“[Adrenaline]”

Zayne’s speed shot up a few notches faster, but his delayed movements turned his usual agile, willowy steps maladroit and sluggish. Herbert’s eyes shot up upon Zayne’s sudden burst of speed and smirked, “It seemed like-“

A blotch of a snapping shape burst from underneath the stage floor, taking the form of a tendril. The mage’s head swerved, dodging the sudden attack by a hair’s breadth, unwittingly pulling himself to Zayne’s outstretched arm. He grimaced upon realizing what had happened, then turned to scowl at Zayne’s beaming, sweaty eyes.

The siblings sang Zayne’s triumph with genuine excitement. “Where did you get that spell?” Wyne asked, and was answered by Zayne’s trademark covert shrug and dismissal of her question. She caught his point after that, assuming Zayne wished to keep the origins of his spell a secret, even when she didn’t understand why.

Nobody else but Oswul passed Herbert’s test. His smart selection of shots bought him enough time to reach him, again slamming the utility of ranged combat to Zayne’s head. That point was tested even further when they came across an aiming test, supervised by no one but Danya himself. He winked upon his arrival, earning a few questioning glances from his friends, before granting a card to both Wyne and Oswul. Zayne knew how to use a bow, but Danya’s test was designed for those mastering ranged combat, not him.

Then came Bernard. He wore very little in terms of clothing, displaying most of his upper torso to the rapture of a few ladies before his stage. Wyne blushed, embarrassed. Gilbert took the stage.

“Punch me as hard as you can.” Bernard said, “If you hurt me enough, I’ll consider giving you a pass.”

Gilbert tapped his right palm with careful, approaching steps. “Are you sure?” he spoke, “You might faint.” His joke amused Bernard enough for him to sneer. “Here I come.”

A loud smack emanated on the stage, earning the attention of those watching their clash.

“Hmm…” Bernard shirked his punch with a terse shrug, “That’s… good enough. Here.” He tossed a green card toward Gilbert furiously jerking his hand to ward off the sting from the recoil. Wyne and Oswul left Bernard’s stage with a look of an expected letdown. Wyne’s punch produced no noise, and Oswul didn’t even bother; his wrists were too important for him to possibly injure.

“You’re here,” Bernard said when Zayne rose to the stage, cracking his knuckles. “Should I raise the bar for you? Come.”

Zayne took a deep breath; his adrenaline lasted long enough from the previous test for him to deliver one last punch, and he went with everything he got. A shudder ran along his skin as his fist met the rock in the form of Bernard’s sculpted abs—followed by an eruption of pain as his punch stalled with a tumultuous smack. He turned his gaze upward only to be met with Bernard’s indifferent expression. This man’s too strong for me. He sighed and shrugged defeat. A gentle impression of his fist ruddied the man’s stomach, fading into his natural, tanned skin.

“Decent.” He said, “Here.”

Zayne descended his stage with a swollen fist paired with a smug smile. Wyne pinched said smugness out of him, and they resumed their test together.

###

An hour passed and Zayne had gone through 10 tests, failing three of them. Two more failures came from the magic-related tests, Zayne simply had too little mana to work with to do much. Well, not that he had many spells to use anyway. The siblings fared decently, passing about 4-5 of those tests, but a glimpse on their frustrated faces told about their disappointment. Sun had risen by the point Zayne stood before his eleventh test. Drenched in sweat-laden exhaustion, he wiped his brow and ascended the steps with a slight trepidation.

Five balls of brown dirt floated around the stage, hovering above a man wearing a full brown cloak with a slashed face a few considered appealing. His bald head sweltered under the intense sunlight, highlighting his supreme frown, a large concave curve carving into his glinting forehead. He mouthed instructions with a petulant temperament, “Stay on the stage for a minute.”

No more instructions were told after that. To his fortune, Zayne had spectated his test before he entered the stage, mainly those said floating earthen balls hovering around his presence. He simply had to avoid those for a minute—a prospect sounded so simple, yet to triumph over this one was… complicated. “Are you ready?” The bald man asked, twirling his fingers, “here I come. Don’t get hit, trust me, it will hurt.”

Zayne readied his stance, sucking air. His heart pumped as the earthen rocks wobbled, then shot out into multiple directions, each swerving toward his figure.

Fast, Zayne took a few steps to avoid any direct hits. The test demanded that he remained on the stage, so, on its own, being pommeled by the rocks wouldn’t spell his failure. An empty blast of wind punched the space where his head and limbs used to be as his figure tossed and tumbled around the wooden stage, paired with the light smell of dirt and the perspiration of those who came prior.

