Roland leaned hard against the computer desk staring deeply into the monitor, the faint white light shining ghoulishly on his face in the dimly lit computer room. The hunter stood in a large security control room, which served as the island's brain. There were several other offices and field bases located sporadically across the island, yet all direct communication with the mainland, security, and computerized systems were situated in this massive center. Part of Roland's job was to monitor. He was taking a break from his activities in the field, reporting to the overseer Commander.

Roland was not easily intimidated by most men, when he was first introduced by the tribal leader, he gave the man due respect. The tribal Commander stood a few paces away behind them over a massive computerized podium, nearly encasing him like a cybernetic booth. The overwatch system was surrounded by keyboards, smaller monitors, data analytic systems pouring with numerical algorithms, and a steaming cup of coffee freshly brewed by the potent coffee beans native to the island. His brutish tattooed arms were folded, his demeanor severe, and he appeared permanently unimpressed by everything around. He was tall, large, his triceps rippled tightly like the muscles of a great python when he moved his arms, his face was covered in scars almost leathery, his hair was an unnatural white butch cut, get his face was still someone Young, around early 40s. His eyes were a stone gray, wolfish and cold. He was a tribesman, native to this island and John Hammond, eagerly, had employed him in a senior position of handling the animals and maintaining security because of his familiarity with the creatures. Roland and RJ fully acknowledged the Commander's proficiency in taming and even dueling with Hammond's beasts. The Commander had a strong disdain for firearms and preferred close combat. Despite his bulk, the Commander was expert swordsman and handed his dual blades with the grace and precious of a trained dancer. Anyone foolish enough to challenge the Commander deserved whatever fate awaited them.

However, the Commander was not only elite warrior in Hammond's cadre. Roland had noticed at first that the commander and many of his subordinates was, stronger, faster, and more resilient than regular human beings, but John Hammond had explained several years ago the reason for their enhanced physique. First, the local ecology was extremely fertile, yielding many potent herbs and fruit, as well as the flesh of the monsters Hammond had deliberately generated to serve as livestock. The indigenous inhabitants on Isla Astera held very clean diet free of the world's pollution and maintained a strict disciplinary lifestyle making them healthier than most people off the island. It turns out the inhabitants had a very well-rounded knowledge of chemistry and were adapted producing a variety of potions and tonics which had a variety of benefits to the human body. Moreover, this plentiful vegetation served as adequate food for John Hammond's mutations. That and the more exclusive veteran hunters native to these lands had been genetically altered with hand-crafted stimulants, muscle enhancers, human growth spikes, nervous system amplifiers, and a variety of other drugs of their own conception. Perhaps those nutjobs from Jumbo Village were on to something...

Roland, during his time on Isla Astera, learned that the Asterians surprisingly did not care for the outside world. They detested many of the world's current governments. Their tribal system was a bizarre hodgepodge of primitive socialism, composed of different guilds bound together by strong oaths of purpose-based unity. True, there were some who were very eager to escape the island's confines and travel to distant lands. One of the Master Commander's personal attendants, a young woman he simply referred to as The Handler, constantly bragged about how she had traveled to England and Los Angeles with John Hammond, meeting his board members, going to restaurants, going to board meetings, and going to even more restaurants (she liked food, Roland quickly understood). But the master Commander didn't care at all and neither did most of his retinue. He explained to Roland that in his free time, he spent hours studying news articles from the mainland and Roland was surprised at the commander's knowledge of current events, as well as the histories of several modern nations. Naturally, as a leader, the Commander excessively digested both political and militaristic history, and anything war related. Roland and the master Commander would frequently debate about Petty issues regarding politics or current military conflicts.

Additionally, according to the Commander, there was apparently an individual of greater command than himself, who he described as inhumanly strong and rightly earning the respect of the people. Roland had yet to see this legendary man since meeting Hammond.

There was, however, at least one thing the Commander and Roland certainly agreed on: they both shared extreme disdain for John Hammond and if the pay wasn't so good, chances are they would each find other jobs or pursue other careers. The Commander was at a disadvantage though because this island was his homeland and it was all he had never known. Transitioning to life on the outside with the world would be difficult. Roland stared at the camera and discussed.

"Ignorant fool. . .", the commander snarled. A drop of angry spittle hit the monitor. "Endangering more lives, and the lives of my men just get a rise out them."

"At least they were covered by the Brownings" Roland countered.

The Commander scoffed callously. "Yes, I guess tickling the Basarios would be a good distraction to give them time to retreat. Those little pea-shooters won't do anything more than enrage Wyverns. I've told you that before Roland." Roland swallowed his anger. He knew it was done and patronizing jest, but Roland since his time on the island and his nightmarish encounter with the first of Dr Hammond's abominations, that disgusting Bird Wyvern, Roland understood the Commander was right. Roland, for harsh years of proving himself, admitted into the native's Hunter's Guild.

