The medical drones work with inhuman efficiency, healing techniques far beyond anything available at our facility. Still, there's only so much that can be done in six hours. By the time I return to our quarters, I'm walking on my own, but barely.
"Holy shit," Eli whispers as I enter, his gravity field wobbling with shock. "What the fuck happened to you?"
I look like I've been hit by a truck. The drones sealed the gash above my eye, but the bruising has spread across half my face in a spectacular purple-black pattern. My left arm is in a medical stabilization unit, the shoulder reset but still tender. Each breath comes shallow and careful due to the cracked ribs.
"B-Rank happened," I respond, easing myself onto a bench with a wince. "Crusher lived up to his name."
Ember approaches, concern evident in the subdued flames around her hair. "You won though. The combat feed was broadcast throughout our section."
"Barely," I admit. "Their equipment, their knowledge of the terrain, everything's stacked against newcomers."
Desta's eyes flicker with code patterns as she scans my medical readout. "Injuries exceed optimal recovery parameters for subsequent team engagement. Combat effectiveness reduced by approximately 47% despite advanced medical intervention."
"In normal human speak: you look like shit and we've got a team match in less than an hour," Eli translates, gravity field pulsing with nervous energy.
"The medical drones gave me something for the pain," I tell them, rotating my injured shoulder carefully. "Not perfect, but functional. What have you learned about our opponents?"
Ember brings up the tactical display. "Team Brute Force. Four Dornians like your friend Crusher, specialized in physical enhancement and coordinated assault tactics. Their whole thing is overwhelming force application, nothing subtle."
"They fight as a physical unit rather than utilizing integrated enhancement combinations," Desta adds. "However, combat footage indicates sophisticated positional awareness and tactical coordination."
"So they're not just mindless tanks," I translate, studying their formation patterns. "They work together with practiced efficiency even if they don't have our ability integration."
"And like Crusher, they'll have equipment advantages we can't match," Ember notes, flames intensifying with concern. "Plus they know the terrain. Plus they've fought together longer."
The gravity of our situation settles over the team. I'm injured, Desta's system access is severely limited, and we're facing opponents with home-field advantage and superior resources.
"Listen," I say, meeting each teammate's eyes in turn. "We knew Central Arena would be harder than the facility. This is exactly what they want, to break our confidence, make us doubt ourselves. Team Exodus didn't come this far to be humbled in our first match."
"Probability assessment indicates significant disadvantage parameters," Desta observes, though her voice carries determination beneath the analytical tone. "However, adaptation methodology has repeatedly overcome statistical improbability."
"In normal human speak: the odds suck, but we're good at beating the odds," Eli translates, his gravity field stabilizing with renewed focus.
---
The transport tube descends through the artificial planet's structure, delivering us to a preparation chamber that resembles a ruined subway station. Cracked concrete, exposed rebar, and shattered tiles create an unsettling atmosphere of urban decay.
Medical drones continue to work on my injuries until the final moments, injecting pain suppressants and applying molecular stabilizers to my damaged ribs.
"Team Exodus," announces a multi-limbed alien attendant, "combat commencement in ten minutes. Urban Ruins sector prepared according to competition parameters."
We gather in our pre-combat formation, the rhombus configuration that served us so well at the facility. I take point despite my injuries, Ember and Eli form the sides, with Desta protected at the rear. Without her system access, her role shifts from tactical support to direct combat application, a configuration we've practiced but never needed to implement.
The entrance portal dilates open, revealing the Urban Ruins beyond. Unlike the Adaptive Plains, this environment appears stable, a sprawling cityscape of crumbling buildings, shattered streets, and twisted metal structures. The perfect terrain for ambush and close-quarters fighting.
Across the ruined plaza, Team Brute Force makes their entrance. Four massive Dornians, each even larger than Crusher, their gray-leathery skin covered with armor plates and combat harnesses. Their equipment isn't identical, each appears specialized for a particular function, with varying weapons and defensive systems.
"Team combat between Human Team Exodus and Dornian Team Brute Force commences in 60 seconds," announces a voice that seems to emanate from the ruins themselves. "Central Arena protocols active. Observation systems online."
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The lead Dornian, a mountain of muscle with a reinforced exoskeleton framework and massive hammer-like weapons attached to each arm, steps forward. "Fresh meat from the human facility," his thoughts translate directly into our minds. "They send us children to fight."
The second Dornian, slightly smaller but covered in more sophisticated armor with glowing energy projectors, laughs with a grinding sound. "The small one looks broken already. Did Crusher not finish you properly, human?"
"We'll show them broken," Ember mutters, flames intensifying around her hands.
The third Dornian carries what appear to be specialized grappling devices, while the fourth sports heavy ranged weapons on shoulder mounts. All four wear boots similar to Crusher's, designed for optimal terrain navigation.
"Combat commences in 3... 2... 1..."
The Dornians spring into action with practiced coordination, immediately splitting into two groups. The leader and the heavily armored one charge directly at our formation while the grappler and the ranged specialist move to elevated positions among the ruins.
