SHADOW FANG

CHAPTER THREE

SHADOW FANG

—I don't care what it cost—I refuse to be weak—

OCTAVIA

One…

A tide of bodies surges forward, pounding the earth as they hurl themselves down the slope.

Two…

I remain still, heart battering painfully in my chest as I count silently. My instinct screams to run, but I hold.

Four…Five…

I launch myself into the fray. The slope is steeper than I expected, each step a battle for balance. My boots slip, sending dirt and stones tumbling.

“Breath, just breathe…”

The chaos is deafening—grunts, bodies colliding, boots scraping over loose earth. I push forward blindly, the darkness pressing in on all sides.

Out of nowhere, something solid slams into me. An arm, maybe, and I’m thrown off balance, hurtling down the hill. The world spins—sharp impacts, pain goring through my ribs, the harsh bite of something solid against my side. I hit the ground hard—and my breath leaves me in a wheeze.

Everything blurs for a moment. Pain blossoms across my ribs and the taste of blood fills my mouth.

I force my body to move.

But then, a sound, a rush of footsteps.

I roll instinctively, just as something slices the air where I had been lying, above. Flesh meeting metal—a sickening rip. Hot blood splashes across my face.

I freeze, chest shuddering.

Get up. Get up now.

I stagger to my feet, my ears straining for the pounding of boots, searching for west, for the direction of the wind.

One… Two…

I weave between the trees, shifting every few steps, trying to keep my rhythm. If I misstep, I’m dead.

You rush, you die. Precisely.

His words burn in my mind, louder than my fear.

Two… Three…

I halt suddenly, my breath catching. Something’s there. Not a tree, not a runner—something else. It presses against my senses, like an invisible barrier, cold and suffocating.

The other way.

I pivot sharply, not thinking, just moving. The pressure releases, and I surge forward again. But then—it returns. The wall. A force, unseen, shoving me to a halt. I can’t move past it.

A runner rushes by—close. A scream. A thud. Silence.

Gone.

My muscles tremble as I inch forward, carefully, and the wall finally lifts. My boot scrapes the ground ahead, finding—finding nothing.

A cliff.

My heart stutters.

Below could be anything—a pit, spikes, certain death.

Someone else stumbles past me, falling into it, their scream cut short. Another jumps, clears the gap—a perfect landing on the other side. It’s not a long drop, but in the dark, blind, with my hands bound, it might as well be an ocean.

I can’t afford a mistake.

Backing up, I measure my steps. My heart hammers, muscles coiling for the leap. One chance—one shot. There’s no room for hesitation. I sprint, boots slamming against the earth, and as I reach the edge, I launch myself forward.

The world vanishes beneath me. Wind rushes past, amplifying every sensation through the blindfold. The silence of the drop stretches thin. Then—impact. My boots slam into the edge, and I slide. Hands scrabble for purchase, nails digging into the dirt, falling.

A scream tears through my throat. A searing, sharp pain rips through my arm as something hooks into my skin, tearing. My vision blurs with white-hot light, and for a moment, I’m somewhere else.

A woman, bathed in sunset, stands alone on a loft. Her blue clothes ripple in the breeze. That same armlet of garnet gleams on her forearm—

“Avi. Wake up.”

A voice snaps through the haze. The blindfold presses too tight, suffocating my sight. Pain writhes up my left arm, and I realize I’m dangling, hanging on by a spike lodged in my boot. Jagged rocks scrape against my stomach, and my hands, bound at the wrists, are useless.

I choke on a sob, the weight of my body dragging me down. Sweat mixes with tears on my cheeks, my pulse thundering in my ears. I can barely breathe. Pain clouds my thoughts, blurs everything into a haze of fear and helplessness.

“You're slacking, Octavia.”

I hear his voice. The same as it was in training. Except now, he’s not here. No one is. It’s just me.

I bite back the scream lodged in my throat. My body shakes from the strain, but I begin to pull myself up, inch by inch, every movement wrenching fresh agony from my arms. My boot wrenches free from the spike, but I refuse to stop. I drag myself higher, fighting against the pain that rips through my body.

Strength. I need strength. I don’t care what it costs—I refuse to be weak.

I’m tired of being trampled.

No one is coming to save me.

Every muscle in my body burns as I claw my way up the cliff, scraping against the rough stone, every inch harder than the last. But I refuse to fail. I won’t be weak—not anymore. Not ever again. My shoulder slams into the top, and I blink, disbelief hitting me before reality does.