Roland's mind trailed back years, the memories playing like a film projector in the back of Roland's psyche. He could see and hear the whaling and belching Pukei Pukei, wrapped in chains like smoked ham, brutally electrocuted repeatedly, by specially designed prods until it lost consciousness. The massive bird's bulk was carried away by bulldozers and cargo lifters into a massive aircraft, lifting ferociously from the earth. Dr Hammond and RJ followed John Hammond into a helicopter which flew them back to a small secluded airport. There, they were guided by the eccentric CEO into his private jet and the opulent interior completely overwhelmed RJ and Roland. The contrast was overpowering. Within a day, they had traversed from planet Earth to hell, now to heaven.

Roland and RJ sat back on plush luxurious leather seats, nearly sinking into the decadent fabric. The seats were computerized and automatically molded to RJ and Roland's bodies, vibrating and massaging them softly, the bottom footstools raising out of the base of the chairs. Dr Hammond gleefully sat in a similar seat across from them taking his hat and suit jacket off. Give some refreshments he asked. Attractive female stewardesses gracefully strutted over with a trays of refreshments and three glasses of scotch on the rocks. Roland snatched the grass and gulped it down shamelessly while RJ just shipped. Roland and RJ is slightly, but they did not allow themselves to be completely subdued by John Hammond's hospitality.

Roland remembered interrogating John Hammond, questioning him about the hideous creature they encountered in the Amazonian jungles. Dr John Hammond explained that it was exactly what Roland and RJ thought it was: a monster. The creature, Hammond confessed, had been artificially manufactured in a laboratory on the island Hammond previously mentioned. Its resurrection had been the result of a twisted combination of gene splicing, cloning, and embryonic manipulation. RJ and Roland, despite having fought the freak, couldn't believe it. RJ said that such a thing wasn't possible. Hammond explained that anything was possible with enough resources...and money. The wicked CEO had answers for everything.

Hammond whistled to a stewardess, requesting that she bring him something. Moments later, the stewardess brush a small box, around the size of a shoe box. He pulled out a small box and flipped open the lid. There was a small Pet case used to shelter guinea pigs and hamsters, but instead, walking on the spin wheel was a miniature elephant. Roland and RJ stared at the little creature in absolute bewilderment. They are just faced off against a monstrosity that belonged in a summer box office flick, but this site still shocked them.

Roland finally asked Hammond what he wanted from him and RJ, and Hammond explained that he had been observing the conflict between the creature and the two hunters, deliberately not intervening to see what Roland and RJ were capable of. Before Roland lashed out in anger (a body guard standing attentively placed his hand on his sidearm, yet Hammond waived a hand, signaling him to stand down), Hammond explained that RJ's and Roland's skill and finesse was remarkable, and Hammond had never seen two normal human beings take on a monster. Only the Ace Hunters, the special warrior class of the tribespeople on his island were as skilled and equipped at dealing with such creatures. He wanted Roland to work for him, and the Guild wanted to put the use of his skills in the trade. Hammond also had mentioned that a few other creatures had escaped and he wanted to enlist Roland and RJ into his personal cadre of hunters to recapture the monsters before alerting the general public. Roland and RJ were both infuriated at the request. Roland at first had refused, but when Hammond discussed Roland's yearly salary, he couldn't refuse. Roland and RJ had grown weary of the same generic hunts and the annoying tourists, and Hammond's offer sounded very appealing. The challenge of hunting these abominations appealed to the two hunters as well as the luxuries offered. But this was not enough for Roland and RJ. Roland demanded to know why these creatures even existed in the first place. John Hammond went into a long rant, as if he had been rehearsing it in the mirror for hours, about an inconceivable project he was undertaking. He was developing some kind of fantastical island resort, that was like a zoo except the attraction was a large collection of mythological monsters and outright kaiju. Hammond explained that through incalculably advanced genetic experimentation, gene splicing, and cloning had unlocked the ability to recreate any creature he could think of. This park would be, quite possibly, the most lucrative business imaginable; and that Hammond would be remembered in history, as well as anyone lucky enough to associate with him. Inevitably, Roland and RJ both conceded and struck a deal.

Roland remembered when the plane had first landed on the luscious, yet alien landscape. He had become accustomed to the topography of various jungles and woodlands across the earth, but the island Isla Astera Hammond called it, was something else altogether. He remembered seeing the strange-looking buildings, scrapped together with wood, bone, and various materials. As they took a convoy towards the interior of the island, infrastructure became more modernized and he was taken into the heavily guarded command center which appeared more like a military base. The command center was fortified by a thick wall dotted by huge towers and garrison's, manned by heavily armed guards, a combination of the local tribesmen and private security contractors. Various areas were sectioned off by huge electric fences, constructed by some of the densest steel Roland and RJ had seen. Even the vehicles they rode around in or state of the art, main variations of highly equipped Mercedes sprinter vehicles. Hammond has certainly not been lying when he said he spared no expense. So he had never been there, it was safe to say, from what he saw, this place certainly put Area 51 to shame. The transition between shrubbery and greenery to industrial concrete and steel was remarkable.