"Maintain formation!" I call out as we advance to meet them. "Combination sequence alpha!"
Eli creates a gravity distortion field ahead of us, designed to disrupt the charging Dornians' momentum. Ember channels concentrated flame through this field, superheating the air in their path. I add molecular-level telekinesis to enhance both effects while Desta analyzes their movement patterns for vulnerabilities.
The leader Dornian smashes his hammer-weapons into the ground, creating a shockwave that neutralizes Eli's gravity field. Simultaneously, the armored one activates energy shields that disperse Ember's flames.
"Primitive combination tactics," the leader's thoughts project. "As expected from facility transfers."
Before we can adjust, the ranged specialist opens fire from his elevated position. Energy bolts rain down on our formation. I try to block them with telekinetic shields, but they’re too many!
“Scatter!” I yell as my shields fail.
Our carefully practiced rhombus disintegrates as each of us dives for cover.
"They're splitting us up!" Ember shouts, sending a wall of flame toward the ranged attacker, who simply activates a personal shield that absorbs the heat.
The grappler Dornian launches cable weapons that wrap around Eli's leg, yanking him off his feet before he can stabilize his gravity field. The leader charges directly at me, those massive hammer-weapons raised for devastating strikes.
I dodge sideways, pain flaring through my injured ribs, and launch a telekinetic counter. The force barely slows him as some kind of dampening field around his armor absorbs the energy.
"Your telekinesis is no use against me!" he laughs, swinging one hammer in an arc that forces me to dive painfully behind a concrete barrier.
Across the ruins, Ember battles the armored Dornian, her flames meeting sophisticated energy shields that seem calibrated specifically for thermal neutralization. Every attack she launches is countered by precisely tuned defensive technology.
Eli struggles with the grappler, trying to create gravity fields that the Dornian somehow anticipates and avoids with practiced efficiency. The cables constrict around his limbs, limiting his movement and ability control.
Desta, without her system access, attempts to engage the ranged specialist directly. Her movement patterns are precise but predictable, allowing the Dornian to keep her pinned down with sustained fire.
In less than a minute, Team Exodus is completely dismantled, each of us isolated and countered by opponents who seem to have perfect for our abilities.
I roll aside as another hammer strike shatters the concrete where I was hiding. The leader Dornian laughs, the sound like grinding stones. "You conquered your facility with these abilities? Central Arena operates at higher parameters, human."
Pain shoots through my side as I try to create distance, the medical stabilizers on my ribs failing under the strain of combat movement. I gather telekinetic energy for another attack, but the Dornian activates some kind of disruptor field that causes the energy to dissipate before it fully forms.
"Your molecular manipulation is impressive," he projects, advancing methodically. "But technology counters talent when properly applied."
Across the battlefield, I glimpse Ember surrounded by containment fields that somehow suppress her flames. Eli lies pinned beneath the grappler Dornian's massive foot, gravity fields flickering weakly around his hands. Desta has been cornered by the ranged specialist, unable to advance or retreat under constant bombardment.
The leader Dornian towers over me, hammer-weapons raised. "First match defeat is traditional for transfers. Accept it as a learning experience."
I attempt one last desperate attack, channeling telekinesis through my body like I did against Crusher. The Dornian sees the attack coming, stepping to the side as I sail harmlessly past him.
His hammer connects with my already injured side, sending me crashing into a ruined wall. The pain is blinding, white-hot agony as the remaining ribs crack under the impact. I slide to the ground, unable to stand, barely conscious.
"Team Exodus eliminated," he projects with satisfaction. "As expected."
"Combat concluded," announces the voice from the ruins. "Victory by incapacitation: Dornian Team Brute Force. Match duration: 4 minutes, 17 seconds."
Through blurred vision, I watch as medical drones swarm around us. The leader Dornian stands over me, those deep-set eyes studying my broken form with clinical interest.
"You showed promise against Crusher," he projects, the thought carrying not mockery but assessment. "But Central Arena demands more than individual capability. Technology, coordination, experience, all factors in combat success metrics."
As the drones begin emergency treatment procedures, lifting me onto a medical transport platform, I catch glimpses of my teammates. Ember's flames extinguished, Eli conscious but clearly in pain, Desta already being assisted into a separate medical unit.
"First defeat is inevitable for transfers," the Dornian leader continues. "Important data gathering phase. How you respond determines advancement potential."
The medical platform begins moving, carrying me back toward our section. The humiliation of defeat burns almost as much as my physical injuries. Team Exodus, undefeated champions at the facility, dismantled in four minutes by opponents who seemed to know our every move before we made it.
As darkness closes in around the edges of my vision, one thought remains clear: Central Arena just delivered the message it intended. We're not special here. We're not champions. We're beginners facing a level of competition we barely comprehend.
The freedom pathway just got exponentially longer. And Team Exodus has a hell of a lot to learn before our next match.
