Azriel did not wait for any signal. On Platform 001, there was no need for a buzzer he alone remained, the only one standing. With bodies scattered and unconscious around him, he stepped down from the stage on his own, his blood drenched figure wreathed in a faint mist of chaos.
The arena erupted.
The audience who had watched in disbelief now broke into madness. Some cheered, intoxicated by the violence they had just witnessed, their voices rising into a chant.
"Monster! Monster! Monster!" they cried not with fear, but with wild excitement.
They called him a devil, a beast in human form, yet their eyes sparkled as if they had been starved for this kind of spectacle. After all, he was not theirs to fear he was the Academy's problem now. To them, he was entertainment blood and battle given flesh.
By the time the other platforms concluded and the people starts coming out of the platform they stood still the moment they saw him.
There, standing in the corridor before them, was Azriel. His black hair was streaked with red, his sharp features painted with blood, and his crimson eyes gleamed in the dim light. He didn't speak. He didn't need to.
The air grew heavy. Whispers broke out.
"What… happened up there?" one student muttered, his voice tight with unease.
"He looks like… a villain," someone else whispered, unable to look away.
To the others, their fights had been trials, contests of skill and endurance. But whatever had taken place on Platform 001 as something else entirely. It was not a test it was a massacre.
And yet, Azriel walked past them calmly, crimson eyes flickering with quiet amusement, as if their fear only confirmed what he already knew: to them, he would always be the monster.
---
In the medic ward, however, excitement turned to confusion.
Lying before the doctors were the participants of Platform 001. Their wounds refused to heal, as though something within their bodies rejected the flow of mana. The healers tried again and again, yet each spell unraveled as if an unseen force defied them.
At last, they resorted to crude measures mana-infused IV drips to boost the body's own healing. It kept the students stable, but the results were grim.
"These wounds… they won't close," one doctor whispered, sweat on his brow.
"Without external help, it might take them days just to recover properly," another added, his tone heavy. He glanced toward the corner bed where a boy lay motionless. "And the one who was slammed into the wall… it might take him months to even walk again."
The ward fell silent. Their lives were no longer in danger, but recovery would be slow, agonizing, and incomplete for some.
And outside the ward, the chants of the audience still echoed in the distance. To them, it was a spectacle. To the Academy, it was a problem. But to Azriel… it was only the beginning.
---
The buzzers rang one after another, signaling the end of the first phase. Platforms powered down, releasing their battered survivors. Some limped, some dragged themselves forward, others barely stood at all but all of them bore the same hollow-eyed exhaustion of the battle.
Then, like a curtain of mist tearing open, the Headmaster's figure appeared once again above the arena. His mere presence silenced thousands.
"Fantastic performance, future of our continent," his voice boomed, carrying both warmth and chilling authority. "You have entertained us well. But do not grow complacent. This was merely the beginning. Rest for one hour. Your watches will provide the details of the next phase in due time."
And just as suddenly as he appeared, his figure dissolved into the air like he had never been there at all.
---
Later, in the waiting room prepared for participants, Azriel leaned back on a sofa after washing away the blood and changing into a fresh set of clothes that Lily had dutifully brought him. His crimson eyes, now calm, lazily glanced at her.
"How did you do there?" he asked, his tone casual, almost indifferent.
"I passed, Young Master," Lily answered softly. "There were no notable figures on my platform."
Azriel gave her a faint nod of acknowledgment, nothing more.
The door opened, and Sophia entered with her usual grace. Her clothes looked pristine as if she had never fought at all. Not a single wrinkle, not a speck of dust. That was the perfection of one who wielded lightning as her main element speed and precision left her untouched.
She sat down beside Azriel, her eyes studying him curiously. "How did you do?" she asked, clearly unaware of the blood-soaked nightmare of Platform 001.
"It was fine," Azriel replied simply. "And yours?"
"Nothing out of the ordinary," Sophia shrugged, her voice light.
And then her gaze lingered on Lily who was standing behind Azriel like a statue.
Then she asked "Why don't you sit with us?"
Lily stiffened. "Forgive me, Lady Sophia, but I—"
"I insist," Sophia interrupted with a warm smile. After a brief pause, Lily reluctantly sat down, her posture still disciplined and reserved, though Sophia tried to draw her into conversation. Slowly, the two began to exchange words, while Azriel sat silent, his presence looming like a shadow among them.
The atmosphere shifted when a sharp ding echoed across the room. All three glanced at their watches as glowing letters scrolled across the screens.