They were taken in through sections of gates and drove past huge steel cages which served as pens for some of the larger beasts. Again, Roland saw more of Hammond's monsters. As the convoy reached its destination, the party left the vehicles and went in through huge steel bulkheads deep into what Hammond referred to as the hatchery. They passed several guardsmen, and various lab workers wearing white coats various workstations, and lab desks. The walls for covered in bright shining computer monitors, the screens covered with brightly colored and rapid moving numbers, measurements, and a variety of data and analytics that Roland could not interpret. Roland had never seen such advanced technology and for a moment, Roland and RJ both felt as if they had been teleported into the far future. Among the army of scientists was Henry Wu, John Hammond's senior professor and geneticist. The Chinese professor was extremely arrogant and very passive toward the rugged RJ and Roland. The professor was accompanied by a peculiar-looking tribesman known as the Analytics Director. He had long pointed ears, a sharp angular face, long black hair tied back a tight pony, and a friendly yet pensive demeanor. He was wearing a thin white robe made of some animal hide and acknowledged Roland and RJ behind large, thick glasses before going to whatever he was doing. They also met the commander who, although cold, respectfully greeted the two huntsmen. The Commander, a warrior of a man, completely stood out from the rest, making John Wu and his modern acolytes look small and insignificant compared to what looked like a mythological barbarian chieftain. The commander said that he had seen footage of their encounter with the Pukei Pukei, and gave them a stern warrior's commendation (a literally written commendation, signifying their achievement). He had grasped Roland's hand in a shake that was abnormally strong, crushing Roland's normally harsh grip, and it felt as if Roland was shaking hands with a brick. The contrast between researchers and indigenous folk, like island itself, was bizarre. Still, both parties worked together smoothly.

Roland, John Hammond, RJ, the Commander, and Professor Wu, headed over into the hatchery where they were surrounded by large artificial nests serving as incubators for very large eggs. Roland had remembered the first time he witnessed one of the eggs hatchings, hideous little creature breaking out of the shell and crawling out barely developing eggs. He remembered Hammond, wearing gloves, doting over the little thing like a grandmother holding her grandchild, but to Roland, the hatchling was completely repulsive. It had a bulbous beak lined with saw-like teeth and had the ears of a bat. Roland winced as it ushered a shrill cry. If Roland or RJ had ever encountered a similar creature in the woods, either one of them would have shot it on sight.

"What do you call it,?" Roland said unable to cry his eyes from the little creature.

"Yian Garuga" the Commander smirked, as though envisioning a future challenge; one day, he or one of his people would fight this monster. "they say the first one was the offspring of a gigantic Yian Kut Ku and a small Rathian."

"Welcome to my world," John Hammond said looked up at Roland and smiled. "This'll be the first of many."

Roland blinked. "You're mad," Roland said.

Hammond shrugged. "Pays well. You'd be mad too. Accept the power of what you're looking at my dear boy. When we have control. . . ."

And so Roland and RJ's new life began with the Hunters.

The harsh buzzer of the intercom snapped Roland out of his momentary reverie. "Roland"

Roland spoke into his headset. "Yeah, it's the Field Team Leader, over." An arrogant sharp voice cut into Roland's ears. "Dr. Hammond is requesting your presence at the Yian Garuga paddock at 0300 hours. He wants his guests treated with hospitality, tour guide." The Field Team Leader was an arrogant, preening errand boy, but still a hardened fighter. He managed his own designated perimeters of the island. He never took Roland seriously, but to maintain professionalism and good rapport with the other "

Understood, I'm on my way. Rolland snapped off the intercom and rolled his eyes. He turned and looked at the Commander who caught Roland's glare and looked back, smirking.

"I guess it's just you and the damn tourists. . ." The Commander said.


The village settlement of Astera, how on earth could Ellie have not noticed it upon arrival from her aerial view? With Alan Grant's dream made manifest before him, Hammond now evidently decided to do the same for Ellie Sattler, by giving the scientists a tour of the native civilization that has lived right here on this landmass for how long, not even Sattler knew.

It was a hybrid of a quaint indigenous village and a lively docking port, as ships from the mainland came in and out to deliver and receive resources to and from, with all the village cabins much further up the hill, standing on wooden canopies. Between the living Wyverns and these natives, it was like Skull Island had been enveloped with a fog of quality marijuana. All the natives seemed so inhumanly happy to go about their daily routines, carrying large crates or fruit or spare parts or other things with zero sense of strain or complaint, and they rode elevator-like contraptions to higher levels of the village.

