The black Grayling let out a shriek—high-pitched and mind-numbing—and lunged again.
Everything descended into chaos.
Nansich dove into the bushes, Li Wang scrambled toward a boulder for cover, and
The amplifier fizzed and blinked, barely holding on. Leaves exploded into the air. Dust choked the ground.
But Jian didn’t move.
He stood frozen—hands clenched at his sides, chest heaving, eyes locked on the monstrous thing before him. The hilt of his sword was still buried in the Grayling’s shoulder, unreachable, mocking him with its presence.
And then it moved.
A tentacle, slick and barbed, whipped toward his face.
He didn’t even have time to react. His legs twitched, but he was too slow.
Move. Move, dammit—
His body refused. And in that split second, time seemed to slow. His thoughts screamed.
I was a fool.
I thought I could help. I thought I could fight.
But I’m just a stupid, useless human who played pretend with a sword someone else gave me.
I don’t belong here. Not with warriors like Xing Yu, or Varon, or even that smug Eren.
I’m nothing. I’m a liability—
I can’t even protect anyone—
The tentacle rushed closer, glinting with a sharp edge at the tip.
I should’ve stayed behind the tree like they said. I should’ve known better—
His fists trembled.
His feet still refused to move.
He was going to die. Just like this. Helpless.
The barbed end of the tentacle sliced through the air, aiming straight for his skull—
Suddenly, a blur of motion—dark, sharp, fast—darted in front of him.
Jian’s breath caught.
There was a thud. A sharp crack. The sickening crunch of something being deflected.
His eyes snapped open.
Xing Yu.
The Farian stood solidly in front of him, his broad back completely shielding Jian’s trembling body. A tentacle writhed and hissed in retreat, cleaved at the base by Xing’s energy blade, hissing black ooze onto the dirt.
Jian couldn’t move, not even to breathe. His shaking hand had somehow come to rest on Xing Yu’s back—he didn’t even realize it until he felt the heat. The man’s clothes, though armored and black, was damp with sweat, clinging just slightly to the contours of his muscles. The tension in his shoulders, the movement of each breath as Xing Yu stood between Jian and certain death—it all felt unbearably close.
Jian swallowed hard.
The scent of sweat—faintly metallic, sharp, and strangely clean—drifted around him. It wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, it made his skin prickle.
Why... why does this feel so...
His fingers twitched against Xing’s back. His heartbeat thudded erratically, all the panic from a moment ago bleeding into something else entirely—warmer, unfamiliar, intense.
I almost died, Jian thought. And now I’m...
But the thought never finished. His mind fogged over, flushed with confusion and something darker, something he didn’t want to name.
Tingling sparks unfurled in his chest, crawling outwards like heat blooming under his skin. His cheeks burned.
He didn’t understand it, but standing here, pressed close to this man’s back, protected so thoroughly—so fiercely—it was... it was doing something to him.
He couldn’t tear his hand away.
Xing Yu glanced back, his eyes sharp with focus but softened by concern. "Are you hurt?" he asked, still pivoting smoothly as his blade carved through another flailing tentacle. Black blood sprayed like ink across the ground.
Jian jerked his hand away from the man’s back as if burned. His cheeks were hot. "I’m—I’m fine," he muttered, avoiding the other’s gaze as he backed away slightly. His voice sounded thin to his own ears.
Before either of them could say more, a heavy crash tore through the clearing.
Varon shot into view like a dark blur, jagged sword gleaming under the pale sun. He leapt up, brought it down in a heavy arc, cleaving through one of the octopus-like graylings that lunged for Nansich. The beast gave a screeching shriek, flailing its mutilated limbs, before Varon landed beside it, driving the serrated edge into its skull. The creature crumpled, black ichor oozing out like tar.
"Sorry for the delay!" Eren’s voice echoed from above.
In a heartbeat, he flipped down from the signal tower with barely a whisper of sound, gun drawn, and landed right behind one of the graylings creeping up toward Li Wang. With a high-pitched hum, his weapon discharged a glowing blue pulse—directly into the grayling’s exposed eye. It screamed, then exploded in a spray of foul fluid and twitching limbs.
