AGAINST THE RULES: their scentless omega-Chapter 65: Survival of the fittest

Their red flag has been taken by the blue team Bulldozer!" the presenter’s voice boomed, the excitement in his tone almost celebratory.

Lucian’s eyes widened. For a split second his mind blanked, the words not fully registering ,and then they did, crashing into him all at once. His chair screeched slightly as he pushed back from the desk and snatched the earpiece with hurried fingers.

"Hunter, are you there?" he asked, voice tight.

A faint static crackled before Hunter’s voice came through, calm but edged with impatience. "About time you came through, little one. What were you even doing?"

Lucian’s lips parted, then pressed into a thin line. Tracy was here hovered on his tongue before he swallowed it back. "I got distracted by something," he said instead, not wanting to attract trouble, tone neutral. "What about Bulldozer?"

A brief pause. The sound of wind and an engine roared through the connection. "Don’t worry," Hunter replied, breath steady despite the speed. "I’m just behind his tail."

Lucian turned toward the screen instinctively, as if he could see through Hunter’s eyes. The live feed flickered to a forest route , shadows slicing across the dirt trail, trees blurring past like streaks of green and black. Up ahead, Bulldozer’s massive bike cut through the terrain with brutal confidence, the red flag snapping violently behind him like a trophy he had no intention of losing.

Lucian inhaled slowly and opened his tablet, the digital map illuminating his face in a cool blue glow. His fingers moved quickly, zooming in, tracing routes, calculating angles. "How did he even manage to get to the spawn point that fast...?"

Hunter’s answer came blunt, almost amused. "Full. Blown. Attack."

Lucian clicked his tongue softly. "That’s typical of him," he muttered. "Him and Spike are the same — the only difference is Bulldozer actually uses his head." His eyes scanned the terrain overlays, watching the blue dots cluster like a moving fortress. "For now, we just have to make sure he doesn’t reach his spawn point and plant the flag."

Outside the speakers, the crowd roared again, the presenter hyping the chase as if it were a cinematic climax. Inside the small holding room, however, the tension was quieter, sharper ,like a wire pulled too tight.

Lucian’s stylus hovered over the map before drawing a curved line. "Hunter, listen carefully. If you chase him directly, you’ll just burn fuel and stamina. He’s expecting that. You need to redirect him."

"Redirect?" Hunter repeated, the word low.

"There’s a fork ahead in about two hundred meters," Lucian said, eyes narrowing. "Left path leads straight to blue spawn , shortest route. Right path loops around the ridge. It’s longer, narrower, and rough terrain. If you pressure him from his blind side, he’ll be forced to take the longer path to avoid collision."

A beat of silence followed, filled only by the growl of Hunter’s engine.

"And then?" Hunter asked.

"Then you stall him," Lucian replied. "You don’t need to win the chase. You just need to buy time. Every extra minute increases the chance of interception from the others. Ethan should be close enough to cut him off if he reads the map right."

Saying Ethan’s name out loud made something shift in his chest ,a subtle, uncomfortable flutter he quickly ignored.

Through the feed, Bulldozer’s bike swerved slightly as Hunter closed the gap, dust spiraling behind them like smoke from a battlefield. The red flag fluttered wildly, no longer looking like a symbol of victory but a target painted bright against the chaos.

Lucian leaned forward, knuckles resting against the desk. "Hunter... don’t let him reach that spawn point."

Hunter let out a quiet exhale, almost a scoff. "When have I ever made things easy for anyone?"

The line crackled ,then the engine roared louder, fiercer, as Hunter accelerated.

On the map, the two markers drew closer, their paths beginning to bend toward the fork Lucian had predicted. And in that small glowing space between blue and red dots, Lucian felt the strange mixture of dread and thrill tighten in his chest ,the same adrenaline, the same pull that had dragged him into this world in the first place.

The game wasn’t just numbers on a screen anymore.

It was personal.

"And won’t you look at that ladies and gentlemen,the orange members are getting wiped off like roaches!" the presenter’s voice rang through the arena speakers, half–mocking, half–thrilled by the carnage unfolding on screen.

Lucian’s gaze snapped to his tablet. One by one, the orange dots blinked out, vanishing like dying stars. A single blue marker carved a ruthless straight line through their formation, never slowing, never hesitating.

"That’s definitely Spike..." Lucian murmured under his breath.

He watched the pattern for a few seconds more, fingers hovering above the screen but not touching it, as if afraid that interfering would somehow make it worse. He’s not just chasing them, Lucian realized. He’s clearing the path. Anyone remotely close to the blue spawn point was being erased with surgical precision. No wasted movement. No second chances. Just pure, overwhelming force paired with frightening efficiency.

A chill crawled up his spine. Spike wasn’t playing to win points ,he was playing to own the field.

(Purple Team – Spawn Perimeter)

Timothy’s engine screamed as he twisted the throttle, his bike swerving sharply to dodge an incoming strike from a blue rider. Dirt sprayed into the air, pebbles clattering against his visor.

Fuck... his jaw tightened. The blue team is going all out.

And what pissed him off more was how effortlessly they did it. Their coordination, their raw strength ,it didn’t feel like a tournament anymore. It felt like being hunted.

"Quick! Fall back! All of you ,defense formation, protect the flag!" Timothy roared through his comms, voice cracking with urgency he would never admit to feeling.

Around him, purple markers scrambled like scattered ants trying to regroup, some responding too late, others already engaged in fights they couldn’t win. He scanned the perimeter quickly, counting movements in his head. Three... only three of them moved out. The other three are still guarding their base. His grip tightened on the handle. And damn it, they’re doing a terrifyingly good job at it.

The realization burned his pride. Even split in half, the blue team felt unbreakable.

He circled once, eyes darting through the tree line, searching for a familiar silhouette.

Now where the hell is that stupid leader of ours? His teeth ground together. Did he run away the moment things got messy? So much for that confidence he strutted in with earlier...

A sudden crash shattered his thoughts.

To his right, one of his teammates was lifted clean off their bike and hurled onto the dirt like they weighed nothing more than a discarded jacket. The impact echoed, brutal and humiliating. The rider didn’t get back up.

Timothy’s stomach twisted.

"Fuck..." he muttered, the word slipping out before he could swallow it. The reality of the gap between teams hit him harder than any physical blow. This wasn’t just losing ground this was being overpowered, piece by piece, ego by ego.

For the first time since the match started, a thin thread of unease wormed its way into his chest.

Not fear ,he would never call it that.

But the uncomfortable awareness that if this continued, purple wouldn’t just lose.

They’d be erased.