A few key spots could be made out immediately by Ellie: first was the Provisions Manager, who traded supplies between other natives for their own currency, "Zeni" it was called. Next was a Botanical Garden, consisting of a pair of educated-looking natives, and a huge tree reminiscent of Eden. The tree looked just as old as Eden, but Hammond claimed he grew it in under a month thanks to his R&D research. And also like Eden, that statement felt sacrilegious: forcing nature to speed up to suit his selfish vision, depriving the plant of its true value by way of nullifying the wisdom of age. Next was what the native considered their own Research Commission, columns of old books clumped together like a stone wall; a little old man sat there filling out a new book, no doubt concerning what the natives have learned so far about the live Wyverns.

"I can tell straight-way this is my favorite spot on the entire island," Malcolm smiled, picking up a book of equations and taking a seat next to the old man, essential mirroring him.

Grant shook his head."It's like a family reunion..." he muttered as he stared at the two intellectuals socialize without even interacting.

"Enjoy yourself and your books, Ian," Hammond blew him away with an annoyed hand, then he turned to Grant with more enthusiasm,"How about I show you the good stuff?"

"Canteen!?" the Handler practically teleported next to Hammond with a huge smile.

"We'll get to the Canteen," Hammond drolled to the impatient youth,"First, to the Smithy!"


Ellie and Allen were persuaded to board the strange elevator, which Gennaro marveled at the degree of lawsuits waiting to happen if Hammond dare allowed paying customers to use, up to the aforementioned Smithy. They could feel the hot air emerging from the forge, and wondered how human beings could survive prolonged exposure within, until Hammond insisted they enter the man-made inferno.

It was within the chamber that Gennaro cited a source of far greater lawsuits: the weapons. Giant swords, giant axes, giant shields, giant arrows, and straight-up giant guns, all of such size that Ellie found herself waiting for actual giants to come in and purchase. Some were steel, hammered into shape by the smiths, as directed by their loudmouthed head smith. But others were clearly made of bone, carved in shapes and volumns that they couldn't possibly been chipped into this shape from the skelton of a Wyvern, not even the Basarios from before, maybe from Monoblos horns. But further observation gave away the native's techniuqe: along with vats of molten minterals, there were also vats of steaming acid, which the workers recklessly tossed bones of various sizes to be softened up like butter, and molded into the desired shape with presses, producing equally enormous blades.

"These are all just decorative, right?" Allan asked."There's no way on God's earth anyone could use these, let alone pick them up," he honestly pointed out.

At this, Hammond chuckled,"My boy, you're not on God's earth anymore; these people can wield those tools with as much grace as you would with your excavating brushes. They've been mass-producing those weapons since the first Wyvern was returned to them, and they can't wait any longer to fight them."

Gennaro squinted."Fight?" he hissed; oh baby, it's lawsuitin' time,"You mean the monsters? Fight the big rock dragon-thing? With swords?" he emphasized by pointing outside."John, I'm on board with the zoo thing; but you can't be serious about this. If your investors hear that you're staging deathmatches with extinct monsters, with their money, it won't be me they send next, it'll be a hitman."

"Basarios is not a dragon," nitpicked Allan.

"Yeah, 'cause that makes a whole shitload of a difference!" Gennaro scoffed.

"I mean, he's not making them fight Wyverns, they clearly want to," Ellie spoke up,"This is part of their culture."

"Culture!" Gennaro felt his temples,"You people and your PC bullshit! Where I come from, it's in my culture to take out a bat and cave in the skull of the first guy to disrespect my mother; if I were authentic to my culture, I'd be a goddamn serial killer!"

"Well, obviously you don't love your mother..." Hammond commented.

"The Supreme Court doesn't apply here, Don," Allen remarked,"As disturbing as it is, these people can do whatever the hell they want on their land; Hammond's just enabling them."

"This isn't about the hunga-bunga people," Gennaro persisted,"We're opening this place up to be some kind of Disney World on roids, full of everyone from the civilized world, especially America, especially American children. Would you like to open BBC on your phone and listen to the story about Little Jimmy skewering his sister's brains with a crossbow?"

"For Christ's sake, I'm not that senile!" John Hammond grunted."When you pay to go to a rodeo, you don't ride the bloody bull yourself! That's what the trained professionals are for," he pointed a leering finger to one of the natives trying out her dual blades by spinning them around in a skilled dance.

"So what?" Genarro inquired."Is that what we're doing? We're gonna have a big ol' rootin-tootin Wyvern wranglin' rodeo? Because where I'm standing, it looks more like a Roman coliseum!"

"As a matter of fact...!" Hammond attempted to rise to eye-level with the irate lawyer.

Just then, everything was halted by the sound of some gong. The smiths quite literally dropped what they were doing and chattered excitedly amongst themselves, leaping over the counter and running past the group. The scientists and lawyer paced outside in curiosity. They looked down over the dock, watching most of the natives also break routine and run after the gathering, especially the younger ones yelling in their language with glee.