I made it.

A wild, breathless laugh escapes me as I roll onto the ledge, pulling my knees to my chest. Tears burn my eyes, mingling with the hysterical sound that bursts from my throat. Pain and triumph meld into something raw, something alive.

I’m alive.

The world in my head soon blurs in shades of shadow and light and I stagger to my feet. My legs tremble, blood trickling down from the gashes in my knees, pain ricocheting through every nerve. But I can't stop. I won't. Stillness means weakness, and weakness means death – a mantra I cling to like a lifeline.

The tunnel has to be close. It has to be.

The bindings on my wrists suddenly slacken, the leather straps slipping free. Without hesitation, I tear the blindfold from my eyes. Moonlight floods my vision, the world coming back in dizzying clarity. I’ve made it. Past the Blind Trail. But it’s not the moon I focus on—it’s the gaping mouth of the cave ahead.

The Gauntlet’s paths all converge there. Changing course to the east. Designed that way.

I tighten the fabric of my blindfold around the gash on my arm, biting back a groan as I cinch the makeshift bandage tight. The cut stings, but the pain sharpens my focus. I tighten the knot and fasten the leather strap to my waistband.

No one’s behind me yet, but that won’t last long.

I break into a run, boots pounding against the rocky ground as I head deeper into the tunnel. It stretches out before me, narrowing into joints, and I keep moving. And then it opens into a cavern so massive the ceiling is lost in darkness.

"Going somewhere?"

The voice cuts through the silence, and my eyes snap to the edge of the crater where a man stands, broad-shouldered, a scar slashed across his temple. His bloodstained uniform—not his blood—says more than words ever could. He’s killed before. And he can kill again.

He blocks the path to the pillars beyond.

"You're not crossing," he says flatly, as if it’s already decided.

I steady myself, forcing my voice to remain calm. "Why not?"

He grins, but it’s the kind of smile that chills the blood. "Because I said so."

My eyes flick to the pillars—three massive structures jutting over the chasm, the only way across. Damn it. He needs to cross too. We all do. It’s the only way to finish the Gauntlet.

"You need to get across too," I say, voice firm. "You can't win if you stay here."

His laugh is low, humorless. "You think I care about winning?"

I frown, confusion slipping through the cracks of my fear. "Isn’t that why we’re all here?"

His gaze hardens, and the cruelty in his eyes intensifies. "Not everyone’s here for that. I don’t give a damn about Naxthir. Or their war. f**k the Republic. f**k the wall. It’s all bullshit."

I glance over my shoulder, half-expecting someone else to emerge from the shadows, but the tunnel remains empty. For now.

“So what? You're just here to stop people from crossing?"

"Rich guy pays me enough to do that," he replies with a cold smile. His eyes rake over me, calculating. "Doesn’t matter if I have to kill you to get the job done. Strong rule, don’t they?"

I tense, ready for a fight, my gaze darting to the pillars. The gaps between them seem impossibly wide—there’s no way I can make that jump with him blocking the way.

"More will come soon," I say, trying to stall. "You can’t stop everyone."

"Maybe. But you won’t be one of them—"

Suddenly, a blur of motion cuts through the corner of my vision. A second figure charges from one of the side tunnels, slamming into my would-be killer with brutal force that sends both of them careening over the edge.

My heart lodges in my throat as I rush forward, but only one of them manages to cling to the ledge.

Rai.

His knuckles are white as he hauls himself up, chest heaving. He doesn't spare a glance for the man now disappearing into the abyss below.

I immediately backed away, eyes locking with his.

“Easy," Rai says, raising his hands in surrender, his voice calm. "I'm not here to hurt you."

His words fall flat, failing to ease the tension coiling in my chest. Every muscle in my body is still primed for flight, the adrenaline from his sudden appearance making me shake.

"You pushed him," I accuse, my voice tight.

Rai exhales, still catching his breath. "It was either him or you. This place doesn’t come with rules for everyone."

I narrow my eyes, not letting him off that easily. He just killed a man—which is expected in the Gauntlet, but. “And how do I know you're any different?"

He offers a weary smile. "Because you're still standing."

I fall silent, watching him closely.

He steps forward, peering over the edge into the abyss, completely unbothered by the deadly drop. As if we aren't standing in a death trap. But I feel every ounce of it—every scream, every second of this twisted trail.

