NOVEL NEXT Chapter 15: Alpha case
The Alpha Stoneback Behemoth's roar rumbled like an earthquake, sending pebbles cascading from the cavern ceiling. It stood at the entrance, its bulk blocking most of the light. Red eyes burned with predatory intelligence, while jagged spikes along its back pulsed faintly like molten rock.
Noah's stomach tightened. The smaller Behemoth had already proven to be a nightmare, but this? This was in a different league.
"Move!" Noah hissed at Lila, pulling her toward the crevice.
The smaller Behemoth lunged forward, claws scraping at the ground as it pursued them, while the Alpha hung back, pacing just outside the tunnel's entrance.
'It's waiting. Letting the small one do the dirty work,' Noah realized. His mind raced. 'It's not just brute force; it's strategy. Great. Just what we needed.'
The narrow passage ahead loomed, jagged walls curving into a tight bottleneck.
"Get in!" Noah shouted, shoving Lila forward.
She stumbled but obeyed, squeezing into the crevice just as the smaller Behemoth lunged again. Noah barely ducked, the beast's claws slashing the air above him.
The tight tunnel slowed the creature, forcing it to hunch and scrape through. Behind it, the Alpha snarled in frustration, unable to follow.
'Perfect,' Noah thought. 'At least we don't have two of them on our asses. For now.'
The smaller Behemoth was relentless, its bulk grinding against the walls as it pressed forward. Noah's blades wouldn't penetrate its armor; he'd already seen them glance off like water on stone. But armor had gaps. Weak spots. He just needed to find one.
"Lila," he said, his voice low but urgent. "We can't kill this thing outright, not with what we've got. But we can cripple it."
She grimaced, clutching her scythe. "What's the plan?"
Noah's eyes darted to the uneven walls of the tunnel. The stone was loose in places, fractured by years of seismic activity.
"We bring the tunnel down on it," he said.
Lila's eyes widened. "You're serious?"
"No better option," he replied, already scanning for weak points.
The Behemoth lunged again, its claws swiping inches from Lila's legs. She barely managed to pull back in time.
"Keep it distracted!" Noah barked.
Lila didn't hesitate. She swung her scythe at the creature, the blade sparking against its armored snout. The strike didn't injure it, but it bought Noah precious seconds.
He climbed up the side of the crevice, using the jagged rock as handholds. His eyes locked onto a precarious overhang above the Behemoth—a cluster of fractured stone held together by sheer stubbornness.
'That'll do,' he thought grimly.
The Behemoth roared, snapping at Lila again. She stumbled, her scythe slipping from her grasp.
"Any time now, Noah!" she shouted.
"I'm working on it!" he snapped back, wedging his blade into a crack in the rock. He gritted his teeth and heaved, the metal screeching as it pried the stone loose.
The Behemoth lunged forward again, forcing Lila to retreat further into the tunnel.
"Just a little more…" Noah muttered, sweat dripping down his face. He gave the blade one final shove, and the overhang gave way.
A cascade of boulders crashed down onto the Behemoth, pinning its legs and crushing part of its back. Lila was able to move away in time. The creature roared in pain, thrashing violently, but it couldn't move.
Noah dropped back down, landing awkwardly but upright. He grabbed Lila, pulling her to her feet.
"It's not dead," she said, her voice trembling.
"No, but it's not going anywhere either," Noah replied, his tone grim.
The Alpha's roar echoed from the tunnel entrance, louder and more furious than before.
"We need to keep moving," Noah said. "The big guy's not going to wait forever."
Lila nodded, picking up her scythe. Together, they retreated further into the tunnel, the sound of the Alpha's heavy footsteps growing louder behind them.
***
The interior of the military-grade airship was quite the contrast to the chaos unfolding below in the hunting grounds.
Rows of monitors lined the walls, each glowing softly with data streams projected in crisp, high-resolution detail before the teachers. The hum of the engines was a low, constant vibration beneath their feet, occasionally punctuated by faint beeps from the consoles. This was no luxurious aircraft, but its practicality exuded a certain charm. The seats were ergonomic, molded for long hours of use, and the walls bore faint scratches and scuffs from countless missions.
Miss Brooks sat closest to the main console, her eyes locked onto the data from her students' bracelets. The screen reflected off her glasses, every pulse, every spike in anxiety, every drop in blood oxygen levels was cataloged in real time on her screen. Her slim fingers tapped her armrest rhythmically, a barely perceptible sign of her unease. Her appearance at first glance was one of perfection, yet her posture betrayed tension.