Even the old scholar was roused from his stillness, patting the confused Ian Malcolm on the shoulder and gesturing to follow him as he shuffled after the people."What, where we going?" Ian tried, as he was unceremoniously yanked to his feet by some native kids to follow.

John Hammond slowly turned back to Donald Gennaro with a very big smile."...As a matter of fact, Mr. Gennaro, the latter is precisely what we're doing here..."


Even after all they had seen so far, this was still hard to believe. Somewhere nuzzled deeper into the island was an Arena, the pride of the Asterian people. All this time, they were using to duel eachother; but thanks to John Hammon's godlike influence, they could now use it for its original purpose, which if Ellie's understanding was correct, was to duel monsters.

Row after row of stone carved seats were filling with people with levels of enthusiasm rivaling that of a soccer game, if not a Baptist Sunday service. Hammond and his guest were escorted to the executive box, complete with actual modern furnishings and a buffet that the Handler was all too eager to partake in before Hammond slapped her reaching hand."Leave some for the guests, dear."

For the moment the naturally carved stone arena was filled with young natives performing a highly flamboyant dance number, with streamers and fans and monster masks; on a stand stood a woman giving a beautiful rendition of one of the native's songs. This was a celebration to be taken seriously, they could see.

"This is gorgeous," Ellie Sattler marveled.

"Just how authentic would you say this performance is in regard to the Ancient Civilization?" Allan Grant asked Sattler, seemingly more interested in the scientific aspect.

Ellie shook her head."Impossible to say; I've had no idea how their language sounded or even how to pronounce the letters; for all I know, this could be exactly verbatim or completely improvised."

"How would you know?" Gennaro asked.

"I'm the leading paleoanthropologist of our dig," Dr. Sattler explained,"While Alan was out searching for Wyvern bones, I was studying the Ancient Civilisation that hunted the Wyverns, or the "Wyverians" as our assistants call them. It's the same tragic story: a legendary race of people with highly advanced technology who abused nature, and were wiped out by three black dragons. Are you familiar with Castle Shrade?"

"Oh yeah," Genarro nodded, "The Nazis were hell-bent on taking that fortress from the Soviets. So, Dr. Grant, what was the name of the Wyvern that destroyed Shrade?" he asked partially genuine.

Allen blew the question away."That, sir, has nothing to do with Wyverns; it's just another legend about an evil black dragon, and dragons are most certainly not real." he concluded.

"You see? Our friend Allan Grant's not crazy," Ian Malcolm patted the man on the shoulder in the same way the scholar patted him."Of course, I'd have to hold that against him as a ground-breaking scientist; you have to admit it requires some degree of insanity to question the stagnated society around him with the sufficient confidence to pursue a subject which even the most rational-thinking minds of our time would wrinkle their noses at: remember, not a very long time ago, people more sensible were mocked with viscous dedication for propagating the idea that the physical universe we inhabit is all simply an elaborate happy accident and not the, the product of the Almighty, who determines the very value of our souls on what fleeting meaningless injustices we perform during our short pilgrimage on this tiny planet..."

"We get it, Malcolm, you're a nihilistic atheist," Ellie slowly nodded,"You might want to keep that to yourself while you're around this hunter/gatherer society."

"Ah ah," Ian corrected with his finger,"I'm a Chaos-Theorist, another pioneering field of science which I myself made up and just so happened to be right about," he joked, looking at Grant.

After a while, a couple of new individuals walked in to join them: more natives, as well as two clearly non-native children."GRANPA!"

"KIDS!" John Hammond rose to meet his grandchildren, whose combined hugs tackled the old man painfully back onto his seat "oi..!" he grunted,"Careful with the old man!"

"We missed you!" Lex cried.

"Well, I'm just glad you didn't miss the show!" Hammond beamed, cradling Lex, and rubbing Tim's head like a puppy.

"They should be: it's truly the show of a lifetime," said the native that escorted them. It was a fairly young mean that has perhaps only breached the age of 30. Despite his youth, his long blond hair was almost white, and his hawk-like eyes conveyed experience beyond his years. He wore a knightly blue set of armor, likely custom-made. Three short swords dangled behind his back, and a fourth hanging from his buckle.

Hammond clapped."The Ace Commander!" he beamed, quickly turning to his guests,"Not to be confused with the Fleet Commander. Where is the old chap?"

"He's not interested," Julius said,"Said he's more concerned with managing the Yi-" he eyed the guests, particularly the lawyer, and realized he should choose his words carefully,"The, um, the you-know-what paddock; but he's incredibly happy to know you've set up this event."

Gennaro blinked, and glared at Hammond,"I knew it! 'it's just their culture' my ass!"

"You misunderstand, we begged Mr. Hammond for this," insisted The Ace Commander,"This arena challenge marks the first challenge against a Wyvern that we've had in a thousand years; his science has breathed life back into my people."

"He's exploiting your people for money," Malcolm stated honestly.

