"The World of Fratricide."

  Amara stood up, her legs still trembling but her will ironclad.

  "Let's go. No time."

  Aryan looked at her and gritted his teeth. He knew exactly what she meant. The teleportation had consumed 3 days of their life span. From 44 days, they were down to a pitiful 41 days. The clock was ticking louder than their heartbeats.

  Aryan forced himself up, not wasting another moment. Brother Seven grabbed the unconscious Jay, slinging him onto his back like a sack of supplies, and the group began to move.

  The next step they took, the invisible transparent formation, materialized into a military camp, chaos buzzed in their ears.

  To their right, to their left, just immediate to them, someone even dashed into them, people were flooding into the area like refugees entering a shelter during a plague outbreak. Faces were pale, armor was dented, and the smell of antiseptic and fear hung heavy in the air.

  Then, a voice rang out—not from a person, but from everywhere at once, amplified by the surroundings.

  "You must have followed the message you received. Otherwise, I wouldn't be seeing you here. This is the Military Processing Camp. The War is online."

  The voice was cold, efficient.

  "You will be assigned tasks. Finish them as soon as possible. For whatever reason you have reached this planet, you will find your answers in your journey. That is all."

  The presence vanished as quickly as it arrived.

  PING.

  A notification greeted their phones immediately. Amara pulled hers out, and Aryan read the text aloud for the group.

  “DIRECTIVE UPDATE”

  Objective: Move to West Zone, Sector 4.

  Action: Utilize Local Teleportation. Scan Code.

  Reward: Your respective Systems will be updated with the Database of this ‘Planet Intel, Resource Map, Threat Assessment’.

  Note: Just stay alive. Good luck.

  They all looked at each other. By now, they were used to being treated like pawns on a chessboard. They simply nodded.

  They moved to the West Zone as instructed. It was efficient, cold, and automated. No receptionist greeted them. No guide welcomed them. Just a glowing blue scanner next to a teleportation pad.

  They scanned the code. The machine beeped.

  They stepped onto the pad. Unlike the inter-dimensional tear that ate their lifespan, this was just a local jump. One step, and the trip was complete.

  ZAP.

  The Luxury of Violence

  As soon as they stepped out, the air changed.

  They weren't in a camp anymore. They were in the foyer of a massive, luxurious building—marble floors, crystal chandeliers, velvet drapes.

  And a scream.

  "AAARGH!"

  The sound shattered the elegance. Jay, jolted by the noise, snapped his eyes open on Brother Seven's back and scrambled down, adrenaline waking him up instantly.

  They moved fast toward the source of the noise.

  In the center of the grand hall, amidst shattered expensive vases, two hunters were locked in combat.

  A Rank 3 young man, eyes bloodshot with rage.

  A Rank 2 boy, looking terrified but holding his ground.

  "Stop, Brother!" the Rank 2 boy shouted, parrying a lethal strike. "Let us not be like the others!"

  "Huh! Stop the act!" The Rank 3 brother roared, swinging a heavy mace. "If I do not strike, will you not strike? Our world is too comfortable with this! Our parents killed each other to rank up! They are a living example for us!"

  "I never wanted us to be like them! Not like everyone else!" the younger brother cried, defending himself desperately.

  The mace came down for a killing blow.

  WHOOSH.

  Sister Eight moved faster than sound. She blurred into the fray, her blade flashing once. She didn't cut them; she slammed the flat of her sword against the Rank 3 brother’s weapon, creating a shockwave.

  BOOM.

  The force halted the fight instantly. Both brothers were thrown a mile back—figuratively speaking—skidding across the polished floor and crashing into the walls.

  They tried to get up, but the immense pressure of Eight Rank five Hunters descended on the room. They collapsed back onto the floor, pinned by gravity.

  'Who are you to barge in like this?'

  That was what the Rank 3 brother wanted to ask, but the words died in his throat as he sensed the power difference.

  Brother Five walked over and crouched down in front of them, his face impassive.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  "What is the situation?" Five asked calmly.

  "What does 'Sir' mean by 'the situation'?" the Rank 3 brother spat, gritting his teeth as blood filled his mouth. "We are leading our daily life. This is normal."