'Steady,' she reminded herself. 'They're doing fine. No fatalities. No critical alerts. Just nerves. They can handle this.'
Her gaze drifted to one particular subgroup in Class 1B. Their vitals were erratic—skyrocketing stress levels, bursts of adrenaline, and a fluctuating heart rate that screamed trouble. She clenched her jaw, her mind racing through the possibilities.
'Are they being hunted? Did they bite off more than they could chew?' The system didn't offer a live feed, no real information with regards to what was happening on the field where the students were such as the beast they fought or what category it was in. This was a deliberate program to deter teachers or instructors from interfering directly with on field decisions. After all, the whole point of field trials was to gauge not just their mettle but also decision making.
So the whole bracelet system only offered cold numbers and sterile graphs, but even that was enough to conjure a vivid mental image of her students out there, struggling to survive.
Sitting beside her was Mr. Vane, the homeroom teacher for Class 1A, who seemed entirely unfazed by the tension in the air. His chair reclined slightly, his arms folded across his chest. A smirk played on his lips as his eyes flitted between the screens. Unlike Brooks, who wore her concern like armor, Vane radiated smug satisfaction. His hair was styled back, not a strand out of place, and his tie stood out like a splash of confidence in the otherwise muted tones of the craft.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Vane's voice cut through the quiet hum of the airship. His tone was almost theatrical, dripping with self-satisfaction. "Class 1A—already at the top of the leaderboard. My kids are a work of art. See that? Precision teamwork, efficiency, and results. What more could you ask for?"
Miss Brooks didn't bother looking at him, but her lips tightened.
Rourke, on the other hand, snorted from his corner of the craft. The Class 1C homeroom teacher was a mountain of a man, broad-shouldered and perpetually disheveled. His coat hung loosely around him, one button perpetually undone, and his tie had long since been relegated to his pocket. His gruff voice alone told stories of a man who'd seen it all and cared very little about impressing anyone.
"Results, huh? I've got results too," Rourke drawled, leaning back in his seat. "See? No major spikes, no stress alerts. My kids are smooth as butter out there."
Vane rolled his eyes. "Smooth as butter? Or lazy as rocks? Come on, Rourke, we both know your class's idea of teamwork is seeing who can nap the longest."
Rourke shrugged, unbothered. "Say what you want. They're not dead, and that's a win in my book. Besides, I'm not the one making condolence calls to parents this year."
Vane chuckled, shaking his head. "Low bar you've set for yourself there, old man."
Brooks cut in, her voice sharp. "Enough. This isn't a contest between us. The kids are the ones out there risking their necks."
"Risking their necks?" Vane arched an eyebrow. "My class is thriving, Brooks. They're proving their worth. Yours, on the other hand…" His voice trailed off, but the implication was clear.
Brooks turned to him, her expression icy. "My class is holding their own. Maybe not at the top, but they're fighting, learning, and growing. That's what this assessment is about—not your ego."
Rourke let out a low whistle. "She's got you there, Vane."
Vane's smirk faltered, but only slightly. "You'll see. When the scores come in, Class 1A will stand tall, as always."
Brooks turned back to her screen, refusing to engage further. Her attention lingered on the subgroup she'd been monitoring. 'Come on, kids. Prove me right. Show me you've got what it takes.'
As time went on, data scrolled across the monitors in steady streams—heart rates, oxygen levels, stress markers. Every beep and pulse felt like a lifeline, a fragile thread connecting them to the chaos on the ground. Every teacher had different thoughts going through their minds.
Rourke leaned forward slightly, squinting at his screen. His students' vitals were almost eerily consistent. No spikes, no crashes, just an even rhythm.
'Either they're pulling off a miracle,' he thought, scratching his stubble, 'or they're up to something. Knowing 1C, it's probably the latter.'
He couldn't help but grin. Rourke didn't have illusions about his class. They were the bad eggs, the troublemakers, the kids no one wanted to deal with. But they were also survivors, scrappy and resourceful in ways that couldn't be taught.
"Hope you're not making me regret defending you lot," he muttered under his breath.
Meanwhile, Vane's eyes sparkled as he tracked his class's progress. Every stat on the screen screamed dominance—low anxiety, high efficiency, consistent performance.
"Textbook execution," he murmured to himself, then louder: "Brooks, you might want to take notes. My kids are rewriting the manual on how to succeed out there."
Brooks didn't even glance at him. Her focus remained unshaken, her thoughts consumed by her struggling subgroup.
'They're better than this,' she thought. 'They have to be,"