THE BLACK CORE

The world spun, a dizzying smear of light and shadow, and Aldrich hit the ground hard, his knees sinking into soft earth. Nausea surged, twisting his gut, but a strange warmth bloomed in his stomach, spreading upward like a slow fire, snuffing the sickness out. He could only suspect it had something to do with the object inside of him.

He coughed, the sound small against the quiet, and pressed his palms into the soil. Rich, dark brown, nothing like the pale dust or blood-red patches back home. He scooped a handful, letting it crumble through his fingers, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

He looked up, and his breath caught. Towering trees loomed, their trunks wide as houses, stretching into a canopy that blotted out half the sky. To his left, a swamp lake shimmered, its surface choked with fallen leaves, their edges curled like brittle secrets. The bark under his hand was rough, alive, and he traced it, eyes wide with a kid's curiosity.

This was a forest. No, a jungle. Something straight out of the academy's faded holo-texts from years back. He tilted his head, squinting at the sky. Light blue, soft as a dream, nothing like Akagi's lowland's harsh glare. It was almost too beautiful for a place meant to kill him.

He scanned the clearing, the swamp lake's murk rippling nearby, giant trees looming like silent judges. No sign of Herman, Bernard, or Julia. Just him, alone. Same deal for them, probably, scattered across.

He rubbed his chin, thoughts churning through his mind. The trial's rules were blunt. Rack up points by killing Mako's inhabitants. No weapons handed out, though just their wits and whatever they could scavenge. A test of grit as much as guts. His watch buzzed softly, and he tapped it, the screen flaring to life. His profile blinked up first: Aldrich Alderman, Points: 0. He swiped, pulling up descriptions of the planet's inhabitants.

He'd skimmed them back on Akagi, but now, in the jungle's heavy air, the words hit harder. Clawed beasts with venom sacs, supernatural stalkers, armored things that could crush bone and slice him in half. Some of these were nightmares, not prey.

Aldrich's throat tightened as he tore his eyes from the watch, its screen fading to black. He needed a weapon, anything to swing or stab with, but standing still was a death wish. He pushed into the jungle, boots sinking into the soft ground, his gaze darting with a kid's wide-eyed wonder. 

Sunlight pierced the dense canopy, painting the vines and massive trunks in a ghostly glow, like something out of a dream too vivid.

A flicker caught his eye, and he froze, turning slow. Six feet tall, maybe more, it loomed. A nightmare carved from bone and blade. Its small head twitched, mandibles jutting like jagged scissors, glinting in the yellow light. Curved, knife-sharp arms hooked downward, ready to slice through anything, metal or flesh. Hard carapace plated its frame, gaps rare and small, a natural shield. Aldrich's pulse spiked as recognition hit. It was a Skitterling, straight from the watch's data. A Humanoid insect, built to kill, its profile was clear yet it looked even more intimidating in person. It was valued at a hundred points.

He dropped into a fighting stance, knees bent, fists up, heart hammering. He'd only ever sparred humans, not anything like this machine of claws and armor. The Skitterling, bathed in the sun's rays, unleashed a screech that rattled the leaves, sharp and primal. In a blink, it charged, closing the gap in seconds, its hooked arms slashing through the air, fast and merciless, aimed for Aldrich's chest.

Aldrich's instincts kicked in, sharp and electric, matching the Skitterling's blinding speed. Each hooked arm slashed, and he weaved, sidestepping, his body moving with precise flow.

The creature's pace surged, mandibles clicking, but Aldrich kept up, shock rippling through him. He stayed defensive, eyes locked on its plated form, studying the gaps in its carapace. 

A quick twirl dodged a vicious hook aimed at his ribs, and he sprang forward, closing the gap before the Skitterling could react. His fist slammed into an exposed flank, but the shell was like iron. Pain flared in his knuckles, useless against the beast's armor. Both leaped back, circling, eyes hunting for a crack in the other's guard.

A faint buzz hummed in Aldrich's skull, distracting, like static from a broken comm. A Skitterling trick? It didn't hurt, just nagged, so he pushed it aside. The creature, now wary, saw him as more than easy prey. 

