never a gun."

  He paced slowly in front of them, his hands clasped behind his back. "And since all of you are unawakened… you’re useless in a real fight." His gaze was cold, impassive. "Until you kill a creature from a Void Crack with your own hands—until your very being is forced to evolve—you are nothing but meat waiting to be slaughtered."

  The room fell into complete silence.

  Then, in a tone far too calm, Rourke continued, "That’s why your only goal is to survive long enough to awaken. And for that, you need skill. You need instinct. And you need absolute mastery of the weapon in your hands."

  His eyes swept over them once more.

  "From now on," he said, "these weapons are your life. They should feel like your own hands—like breathing, like walking. Every slash, every thrust, every movement must be second nature."

  He turned to the nearest weapons rack and grabbed a sleek, black-forged great sword. With a single swing, he slashed clean through a reinforced metal training dummy. The dummy, designed to withstand bullets, collapsed in two. Sparks flickered from the cut.

  "This,

  " Rourke said, voice quiet but filled with undeniable authority, "is the difference between life and death." He turned back to them, expression unreadable.

  "Now—let’s see if any of you are worth keeping alive."

  The real training had begun.