"I cannot deny that," Julius crossed his arms,"But the world will profit from the rebirth of the Wyverns, I assure you."

"And that, we can all agree on!" Hammond nodded.

"When's the monster coming?" Tim broached.

"Where's Aiden?" Lex followed up.

"Soon, kids, soon," Hammond said.

"So just who is the sorry sap that's just sacrificed his life your god?" Ian folded his fingers.

"That would be my Ace Cadet, Aiden," Julius smiled,"He gives off the impression of sheer stupidity, but that betrays his skill with the sword; it'll be the Gycepros that will be sacrificed - and it will be your dinner for the evening," he bowed politely.

"Gycepros?" Allen perked up."The 'Strange Poison Bird'?"

Julius smirked,"Ah, you are the foreign man that searches for Wyvern bones in the Old World," he noted,"Your presence here is also profitable: your knowledge holds the key to saving the island."

"Excuse me?" Allen questioned.

Just then, the audience released a collective cry of excitement that rattled Allen's eardrum.

"I do believe it's showtime..." Ian Malcolm sang.

"We shall speak of this later!," Julius responded,"For now, the fight begins!"

The natives of Isla Astera cheered their hearts out for their first real champion in ages: a spry human figure trotted out into the now cleared out open arena, pumping his fist up for the crowd to see like a famous luchador. His hair was a flaming orange, and his body was donned in traditional Hunter Armor and brandished an orange bone Sword and Sheild that was decorated in a blue scaly hide.

"Was that weapon made from a Velocidrome?" Allen observed.

"Good eye for one that has never seen a live one," Julius remarked.

Allen used to be terrified by the mental images of Velocedromes and their ancestors, Velociraptors, before his study of Wyverns enlightened him to deadlier monsters, namely the apparent creature that this boy was meant to duel.

On the other end of the arena, there was a huge wooden gate, which suddenly banged from the other side, by something large enough to make it shake. This continuous rock of the gate, immediately place the Ace Cadet on Edge, putting on his metal helm, which was part of the Chainmail set, and pulling out his choice weapons.

"What do they got in there, King Kong?" Ian cracked.

"Likely something it'd take King Kong to fight," Grant estimated.

The wooden gate was battered by the rapid pounding as if it were being pecked by a giant ostrich from hell - Allen knew that description was frighteningly accurate...

With the proper signal given, the gate was dropped, allowing the Gycepros to leap out into the arena. Oh yes, a "strange" bird indeed, it wriggled its leathery grey-blue hide and flapped its webbed wings, whipping its short thin pink tail around, and screeching at nothing in particular with its hammer-shaped bill, which turned out to contain blocky gnawing teeth within its chattering mouth. It frantically stomped and hopped up and down with its muscular dinosaurian legs. Altogether, it seemed to be about 10 meters from bill to tail. It didn't take long for the disgruntled giant bird to notice its opponent, using its long thick neck to whip its head to stare at the human.

A lesser man would have excreted his bowls on the spot, dropped his sword, and run in the opposite direction, screaming bloody murder as he clawed at the wall to be let out; but Aiden was not that man...he was far too dumb to be that man. He arched his knees and clench his bone blade, smirking at the bird.

Perhaps the bird picked up in his audacity; perhaps the creature had been purposefully starved and isolated to make it more aggressive, but something must have one way or another pissed the monster off as it screeched at the hunter, spreading its wings to full length.

The crowd cheered all the same as the man and monster circled each other, each scanning for any sign of weakness; naturally, the raging bird creature struck first. He lunged, diving viciously through the air as a falcon dives upon its prey, only much clumsier. Aiden felt the exhilarating rush of the wind, full speed, blowing across his face. He held the sword, double-handed, shield mount upon his back, preparing to strike the beast upon its crown. He swung the blade down in a merciless downward strike, its razor-tipped edge crashing into the beast's bill. The creature screeched in pain, stumbling away like a drunkard, gyrating its head, its bill visibly cracked. The Ace Cadet landed with a hard audible thud on the muddy arena floor sending shards of pebbles and rock, the impact jarring him, the shock absorbed by his muscular frame. He immediately doubled up, took up his shield, and went into a hunter's stance. He circled his prey like a feral wolf as he had done so many times over an oversized dummy, years of combat training welded into his nervous system. The thunderous roar of the crowd washed over him and he breathed it in indulgently like a psychotropic drug. The blood lust of the crowd, combined with his own adrenaline pulsing through his veins, intoxicated him. This was the glory his ancestors knew; he truly felt alive.

