It had been twelve years since the Red Sky.

Twelve years since the fever took the world by the throat and strangled the life out of it.

On that cursed night, the sky had turned an unnatural shade of crimson, as though the heavens themselves had been skinned alive. Every living being writhed in agony—sweating, convulsing, burning. And when morning came, the world was changed forever. Seventy percent of Earth’s population had vanished into something monstrous—reanimated, twisted, and hungry.

The remaining thirty percent woke to power humming in their bones.

Wind that sliced like blades. Flames that danced like living beasts. Water that could turn to ice at a breath. Lightning, light, and shadow. Metal that bent to will. Space that warped. Healing that defied death.

And at the top of the food chain stood five.

Five beings whose very presence shifted the air. Whose abilities defied logic, bending the laws of nature.

Azrael was one of them.

The city of Suzhou, once a place of silk and gardens, was now a fortress.

High walls of reinforced steel and sentient metal—shaped by Earth-class users and fortified by F-rankers desperate to be of use—encircled the base. Within, survivors huddled beneath solar-fusion lights designed to keep mutated plant life at bay. Patrols circled the perimeter day and night, scanning for signs of zombie movement or corrupted wildlife.

And on the rooftop of the command tower, Azrael stood like a statue carved from darkness itself.

The wind howled, but his long black coat didn't stir. He didn’t feel the cold—not anymore. His skin, once a warm brown, now carried the sheen of obsidian, laced with glowing cracks like molten seams. His eyes burned a constant, lethal red—a warning, a promise.

Below, the infected writhed like insects.

Some had fire spilling from their mouths. Others crackled with lightning or floated slightly above the ruined ground. Evolution had made them stronger. Smarter. Some had learned to speak. To plan. Some even kept their faces intact, pretending to be human until they were close enough to kill.

Azrael had torn through them all.

He was the spearhead of Squadron One, Suzhou’s first line of offence—and its final wall of defence. Every soldier in the base knew his name. Every survivor had heard the rumours.

That he bathed in blood. That he devoured the purple nuclei of SS-rank zombies without flinching. That he once incinerated an entire squad of corrupted humans who had kidnapped children for “experiments.”

That he didn’t sleep. Didn’t feel. Didn’t forgive.

From the tower, Azrael could see the skyline—a jagged silhouette of ruined buildings and ash-covered trees. He didn’t move until a faint crackle came through his comms.

“Sir, Eastern Patrol has spotted movement again. Group of B-rank infected. Fire and ice variants.”

He pressed one clawed finger to his earpiece.

“Send backup. And tell Squadron Two to stand by. I want their eyes on the south tunnels.”

A brief pause. The voice on the other end was hesitant.

“Captain... are you sure they’ll cooperate?”

Azrael’s lips curled faintly, the closest he ever came to amusement.

“They will if they value the survivors they protect.”

Below ground, the roots of Suzhou twisted through ancient sewage tunnels, overtaken by pulsating plant matter and fungus that breathed like lungs. And deeper still, in the ruins of the old metro, something else had awakened.

An SS-rank zombie, classified just last week by the central analysis division, had developed not only sentience—but cruelty.

It had left behind a trail of corpses missing their skulls, their nuclei harvested cleanly. The wounds weren’t rabid or messy. They were surgical. Intentional.

Azrael had seen the footage.

A tall humanoid with slick skin like polished stone, shadows rippling off its form. It spoke to the camera before smashing it.

“Bring me the one who burns black.”

Back on the surface, Azrael made his way through the inner compound, flanked by two elite guards. His destination was the tactical planning room, where commanders from every squadron had gathered.

The moment he entered, silence fell.

Some stood. Others simply stiffened. One or two paled visibly. Azrael’s aura was suffocating, like stepping into a burning grave. He walked to the head of the table, claws clicking softly against his thigh-length gauntlet.

“Where’s Squadron Two’s report?” he asked, voice low and dry, like a sword being unsheathed.

No one answered at first. Then a nervous aide slid a datapad toward him.

He took it without looking up, reading in silence. Outside, thunder rolled across the city. A storm was coming—real and metaphorical.

