Numerous shadowy figures coalesced around the battlefield, their forms flickering like wavering smoke. Yet, amid the chaos, only Isaac could perceive them distinctly. Each spectral figure took the same appearence—his sister, Isabelle.
“That man, he’s one of them,” Isabelle whispered urgently, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and determination.
Isaac’s heart pounded as he struggled to maintain his focus. “They killed Mom, they killed Dad, they killed Brother,” Isabelle continued, her eyes hollow with grief and rage.
“You have nobody left, they took it all away,” she pressed, her spectral form flickering as if caught between worlds.
“I know, I know, I know,” Isaac yelled, clutching his head in agony as memories and pain surged through him. His vision blurred, but he forced himself to remain upright, his determination fueling his next move.
With a deep breath, Isaac carefully walked towards Willow, his movements slow and deliberate despite the excruciating pain. One hand pressed tightly against his throbbing head, while the other grasped a long katana forged from his own blood. The weapon seemed to struggle in his grasp, veins of crimson flowing along its blade, blood dripping from its edge with each step.
Isaac stumbled forward, driven by a mixture of vengeance and desperation. The relentless assault took its toll on Willow; his movements grew sluggish, his energy visibly waning under the combined damage he received throughout the battle.
“Get…out…of my…..way,” Isaac said, his voice raw with pain. He lunged, the blood-etched blade aimed directly at the Sentinel’s core. Willow staggered back, his defenses faltering as the onslaught pressed him into a corner. Each breath he took was labored, his once formidable presence now overshadowed by fatigue.
“Soul release, deactivate,” Willow commanded, his voice strained. The armor that enveloped him began to wane, his form shifting back to its original appearance. His hair, a dark blend of green and black, now framed a sharp, bearded face. His eyes glowed with an eerie emerald light as black square-framed glasses sat atop them. Twisted ram horns curled from his temples, and his attire had transformed into something unexpectedly refined—dress pants and polished dress shoes, a brown sweater vest over a crisp red tie. The spear crafted from his ability glimmered ominously in his hand as he assumed a fighting stance, the contrast between his elegant attire and formidable weapon underscoring his unnerving presence.
Isaac steadied himself, the pain in his head and body momentarily overshadowed by his unyielding resolve. He tightened his grip on the katana, the blood-slicked blade gleaming under the forest’s dim light. The atmosphere was thick with tension, the remnants of the battle lingering in the air like a heavy fog.
Isaac lunged forward, his katana slashing through the thick air with deadly precision, aiming directly for Willow’s legs. The blade, forged from his own blood, shimmered with mana, each swing a testament to his unwavering determination. Willow deftly parried the attack with his spear, the weapon absorbing the force of Isaac’s strike with an unsettling ease.
In a swift, fluid motion, Willow countered, channeling his ability through the spear. A sickly green curse erupted from its tip, cascading over Isaac’s skin like a poisonous shroud. The corrosive energy seeped into his flesh, causing his breaths to grow even more labored and his movements sluggish. Pain radiated from every nerve as the curse drained his strength, but Isaac refused to yield.
Summoning his inner resilience, Isaac extended a finger, unleashing a torrent of blood bullets. Crimson projectiles shot forth with lethal speed, one grazing Willow’s cheek, leaving a faint trail of blood in its wake. The impact was a mere annoyance compared to the overwhelming curse, but it was a reminder that Isaac was far from defeated.
Desperate to gain the upper hand, Isaac created numerous ghoul arms from the blood circles etched into his arms. The spectral limbs writhed and reached out towards Willow, their gnarled fingers grasping for any weakness. Without hesitation, Willow swung his spear in a wide arc, each strike chopping through the ghoul arms effortlessly. The ghoul remnants dissolved into dark mist, and Willow closed the distance between them with predatory grace.
Isaac, feeling the sting of each cut, drew upon his powers once more. From a blood circle on his back, he summoned a towering ghoul, its grotesque form pulsating with malevolent energy. The creature lunged at Willow, aiming to sucker punch him with its elongated fist. The clash was brutal, steel meeting shadow as Willow deftly avoided the ghoul’s attack, retaliating with a swift thrust of his spear that sent the creature recoiling.
Seizing a fleeting moment of vulnerability, Isaac kicked Willow's leg with all his remaining strength. The force of the blow was immense as he created a blade of blood that extended from his shin, slicing through the air towards Willow’s leg. The blade grazed Willow’s flesh, leaving a thin line of crimson in its wake. The pain was sharp, but Willow remained unfazed, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement.
The blood from Isaac’s leg blade transformed in mid-air, morphing into a flock of small, bloody birds that darted toward Willow with unnatural speed. The birds, embodiments of Isaac’s desperation, flapped their wings furiously, their bloody forms casting fleeting shadows over the battlefield. Without missing a beat, Willow swung his spear again, chopping through each bird with ruthless efficiency. The birds disintegrated upon contact, their existence snuffed out in an instant.