  The Rank 2 boy, clutching his bruised ribs, looked up at the group. His eyes lingered on Aryan.

  "You are not from this planet, are you?" the boy whispered.

  Aryan raised an eyebrow. He bent down, meeting the boy's eyes.

  "How do you know that?"

  "Well... I'm a Seer," the boy gasped. "I'll know it. Your energy... it feels foreign."

  "Did you also see our arrival?" Aryan asked, his interest piqued.

  "I couldn't. I can't see the future. Not yet," the boy admitted, shaking his head. "I can only sense and differentiate. I sense that you don't belong here."

  "Ah. I see," Aryan murmured.

  He looked from the terrified younger brother to the murderous older one.

  "So, what is it?" Aryan asked, his voice hardening. "You are family. Blood relatives. And yet, you are killing each other? Just to level up?"

  The Rank 2 boy raised an eyebrow, looking at Aryan as if he was the crazy one.

  "Is your Ruler so benevolent that you don't know this?" the boy asked, a bitter smile touching his lips.

  "What do you mean?" Sister Eight asked, her hand still resting on her sword hilt.

  "Because killing one's own family to rank up... to break the level cap... is too common here," the boy said, tears finally leaking from his eyes. "Didn't you hear my brother? Our parents killed each other in this very room to reach the next Rank. That is how this world works."

  “The Kin-Slaying Bonus”

  "Why?" Jay asked, sitting cross-legged in front of the two brothers. He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "You have to kill your own family to level up? That's freakish. Don't you get XP for slaying monsters or criminals instead?"

  The Rank 3 brother scoffed, leaning back against the cold wall. "Monsters give you scraps. Strangers give you nothing. But family?" He looked at his younger brother with dead eyes. "The System rewards sacrifice. The closer the blood, the higher the multiplier. You talk about peace and love like they are free. Try preaching philosophy when you are starving."

  "Brother..." the Rank 2 younger sibling whispered. "Don't talk like that. They might kill us."

  "Let them," the older one spat. "Better them than me having to carve your heart out."

  Aryan watched them, his Seer eyes scanning the invisible threads of fate binding the two brothers. They were red, tangled, and dripping with imminent violence.

  "Forget the philosophy," Aryan said, stepping forward. "Do you want to kill each other? If you say no, we won't interfere. We walk away."

  The older brother paused. The aggression drained from his face, replaced by a hollow exhaustion.

  "It’s not about want," he whispered. "It’s about survival. The war demands soldiers. If I don't kill him, we both stay weak. And if we stay weak, the Monarch kills us both."

  "The War," Amara interrupted, her voice sharp. "Who is the leader of this state?"

  "There is no single leader. A Council leads the state. The highest is Rank Four."

  "Rank Four?" Amara raised an eyebrow. "That's it?"

  "Don't tell me," Jay groaned, rolling his eyes. "You guys are the 'chosen successors' of this district, aren't you? And you have to kill your sibling to prove you're ruthless enough to join the Council? That is so cliché."

  The younger brother blinked. "You... you are exactly right. How did you know?"

  "I read too many novels," Jay muttered.

  "Enough," Amara said, checking her daggers. "Take us to this Council. We’re wasting time."

  "We don't need to go anywhere," the older brother said, checking his wrist. "Wait three seconds. They scheduled a pickup. They’re coming to collect the survivor."

  Three.

  The air in the room grew heavy.

  Two.

  The temperature dropped.

  One.

  BOOM.

  The front door didn't open; it disintegrated.

  A figure stepped through the dust and debris. It was a woman, tall and lean, wearing armor made of shifting bone plates. Her presence reeked of blood—old blood, fresh blood, family blood.

  "Oh," she drawled, her voice scratching against their eardrums. "You brought guests. Or are they distant cousins?"

  She smiled, revealing teeth filed to points.

  "Slay as many as you want, boys. The more you kill, the faster you grow. I just slaughtered my own sister this morning. Wanna see the body?"

  A shiver ran through the whole group. They shrank back, terrified.

  DING.

  “Mission Update”

  Aryan’s eyes flashed gold. Beside him, Amara’s eyes flashed gold.

  The Seer ability triggered violently.

