Bioasshard Arena -

The shard in Kaelen’s arm went white-hot. Then cold. Then silent.

She entered the church through the shattered rose window, her spine coiling like a striking snake. Bioasshard Arena

He found the church. It felt right. The irony of seeking sanctuary in a ruin of faith wasn't lost on him. He ducked inside, past the overturned pews, to the altar. A faded mosaic of a shepherd and his sheep stared down at him, missing a few tiles. The shard in Kaelen’s arm went white-hot

He’d tested it on the cell wall. The concrete didn’t melt. It sang . A single, pure note of dissolution as the molecules unraveled. Universal solvent. A single drop could turn a steel girder into a puddle of oxides and memory. She entered the church through the shattered rose

Kaelen moved. He didn't run. Running was for the first-timers, the ones who still believed in hiding. He walked with a farmer’s steady, economical gait, his new hands tucked into his pockets. His heat-vision eye swept the ruins, painting the world in oranges and reds. No warm bodies yet. Just the cool blue ghosts of residual heat from old explosions.

They came for him, of course. They always did. The Arena didn't reward hiding. It rewarded adaptation . If you stayed still too long, the shard would get bored. It would sprout something useless—a third eye on your throat, fingers on your feet—just to remind you who was in charge.