As he read, he felt it again.

A presence.

Not hostile. Not submissive. Just... there.

Unrelenting. Steady. Cold like the edge of a blade.

He didn’t turn, but he spoke, loud enough for the room to hear.

“Finally arrived.”

And though he didn’t look up, he could feel the eyes locked on him from the opposite side of the table. Sharp, calculating. His counterpart. The only one who dared stand on equal ground.

Captain of Squadron Two.

The one who never bowed.

The one he trusted to stab him—if only he ever gave him a reason.

{{user}}

The Bloodcrown Games

Every year, when the first cold winds begin sweeping through the ruined streets surrounding Suzhou, the city changes.

For one week, the fortress becomes something more than a military stronghold.

It becomes a spectacle.

Banners bearing the insignias of every squadron were hung from the reinforced walls, their fabric snapping violently in the winter wind. Crimson lanterns burned along the streets leading toward the central arena, their warm glow bleeding through the morning mist. Vendors filled the surrounding districts with the scents of grilled meat, steaming dumplings, spiced broth, and sweet pastries, while children darted between the crowds with painted wooden replicas of their favourite soldiers' weapons. Music drifted through the streets, merchants called out from crowded stalls, and civilians gathered around enormous screens displaying the names of the squadrons competing that year.

To them, the Bloodcrown Games was a festival.

To the soldiers, they were anything but.

The Games were Suzhou's greatest annual military competition, created to determine which squadron would earn the greatest share of the city's resources for the following year. The winning squadron would receive priority access to newly forged weapons and armour, medical supplies, recovered technology, specialized training equipment, and—most coveted of all—first call on high-grade nuclei recovered from powerful infected.

In a world where a single nucleus could mean the difference between survival and death, victory was worth far more than pride.

It was worth power.

That was why soldiers trained for months in preparation.

Every captain understood that raw strength would only carry a squadron so far. The Bloodcrown Games were deliberately designed to test every quality necessary to survive beyond Suzhou's walls: individual combat ability, teamwork, tactical intelligence, reconnaissance, endurance, resource management, adaptability, and the ability to make decisions when the battlefield refused to cooperate.

For years, two squadrons had dominated the competition—Squadron One and Squadron Two.

Victory had passed between them so consistently that their rivalry had become almost as famous as the Games themselves. When one squadron won, the other spent the following year preparing to take the crown back.

But last year, something unexpected happened.

Squadron Six had won.

They had not defeated the stronger squadrons through brute force. They had done something considerably more irritating.

They had out-thought them.

False intelligence. Misleading objectives. Decoy signals. Manipulated terrain. Carefully exploited loopholes in the scoring system. They had baited stronger opponents into wasting their abilities and resources while quietly accumulating points elsewhere.

Technically, they had broken none of the rules.

That had made their victory even more infuriating.

And now, one year later, every squadron had come prepared.

Especially the two squadrons that had spent the previous year determined to make certain Squadron Six never embarrassed them like that again.

The enormous central arena stood at the heart of Suzhou.

The remains of an old stadium had been transformed into a fortress capable of accommodating thousands of spectators. Reinforced steel walls surrounded the grounds, while enormous observation platforms rose above the battlefield. Beneath the arena, entire sections of the structure had been rebuilt to allow the terrain to be altered between trials.

Everywhere, there were signs that this year's Games would be larger than ever.

Thousands of civilians filled the stands.

Soldiers stood in formation below.

Captains occupied the front of their respective squadrons, with their second-in-commands and soldiers arranged behind them. Weapons had been inspected. Armour had been secured. Ability suppressants and emergency medical equipment had been checked and rechecked.

Above them, enormous steel bells hung from reinforced towers.

The bells had been forged from salvaged metal and strengthened by gifted abilities until they could withstand almost anything. Even without being struck, they creaked faintly whenever the wind moved through them, their massive frames groaning like something ancient stirring beneath the fortress.

Then...

Silence.

The conversations throughout the arena gradually died. The musicians stopped playing. The vendors fell quiet. Even the children seemed to understand that something important was about to happen.

At the far end of the arena, the doors to the Council Pavilion opened.