Black liquid oozed from its joints dropping to the ground. Aldrich frowned as he remained cautious. Venom? 

The Skitterling lunged again, its swings sharper, calculated, forcing him to twist and duck, muscles burning. The buzzing in his head grew even louder. Not good! 

The creature herded him toward a massive tree, cutting off his escape and limiting his agility. He was cornered, back to bark, Aldrich saw the Skitterling's arm arc for his neck, a horizontal killing stroke. He dropped low, the hooked blade sinking deep into the tree with a thud. Seizing the moment, Aldrich gripped the trapped arm, planted his boot, and yanked with both hands. A sickening crack echoed as the limb tore free, black thick ichor spraying from the beast's severed joint.

The Skitterling's scream faded into a guttural hiss, its severed arm's ichor slicking the jungle floor. Its remaining hook flashed, slashing for Aldrich's head, relentless despite the wound. He ducked, the sickle-like arm, jagged and heavy as a reaper's blade, steady in his grip, its curve catching the jungle's dim glow. 

The buzzing in his skull was drowned by his pounding pulse, and a sour stench stung his nose as the dark liquid kept seeping from the creature's joints, pooling like poison at its feet.

There was no time to think about what it was. He weaved, dodging another strike, the Skitterling's mandibles snapping inches from his face. 

It pushed him toward the swamp lake's edge, its carapace gleaming, but he spotted it, a soft, pulsing gap where the plates parted at its neck, flesh exposed. He swung the sickle-arm, aiming high, but the creature's shell deflected it. Pain flared in his palm, but he gritted his teeth, circling, eyes locked on that vulnerable strip.

The Skitterling lunged, hook arcing for his ribs. Aldrich dropped low, rolling through the muck, then sprang up, closer than before. The creature's arm overextended, leaving the neck gap wide. He drove the sickle's blade into the fleshy seam, black blood spurting as it sank deep. The Skitterling shrieked, thrashing, but Aldrich twisted the weapon, carving through sinew. With a final heave, he yanked the blade free, severing the head clean off. It thudded to the ground, mandibles still twitching.

Aldrich stood, chest heaving, black blood dripping from the sickle. His watch pinged—100 points. He stared at the headless corpse, the jungle's hum returning. "I win," he rasped.

The Skitterling's headless corpse leaked black blood at his feet, but the seemingly darker liquid that poured from its joints had stopped. Aldrich was about to study it when a sudden spike in the buzzing in his skull stole his breath. The sound sharpened, searing like a hot wire through his brain, and he staggered, clutching his head. It lasted only seconds, a brutal flare, then vanished, leaving a hollow silence. He blinked, heart hammering, half-expecting another attack but what came next nearly broke his grip on reality.

A voice, feminine yet cold, mechanical, echoed inside his mind. "Booting… 60%… 80%… 100%. Condition met. Black core fully active."

Before he could choke out a word, a translucent hologram flickered to life before his eyes, hovering in the muggy air. Text scrolled across it, crisp and alien: User age: 16 years, 3 months, 5 weeks, 7 days. Blood group: A+. Core force: 200 cpm. Cores absorbed: White (0/1000), Red (0/800), Yellow (0/400), Orange (0/150), Blue (0/25), Green (0/1). Black core asynchronization: 1%.

Aldrich stared at the hologram screen, the sickle-arm still heavy in his other hand. He could only mutter "What the fuck?"

However, a chorus of screeches—sharp, enraged—shattered his concentration. "More of them?" His pulse spiked, panic clawing up his throat.

Then it hit him. The watch's warning: Skitterlings move in colonies. Beware. 

"Shit," he hissed, eyes darting to the dead creature's ooze. "It's not venom! It's pheromones!" He bolted north, boots pounding the soft earth, weaving through towering trees.

Behind him, the jungle erupted. Nearly fifty Skitterlings swarmed the corpse, their screeches a furious wail, shaking the canopy. Then, a heavier thud. A new Skitterling appeared, taller, its carapace a dull, blood-red sheen, its sickle-arms longer, sharper. The others shrank back, mandibles twitching in fear and deference. The red Skitterling clacked its jaws, a guttural command, and the colony surged after Aldrich's trail, a relentless tide of rage.