  A vision flooded their mind: This woman standing atop a mountain of corpses. The state burning. Civilians screaming. She wasn't just an enforcer; she was a cancer. If she lived, she would ascend to the Council, kill the other members, and lead this entire region into a suicidal war against the neighboring planet.

  "Oh, that is so obvious," Sam’s voice boredly echoed in Aryan’s head. "She has 'Tyrant' written all over her vibe she is excluding. You don't need a vision to see she's bad news."

  "What is the mission, Nine?" Aryan asked under his breath.

  "Slay the Corrupt Hunter," She replied. "Target identified as a 'Chaos Seed.' Elimination is mandatory to unlock the next destination."

  Amara stepped forward, her daggers materializing.

  "Wait," Aryan said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Let me."

  Amara paused, looking at him. "She is a Rank Four Elite. She burns through stats like fuel."

  "I haven't fought a single real opponent since the training started," Aryan said, his eyes locking onto the bone-armored woman. "I need to know if I can do this."

  Amara studied his face, then stepped back. "Don't die. She fights dirty."

  The woman laughed, a screeching sound. "A new face? You want to challenge me, little boy? Challenges aren't new. Survivors are."

  She didn't wait for a countdown. She lunged.

  She moved like lightning, a blur of bone and malice. She didn't aim to disable; she aimed to decapitate. Her fist, wrapped in jagged bone, shot toward Aryan’s throat. All of Aryan's vital parts. To send him to hell in a single punch.

  "Left," Sam commanded.

  Aryan didn't think. He leaned left, feeling the wind of her punch graze his cheek.

  “Dark Matter: Manifest”

  Black energy, heavy and dense as a collapsing star, gathered in Aryan’s right hand. It didn't form a shield; it formed a jagged, vibrating blade of pure void. Like the sword intent.

  CLANG.

  Bone met Dark Matter.

  The impact shockwave cracked the floor beneath them.

  "Impressive," the woman hissed, her eyes widening. "But you're slow!"

  She spun, unleashing a flurry of kicks and slashes. Aryan blocked, parried, and dodged. He was clumsy compared to Amara, relying on his stats rather than technique, but his eyes saw everything. He saw her muscles tense before she struck. He saw the flow of her energy.

  "Don't underestimate her," Amara’s voice echoed in his mind through their soul connection. "She's losing patience. She's about to burn her Life Force."

  The woman roared, frustration boiling over. Her skin turned red, steam rising from her pores.

  "You think you can outsmart me?" she screamed. "System! Burn the whole Agility! Converts to Speed!"

  She vanished.

  She was moving faster than sound now, a red streak aiming for Aryan’s heart.

  Aryan stood still.

  He remembered the first day. He remembered Amara in the ballroom. The efficiency. The geometry of the kill.

  Duck. Roll. Slash.

  Aryan dropped low, letting her lethal strike pass millimeters over his head. As she overextended, exposed and off-balance, Aryan swung the Dark Matter blade upward.

  He didn't just swing wild. He mimicked Amara’s signature move.

  “Technique: Triple Shadow Slash”

  SLASH. SLASH. SLASH.

  Three cuts in the span of a single heartbeat.

  One to the tendon. One to the liver. One to the neck.

  "Woosh," Jay whispered from the sidelines.

  The woman stumbled past him. She took two steps, her hand reaching for her throat, trying to hold the blood in. She turned to look at Aryan, confusion in her dying eyes.

  "How..." she gurgled.

  She collapsed.

  THUD.

  The silence in the room was absolute. The two alien brothers stared at Aryan as if he were a god of death.

  DING.

  “Target Eliminated.”

  “XP Gained.”

  The holographic map in front of Aryan exploded outward, updating with new data. A red line drew itself from their current location to a jagged mountain range in the distance.

  “Next Destination: The War Zone.”

  “New Intel Unlocked.”

  “Target: Rank Six Entity The Warlord”

  “Mission Parameter Update: Combat is not viable. Target is too strong.”

  Aryan frowned. "Not viable?"

  “Objective: Checkmate.”

  “Deadline: 3 Days.”

  "Checkmate?" Aryan wiped the sweat from his forehead, looking at Amara. "Nine says we can't fight the next one. We have to... outplay him? How do we do that?"