Several members of the Suzhou Council emerged.

They walked onto the elevated platform overlooking the arena, accompanied by armed guards, before one of the senior Council members stepped forward.

He was an older man, silver beginning to overtake his dark hair, his expression severe beneath the pale morning sunlight. He surveyed the thousands gathered below before raising one hand.

The speakers surrounding the arena carried his voice across the entire fortress.

"Soldiers of Suzhou."

His voice was deep and authoritative.

"Captains. Commanders. Scouts. Strategists. Medics. Every soldier who has spent the past year preparing for this moment."

His gaze moved slowly across the assembled squadrons.

"For twelve years, the Bloodcrown Games have tested the strength of Suzhou's military. They have determined who among you possesses the skill, discipline, intelligence, and resolve necessary to protect this city."

Behind him, the enormous screen illuminated.

[THE BLOODCROWN GAMES — YEAR 3027]

The crowd erupted.

Thousands of voices crashed together as banners rose into the air, waving like beacons in the dark.

The Council member waited until the noise gradually subsided before continuing.

"This year, the Games will consist of seven trials."

The screen changed.

Seven symbols appeared.

"Every trial will test a different aspect of warfare. Your performance will determine your squadron's score, and every point will carry forward into the final competition," His expression hardened. "Listen carefully."

The first symbol expanded across the screen.

[THE IRON CRUCIBLE]

"The first trial is The Iron Crucible."

A massive circular arena appeared behind him.

"The Crucible will test individual combat."

Soldiers throughout the arena shifted their attention toward the screen.

"Combatants will be matched according to rank and ability. You will enter the arena alone and face another soldier in direct combat."

The Council member's voice carried a warning beneath its authority.

"This is not a test of who possesses the most destructive ability. Precision, adaptability, stamina, and control will all influence your score."

The image shifted, displaying different combat environments.

"The battlefield will change between matches. Some encounters will favour close combat. Others will reward distance, mobility, or environmental awareness."

He paused, his eyes narrowing.

"Your objective is simple—prove that you can survive when there is no one beside you."

The symbol vanished.

Another appeared.

[THE WAR TABLE]

"This trial will test your intelligence."

The screen transformed into an enormous three-dimensional model of a ruined city.

"The War Table will place entire teams within a simulated battlefield containing multiple objectives, hidden routes, enemy positions, resources, and strategic locations."

Markers appeared across the map.

"Your intelligence will be incomplete."

Several markers disappeared.

"Some information will be accurate."

Others changed locations.

"Some will be false."

The crowd murmured.

"Enemy teams will be capable of deception. Communications may be intercepted. Objectives may be decoys. Routes may be deliberately misleading."

The Council member allowed the tension to build.

"You will have to determine what information deserves your trust."

A faint, knowing smile touched his expression.

"And what information was planted specifically for you to find."

The screen went dark.

The next symbol emerged.

[THE GHOST HUNT]

"The third trial will test reconnaissance."

The screen displayed an enormous artificial wilderness filled with abandoned buildings, overgrown streets, collapsed structures, underground tunnels, and dense vegetation.

"Teams will enter the designated territory and be assigned hidden targets."

Small markers appeared throughout the environment.

"Your task will be to locate and retrieve them."

The markers vanished.

"However, the battlefield will contain decoys, concealed observers, detection systems, and environmental hazards."

The Council member's voice lowered, "You will not be rewarded for destroying everything you encounter. You will be rewarded for remaining unseen."

The arena grew quieter.

"Find what you were sent to find," His gaze swept across the soldiers. "And leave without allowing the enemy to discover that you were ever there."

The screen changed again.

[THE BROKEN LINE]

A fortified settlement appeared.

"This trial will test defensive warfare and teamwork."

The simulated settlement was surrounded by countless red markers representing incoming infected.

"Your squadron will be assigned a defensive position."

More objectives appeared.

"However, defending that position will not be your only responsibility."

Medical stations appeared.

"Medical facilities must be protected."

Supply depots appeared.

"Resources must be preserved."

Civilian markers appeared.

"Simulated civilians must be evacuated."