The creature spun back around, wrathfully glaring at its attacker with pure hate, and roared vengefully almost popping the hunter's eardrums. The creature erupted into bizarre war dance. The beast stomped its fat taloned feet into the arena floor and began kicking huge waives of dirt and rocks at the hunter, attemping to disorient him. Aiden dropped into a crouch, raising his shield above his head to deflect the flying debris. He vulgarly cursed the animal for its cowardly tactics. The creature took advantage of Aiden's lack of visibility and disorientation, charging the hunter, rattling the arena with every step. The hunter controlled his breathing, arching his heels with the grace of a trained dancer, waiting patiently for the perfect opportunity. Moments before the creature could overtake him, the hunter briskly rolled to the left, narrowly missing his demise. He landed on a knee, spun around, and countered with a swift backstroke, the blade slashing away at the creature's exposed flesh. He thought he would give the audience the show they deserved and take his sweet time with his adversary.

The creature spun around, swinging its fleshy club of a tail at the hunter like a wrecking ball. Aiden quickly dropped to the ground, hearing the hiss of the wind as the thing cut through the air above him, narrowly missing his head. The beast spun like a whiirling dervish and followed up with a bite. The hunter lept back again hearing the thick thud of the creature's blocky jaws, smelling its odorous breath. The creature was beserk, slashing, biting, hammering, and pecking against Aiden's shield like a rabbid dog, rocking Aiden's bones with every jarring strike. As much as he wanted to get out of this ordeal the sooner the better, his sportsmanship forbade him to kill the beast so soon. He wanted to tease it, making a show of his own personal endurance. The bird beast charged again, ramming its hammer bill towards him in a deranged manic peck, over and over again, the hunter dodged as the beast's durable crest slammed into the ground like an industrial hammer, plowing into the earth, missing over and over again. Someone in the audience screamed for the hunter to stop waltzing with the thing and kill it. The creature had slammed into the ground repeatedly like a jackhammer, the last collision burying its snout into the Earth and the creature struggled to pull it out.

After enough booing and heckling, the hunter gave into the crowd's demands and took advantage of this chance while the creature was briefly nailed down by its desperation. He charged toward the beast, leaped in the air again, pushing another downstroke toward the thing's neck, around where the spinal column and the brain connected. He swung the blade with enough force to severe the freakish bird's head clean off and put it out of its misery. Yet, at the last second, the creature gazed up at the hunter, a malevolent hint of intelligence in its reptilian eyes, almost grinning. The creature ripped its head free from the Earth leaped back with deceptive speed, despite its bulk, and violently clapped its wings together, sending a vicious gust of wind that hurled the hunter several yards back into the air, carrying him away like a fence post like a hurricane. The crowd broke out into a frenzy.

The hunter crashed fiercely into the wooden barred wall rattling the dry lumber and hit the ground in a cloud of dust. His vision was blurred, his chest locked, the wind completely knocked out of him. He vomited air and spit, struggling to catch a breath. He shook his head to clear his vision, but he was momentarily disoriented. He knew if he didn't get up quickly, enough the creature would be already on him.

The hunter felt the Earth rumble as the beast was charging, closing in for the finishing kill. The Hunter speedily regained consciousness and bolted to his feet. Instinctively, he reeled around and sprinted back full speed towards the arena wall, his superhuman agility and momentum enabling him to run straight up the wall moments before the beast assailed and tore him apart. With the grace of an acrobat, the hunter kicked his body off the wall like a skateboarder racing up a ramp and spinning off. He back flipped over the beast's bulk, narrowly missing a gruesome crash into the arena wall that would have crushed him like a sled hammer falling on a tomato. The audience screamed, mere feet from the monster through the bars.

The head-on collision violently rocked the audience in their seats like an earthquake. Hammond grabbed the railing in front of him to prevent himself from falling from his seat. "Hzaa!" Hammond shouted, shaking an excited fist.

Dr. Malcolm stared at John Hammond, seeing the mania in his eyes. Hammond's demeanor reminded Malcolm of some maniac tied in a straight jacket being caught it off into an asylum. He'd seen a similar look on homeless schizophrenics screaming at him on the way to work in Vegas. Hammond was carrying on like this the whole time, gorging a pile of some type of barbecued meat, shrimp skewers, and a hot steaming bowl of soup, and the Handler mimicking him.

"Appetizers. . . .?" Hammond casually asked over the loud din. Everyone say for Gennaro refused. A scantily-clad tribeswoman - she made Ian Malcolm completely forget Ellie - carried a tray of some frothy, odious liquid what he assumed was beer. John Hammond and Gennaro grabbed a tankard and they both shamelessly started guzzling it down. Ian Malcolm almost thought it was comical.

The eloquent CEO has seemed to have lost all manner of civility, screaming along with the roaring audience, as if possessed by some primordial indulgence. He was not a billionaire philanthropist anymore, but a heathenistic tribal chieftain, fully embracing and praising the primal decadence around him. Gennaro, almost instantly drunk, abandoned his skepticism for good, cackling like a joker as he tossed around dollar bills and made wagers. He sat down a few seats from Hammond around more of the tribal leader's retinue. He occasionally shot a glance at Hammond, giving him the thumbs up. Malcolm's jaw hung in disbelief. The scene of carnage and revelry set before him was not technological innovation of the future, nor scientific advancement intended to better mankind. This was devolution into barbarianism. Ian turned and looked at Dr. Grant. The paleontologist solemnly watched the display below, his face unreadable. Ellie appeared grieved as if she had discovered her favorite character in her daily soap opera had died. One word flashed in Ian's mind like a bright Vegas billboard: Chaos.

