I CLIMB (A Progression/Evolution Sci-Fi Novel)

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

Sparks fly as my scimitar clashes against its blades in rapid succession.

I step back and feel something crunch beneath my boot—bones.

Shit.

The Xok'al exploits the tiny gap. A crushing EM wave slams down, dragging my blade as if gravity just multiplied, while its tail whips toward my flank.

I lean low, letting the tip of my sword scrape the floor, and the strike grazes my cheek. At the same time, two piercing limbs shoot toward my ribs and thigh.

He expects me to retreat. I don't.

I release the sword mid-motion, twist through the opening, and redirect the momentum into a rising knee strike.

The creature braces against the corridor walls using both tails and vaults sideways—predictable.

I follow the arc, complete the rotation, catch my blade with both hands, and swing wide now that the space has opened.

Its EM domain floods the gap to slow me down. I reinforce my slash with a concentrated pulse, meeting its resistance.

It counters, setting one blade to block and angling the second toward my wrist.

I drop my sword mid-swing.

Pushing off the wall behind me, I turn the aborted strike into a flying elbow aimed at its shoulder.

But the Xok'al is faster than before. It pivots, stabilizes with two tails, and launches a shot from the third straight at my throat.

I don't flinch. A subtle tilt of my head and a focused pulse nudge the projectile off-course.

The motion carries. I bounce off the opposite wall, redirect my pulse, and kick my scimitar back into my hand mid-slide.

I regain distance.

We stare at each other.

My breath comes in hard, uneven bursts. My chest aches from the exertion.

I'm stronger than I was last time, but… it's still not enough.

There's no pit to fall into, no trick of fate waiting to save me.

This is it.

I grip the scimitar tighter.

No second chances.

I close my eyes.

Take a breath—steady, slow—but Dual Overdrive still floods every nerve. Focus strains against adrenaline.

So I balance it. Fury and control. Chaos and precision.

Darius' voice floats through the pressure.

The best move isn't the fastest or strongest. The best move is the one your opponent never sees. And the best feint... is the one they do.

The Xok'al shifts its stance.

I tighten mine.

CLANG!

Our blades meet again.

I feel everything around me—the bones scattered across the floor, the metallic, putrid stench of rotting Xok'al corpses piled near the exit, the deep scratches carved into the metal walls.

I take it all in.

CLANG! CLANG!

My eyes lock onto the Xok'al. Every movement, every shift—it's all there, slowly forming something in my mind.

The length of its limbs. The timing between each projectile. The force it puts into its slashes. The tiny shoulder twitches before a feint. The slight dip of its torso before a high strike. The curl of a tail when it resets its stance.

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

A slash tears through my left shoulder. Blood splashes across the wall.

I let it happen.

It breaks the rhythm—just enough to reset the flow and create space.

CLANG! CLANG!

A bullet skims my thigh, ricochets against the floor. It burns.

CLANG!

My forearms, wrists, and legs scream under the strain. Even when I redirect its power, the impact rattles through bone and tendon.

But my frame holds. That's all I need.

CLANG! CLANG!

Another slice, this time across my right cheek—deep. Blood drips freely.

My ribs catch a tail strike, and something cracks.

My body protests. I don't answer.

CLANG!

My forearm finally gives. I feel the bone snap.

I switch—thrust-feint, then a fake pommel strike to steal just enough space to disengage.

We break apart.

I glance at it. Mere seconds have passed… and already over a hundred exchanges.

It's barely been touched. A single low kick. One headbutt that hurt me more than it.

Me? My forearm is fractured. My cheek's split open. My rib cracked. And… it knows it. Knows the tide is shifting.

Knows the fight is close to done.

My vision blurs. Blood rolls from my brow.

But I raise my head.

My hands tremble, but I lift my blade.

My legs are strained, but I step forward.

My body aches, but I lock into stance.

My mind screams from the Dual Overdrive's pressure—but I channel it.

I meet its eyes. I smile.

"You are… a strong bastard…"

It tilts its head slightly. There's a flicker of something—recognition, maybe. But beneath it, that same void. Cold. Calculating.

I blink. Blood streaks my vision.

It rushes in.

Its EM domain erupts, a pressure wave tearing through the corridor.

It wants to end this.

The scimitar in my hand grows heavier. My pulses stabilize it, but its force outweighs mine.

My left arm throbs. My knees wobble beneath me.

You're strong, but—

I swing.

I'm also strong.

A single, wide slash. Obvious. Reckless. Full of openings.

The Xok'al reacts—too fast.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

It slams down its footing, aborts the charge, and backpedals hard.

Blood splashes to the floor from my blade's tip—thick and red.

Because it misread me… and I hit.

To fool the opponent… by fooling yourself.

A lie that becomes truth.

I've finally reached it.

The next realm of swordsmanship:

Intent.

I step forward, crushing the dismembered tail beneath my boot.

"I got a fractured arm… you're a tail short… let's keep going, shall we?"

The Xok'al tenses.

I step forward.

It fires—two projectiles.

I pulse outward, slowing them just enough. One slips past me, the other I deflect off-course.

0.23 seconds. That's the reload gap.

I lean in and charge.

My body twists with the breath—then halts.

The Xok'al reacts, rotates wide, evading a thrust…

That never came.

My real attack—

SNKT!

—drives into its rib.

Blood sprays as I pull the blade free. It recoils, slashing wildly toward my head.

Too wide. Too obvious.

I lean back, letting the strike breeze past my face.

I push off the wall behind me, re-center, pivot.

It raises both arms to block—too slow.

My scimitar cuts into its thigh.

It growls, low and pained.

Its gaze locks with mine—frustrated. Surprised.