Isaac gritted his teeth, severing his own arm with a swift, decisive strike. The limb landed with a sickening thud as he discarded it, not sparing a glance. In its place, he grafted the grotesque, sinewy arm of a low-tier ghoul. The patchwork connection crackled with an eerie vitality, the ghoul's flesh fusing seamlessly with his own in seconds.
Without hesitation, he surged forward, his sword elongating mid-strike, its reach catching Willow off guard. The blade grazed his abdomen, carving a shallow, stinging wound as he narrowly dodged the full force of the blow. His eyes narrowed in irritation as the two engaged in a ferocious duel.
Each strike came faster than the last, their weapons clashing with sparks that illuminated their sweat-slicked faces. Isaac pressed his advantage, but Willow's cursed strikes began to take their toll. His healing factor, once a near-insurmountable edge, faltered under the weight of his ability. The dark veins creeping along his flesh were a grim testament to the curse's power.
"Just get out of my way!" Isaac roared, his voice raw with desperation and fury.
Willow's response was swift and brutal. With a single, precise strike, he severed his leg at the knee. Blood sprayed in an arc as he flung the limb aside. Isaac staggered but refused to fall. Instead, he snatched up another ghoul's leg, grafting it onto himself with grim determination. His breathing was labored, his face pale, but he continued.
The pattern repeated—another leg, then an arm. Each time Willow dismembered him, Isaac replaced the lost limb with ghoul flesh, the replacements weaker and cruder with every iteration. By the time all his original limbs were gone, his body was a patchwork of mismatched, trembling ghoul appendages. But Isaac smiled.
Unbeknownst to Willow, the severed limbs were more than discarded flesh. Each one embedded itself into a nearby tree, the blood seeping into the bark like a grotesque parasite. The ground quaked as the limbs detonated, splattering the area with crimson ichor. From the trees erupted four bloody chains, snaking through the battlefield like living serpents. The chains extended far beyond the boundaries of Willow’s conjured arena, their reach inexorable. They coiled around his arms and waist, binding him in place.
“Check… checkmate,” Isaac rasped, his voice hoarse. Blood dripped from his lips, and his body swayed on the brink of collapse.
Staggering toward Willow, his vision blurred and tinged with red, Isaac poured the last of his strength into a final strike. His blade arced through the air, unyielding in its purpose. The edge found its mark, severing Willow’s neck in one clean, decisive motion.
Willow's body dissolved into motes of light, a testament to his elimination from the examination. He reappeared in the auditorium, his expression caught between shock and begrudging respect.
Isaac collapsed, his body hitting the ground with a dull thud. Darkness closed in, but before it consumed him, a booming announcement echoed across the battlefield:
“Congratulations, students. The Sentinel has been eliminated. All remaining participants will automatically pass. Those eliminated will be evaluated based on their performance. The highest scores in this entrance exam go to Karma, Lyra Tiamat, and Isaac. Welcome to Castletown, students.”
Isaac’s lips twitched into a faint, victorious smile before unconsciousness claimed him.
Isaac slowly opened his eyes, the sterile white ceiling of the nurse’s office coming into view. The bed beneath him was surprisingly comfortable, and a light, clean sheet covered his battered body. His muscles ached faintly, a reminder of the brutal fight he had endured. The faint hum of fluorescent lights filled the room.
Seated nearby on a spinning chair was a man whose presence was impossible to ignore. Doctor Akira Sanguine leaned back casually, his short green hair gleaming under the artificial light. His sharp purple eyes sparkled with a mix of amusement and intrigue, as though he already knew more about Isaac than he should. He wore a pristine white lab coat over a sleek black suit, tailored to perfection, every fold immaculate. Crimson gloves adorned his hands, standing out like drops of blood against the monochrome of his attire. His playful smile bordered on unsettling, a blend of charm and subtle menace.
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“Good morning, Mr. Fafnir. Congratulations,” Akira said, his tone light and almost sing-song, spinning once in his chair before coming to a stop.
Isaac blinked groggily, his voice hoarse as he asked, “Where… am I?”
“You’re in the Castletown nurse’s office,” Akira replied, gesturing grandly to the sterile room around them. “It’s my job to patch you brats up after you try to kill each other. How do you feel after your battle against an ex-member of the Crows?”
Isaac’s brow furrowed as the memory of his fight with Adam Willow resurfaced. He shifted slightly in bed, wincing as his body protested. “I barely won… even with all my strategies,” he admitted, his tone heavy with honesty. “If the exam hadn’t required him to have his strength limited, I wouldn’t have stood a chance—not in a million years.”
