Two minutes before the explosion.
The arena roared—louder than thunder.
But inside the Drifters' waiting hall, one man sat still.
Varga leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on the screen above.
The image of Zame and Arbokh clashing filled the room with static and fury.
Every strike, every drop of blood echoed through the speakers like war drums.
He exhaled slowly, voice barely above a whisper.
"Zame's really giving his all in this fight…"
The room trembled as Zame's next blow split stone.
Dust drifted from the ceiling.
Varga didn't blink.
"…his wounds are familiar."
The blackening veins. The fading breath.
He'd seen it before.
Flashback
Varga shouted. "Vico!"
No answer. Only the hiss of cooling metal and the scent of blood.
Then he saw him.
Vico lay motionless on the cracked ground.
Varga dropped to his knees beside him, voice breaking into a whisper.
"Who did this…?"
His gaze drifted lower—
and there, half-buried in dust, a couple of meters away, lay a single black scale.
Smooth. Curved. Metallic.
Still pulsing faintly with venomous light.
And he took it.
Present
He had spent his entire life trying to find who the scales belonged to but never found any Apex that match it.
He'd taken the scale to the Enforcers back then — begging them to investigate.
But instead of running tests, they returned it to him hours later.
"No match," they said.
"Forget about it."
Even as a child, Varga understood the truth.
Someone high above had ordered them to stay quiet.
Someone afraid of provoking the Apex that scale belonged to.
The arena lights flared, blinding white.
Varga's eyes widened as Arbokh's skin darkened on the screen.
Scales black as obsidian. A green glow pulsing beneath the surface.
The same scales.
His pulse pounded.
His hand clenched until his knuckles turned grey, he was transforming.
"That's him," he whispered. "The one who killed Vico…"
He rose to his feet, breath trembling with fury.
Arbokh hit Zame with a tremendous force that shook the ground—
his body hurled across the arena, crashing into the wall with bone-shattering force.
Dust and blood filled the air.
The serpent stood tall, transformed—Jörmungandr incarnate.
Then—
BOOM.
A sudden, thunderous explosion ripped through the colosseum corridors.
The blast came from deep within the Drifters' waiting hall.
The blast hadn't come from a bomb.
It came from him.
Varga had lost control.
Dust and smoke erupted from the doorway, flames bursting through shattered steel.
The crowd gasped.
The camera feeds flickered, alarms blaring across every monitor.
For a moment, chaos drowned everything.
And then—out of the smoke—
a figure burst forward.
Four legs.
Gray fur streaked with dust.
Eyes glowing silver under the crimson light.
The Gray Wolf
Varga sprinted across the battlefield, claws carving into the stone with each stride.
His aura flared in wild silver arcs, tail cutting through the air like a blade.
Arbokh turned just in time to see him—
a flash of teeth and fury breaking through the smoke.
The wolf's growl echoed through the arena like a promise:
"This time, I finish what you started."
He lunged—
fangs bared, momentum tearing the air apart—
—but before the strike landed, three silhouettes dropped between them, their auras flaring
One raised an arm and caught Varga's claws mid-swing—
the impact cracked the ground beneath their feet, sending a gust of dust spiraling outward.
Varga's eyes widened. The man's grip didn't budge.
The other two figures stepped forward, forming a wall between the serpent and the wolf.
Their presence radiated power—silent, heavy, unmistakably trained.
For the first time since the explosion, the arena fell quiet again.
Arbokh smiled faintly from behind them, voice dripping with venomous calm.
"Did you think I'd come to this tournament alone?"
Then—
shouts echoed through the corridors.
Dozens of armored Enforcers stormed in, weapons trained on the wolf.
Their visors glowed blue, their formation sharp and unyielding.
"Stand down!" one barked. "You're disqualified! Retreat immediately, or we'll do it by force!"
The wolf's snarl deepened, claws digging into the cracked stone.
His silver eyes burned with something rawer than rage—grief.