And behind it all…

Fear.

I smile.

I step forward again.

It steps back.

Hesitating.

I dash in.

Two tails sweep—one low, one high.

I rotate in mid-air, slip between them, just barely.

Then it shifts tactics, flaring its EM field upward to lift me—try to trap me in the air.

Wrong move.

I pulse in the same direction, let the lift carry me. Mid-rotation, I twist.

Boot hits the ceiling.

I launch from above and thrust downward.

Who knew that upside-down training would come in handy?

The creature twists—

SNKT!

—but too far. It fell for my intent again.

My scimitar pierces its shoulder.

Not deep—but enough.

It jerks back, pulling free.

I drop. Hit the floor with force and roll into a slash.

It blocks—late.

Momentum carries me through. I drop low, follow with a sweeping kick.

The hit lands.

The Xok'al stumbles, tails adjusting—but one of them arcs fooled by my intent.

It tries to correct—too late.

SCRSH!

Another tail hits the ground.

It leaps back.

It stares at me—apprehensive. Confusion now stronger.

I step forward and it runs away.

Really?

I dash after it.

We slip through the cracked door into the water pipe system.

It sprints ahead, bashing the pipe, trying to break it further—but it only dents.

Crawling inside would leave it vulnerable.

It knows. There's no escape.

It turns around.

The tables have turned.

I take another step.

The hunter becomes the hunted.

I raise my blade.

"As much as I dislike your species…"

I take one more step.

"It was a good fight."

I swing my scimitar.

The creature presses its field against me. It moves to block—but hesitates.

It fears the strike it cannot see.

But this—

My blade accelerates with everything I have. Pulse. Force. Pain. Fear.

All of me—channeled into one final act.

—is my true strike.

The blade cuts through the neck and exits at the ribs.

Blood splashes.

Its body drops with a dull thud.

Several drops of blood hit me.

I look at it for a moment longer, confirming it's dead, then turn off Dual Overdrive.

The accumulated weakness and fatigue crash down on me.

My consciousness fades as my body slumps to the floor.

Arjun narrowed his eyes as he locked onto the target.

1428.34 meters.

The rock sat exposed on the ridge, jagged and sun-bleached, half-shielded by a sparse patch of moss. Wind passed across the clearing in irregular gusts, brushing dust and fine debris over the surface.

He adjusted his aim, accounted for elevation, and steadied his position.

One deep inhale. Then—stillness.

He held his breath.

The EM channels along the rifle's barrel began to hum—barely audible, like distant static. Energy surged through the parallel arcs, each pulse perfectly synchronized, coiled with the tension of compressed magnetism. The projectile—dense, alloy-forged—sat cradled in the chamber.

He released it.

CRACK!

The shot cut the air in a straight, unwavering line. The moment the round struck, the rock exploded—fracturing with a sharp, brittle echo. Shards sprayed outward in all directions, a cloud of stone dust blooming behind the impact.

Arjun exhaled slowly, lowering the rifle just a fraction.

His mind had been a mess for the past week.

First Alonso, then Imani. He still had no idea where the others were.

What the fuck was happening?

It all felt surreal. Stupid. Why the hell had they been split up in the first place? Why was Alonso attacked by three-tailed this early? Why had Imani gone alone after him?

It had been over a week now. He wasn't sure what was going on… but reinforcements never arrived at the base. No new scouting expeditions had been sent out either.

So he was just here. Waiting. With no real plan. No damn clue what to do.

He sighed.

He had tried to focus on training, pushing toward the next Pillar State—but progress had been slow. He was too distracted. Too anxious.

He had more 'time' compared to others… but now it just felt that much more like a curse.

He looked up at the sky—clear, sharp blue, no answers in sight.

Would he ever see her again?

"Return to base."

Huh?

Arjun stood up sharply, strapping his rifle behind his back.

He leapt from rock to rock, boots landing with precision, and reached the nearby outpost in seconds. His eyes locked with the captain's, then with the others. He fell in line without a word.

All squads were assembled, not just his.

Another major announcement?

His heartbeat quickened as Lord Chahak raised his voice.

"We are abandoning the base."

What?!

"The Xok'al have established an underground nest network northeast of our position. At least two confirmed High Nests. Their presence was detected late—likely masked by layered emissions. For now, they remain at bay due to General Noh's presence."

Arjun blinked.

High Nests?

No. That… that wasn't possible.

His stomach dropped.

High Nests…

As far as he knew, each could spawn waves of three-tailed Xok'al at once. Not one or two—dozens.

And worse—each nest was guarded by the most dreaded existence in the Xok'al race.

Four-tailed variants. Commander-level.

Monsters. Creatures capable of casually obliterating an entire base like this one—alone.

Arjun's hands trembled.

His breath caught in his throat.

How… how could this happen?!

"And while General Noh is capable of containing the area," Chahak continued, "he cannot eliminate the nests outright due to the confirmed presence of two Xok'al commanders crossing in from the Wuknal'te and Kolzahil sectors."

The words barely registered now.

His heart was pounding. A cold sweat gathered on the back of his neck.

And… who the heck was General Noh!?

How the fuck could one man hold back multiple Xok'al commanders? How was that even real!?

No. None of this made sense. Nothing about this damn stage made sense.

The pacing, the enemy growth, the separation, Alonso's death—It was all wrong. All of it.

"...we are to withdraw immediately," Chahak finished, his voice clipped and unnervingly steady. "Pack only what you need. Each unit will regroup with nearby outposts and converge at the forward command base near Tzek'ul Crater."

Arjun stood frozen.

His jaw clenched.

His pulse hammered inside his skull.

Something was wrong. Seriously, deeply wrong.