Akira chuckled softly, spinning his chair again before leaning forward, resting his chin on one crimson-gloved hand. “Oh, don’t sell yourself short, kid. You’ve got potential. You just need time to grow. Have faith in yourself.”
There was a brief pause before Akira’s playful demeanor shifted. His tone dropped, his expression taking on an unusual seriousness. “That said, may I offer you an opportunity?”
Isaac frowned, his senses sharpening. “What kind of opportunity?”
Akira’s violet eyes locked onto his, and his voice was calm, yet razor-edged. “I’m aware of what happened that day—the day the Crows attacked your family.”
Isaac stiffened, his pulse quickening. “How do you know about that?” he asked, his voice low and tense.
Akira’s lips curled into a faint smile as he reached into his coat, pulling out a crude, poorly made plague doctor’s mask. He held it up, the dim light casting long shadows across his face.
“That’s because,” Akira said slowly, his voice taking on a dramatic edge, “I’m the leader of the Crows. Codename: Blank.”
For a moment, Isaac just stared, his mind struggling to process what he had just heard. His disbelief was written all over his face, a mix of confusion and suppressed anger bubbling to the surface.
Then Akira burst into laughter, his grin widening as he twirled the mask in his hand. “It’s just a joke! Oh, you should’ve seen the look on your face right now. Priceless.”
Isaac let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, though his glare remained fixed on the eccentric doctor. “Not funny.”
“Come on, a little humor never killed anyone… well, not usually,” Akira quipped with a wink. Tossing the mask aside, he leaned back in his chair. “But seriously, the truth is the principal was the one who saved you that day. Every staff member here has been informed of your circumstances.”
“So tell me, Isaac,” Akira began, his tone unusually calm, his sharp purple eyes locking onto Isaac's. “Is revenge your wish?”
Isaac clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. His voice was low, laced with unrelenting resolve. “It is. I want to kill every last one of them… I have to kill each of them.”
Akira leaned back in his chair, studying Isaac carefully. His expression softened—not with pity, but with a kind of understanding that only someone who had walked the same dark path could convey. He sighed, his playful demeanor fading entirely as he spoke.
“I sympathize with you. My family was murdered right in front of me, too,” he said quietly. “My father… Lumiar Sanguine… he was the Seventh Hero. A man of unmatched strength and honor. But he carried a terrible burden—he had to kill his own brother, Vanitas, who became the Seventh Apocalypse. Vanitas… the Apocalypse of Calamity. My father didn’t have a choice.”
Akira paused, his violet eyes clouding with pain, as though the memories were clawing their way back to him. “But the Emperor—he’s a man who despises what he cannot control. My father was a hero, yes, but also a threat. He knew my father would defy him, so one night, he came for us. He killed my mother and father while I hid under the bed, crying, praying he wouldn’t find me.” His voice tightened, trembling with a barely concealed fury. “The Emperor… Blank… they’re monsters. Horrid men who deserve nothing less than to be erased from this world.”
Isaac’s gaze never wavered, his jaw set in stone. “So… in return for joining you, you’ll help me get revenge?”
Akira gave a small, mirthless laugh, shaking his head. “No, Isaac. I’ll help you find them regardless of your decision. I don’t make deals like that. All I needed was to hear your wish.”
Isaac frowned, confused. “What do you mean?”
Akira leaned forward, the dim light casting sharp shadows across his angular features. “My ability,” he began, his voice low and deliberate, “is called False God. As long as someone tells me their wish—their deepest desire—I can temporarily copy their ability. But there’s a catch.”
Isaac raised an eyebrow, his body tense. “What kind of catch?”
“If you die… or if you lose faith in me, I lose access to your ability,” Akira explained, his tone matter-of-fact. “But if I fulfill your wish… if I help you achieve what you truly desire, I get to keep your power forever.”
The air between them grew heavy, the weight of Akira’s words sinking in. Isaac stared at him, his mind racing with questions and doubts. But one thing was clear: Akira’s offer wasn’t just about alliances or favors—it was a gamble, one with stakes far higher than Isaac had anticipated.
“So… all I have to do is trust you?” Isaac asked, his voice cautious.
Akira smiled faintly, his sharp eyes gleaming. “That’s right. Trust me, and I’ll help you burn your enemies to the ground. Together, we’ll give them the fate they deserve.”
“Though, I do have one small request for you,” Akira said, his tone light but carrying a hint of genuine earnestness.
Isaac tensed slightly, unsure of what to expect. “What is it?” he asked, his voice tinged with nervous curiosity.
Akira’s usual playful smile softened into something more sincere. “Please become friends with my son, Kel. He’s such a shy boy, and I worry he’ll struggle to make connections in this new environment. You’d be doing me a huge favor.”
Isaac blinked, caught off guard by the request. Of all the things he expected, this was far from it. “S-sure, I guess,” he stammered, still processing.