"IT'S HIM!" Varga roared, voice breaking through the sirens and crowd noise.
"HE KILLED VICOO!!!"
Their auras burned through the dust, shapes solidifying mid-stride.
Gaja. Duma. Kongu. Falko. Waraabe.
Waraabe, for once, wasn't laughing.
His grin was gone. His eyes were steady, cold.
"We know, you'd only react like this if it was him," he said quietly.
The arena's other side lay in ruin.
Amid the shattered stone and fading smoke, Zame lay unconscious against the wall.
Bloodied and broken.
The Enforcer security squad held formation, rifles aimed, ready to fire if commanded.
Arbokh stood behind his three guards, his body now reverted back to his cobra state—silent, composed, serpent eyes fixed on the chaos.
Kongu stepped forward through the smoke, his boots heavy against the cracked stone.
His tone was calm—but the kind of calm that made soldiers hesitate.
"Stand down," he said. "This isn't just a fight anymore."
The lead Enforcer barked back, "This man—" he gestured toward Varga "—attacked during an official match! He's disqualified!"
Kongu's gaze hardened.
He lifted his badge, the Enforcer insignia glinting under the crimson light.
"And that man—" he pointed straight at Arbokh—
"is suspected of murdering a child twelve years ago."
The arena went silent.
Even the sirens seemed to fade for a moment.
Gasps rippled through the crowd; cameras zoomed in; commentators stuttered mid-sentence.
Arbokh's faint smirk didn't falter—but his pupils narrowed just slightly.
Then he laughed.
Not a nervous laugh. Not human.
A low, broken hiss that rose into full, venom-soaked amusement.
"This is it?" he said, voice echoing through the speakers.
"All this noise… all this chaos… for one child?"
His grin widened, revealing jagged fangs still stained with blood.
"I've killed many. Children. Women. Men. Soldiers. Apexes."
He spread his arms, scales glinting under the crimson light.
"And they won't be the last."
The arena froze.
"And at the end," he said, voice deepening into something ancient and cruel,
"This changes nothing. My job here was simple—"
He tilted his head toward Kongu, Varga, and the others, his hood flaring wide.
"Kill everyone present."
The air went still. Even the crowd stopped breathing.
Then, softly—almost joyfully—
"And after that…" he whispered, grin widening, eyes glowing emerald.
"I'll finally become one of them."
The Enforcers hesitated—guns raised, fingers trembling on the triggers.
For the first time, their orders meant nothing.
And before they could decide—
chaos broke loose.
Dozens of figures from the stands vaulted the barriers, landing on the arena floor.
Spectators. Crew members. Fighters who'd already been eliminated.
Some shouted Arbokh's name.
Others wore the same serpent insignia burned faintly into their necks.
One of the Enforcers stumbled back, disbelief in his voice.
"They're… with him?"
Another Enforcer turned his head slowly, eyes glowing faintly green under his visor.
"Yeah," he muttered.
Then he raised his rifle.
"Me too."
BANG.
The shot tore through the Enforcer's chest.
He collapsed instantly, blood spreading across his armor.
Arbokh didn't move.
He just stood there—calm, centered, serpent eyes glowing faintly green.
Then, slowly, he raised one hand.
"Seal the exits," he commanded.
His voice wasn't loud, but it carried across the entire colosseum.
Several of his followers broke from the crowd, sprinting toward the gates.
The heavy metal doors slammed shut with a thunderous clang.
Locking everyone in.
Arbokh smiled faintly, his hood flaring open like a crown of shadows.
"Guard the entrances. Don't let anyone come in… or out."
He looked up toward the sky, voice turning cold.
"My job here was simple."
He spread his arms wide as gunfire and screams started echoing around him.
"Kill everyone present, no one leaves alive."
He turned his head slightly, meeting Varga's burning gaze through the smoke.
"And I intend to finish it."
© 2025 Moku. All rights reserved. INSTINCTBOUND is an original work by Moku. Unauthorized reproduction or distribution is prohibited.