He became doubtful of his stand. Kilos felt it would be safer to abandon his current position—the presence of the unseen follower was drawing nearer. This time, he was certain he was staring directly into its face.
He charged forward. But then, abruptly, he stopped. A deep instinct warned him that his movement might be countered. Instead of continuing straight, he feinted and darted to the right in a deceptive maneuver. He sprinted without pause, determined to outrun whatever lurked behind him. The footsteps of the invisible pursuer pounded after him, heavy and relentless.
Ahead stood a door crafted from solid hardwood. Kilos had every intention of stopping before crashing into it. His mind raced—facing a door head-on in such a moment didn't make sense.
"I won't surrender just like that. Even the spirits must have their limits," he muttered with defiance, convinced that if he could just keep going, his pursuers would tire and reconsider. Yes—reconsider and back off.
Another thought crept into his mind: maybe there was something good on the other side of that door—just maybe, it was a path to something better. But there was always the risk of stumbling into an even worse situation. That was the catch.
Then he heard it—something approaching like a tempest, a storm that churned with unrestrained fury.
"How can that be possible in here?" Kilos whispered. He knew well there was no window that could allow such a powerful gust into the room. There was no time to think. He surged forward and hurled himself at the door.
That was the last thing he remembered before the force—whatever it was—overwhelmed him and pushed him beyond his limits. His body gave way to the impact and he fell into unconsciousness, as if being sucked into another dimension entirely.
In his subconscious state, he found himself standing before six men. They appeared from a mist that covered the firmament. Their eyes gleamed like white coals, and they stood erect with a presence that suggested both strength and timelessness.
"Tamer, it is good to see you. We've been expecting you," one of them said, his voice laced with concern and urgency.
They were clad in brilliant garments—white linen adorned with crimson bands around their heads. Beneath their robes rested bronze breastplates, engraved with the insignia of the Forever Champions. These were not just any soldiers—they were sacred warriors.
Kilos was deeply unsettled. He had mixed feelings about the encounter and could not comprehend the meaning of their words. He looked down—he still wore the same blue shirt and black trousers as before he had lost consciousness.
"Tell me—what's going on here? Who are you?" he asked, confusion and curiosity blending in his voice.
"Ah!"
The men dropped to one knee and bowed their heads in deep reverence. The gesture carried weight—respect, loyalty, and absolute submission. It was an act performed only in accordance with the sacred Tamist Rank. Even in the world Kilos had come from, he had never seen such worship. A creeping dread told him something was wrong—perhaps they had mistaken him for someone else.
The Tamer. That word kept ringing.
I'm not the Tamer they think I am. My name is Kilos Barba.
The men raised their heads in unison, as if rehearsed. Their gazes were steady and confident—there was no doubt in their eyes. They knew exactly who they were speaking to.
"You are the Tamer of the World," another declared, his voice brimming with certainty and reverence.
Kilos's confusion deepened, and his agitation began to show.
"Why am I here? I thought..." he trailed off, struggling to understand how he had arrived in this surreal place, mere moments after fleeing from an unknown threat.
Unbeknownst to Kilos, he had already been integrated and enlisted among the Space Combatants. Due to his reincarnation, he held a high rank, though he had no memory or understanding of it. Yet, certain steps had to be taken—acts he must perform on his own to ascend fully to his destined position.
Before the death of his father—who had himself been one of the Tamers—Kilos had been selected and named as a successor. But his father had died before offering the necessary guidance, training, or insight into the Tamers' ancient order.
The roles of the incarnated Tamers stretched across land, sea, and space. Of these, the Space Tamers stood highest in rank, while the Land Tamers, though lowest, still wielded power far beyond mortal comprehension. However, in the physical realm, their immense powers were confined within the limitations of the flesh.
Kilos Barba had been appointed as a Space Tamer, but without the awakening, the training, or the encounters needed to activate his potential. His throne in the reincarnated realm remained vacant, awaiting his readiness.
"You're talking to the wrong guy. Let me go!" Kilos pleaded, showing no interest in their explanations. He struggled against the invisible veil that enclosed him, hands flailing as if to tear away at invisible cords.
The men bowed again, turned their faces away, then turned their backs to him. They had deposited into his mind what needed to be known. Even though he denied it now, they were certain that Kilos would one day seek to discover his true identity and claim his place.
Then came the screech of a door—distant, metallic—and hands gripping him firmly. Another illusion had begun. As he emerged from his subconscious state, the memory of the police attempting to handcuff him returned with sharp clarity.
Or perhaps it was the same mysterious veil, still binding him. His struggle intensified, became frantic. Sweat soaked through his clothes. Then—
He opened his eyes.
"I'm alive... or was that a nightmare?" he gasped, trembling, eyes darting wildly. "Am I here alone?" he asked aloud, a rhetorical whisper.
Blinding light shot toward his face. The harsh beams of torchlight forced him to shield his eyes with his hand. It was then he realized—he wasn't alone. The soldiers had returned, and Sergeant Lucas stood before him, staring down with utter disdain. The other military men flanked him.
Somehow, they had survived—and now they stood over Kilos, who lay on the floor, drenched in oil, metal cuffs clamped around both wrists.
"How did I get here?" Kilos murmured, trying to piece together the last sequence of events. He remembered being in a different room—not this one. He remembered the monster. He remembered running.
"You bastard! You tried to kill my men! You must be insane, huh?" Sergeant Lucas growled, his voice thick with fury.
"Kilos really gave us a tough time—but we got him," one of the soldiers muttered, glaring down at him with contempt.
"Now it's our turn. You don't mess with the military."
The gate to the warehouse groaned open, revealing a darkened sky. Night had fallen. Sensible citizens had long since made their way home, careful not to cross paths with the "boy hunters"—the military conscriptors.
Kilos Barba was dragged to the large bus waiting just outside. He stumbled and was yanked upward by two guards who showed no sympathy for his condition.
"Get in," ordered the sergeant, motioning with the barrel of his rifle.
Inside, spacious though it was, Kilos found he was alone—aside from the armed men surrounding him.
"Where are the others?"
The thought echoed within him. When this same bus had entered town earlier that day, it carried several teenagers—some eager, some regretful. The seats now stood empty, lifeless.
"You see you're the only one here?"
Sergeant Lucas said, his face grim as he glared at Kilos. "I came for you. I told you, I would get you."
If it would take him the entire day and night, Lucas had predetermined to have Kilos and enlist him in the academy.
Boys aged fifteen and older—and even some girls, if their build qualified—were subject to recruitment. The military had become desperate. Each candidate was a piece in a puzzle they hoped would bring balance to the world torn by chaos and void.
"You really want me?" Kilos thought, lowering his gaze, refusing to meet the eyes of the man who hunted teenagers.
Hunted by the two worlds became distractions to him, as he was honoured somewhere but in the real sense of the world, he was in chains. What an irony!