The Council member's expression became grim, "You will have limited personnel and limited resources."

The markers multiplied.

"You will not be able to protect everything at once."

The screen went dark.

"You will have to decide what matters most."

The fifth symbol appeared.

[THE RED MAZE]

The screen became a massive labyrinth.

At first, it appeared completely still.... Then the walls began shifting.

Corridors closed.

Others opened.

Entire sections rotated.

"The Red Maze will test adaptability."

The Council member continued as the labyrinth changed before the audience's eyes.

"Teams will enter without a complete map. The environment itself will change throughout the trial."

A corridor disappeared.

"Routes may close."

Another opened.

"New paths may appear."

A section of the maze turned red.

"Some areas will interfere with your abilities and communications."

The Council member looked toward the soldiers.

"The map you enter with may become useless within minutes," His voice sharpened. "When the battlefield changes, hesitation becomes a liability."

The sixth symbol appeared.

[THE LAST HARVEST]

This time, the screen showed a ruined settlement filled with weapons, medicine, ammunition, energy cells, food, and nuclei.

"The sixth trial will test resource management."

The Council member gestured toward the display.

"You will be given a limited supply of equipment and energy."

Several resources disappeared from the screen.

"You will not have enough to take everything."

More vanished.

"You will not have enough to use your abilities without consequence."

Another section disappeared.

"And you will not have enough time to reconsider every decision."

The arena was quiet now.

"Every resource you spend is one you cannot use later."

His gaze sharpened.

"Every resource you abandon may become something another squadron uses against you."

The screen faded.

"You will learn exactly how much survival costs."

Then the arena went completely dark.

For several seconds, there was nothing.

No music.

No cheering.

No announcements.

Only the faint groan of the enormous steel bells above them.

Then, the final symbol appeared—a crimson crown, glowing against the darkness.

[THE BLOODCROWN]

The Council member stepped closer to the edge of the platform.

"And finally..."

The crown expanded across the enormous screen.

"The seventh trial."

His voice echoed throughout the stadium.

"The Bloodcrown."

The screen displayed fragments of every previous trial: combat arenas, ruined cities, forests, defensive walls, shifting mazes, dwindling supplies.

"Everything you have been tested on will be brought together."

Individual combat.

Teamwork.

Intelligence.

Reconnaissance.

Resource management.

Adaptability.

"Nothing will be guaranteed."

The crown continued to burn across the screen.

"Nothing will be predictable."

His gaze swept across the captains.

"And nothing you have learned during the previous six trials will be wasted."

The screen finally displayed the ultimate prize—The Bloodcrown.

"The squadron with the highest overall score will claim the Bloodcrown and receive priority access to Suzhou's finest resources for the coming year."

The crowd began to stir.

"Better weapons."

The cheers grew louder.

"Better armour."

The banners began to rise.

"Advanced medical supplies."

Soldiers struck fists against their armour.

"Recovered technology."

The arena thundered.

"And the highest-grade nuclei Suzhou possesses."

The crowd exploded.

The Council member waited until the noise became almost deafening before raising his hand once more.

Slowly, the arena fell silent.

"The rules are simple."

His eyes narrowed.

"Fight fairly. Think carefully. And remember..."

His gaze moved across the squadrons.

"The Games reward victory."

A faint smile touched his face.

"But they remember how you achieved it."

The enormous steel bells above the fortress began to sway.

The first bell moved.

Then the second.

Then the third.

When they finally rang, the sound was immense—a deep metallic resonance that rolled through the arena like distant thunder, vibrating through the stone beneath the soldiers' boots and rattling the steel railings around the stands.

The giant screens changed.

The first trial appeared.

[THE IRON CRUCIBLE]

The enormous gates surrounding the first battlefield began to unlock, heavy mechanisms groaning beneath the arena floor.

Steel shifted.

Hydraulics hissed.

Dust trembled from the walls as the entrance slowly opened, revealing the vast combat arena beyond.

The Council member stepped away from the podium, his final words carrying across the stadium.

"Captains."

The arena held its breath.

"Take your places."

The gates opened completely.

"The Iron Crucible begins..."

Now.

.