Chapter 26: Proving Ground

Doctor Tori snapped her clipboard shut with finality.

“Alright. That’ll be all for today,” she said flatly. “Get changed and fuck off. I don’t want a fucking freeloader in the camp, so make yourself useful.”

Her words were sharp enough to cut, but there was something grounding about them. Practical. Final. Not cruel so much as efficient. Survival spoken in profanity.

Jagger let out a weak groan as he pushed himself upright on the cot, muscles shifting under skin that still didn’t feel entirely his. He clutched the bundle of clothes Lynis had dumped their earlier, fabric rough and utilitarian.

“I feel violated,” he muttered, his voice thin but steady enough to count as progress.

The cot beside him creaked.

A low chuckle followed. “Just think of it as a massage,” a man said lazily, “with a happy ending at the end.”

Jagger’s entire body shuddered.

“That somehow sounds even worse now that you put it that way,” he said, grimacing as he grabbed the pants and started pulling them on. “Where did all those hands even come from?”

Tori didn’t look up from her clipboard, pen scratching aggressively across the paper as she moved to the next patient. “Skill’s called Hands of Asclepius,” she said. “Creates two additional arms and hands made of pure mana. I use them as medical aids.”

She paused, flicked her wrist dismissively.

“There are… other functions,” she added. “But those are locked for now. Drains a shit ton of mana either way.” She waved him off without turning. “Whatever. Enough chitchat. I’ve got work.”

As Jagger pulled the coarse shirt over his head, the sensation of fabric brushing against unscarred skin sent a strange jolt through him. Not pain, just wrongness. Like slipping into a body tailored for someone else.

His chest was solid. Defined. Hard muscle where weakness should have been.

He froze.

Slowly, he looked down at himself.

His abdomen was tight, muscle clearly defined beneath skin still faintly warm from regeneration. His arms were more defined, veins faintly visible beneath the surface. Familiar, but… sharpened. Refined.

He clenched his fist.

The pressure of knuckles against his palm felt heavier. More real.

More dangerous.

“This isn’t…” he whispered under his breath. “This isn’t how I was.”

A whisper answered him.

’So… you are my host.’

The voice was feminine. Weak. Echoing as if spoken from very far away or very deep inside.

Jagger’s head snapped up.

The tent flap rustled.

Jabri strode in, ducking slightly under the canvas seam, only to find Jagger whipping his head around, eyes wide, breath shallow.

“What?” Jabri asked. “You okay, kid?”

Jagger looked at him, then scanned the tent wildly. No woman. No source. Just patients, cots, and the low hum of a generator vibrating through the floor.

“Did you hear that?” Jagger asked. “Just now… did someone say something?”

Jabri studied him for a moment, then shook his head. “Nope.” He frowned slightly. “You good? Tori didn’t mess you up, did she? You look pale as a ghost.”

“I… I thought I heard someone,” Jagger said, voice tight.

Jabri’s eyes narrowed, but then he smiled, clapping a heavy arm around Jagger’s shoulders. “Bruh. I know shit’s crazy right now. World’s ending, monsters everywhere, magic bullshit rewiring your bones.” He squeezed him lightly. “But now’s the time to pull yourself together.”

He guided him toward the exit. “C’mon. Let’s get you out before that crazy bitch comes back.”

“I heard that,” Tori said without looking up.

“RUN. SORRY!” Jabri barked.

He shoved Jagger forward, and the two of them burst through the tent flap into the cooler air outside.

Behind them, the patient Tori had been examining let out a quiet chuckle, nervous, relieved.

Tori paused mid-motion.

“I see that you’re able to laugh now,” she said calmly, retrieving a needle from her tray. “Let me fix that for you.”

The patient couldn’t help but let out a helpless squeal.

–

The outside air hit Jagger like a physical blow.

It was colder than the tent, sharp enough to sting his lungs, carrying the bitter taste of ash, smoke, and scorched concrete. For a split second, his body tensed as if expecting pain again but it never came. No broken ribs. No fire ripping through his bones. Just the raw sensation of being alive, fully and uncomfortably present.

The camp unfolded before him in chaotic motion.

It was loud. Constant. Alive.

Shouts overlapped with the clang of metal, the scrape of dragged debris, the dull thud of boots on cracked concrete sidewalks. Tents of every size and shape clustered together like a patchwork organism, some stitched from military canvas, others from tarps, bedsheets, or scavenged banners whose old logos were barely visible beneath grime and soot. Their walls snapped and flapped in the odd, biting wind that cut through the camp, carrying dust and embers in restless spirals.

People moved everywhere.

Hunters in mismatched armor jogged past with weapons slung over their shoulders, blades nicked and stained, bows, shields and scavenged weapons. Civilians hurried between tents clutching bundles of supplies, dragging carts, or supporting the wounded with arms thrown over shoulders. Somewhere nearby, a generator coughed and rattled, its uneven hum vibrating faintly through the ground beneath Jagger’s bare feet.

“Oi, bodo! Careful lah!”

A grizzled man with a scar splitting his eyebrow bellowed at a scrawny kid struggling under the weight of an overstuffed sack of rice. The boy nearly toppled before another set of hands steadied him.

“Take that over to the food stall! If you drop it, you’re peeling potatoes all night!”

“Yes, sir!” the kid squeaked, scrambling away.

Jagger’s eyes moved constantly, trying and failing to take everything in.

A woman knelt beside a crying child, her hands gentle as she wrapped a blood-soaked knee with clean cloth. Her lips moved in soft murmurs, calming, steady, as if the world weren’t ending around them. Nearby, a pair of men argued over a crate of ammunition, their voices sharp but controlled anger tempered by exhaustion.

