In a different bunker, not that far, nor that close.

There are quite a few of them in the proximity of the Institution of the Emblem. Moe, then one would guess, in fact. But all of them are in use for the sake of the Academy Trial and future newcomers alone. The challengers to the Trials that already attempted it once aren't eligible for these bunkers. Only beginners of the new awakening can.

In this one, a very different thing front the others, but not fundamentally different, is happening.

A black-haired, pale-looking girl is gripping a greatsword, glittering with some shimmering matter, and contrasting darkness. It is both black and white greatswords of shimmering, and flaming matter. It's like flames, but not really. They pose no heat, but they sure are deadly. Although, no one would guess where the shape or the edge of this sword is since the matter that flows is unkept and chaotic.

Around the girl, but more so around the surrounding walls are countless cuts with all kinds of lengths, wideness, and deepness.

In front of her is a kneeling man, bleeding profusely from his chest, and part of his shoulders. The flesh isn't visible since the clothes are intact. A strange thing indeed and the man is confused about it himself. The flesh is exposed under it, seeping blood, and it also splintered away from her cut.

Nothing made sense about it.

It is Celleste's Instructor that Schult gave her under the pretext of the Academy Trial.

“I am not sorry if that's what you are looking at me for,” she utters in indifference. “You are the taker of that yourself... or so I read. How is it said, again...” she mumbles, glancing to the ground in a try to recollect some memory.

The kneeling man sighed, not much bothered by the pain or loss of blood. “I was only lenient enough to see your strikes. It is a bit too much so I am not looking for an apology, Cellaste.” the man replies. “You are strong.” Smirking, he appears fine on his face, but a small shock is still deep in his eyes.

This girl is an utmost monster. What affinity? What talent? He never saw such a big variable between affinity and actual usability. She isn't the kind he expected to teach from the heads-up he got. Even if he was feeling confident, and paid not much attention to his defenses as he should, she surprised him. No, she clawed a huge painful mark onto his heart, shedding his own blood.

Blood is scattered around the floor, splintering behind and around the man. It is still flowing through his clothes and body. His blood, that is. The cut has been a deep one, much to his surprise, but there is no amount of blood on Celleste or her blade.

The cut was a strange one, while the cutting tool is on another level of strangeness altogether.

There is a path of bloody droplets beyond the man as if it is a path of attack that cut through his body, splintering the blood behind. It goes far, almost reaching the end of the bunker.

“I am...” the man said, clutching his shoulder.

“I would like to continue,” Celeste says in the same manner as before, not interested in this man's issues. As she said, it was his fault. She is on point because she also warned him before the Offensive day started, but he didn't listen. Not like she would be unhappy, glad, or fearful that she injured this man that has been her instructor for the past 7 days. This is the 8th one, and she started a bit late for various reasons that she had to endure. It has been a day that she expected, but also feared.

The blade, Emblem, and shimmering voice in her mind have all been new things to her. It was a strange thing. She wasn't sure if she was afraid of that. These voices and feeling in her head are terrifying, making her mind recall many unpleasant things.

They aren't there all the time, so that is at least something. The fear, pain, and figuring things out on her own aren't new thigns for her, but having an Instructor is. Well, she also heard that Academy is full of such things, so perhaps she needs to adjust her mind accordingly.

She holds her blade loosely, resting the questionable tip on the floor, while she holds the handle. The matter at the tip is sending shimmering tremors through the ground, shaking it, and cracking it a little. She doesn't care for that, nor about the fact that even part of her right side, that holds the blade, is bathed in a matter of the blade itself.

It makes her appear ethereal, while the flowing sections of shadowy, whitish-bright Vectors, appear no different from the cloudy and shadowy Vectors that Roman has. But there is a difference. Their affinity is different. Roman's have more dark aptitude, filled with shadowy Annihilation element, while Celleste has... a rather peculiar white and black color scheme, which corresponds to unknown affinity according to this man's knowledge.

“Double colors? Could it be a double Element of some strange effect? No.” the man thought. “It is only known in the Element types. She has Vectors.”

Apart from the color, hers has differences in the manner of manifestation, and the base structure of her emblem isn't finite.

It is a tool, and not a shimmering, intangible thing, but then, what base form Roman has? William doesn't know, and perhaps Roman no longer cares about it either.

Cellese base form is a 4 and half feet long robust-looking greatsword. While it looks like one, at the same time, it doesn't feel like one. That is at least what the smirking man is thinking when straightening his back. Even though his emblem hasn't been activated, it wouldn't help much against arrogance and mistakes. The loss of blood wasn't too big of a problem for him, but with everything, the blood is a source of the Arcanite, and the man finds it less than bothersome.

“You can fight how you can. This is your opportunity to see what you can do. I will do my part. Of course, I will make sure you will be alright.” the man tells, placing his hand forward, activating something.

All droplets of his blood flew up from the ground, congregating around his palm like shimmering bees looking for nectar. Forming a series of steams, the blood flows back to his wound through the touch of his skin, disappearing where they are meant to be.