He rose from his chair and stretched, his lab coat billowing slightly as he did. “Anyway, your friend’s been looking for you. But before you go, let’s get you fully healed. Can’t have you stumbling around half-broken.”
Removing one crimson glove with a practiced motion, Akira reached out and placed his bare hand gently on Isaac’s forehead. A warm, soothing energy coursed through Isaac’s body, knitting every wound, banishing the lingering aches, and replenishing his drained stamina. It felt as though every fiber of his being had been renewed.
“There we go. Good as new,” Akira said, slipping his glove back on. “Now, let me show you to your dorm. You can meet up with your friend afterward.”
Isaac followed Akira out of the nurse’s office, and they began their walk through Castletown. The city was unlike anything Isaac had seen before. The streets buzzed with activity as students and staff went about their business, the air filled with the hum of magic and chatter.
Finally, they arrived at a grand building with gothic architecture, its stone facade adorned with intricate carvings and vibrant banners.
“This is Sanguine Hall,” Akira said with a small smirk. “Not sure who it was named after.” He handed Isaac a small brass key. “Here’s your room key. Your belongings have already been placed inside.”
Isaac accepted the key, glancing at the number etched onto the tag: 121. “Thank you… for everything,” he said, his gratitude genuine.
Akira gave him a small wave. “Take care, Isaac.”
Isaac nodded, then stepped into the dormitory. The interior was just as impressive as the city itself—polished wooden floors, high ceilings, and ornate chandeliers that bathed the space in a soft, golden glow. He navigated the halls until he found his room, 121.
Sliding the key into the lock, Isaac pushed the door open, his heart pounding slightly with anticipation. The room before him was spacious and well-furnished, far exceeding anything he’d known at the orphanage. Warm light from a small chandelier bathed the space in a comforting glow. The living room featured a plush couch positioned near a low wooden table, surrounded by tall bookshelves brimming with books and trinkets. To one side was a compact but clean bathroom, and across the hall were two bedrooms, their doors slightly ajar.
Seated on the couch were two people, their presence immediately catching Isaac’s attention.
“Oh, so you’re my new roommate?” the boy said, adjusting his glasses with a calm, analytical demeanor. His short, dark hair was neatly combed, and his posture exuded an air of quiet confidence. “Congratulations on defeating the Sentinel. Quite the feat.”
Beside him sat June, her bright eyes sparkling with excitement. She jumped to her feet, grasping Isaac’s hand with both of hers. “You did amazing!” she said enthusiastically, her energy a stark contrast to her brother’s composed tone.
“T-thanks,” Isaac stammered, his face flushing as he glanced between the two. The warmth of June’s hands and her genuine praise were overwhelming after the day’s events.
Before Isaac could say more, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway. A young boy entered the room, his presence commanding attention. He wore a white shirt beneath a black waistcoat, and several ornate pocket watches dangled from his pants, jingling faintly with every step. His tan skin was crisscrossed with visible stitches, as though he’d been pieced together like a doll. His messy purple hair framed his face, and his glasses reflected the room’s light. But what stood out most were his eyes: the sclera of his right eye was black, and both pupils glowed with an unsettling purple hue.
The boy stopped in the center of the room, tilting his head slightly as he regarded Isaac with an unreadable expression. “Do me a favor, Isaac,” he said, his voice calm but carrying an almost imperceptible weight. “Go to sleep.”
Isaac’s eyes widened in confusion for a brief moment before his body betrayed him. His eyelids grew heavy, and he crumpled to the floor in a deep, unnatural slumber.
Mars and June sprang to their feet, panic flashing across their faces. “Isaac!” Mars exclaimed, reaching for his fallen roommate.
“Stay where you are,” the boy commanded, his tone eerily soothing. “Follow my commands. Fall under my trance.”
As the boy’s words settled over the room, Mars and June froze. Their eyes glazed over, their expressions empty, as if their very wills had been stolen.
The boy adjusted his glasses, his glowing eyes narrowing. “Do not mention the existence of Noah Fafnir when you’re around Isaac,” he said coldly, his voice carrying an air of finality. “He must not know that his brother still lives. Now, you’ll forget what happened here and fall asleep. Good night.”
Mars and June nodded blankly, their movements stiff and mechanical. They collapsed onto the couch moments later, their bodies limp as if puppets whose strings had been cut.
The boy cast one last glance at the unconscious trio before turning toward the door. His pocket watches jingled softly as he walked out, muttering under his breath.
“Now, let’s see who else is on the list to be hypnotized,” he mused, his tone chilling in its detachment. “Lyra Tiamat, Markus Valentine, Sera Hart, Shadar Eclipse, Alice Rouge… and lastly, Charlotte and Wallace Necrom.”
Without another word, he disappeared into the dimly lit hallway, leaving only silence and the faint ticking of pocket watches behind.