To his left, a group of 4 men and women, hauled a crushed sedan. The scene almost felt normal. Almost.

“Three… two… one… DROP!”

The command rang out, and the car slammed down on top of another, the street echoed with a heavy, bone-jarring thud. Dust billowed up around them. Immediately, another woman stepped forward, one hand pressed to an open grimoire. Runes flared, and fire erupted from her palm, not wild, not chaotic, but focused and intense, like a cutting torch.

The steel shrieked as it softened and warped.

She guided the molten edges with practiced movements, fusing the sedan into other wrecked car parts. Within moments, the vehicles were welded together into a jagged, improvised barricade, still smoking, still radiating heat.

Jagger swallowed.

This wasn’t just survival.

It was adaptation.

Jabri’s large hand settled on his shoulder, grounding him. The man’s grip was firm, reassuring, carrying the weight of someone who had done this too many times already.

“So,” Jabri said, gesturing broadly at the camp, “what you think of our little paradise?”

Jagger stared, awe flickering openly across his face. “It’s… more than I expected.”

Jabri snorted softly, though there was no humor in it. “Yeah. Well, don’t get too comfortable.” His smile tightened, edges hardening. “This paradise has a high rent. And it’s paid for in blood.”

He jerked his thumb toward a group of hunters seated near a supply crate, sharpening their weapons with slow, deliberate strokes. Their faces were grim, eyes hollow with fatigue, hands steady only because they had to be.

“See them?” Jabri continued. “Most of them were regular folks just a few days ago. Office workers. Students. Shop owners.” His voice dropped. “Now they’re the ones going out there, risking their lives to bring back food, medicine, and whatever scraps they can find.”

Jagger followed his gaze.

The contrast hit hard.

Inside the camp, there was structure. Rules. A fragile rhythm holding things together. Outside the barricades, the city loomed, skeletal towers, collapsed roads, smoke-stained skies. A graveyard crawling with monsters.

Hope lived here.

Death waited out there.

“Anyway,” Jabri said briskly, clapping his hand once. “Follow me. Now that you’re moving and breathing properly again, you get to work.”

He gave Jagger a shove between the shoulder blades, not unkind but insistent.

“Where to?” Jagger asked.

“JANE!” Jabri shouted, completely ignoring the question.

Jane turned from where she had been talking with Porpo. For a brief second, a small smile lingered on her face, then vanished, replaced by a neutral, professional mask as she approached.

“Ahem.” She cleared her throat, stopping a few steps away. Her eyes very deliberately avoided Jagger.

Jabri crossed his arms. “Brought you a new member. Squad’s full now. Go do your rounds.”

Jane’s jaw tightened. She grabbed Jabri by the arm and pulled him aside. “Boss, we already talked about this. The kid needs rest. He just awakened as a Hunter. You can’t throw him into the deep end, especially with us.”

“And like I said,” Jabri replied, voice low and immovable, “he’s fully healed. And we ain’t running a charity.” He met her stare without flinching. “He goes with you, or he goes solo.”

Jane stiffened.

“And you know what happens to solo hunters.”

“But-”

“No buts.” Jabri cut her off. “You brought him in. You know the rules.”

Jane exhaled sharply, frustration rolling off her in waves. “Fine.” She turned back toward Jagger, her expression hardening like steel. “But when I’m back, we’re talking about a better tent for my squad.”

Jabri slapped her shoulder. “Atta girl.” He leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper only she could hear. “Let me know if he’s useful. If not…” His smile turned predatory. “…you know what to do.”

Jane shuddered, barely perceptible, but nodded.

Behind them an argument was already starting. Lynis stepped forward, arms folded across his chest, eyes cold. “You were choking her out. What did you expect me to do? Let you kill her?”

Jagger’s voice rose in frustration. “I-I didn’t mean to, okay?”

Porpo immediately stepped between them, hands raised. “Oi, you bunch of cunts. Drop that shit.” She shot Lynis a sharp look. “He was half-dead and confused. And you?” She jabbed a finger at Lynis. “You overreacted.”

“But he hurt-”

“We leave you children alone for five seconds,” Jane snapped, voice edged with irritation, “and you’re already fighting.” She pointed at Lynis and Porpo. “Behave.” Then her gaze locked onto Jagger. “And you, you’re with us now. So follow.”

Jabri returned to Jagger’s side, draping a heavy arm over his shoulders. “Listen to her,” he said quietly. “You might not like it, but she’s one of the best we’ve got. She’ll keep you alive. So do your best.” His grip tightened slightly. “And don’t fuck up.”

He released him and turned away, disappearing back into the tide of the camp.

Jagger stood there for a moment, watching Jane’s rigid back as she walked ahead. Lynis still glared at him. Porpo only offered a tired shrug.

He felt it clearly now.

He was an outsider. A risk. A liability.

And maybe, if he proved himself something more could be built.

“So… what now?” Jagger asked.

Jane didn’t turn around. Her voice carried cleanly over the noise of the camp. “Now you get your gear. You learn the rules of the road. And if you can’t keep up… you get left behind.”

Porpo rolled her eyes. “Don’t mind her. She’s always like this before a run. Gotta play the tough one.”

Lynis pulled out a cigarette.

Porpo snatched it instantly. “Hey!” She threw it to the ground and stomped it, “No, means no!”

Lynis jumped scared, “Sorry lah,” Lynis’s voice high-pitched, shoving the pack back into his pocket. “Force of habit. I fixing.”

Jagger watched them bickering, exhausted, bound together by shared danger and shared survival in the crucible of this new world. He knew he had to prove himself, not just to Jane, but to all of them.

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