Still, man's clothes end up in shambles of some residual color. He can't manage to save everything, as his blood isn't 100% Arcanite. Feeling wet in the blood isn't great, so he unzips his suit, and ends up in a casual shirt underneath. Clear muscular arms are visible thanks to the short-sleeved shirt. His whole appearance is still a bit bloodied, even after discarding the suit. Though, it isn't as noticeable through the strain and seriousness on his face. Flexing his right hand, he punches his chest and shoulder. Grinding his teeth, he feels how the shimmering control of his blood closes the open wounds around his chest and even his shoulder.

Celleste looks at the sigh before her without a change in expression, but she is secretly observing everything that is happening. Ever since she came to the Federation, the sights and things she is observing are on another level. Things no longer seem crazy, and deadly. Instead, there is a feeling of peace. An unlikely thing that she isn't used to.

This puts her mind unease, hoping her former strain wouldn't disappear. When Outside, one has to remain firm and decisive. So, for that, she is preparing her next attack according to her inner voice and hope. Celleste plans to encompass her life for the new path that she long hoped for. It is a damned time to get revenge for her suffering.

She no longer wants to fear the Dark, or be alone. Well... only one of them may be sufficient for her for the time being, but that isn't a bad thing at all.

The past is beyond her back, while the path forward will be much different than the past.

Swinging her black and white greatsword, a veil of dark, white clouds and waves cleaved the air itself. Perpas new splinters of blood will appear that day, shocking the poor man that Schultz forced against this little devil.

Such things are happening at this age, close to the Academy Trial. Though, they are outside of the view of ordinary humans. Figures that are glad to be safe.

Many kinds of sights and research purposes for the youths are happening throughout the Federation at the moment. After matches of the Forceful awakening that awakened hundreds of Walkers are usually like that. It is a time when a lot of work is going through many organizations. Particularly the military ones, but Insituion of the Emblem takes the highest priority.

After all, it is important to be sure of the prospect of the future.

Everything is for the future, while the preparation for the Trials is a high priority only for the selected few. Mainly for the Academy itself, but Assembly Island puts a lot of effort into that as well.

The Trials will happen in an unknown place, at an unknown time, but it is getting close.

So much so, that less than a day remains.

The 10th day of the preparation for the Trial arrives. It is the last one that puts Instructors and new Walkers together.

At the moment, deep at night. William is clutching his head, and chest as strongly as he could. The third hand would go to his legs that can't stand properly, but it is too bad he doesn't have it.

Above him is standing Roman, who looks at him with a quite satisfied expression.

“Come on. It's 1 AM. Do you wanna wait for the Trial to start, or continue with this?” He tells William who is seeping for breath.

“G-give... break,” he mumbles.

“No break.” Roman shakes his head, crunching beside scowling William. He looks at his body, observing every detail of his Emblem as well. “It has been a good 9th series so far. I want to end the last 2 rounds so it's over, and done.”

“I don't care... about your OCD.” William mumbles, uncaring for his words.

“OCD? What's that?” Roman asks, patting William on his chest which sends shivers of pain through his body. Roman never attacked him today, but the course of attacking him felt like it. The strain of the Annihilation Element did this to him. His body feels exhausted.

“Nevermind... I am standing... Standing.” William whimpers those words, longer complaining as he staggers to his legs. Standing is a strange thing to say, but he is over his physical limits.

Not much mentally, but both things are somewhat connected to each other, so he hopes to end this sooner rather than later. Well, he keeps telling that to himself for the past 3 Series, so that is that.

He knows that, and Roman sees the glister of power in his eyes even now. It is subsided by pain, but Roman also knows that he can manage this.

William activates his emblem for like a hundredth time today.

He doesn't care if that number is correct, nor he cares to count them.

He feels like a crawling, painful call of the Mindless Eyes clutching his mind. It screams off limits, but he can do this, or so he believes. A Claw that is of a rather haggard and barely flickering Vectors is forming around his right hand.

It is the Annihilation Claw of a well-rounded state. William figured out how to start with it from the get-go without changing the Vector Claw, to the Annihilation Claw. This can save precious seconds in combat, but it sure is draining and hard.

“You... I am barely able to hold this together and you want me to fight?” William stages in his feet, yet still stood with his arm facing upwards. It is a clumsy stance, but Roman likes to see this endurance in William's eyes.

10 Series has been too much of a problem. Though, it is only a small problem for Roman, since he came up with it on a whim. He never even cared for such a ridiculous number. It is jsut a limit that he came up with in the Academy. A source of numbers that can push students much further. While it may be a bit sadistic, it does get the job done.

“It's a good thing that you stand. It is good now, rather than later. Making sure to know the limits is important. It's the very same important lesson that already happened twice today, you know? Do you understand it?” Roman tells, straightening his feet as well.

“Jeez... I don't want to experience it ever again.” William spits those words out, hoping that time will move forward without his senses present in this mess.

“This is a spar, William,” Roman argues, leaving no time for argument between them. “A combination of the yesterday, and the days before. What did you expect?”

“You told me these 3 sentences for like the 18th time!” William argues, charging at Roman who has small, shimmering shadows around his shoulders and arms.