Kill to evolve: A system that demands blood
Chapter 52: Attendance

Chapter 52: Attendance

Chapter 52

Ronan said nothing. He stood still, shirt torn, blood still drying on his skin, but not a single open wound remained. His body had already finished regenerating, but his expression remained dark.

Ezren’s eyes dropped to Ronan’s hands. Steady, loose, ready to kill.

Roan groaned somewhere near the wall, half-conscious. Vex hadn’t moved since she dropped.

Ezren tilted his head slightly with a smirk. "Didn’t think you’d last two minutes."

Ronan looked up at him.

Not a glare. Just a flat and empty look

Ezren’s smirk twitched.

"Ezren, stand down," Aldric said through the speaker. "That’s enough."

A low hiss followed as containment seals along the arena’s wall began to retract. Air pressure shifted. A door opened with a heavy mechanical sigh.

Still, Ronan didn’t move.

Ezren hopped off the hovering platform, boots hitting the floor with a soft thud. He wiped the blood off his lip with the back of his glove.

"Gotta admit," he said, pacing slowly toward Ronan. "Thought you were another overhyped system freak. One of those newbies who burn out after a flashy entrance."

He stopped just short of Ronan.

"But you took on all three of us. Hell, you almost turned me into paste with that claw move." He leaned in slightly, voice dropping. "You holding back, rookie?"

Ronan’s voice was low, dry. "You done talking?"

Ezren blinked.

Then he laughed.

Loud, like he was genuinely amused.

"Yeah, okay. I like you."

He turned and walked off toward the exit without another word, tossing a casual wave over his shoulder. "Welcome to Squad One, I guess."

The others didn’t speak.

Vex had to be dragged out by a medic drone. Roan was limping, silent, glaring at Ronan like he’d just seen something he wasn’t ready to believe.

Ronan followed last.

As he passed through the threshold, the door sealed behind him with a heavy hiss. Lights flickered along the hallway, dim and sterile. He expected someone, anyone to say something, but no one did.

They didn’t know what to make of him, and that was good.

The less they understood, the more they’d second-guess.

"What the fuck is that tattoo?" someone muttered behind him, low but not low enough.

Ronan tensed for a moment but didn’t respond or turn around.

He walked straight ahead, bare back exposed, the edges of the shredded shirt flapping against his arms. The hallway lights buzzed quietly above, casting shadows that danced across the coiled serpent-dragon inked into his skin. It wasn’t some clean design or showy statement, it looked brutal, raw, like it had been carved into him instead of drawn.

Since that last time at Dean’s house, the tattoo had become more pronounced and brighter....more creepy even.

He could feel their eyes on it, on him. And fuck he hated the attention.

He stepped into the dorm-level lift. As the doors slid shut, he caught one last glimpse of the group behind him—Roan being helped by medics, Vex still limp in the drone’s grip, Ezren casually leaning against the wall like none of it was a big deal, and the person who had commented on his tattoo standing with others he didn’t recognize.

Then the door slid shut in silence.

---

By the time Ronan made it to the dorm quarters, the sting of the earlier hits had already faded. Regeneration took care of the bruises. The mental weight, not so much. He had gotten used to fighting like a beast, getting injured and bruised only to get healed soon after. It felt like an everyday thing now.

He peeled what remained of his shirt off and tossed it aside. Blood had dried in streaks along his back, sticking to the band of his pants. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror on the bathroom wall. The tattoo looked even darker under the fluorescent lights.

He looked away.

The shower hissed to life and blasted steam into the small space. He stepped under it without hesitating.

The water hit his shoulders and ran red for a few seconds before clearing. The heat didn’t bother him. Nothing did, really, not anymore.

He braced his arms on the wall and leaned forward. Let it all just... run off. The fight. The stares. The feeling that he’d just stepped onto a landmine and everyone around him was waiting to see if he’d blow.

He missed his previous life, peaceful.... just working and going back home to his son. Damn it, he missed that little dude. It’s been 3 days since they last saw each other. He had spoken to Noah through phone call but that was barely enough. If only his mother was there for him, at least he wouldn’t feel so guilty for not being there when he was all Noah got.

But Ronan knew better not to go anywhere near Noah with his current state, not when his system could go berserk at any moment.

After a while, he shut it off, dried fast, and dressed in the black squad fatigues he’d been issued. This time, he made sure to wear something with sleeves, long sleeves. He tugged them down, adjusted the collar. No one needed to see that freaky tattoo again.

He’d just finished pulling on his boots when a soft chime echoed from the wall terminal.

URGENT: REPORT TO BRIEFING ROOM - LEVEL B3. SQUAD ONE IN ATTENDANCE.

He didn’t sigh, didn’t roll his eyes. Just stood up and left.

---

The elevator ride to B3 was dead silent. No one else inside. Just Ronan, hands in his pockets, watching the floor counter tick down.

The doors opened to a wide, dim-lit corridor that led to a heavily reinforced set of blast doors. They slid open as he approached.

The Squad One briefing room was massive, circular, high ceilings with exposed beams, large screens around the upper rim, some displaying real-time footage from surface patrols, others flickering between mission logs. The center had layered platforms forming a half-pit, kind of like an amphitheater, but built for killers.

Fifteen figures already inside.

They didn’t sit in rows like a classroom. They weren’t that organized. Some leaned against rails, some sat on crates or equipment cases, one guy was crouched up high on the steel scaffolding like a damn gargoyle.

And every single one of them turned the moment Ronan stepped in.

Ezren, lounging on a bench with his arms stretched behind his head, grinned immediately.

"Look who crawled back from the dead."

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