The audience screamed their applaud, overwhelmed by terror and excitement. Again, the Hunter gracefully landed on his two feet. He stood, raising his arms like a Roman gladiator, showering in the cacophony of praise, slamming his sword and shield together. They rolled down him and he roared back at them. He was completely wild-eyed, arrogant. The hunter charged the beast while it was down, striking its things hips, the weak spots, hoping to finish it off while it was still down. The beast spun around roared in the air.

"You may want to put these on," Hammond shouted and covered his eyes with his expensive designed shades. Suddenly, a bright piercing white light, brighter than the sun, engulfed his eyes. The hunter raised the shield up, protecting what was left of his vision. Again, he was so caught up in indulgent victory, he forgot the bird's primary attack, a small ligament on its forehead struck a spark so bright, it resulted in a vicious flashing attack that was intended to blind its victims.

The crowd was screaming in pain, specifically those who are unaware of this thing. Ian and Grant were thankful that heated Hammond's cynical advice but even then the shock of the white light was overwhelming. Dr. Grant was still shocked by the painful light. When the painful light faded, he could see the arena before him. Through the ocean of noise, Grant thought he heard a snarl, and a cry of pain.

While Aiden's discombobulated head swiveled on his neck, he wished he had accepted the Ace Lancer's offer to join the dual; in his blindness, he felt a sobering impact slam against his face and torso; as the Gercepros bucked its head upward, the human was sent rolling across the arena ground like an empty soda can.

Ellia clenched her head."NO!"

Grant lept from his seat, darting into Hammond's face."You need to end this right now, goddamnit!"

"StiiiiiiriIKE," the red-face Genarro cried, his breath like a distillery,"double it on the bird dragon!"

Aiden rolled over onto his back, eyes rolled over in brief comatose. As his brain reactivates, he faintly hears the triumphant shrieks of the Gycepros, as the avian monster strutted around him like a combination of a proud rooster and a prize boxer.

Julius clicked his tongue as he grimaced."That's one faint down; if he faints two more times, he'll fail the challenge..."

"That doesn't even correspond with the conventional rules of a gladiator deathmatch," Malcolm felt his sinus.

The vindictive Gycepros loomed over its prey, its mouth oozing with purple fluid, but the wyvern wasn't the only creature that knew how to play dead...

As its head lunged for his head, Aiden thrust his sword into the wyvern's mouth, causing it to shriek in pain; Aiden used the wound as leverage to yank himself of the ground and pounded the wyvern's head with his shield. The Gycepros flapped his wings to vault itself away from the hunter, but Aiden endured the blast of wind with his shield and sprinted after the bird. The bird spat a heap of purple goop at Aiden, which he blocked with his shield and swung his sword against its beak twice; the Gycepros whipped its head away and rammed Aiden with its shoulder, again tumbling Aiden backward, but this time Aiden rolled back on his feet and resumed his assault, performing a downward slice across its side. The Gycepros tried flapping itself airborne and desperately kicked at the hunter, who swung back at the monster's feet and toes, causing the beast to fall to the ground with a rattling thud, still kicking the air with its ruined feet as it tried to escape. Aiden climbed onto the creature's neck, took his blade with both hands, and with a mighty roar, plunged it into the Gycepros's skull.

The people in the stadium exploded in cheers and praise for the Ace Cadet, their new hunter.

Dr. Grant could see now that the fight was over. The warrior stood triumphantly, his right heel a top of the animal's corpse, holding its severed tail dripping with fresh blood: his first carve, among the first in generations. The hunter raised a fist in the air, happily showering in the endless rain of the crowd's praise.

John Hammond looked at the white-haired leonine warrior next to him. They both held mugs and toasted to the show. "Quite a show dear boy!," John Hammond said loudly, like a man whose prolonged hunger had been satiated.

"You made this possible," The Ace Commander shook hands with the rich man, beaming with the pride of his people.

Hammond chuckled, "Spared no expense... " John Hammond turned. Dr. Ian Malcom's seat was empty. Poor Ellie shocked at the violence and carnage she had just witnessed, as well as the clamor of the ruckus crowd. Gennaro was beside himself in disbelief, feeling his cranium at the twist of events, tempted to flee the island due to just how much he bet against the hunter.

Dr. Grant simply sat in place his arms folded like a wizened old sage, his lips pursed, eyes hidden under burgundy shades, gleaming in the sunlight. He shook his head."He brought them back...just to kill them again," Grant realized to himself.