Denwen couldn't believe it.
Out of all the people in the field, it had to be Angus.
As if the universe itself had twisted fate into a cruel joke, matching him with the one person who made his blood boil.
He stared at the number glowing on his belt—15—then at Angus, whose belt displayed the same. Their eyes locked, and Denwen's jaw tightened.
"Don't worry, bro. I believe in you," Roy said with a slight chuckle, trying to lift the mood.
Denwen didn't answer. His gaze remained fixed on Angus, who wore that same irritating smirk—calm, confident, and unbothered, as if their bloody past didn't exist.
"Alright, find your partners and get in place!" Dame's voice thundered, cutting through the awkward silence and stirring the students into motion.
Nero jogged up to Roy, casually spinning his belt to flash the number 5. "Hey, star boy. Guess it's gonna be the two of us."
Roy was stretching, calm as ever. "With your speed and my strength, we'll be fine."
"Your wind magic's not bad at all," Roy added, flashing a rare grin.
Nero grinned back. "Let's show them how it's done."
Elsewhere, Kara approached Melissa, tapping the glowing number on her belt. "Guess we're partners."
Melissa flicked her silver hair back with casual grace. "Number 8. Looks like I'm on offense."
"Lucky me," Kara smirked.
Jay bounded up to Logan, tossing an arm over his shoulder with that ever-annoying energy. "Yo! We're together."
"Unfortunately," Logan muttered, struggling under Jay's monstrous grip. "For once, your brawn might actually come in handy."
"Aw, you're warming up to me," Jay grinned, completely oblivious.
Meanwhile, Briggs paired up with Kelvin. The two exchanged a quick nod—no words needed. Briggs took defense; Kelvin, with his volatile explosion magic, would take offense.
All around, the students moved with purpose—some enthusiastic, others resigned. But Denwen stood still, unmoving, as Angus slowly approached.
The smug expression never left Angus's face.
"Look," he said, hands in his pockets, "this isn't the dream team, but we've got to work with what we've got."
Denwen didn't even try to hide the disdain in his eyes.
"I don't buy it," he said flatly. "Your whole 'I'm-a-changed-man' act. It reeks. Two reasons—first, it doesn't make any damn sense. Second, I've started trusting my gut lately—and right now, it's screaming."
Angus chuckled softly, unbothered.
"But you're right about one thing," Denwen added, his tone sharpening. "I'll be on offense. You defend."
He turned away before Angus could respond.
Dame's footsteps echoed across the field, hands behind his back, a silver briefcase materializing from his spatial ring and snapping open with a metallic hiss.
Inside: twenty crystalline balls, each gleaming faintly with sealed essence.
"When you get your ball," Dame instructed, pacing between the teams, "your belt will allow a tiny flow of essence—just enough to engage. Once activated, the challenge begins."
His eyes scanned the field, pausing briefly on Denwen and Angus. "Three hits and your castle is down. Fail, and you stay behind for my version of fun."
A shiver ran down more than a few spines.
Roy and Nero were the first to move. Roy's aura, though restrained, still carried a distinct chill of power. Even suppressed to less than five percent, the refined blue essence of a mid-rank two swirled subtly around him, denser and sharper than any rank one.
Nero placed a hand on the ball and activated it. With a pulse, the orb sprouted translucent wings and shot into the air like a wasp released from a cage, zigzagging in sharp, erratic lines.
A dome of wind burst into existence as Nero shifted into position. Roy stood calmly, eyes focused, body loose but ready.
The ball streaked through the air, its movements unpredictable—but Roy didn't flinch. When it made its first strike, angling toward the dome, Roy blurred.
His palm closed around it in one swift motion, the wings fluttering in protest before disintegrating in his grip. The orb shattered into harmless dust.
Gasps rippled through the watching students.
Dame hadn't even finished distributing the rest of the balls.
"Very good," he said, lips twitching. "You two may leave."
Motivation surged like a second wind through the rest of the class.
"Alright, Logan, fire it up!" Jay shouted, voice high with excitement.
Logan activated the ball—too slow.
It sprang to life with vicious speed, and before either of them could react, it slammed into Logan's gut, lifting him slightly off the ground before hurling him backward.
A sharp wheeze escaped his lips as he crumpled to the ground, groaning.
The others winced. They'd expected stings or light hits. But this? This was brutal.
Suddenly, defense didn't seem so appealing anymore.
Denwen and Angus remained motionless, still not holding a ball.
Dame's voice cut through like a whip. "Are you two going to stand there wasting my time, or will one of you step up and take the damn ball?"
Denwen's hands clenched. His knuckles whitened. "Angus," he said, gritting his teeth. "We agreed. You're the castle."
Angus tilted his head with a smirk. "We didn't agree. You said it. That's not agreement, that's dictatorship."