"So, what's the plan?" he asks, turning back to face me. His expression gives away nothing—cool, almost detached.

"How do you plan to survive?" I counter, unwilling to let him see the cracks in my resolve.

He doesn’t answer right away. His gaze drifts to the towering pillars that stretch out ahead of us, the only way across the chasm. "You go first," he says.

"Why?"

His lips twitch in a shadow of a grin. "Because if anyone else comes through that tunnel behind us, you won’t want to be the one left standing here."

As much as I hate it, he’s right.

I step back after eyeing the gap between the cave's edge and the first pillar. It's wider than I'd like, but I've trained for this.

I jump.

For a heartbeat, I'm airborne. Then my boots slam against metal, the impact jolting through my bones. I stagger, almost lose my footing, gasping as my toes scrape the pillar's edge. Too close. The surface is just wide enough to stand on, but there's no room for error.

I don't allow myself to look down. Instead, I focus on the next pillar, gauging the distance. Another leap, another impact. Then the third. My legs burn, muscles screaming from the strain. One more to go.

The final jump looms before me. Even as I crouch to spring, I know I won't make it. But I leap anyway, aiming for the ledge. I slam into the cave wall, fingertips scrabbling for purchase, the stone biting into my flesh. Pain lances through my arms as I hold on, then haul myself up, hissing through clenched teeth.

"Hell of a fight you put up there,” Rai's voice drifts over. "Not everyone makes that last jump. The other side seems closer when you’re standing on the pillar—until you jump.”

I relax, marginally.

“Guess I got lucky.”

But I don't wait for him to follow. The sound of water crashing grows louder as I break into a run, the cavern opening up before me, revealing a breathtaking and terrifying sight. A massive waterfall thunders down from the western hills, its roar so deafening it drowns out all other sounds. Mist billows up from where it crashes into a bottomless gorge, a swirling, ghostly haze that hides everything beyond.

Ahead of me, a bridge stretches into the fog, across the canyon, leading to a hill I can’t make out. It's not a simple structure – I’m told it has three distinct sections, each with its own interception point where the steel wrecking balls will emerge. The bridge itself is made of woods and ropes, its thick beams barely visible, that Lance swears can withstand the coming hell, a hardly one-person path with no room for mistake.

I hesitate at the bridge's edge, straining to hear over the waterfall’s roar. The first steel ball could roll out at any second. One wrong step, one moment of hesitation, and—

My eyes strain through the fog, and suddenly, I freeze.

A figure stands there—a young woman, furtjher onto the bridge, her body quivering like a leaf in a gale. But the bridge isn't a place for hesitation. That's been drilled into me since day one.

She's a shifter; they all are. But even the wolf gene coursing through her veins won't save her from what's coming. The Gauntlet isn't about strength—it's about survival.

I lunge forward, ready to sprint onto the bridge, to drag her back if I have to.

"Octavia—”

Strong hands clamp around my elbows, halting me. I look up into familiar eyes, wide with warning.

"Are you insane?" Rai hisses, his breath hot on my ear. "You step onto that bridge without proper assessment, and you'll be joining her in death."

“Got it.”

I wrench free, but stay rooted at the edge. Saving her might cost me everything. And isn't that what I've been taught? To put myself first?

"Move!" I shout, my voice slicing through the fog. She doesn't flinch. Doesn't respond. Her eyes are wide, lost—as if she knows what's coming but can't quite believe it.

"You have to move! Now!" I scream louder, desperation clawing at my throat.

The Gauntlet is for one. Only one survives. But damn it, this isn't survival—it's slaughter.

She remains motionless. A low, thunderous rumble grows, vibrating through the stone beneath my feet. The steel ball is coming. My chest tightens as I peer into the mist, where death lurks.

I hear it now—a grinding roar, relentless. Then, it breaks through the fog. A massive hunk of steel, as tall as I am, barreling straight for her. She’s too far and too close to it.

"Get off the bridge!" I lunge forward again, hand outstretched. "Please." For a heartbeat, her eyes lock with mine. I think she'll move. But she doesn't.

One second.

The ball slams into her.

Her body crumples, bones snapping like twigs in a storm. I turn away, bile rising. This isn't just a test. This is death, brutal and unforgiving.

This is the Gauntlet the Republic chose.