Another beast lunged toward Jian from the side.
Xing Yu didn’t even turn. His arm swept backward and his blade extended in a clean horizontal slice, the motion so precise it barely displaced air. The tentacle flying toward Jian was sliced clean off mid-air. The beast staggered, screeching in pain, before Varon rammed into it from the side and finished the job with a brutal twist of his sword through the center of its gelatinous body.
"Three down," Varon said, breathing heavily, flicking the black goo off his blade.
"Two more," Xing Yu replied calmly, adjusting his stance.
One grayling tried to retreat, slinking into the trees. Eren sprinted after it, gun blazing in quick bursts. The creature tried to dodge, but Eren’s reflexes were faster. He jumped high, landed on its back, and drove the muzzle of his weapon into its skull before blasting it point blank. The beast collapsed beneath him.
The final grayling made a desperate lunge for Varon, tentacles spinning wildly. But Varon ducked, pivoted on one foot, and hacked upward with his serrated sword, ripping through the underbelly. The creature screamed and twitched, before collapsing beside its kin, twitching once—then going still.
The battlefield fell silent except for the heavy breathing of the four standing figures.
The graylings were dead. All of them.
Jian stood frozen, heart pounding in his throat. He’d been entirely useless. Again.
But... he hadn’t died.
Because of Xing Yu.
He looked up slowly, watching the Farian as he turned back toward him, black blade still dripping, dark eyes scanning him from head to toe, checking again for injury.
And Jian realized, with a conflicted throb in his chest—
He wanted to be the one who could protect. Not the one being protected.
From behind the scorched bushes, Nansich’s unruly head of bleached hair popped out, followed quickly by Li Wang, who stumbled over a root and barely managed to right himself before falling flat on his face.
"Holy shit," Nansich gasped, eyes wide as he stared at the carnage. "Did you see that one explode? Its guts flew like—like a blender without a lid!" He gave a low whistle, then kicked a fallen grayling carcass with his foot. "Man, I’m gonna be having seafood nightmares for a week."
Li Wang didn’t speak. He looked pale and shaken, his cracked glasses hanging slightly askew as he scanned the battleground. His eyes lingered a moment on Xing Yu’s bloodied blade, then darted to the hole-riddled trees and the thick black ichor smoking in puddles.
Nansich, meanwhile, brushed a twig out of his hair and walked right up to Jian, peering at him closely.
"Why didn’t you run, dumbass?" he asked, half-laughing, half-serious. "We bolted the second that freaky octopus jumped you. You just stood there like you were ready to get squished into a pancake."
Jian didn’t answer. His teeth dug into his lower lip, hard enough to draw a faint sting. He kept his eyes on the ground. His hands, still curled into fists at his sides, were trembling faintly.
Nansich tilted his head. "Hey... you okay?"
Jian didn’t answer Nansich. He just stood there, breathing unevenly, his gaze fixed on the Farian soldiers in the clearing. Varon was calmly wiping ichor off his jagged-edged sword, eyes narrowed in quiet focus. Eren, grinning ear to ear, was shouting something about his next kill, standing over a smoking grayling carcass like it was a prize catch.
And Xing Yu—
Xing Yu stood near the crumpled body of the largest grayling, the one that nearly impaled Jian. He was calmly cleaning his blade with short, practiced motions, like it was any other day.
Jian’s feet moved before his mind caught up. He walked forward, past Nansich, past Li Wang’s worried glance, and into the center of the clearing. The leaves crunched faintly under his boots, and the acrid stench of burnt flesh and alien blood was thick in the air. But he didn’t flinch. Not anymore.
Xing Yu noticed him approaching. His eyes lifted slowly, and though his expression didn’t change much, there was a flicker of surprise—subtle, fleeting—in his gaze. His hand stilled over the blade, and for a moment, neither of them said anything.
Then Jian stopped just a step in front of him. He raised his eyes to meet Xing Yu’s.
"I want to be strong," he whispered. His voice was hoarse, but firm. "I... I don’t want to just stand there again. I don’t want to feel useless."
Xing Yu said nothing. Jian’s fists clenched.
"Can you teach me?"