"You arrogant—"
Denwen stopped himself mid-sentence. His breath hitched with rage, but he stomped forward anyway, reaching out and grabbing a ball from the case. He stared at it a second longer than necessary, willing his frustration down.
He didn't trust Angus. Not an ounce.
But if this challenge was going to be done, he'd make damn sure he carried the weight.
He glanced back at Angus, who stood there, arms folded, like this was all beneath him.
Denwen funneled the allowed sliver of essence into the orb. It pulsed—once, twice—then wings flared out, and it shot into the sky like a bullet loosed from a chamber.
He took his stance, breath slow, eyes tracking its chaotic flight.
From behind him, Angus finally moved into position.
The game had begun.
And Denwen knew—if the ball didn't destroy them, the tension between them just might.
---
The day's brutal training had finally passed, and the sun now dipped low on the horizon, casting warm amber rays across the sprawling grounds of Crimson Academy. The air had cooled, a gentle breeze rustling the trees, whispering of fatigue and reflection. Students had scattered—some to their dorms to rest aching muscles, others to cultivation chambers, meditation gardens, or even the gym, each following the ritual that best helped them recover.
Mellissa and June strolled through the arched stone corridors, their steps echoing faintly beneath the vaulted ceilings.
"That was just day one," June muttered, glancing sideways with a worried expression. "Are you sure you'll survive the rest of the week?"
Mellissa exhaled slowly, brushing silver strands behind her ear, her expression unreadable. "This?" she said, voice calm. "This is nothing compared to what's waiting for us in the dungeons."
June raised a brow, both impressed and concerned.
"I heard tomorrow's when you get your gear," she added, trying to sound casual. "The ones your parents sent."
Mellissa gave a small nod, her gaze drifting. Something tugged at her attention—a hum in the air, faint but unmistakable, pulling her eyes toward the gym at the far end of the hall. There was a presence there, an aura that didn't belong to the serene dusk.
"Yeah," she said absently. "We need to get used to the equipment now, before it becomes a liability down there."
She slowed, her steps faltering.
"You know what?" she said, halting completely. "Go ahead. I'll catch up."
June hesitated, half-turning with a raised brow. But after a moment, she simply shrugged and continued on, leaving Mellissa behind in the corridor.
Mellissa pivoted and followed the magnetic pull of the aura, her steps quickening as she approached the training hall.
The closer she drew, the thicker the pressure became. The gym was exhaling something primal—an unrestrained, surging current of essence and will. It wasn't chaotic or wild… it was focused. Intentional. Like a blade mid-swing.
She reached the gym doors, her breath catching as her skin prickled with warning. Goosebumps bloomed down her arms as the pulse of battle rhythm echoed from inside, sharp and precise.
With slow caution, she pushed open the doors.
Her eyes widened.
Inside the high-ceilinged gym, Roy stood shirtless, drenched in sweat, surrounded by six Peak Rank 2 puppets. Their carved frames glowed with embedded runes, limbs spinning in calculated fury. The sound of steel clashing against steel rang out like war drums. Sparks flew as Roy's blade moved with lethal grace, parrying and striking, weaving through their attacks like a phantom.
His expression was calm—but his eyes glowing brightly.
Every motion was measured. Every step flowed with terrifying efficiency. Two of the puppets were locked in defense, unable to find an opening, while the others tried to flank him. He pivoted sharply, his blade singing as he countered another strike—then again, flipping to defend a sudden lunge from behind.
Melissa's breath hitched. She'd seen Roy train before. She'd seen him fight.
But this was different.
There was no showmanship. No holding back. Just raw, polished power born of obsession.
In that moment, caught in the golden haze of sunset bleeding through the high windows, Roy looked more weapon than boy.
And then he saw her.
His gaze flicked to the door—just for a heartbeat.
It was all the opening the puppet needed.
With a sharp lunge, one of the constructs crashed its arm into his defense, bypassing his delayed reaction. His blade rose just in time to block, but the sheer force hurled him backward like a ragdoll, his body slamming into the far wall with a heavy thud.
"Roy!" Mellissa gasped, already sprinting across the room.
She didn't hesitate. Her hand slammed against the kill switch beside the wall, and in an instant, all six puppets froze, their eyes dimming, limbs slackening.
She dropped to his side, heart pounding.
Roy groaned, sitting up slowly as he rubbed his back. "Ouch…"
Mellissa knelt, grabbing his arm to help him steady. "You idiot," she whispered, but there was no malice in her voice. Only awe. Shock.
And something else.
Something like fear.
Because as she helped him to his feet, her hands trembled.
Not from the hit he'd taken—but from what she had just witnessed.
Roy was fast becoming someone they might never catch.