The ball rolls on, disappearing into its slot, leaving behind a broken body and the sound of my ragged breathing. My stomach churns, dread coiling tighter around my ribs. This is what I signed up for. This is the price. To climb up.

The Republic demands survivors, not saviors. I knew that. But witnessing it—the raw, brutal truth—it carves itself into my bones.

"What a waste," Rai intones, his voice oddly flat. "There are always people like her—those who think they can make it without facing their fear. But fear? Fear is what keeps you alive. But it kills too.”

His eyes flicker to the arm he’d held, catching on the armlet before I shove it out of sight.

"Not everyone's seen true horror," he murmurs, voice low, almost... sad?

"How far did you get last year?" I ask, desperate to change the subject.

"Final line. But too many were already ahead. Only two tries in a lifetime, so here I am."

Great. He's experienced.

"Ladies first," he croons with a mocking bow. For the first time since the Gauntlet began, despite the fear buzzing in my chest, I almost smiled. Almost.

Another ball rolls in, its metal surface gleaming before vanishing into the slot. The timing's perfect. Twenty seconds, I'd noted. I skip onto the bridge and dart forward, counting in my head. Eighteen... seventeen... The bridge vibrates under my feet, warning me the next ball is coming. Nine.

I leap, boots skidding on the slick wood. My foot nearly slips as I hit the next section. Six. The mist parts and I see it—barreling toward me. Five. I dive to the side, fingers scraping for the rope at the bridge's edge. My body swings beneath, hands gripping tight as the steel orb roars past overhead, missing me by a breath.

"Fuck." The word escapes me, shaky and raw.

Don't look down.

But I do.

The gorge below yawns wide, jagged rocks waiting to tear me apart. One slip, and I'm done for. Broken, like that girl. I grit my teeth, reaching for the next rope. My arms scream, muscles burning as I haul myself back onto the bridge.

Rai's already there, waiting calmly as if death hasn't just danced past us.

"You're insane," he quips, a hint of admiration in his voice.

"I survived.”

I don't waste breath on more words. My legs pump furiously as I sprint forward. Seconds. That's all I have until the next ball comes barreling through.

Damn it.

Furthermore, the ball from this section appears. Fifteen seconds. But it feels shorter. Too short. At six, I lunge for the bridge's edge, my fingers clawing desperately at the wood as I swing myself beneath it again, slamming against the timber.

“s**t!”

The curse tears from my throat as my hand nearly slips. The ball thunders overhead, its weight making the entire bridge shudder. I hoist myself to the edge, every muscle screaming in protest. Rai's hand appears, outstretched, waiting. I grab it, and he pulls me up.

The next section becomes visible. No hesitation—but I barely hit seven seconds before I see the next ball coming. The seconds are shorter. Panic grips me as I dive for the ropes again, swinging beneath the bridge once more. The wind is sharper now, cutting against my skin as I dangle.

“Cutting it close.” Rai’s beside me this time, his calm slipping, sweat glistening on his brow. “Not bad for someone new.”

“Plenty of practice,” I rasp, chest heaving like it’s going to burst.

His dimple flashes. “Whoever trained you must’ve gone the extra mile.”

I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants before reaching for the next handhold. “Maybe.” I stifle. “How many do you think have made it to the finish?”

“Much, if it’s anything like two years before. But since the light hasn't gone up, we still have a fighting chance." He glances up and scoffs. "The first runner last two year broke a record. Made it to the end with over thirty minutes to spare before anyone else even showed up."

What?

Lance never told me that. He only ever gave me the bare minimum to survive. “Who was it?”

“Xavier Zoldyck.” The name scratches at my memory, but I can’t place it. The last name though… Before I can chase the thought, Rai gives a quick nod.

“Rested enough?”

I nod back, propelling my legs to sway.

“You won’t make it back down now if you climb again.”

I glance at the final stretch of the bridge. It’s close.

“I know.”

The last leg. The part I’ve never conquered during training. No choice now—I’ll have to go underneath the whole way. Lance could vault over the balls. Rai’s done it so far. But I can’t.

I grip the rope, hands slick with moisture. One hand after another. Don't look down. Don't think about the drop, or the rocks waiting to shatter me. My fingers ache, slipping on the rope.

“Careful,” Rai warns, his voice tight.

I grit my teeth, reaching again. Three more beams… two… Then—then my hand slips and the other follows.