The spotted predator froze. Its prey moved fast—matching those insects effortlessly.

  Life or death. Rex shattered his physical limits, velocity peaking. Wind screamed past his ears. Landscape blurred backward. Minutes later, water sounds reached him.

  Each stride covered five, six meters. Like a powerful antelope. That strange bounding gait.

  The predator wasn't slow, but it needed moments to power its ability—creating escape windows.

  Three hundred meters. Everything gambled on this.

  Rex couldn't process his sudden bizarre capability. Blood scent hit him first. The river surface floated with human remains, small beasts tearing flesh in feeding frenzy. Without the danger at his back, the sight would have paralyzed him.

  Monster nest. The river beast was vicious enough against youths. Surely it can handle one vacuum cleaner?

  Thought vanished. Rex hit the bank. The spotted predator spotted the river scene—excited yet reluctant to approach. It opened its maw from distance.

  Wind howled. Rex dove for shrubs, locking onto branches. A small beast whipped past, suction-caught. River water sheeted over him. His skin burned like fire. Consciousness flickered.

  Poison water. Survive this and I'll still lose my skin.

  The suction ended fast. The predator's jaws worked noisily, satisfied.

  SCREEEEEEE—

  The shriek tore at his eardrums. A shape erupted from the river, massive bulk charging the spotted predator.

  Dazed, Rex recognized it—the behemoth that massacred the group. The small beasts resembled it. Young attacked, perhaps eaten. The elder came for vengeance.

  Rex's thoughts turned malicious: Die together. Especially you, vacuum cleaner. You chased me. Suffer.

  The monsters thundered away. Impacts echoed. Their outcome didn't concern him.

  This place meant death. River water had ruined him—fur falling, pores weeping blood, consciousness fragmenting. He needed safety, clean water, rest. Two hours minimum to survive.

  He staggered forward. Found a rock crevice. Squeezed inside. Emergency treatment began.

  Waterskins and food had diminished during escape. Conservation meant nothing now. He arranged green eggshells nearby, poured water over his head, chewed medical leaves frantically.

  Close. Too close.

  Condition stabilized slightly. Unsatisfied, he ate another leaf. That strange bounding gait during escape confused him.

  Miracles exist? My body felt light. Gravity weakened. Like zero-G in the escape pod. Maintain that speed, reach the destination easily.

  Excitement seized him. Before full recovery, he left the crevice, sprinting hard.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Normal running. The five-six meter strides never returned.

  Heaven gives pie, takes it back. Wait—the local AI mentioned special humans. Born with extraordinary abilities. Years in tunnels, plus gene-tweaking. Maybe something activated. Unknown to me. Yes. That.

  He recalled the sensation. Concentrated. Each footfall calculated endlessly. Each launch coordinated perfectly. Fluid motion. Escape.

  Focus. Breathe. I can do this. I will.

  Rex hypnotized himself unconsciously. Eyes blazed. He sighted forward. First step. Second. Third.

  CRACK.

  He smashed into rock. Faster than escape velocity. A light leap—fifteen meters. Terrifying. But cognition couldn't match speed. First attempt. Blood streamed from his scalp.

  Medical leaves had stabilized him. No serious damage.

  Wiping sweat, regretting: Pity. Can't use this often. Extreme physical demand. Absurd consumption. Still reckless after all these years. Lucky the electronics weren't damaged. That would end badly.

  Self-criticism mixed with elation. "Can't use often" differs from "never use." Completing the pirates' requirements seemed achievable. This ability changed everything.

  On the road again—chasms, obstacles. The strange run carried him across. Massive time saved.

  The rift knew no night. The planet didn't rotate, only orbited its star. Time became pure sensation.

  Gradually, he overtook others. Spotted predators and river behemoths weren't unique. They targeted groups. Who survived that suction alone? Everyone dispersed, avoiding clusters.

  Perhaps earlier travelers cleared dangers. Perhaps the beasts were sated. Days five through seven passed smoothly. He surpassed most peers. Position: advanced.

  Exhausted again, he scanned for cover. Found thicket. Collapsed. Pulled his hidden waterskin from his sleeve. One small sip. Throat-moistening only.

  Carefully stored it back. Consumed his last shriveled honey-spore cap.

  Food and water: nearly gone. Conservation couldn't match consumption. Rex wondered: Find someone unlucky? Rob them?

  The fist-sized rock whistled through air. He rolled aside.

  "Sharp reflexes, kid. Smart move—hand over the waterskin. I saw you. Water and food."

  The speaker held rocks, heavily built. Apparently others pursued "self-improvement" more aggressively than Rex.

  Rex offered a contemptuous glance. Shook his head. "Food's gone. Water's mine. You carry nothing worth taking. Leave before I get angry. Consequences follow."

  "Brat. Refine wine, drink punishment. Tired of living?" The rock flew—fast, heavy.

  Something wrong with this youth. Arm muscles overdeveloped. Disproportionate. Rex dodged, closed distance instantly, launched a gravity-assisted strike.

  THUD.

  Fists collided. Rex flew backward. His arm numbed. Fist temporarily deadened.

  His opponent staggered fifteen steps, stabilizing with effort. Shock in his eyes.

  "Not bad, brat. I'm Horned Ox Oasis's strongest. These fists trade blows with horned oxen. Many died under them without making me retreat. You're first."

  Rex flexed his hand. Bones intact. He drew his dagger, focused on every movement. Spoke seriously: "Final choice. Leave or fight?"

  "Hidden blade? No wonder you're confident. But don't celebrate. These arms are weapons enough. That waterskin is mine. Refuse and die."

  Rex didn't waste words. His form blurred. Deep footprints marked the ground. Then he glided wing-low. Cold flash.

  SPURT.

  Blood sprayed from the thick youth's throat. He tried raising arms. Saw only afterimage.

  This Horned Ox Oasis youth possessed abnormal arm strength. His rocks flew accurate and vicious—extensive practice evident. Retreat offered no safety; a hit meant damage. Warnings failed. Extreme measures followed.

  Staring at the blood, Rex froze. Survivors possessed either bizarre traits or terrifying adaptation. Harsh environments demanded constant potential excavation, rapid advancement. He was living proof. But this corpse—his hands handled radioactive rocks constantly without change. Strange.

  He searched local AI knowledge. No answers emerged.

  The pirates seemed to mine human evolution through brutality. But why? Fresh blood recruitment? Unlikely. First, no rumors supported this. Second, hatred was seeded. Wasn't the pirate chieftain afraid of nurturing tigers?

  Forget conspiracy. Only survival completes Peacock-Face's wish. But first—freedom. Strength. Moths to flames: avoid.

  Sandstorm rose. The rift grew unstable. Weather deteriorated. Salt in wounds for Turquoise Ring youths.

  Thirty minutes later, Rex hesitated at a fork. Memory blurred here. Left or right? Impossible choice.

  Footsteps behind. Audible despite wind. He turned. Evaluated. Face changed.