Zayne used both hands to propel himself away from two incoming balls, the remnants of their momentum nigh cleaved his limbs apart if they connected. The tester’s eyes grew tense as seconds ticked; almost a minute had passed—he only needed to maintain his focus. Beads of sweat splashed the damp wood beneath as he rolled, almost slipping as his legs skidded against the hard surface, but his balance was kept.

“Stop.” The mage spoke when a rock was on its way to crush Zayne’s sweaty face. “You pass. Here.”

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One more completed. Zayne applauded internally as he sauntered over to grab the green card. “Thanks…”

The siblings fared decently against the mage. Wyne expended some magic to shoot the balls and Oswul had enough dexterity to avoid any direct hit, although a few grazed his skin, earning him a few dark gashes dotting his otherwise light skin. Gilbert used his blade to knock some of the balls away, enough to maintain his position on the stage, but his body took quite the beating.

Half of the allotted time had passed as they reached their final few tests. Zayne’s seven green cards ballooned to fourteen, and the siblings’ succeeded in acquiring more than ten cards. Their once-defeated expressions washed with their recent achievements, gaining much-needed confidence, and the elation of being an adventurer fueled their steps.

A new revelation shook his attention away from the verdant cards. Some of the testers gave out golden cards—a type Zayne never acquired before—and relieved themselves of their duties right after, rendering their stage useless. “Thank goodness we’ve finished that one,” Oswul muttered, “I wonder what’s the golden card about?”

“Of course, it’s for something special,” Gilbert replied, stretching his sore back, “Come, we have one more stage to complete. Well, I’d say that congratulations are in order, but…” His eyes darted around, checking the faces of the others before resting on Wyne’s languorous eyes, “Wyne? You okay?” She waved, mouthing something about mana exhaustion.

Golden cards… Zayne pondered as they trudged through the deflating crowd. “I wished I can get one, I wonder what kind of performance you have to give to be granted one.” No use thinking about it, he thought while gazing into nowhere. Just do your best. Let’s see… what’s the last stage like?

But what they saw on the last stage broke any strength left inside their limbs. Screams of torture wallowed from the final stage; Gilas, the snobby noble hounding the siblings knelt and cried in complete agony. “Let me go!” He begged; tears and snot roping on his cheeks and upper lip. Gilbert’s eyes lit with an understandable sense of satisfaction, but fear clouded his forehead even more so. What kind of test could render a prideful man into this?

“What’s going on?”

“I’m not ever going up that stage.”

It didn’t take long before the chatters of the crowd took over, “A mental assault,” A few said, mentioning horrific spellings of doom and gloom, “Shows you the worst nightmare possible”, another spoke, clutching her arms together in fear.

“There are no traits to help with mental attacks,” Oswul gritted his teeth, “You will encounter monsters that do illusion attacks at one point, so I understand why a test of this kind is present here.”

“Are we doing it?” Wyne spoke, turning her head away from Gilas’s shivering figure descending the stairs. “Look- Look at his face.” A sneer slashed her lips upon witnessing his defeat, her hatred of their family ever-present. “He totally deserved that.”

The man conducting this test had the same air about him as Kallen’s. Tall, shrewd, with a face no one could read and blond hair that tousled as he moved. He rose from his seat, extending his arms; he wore nothing but a large swath of ivory cloak clinging to his skin as they sailed with the wind. “Now!” his shrill voice sang, “Are there any other daring adventurers willing to test their mettle?” his hazel eyes roamed those escaping his sights, landing on a stoic figure clad in a dark green leather vest. Zayne shuddered when their eyes clashed, without a spoken word, Zayne knew this man had challenged him…

… Which prompted Zayne to man up. The man’s dark hazel eyes lit upon witnessing Zayne’s figure rising to the stage, smiling a shrewd, crooked smile. “Ah… I’m glad to see another daring challenger,” He said, studying Zayne’s somewhat lithe figure, “You have good eyes, kid. I might like you.”

Zayne nodded, bowing his head, “Thanks for the opportunity.”

“Mental attacks are nasty, and oftentimes, the worst-“ He added, playing with his long hair, “A lot of adventurers forget about it until they faced one, and when it happens, they usually perish. I’ve been inflicted by such an attack once, my first encounter with an echidna changed me. Remember that.” His words rang true to Zayne’s heart. “Now.” He clapped his hands. “Take a seat, you won’t be able to stand if this is your first. Now… close your eyes.”

At first, Zayne only saw black. Then wisps of small, bright lights flew about in his vision above his ruddied vision. Those wisps expanded, filling his eyes with the color white, with a blinding light that lingered a few seconds too long for his tastes.

A person walked inside the brightness. A scene, Zayne noted, a scene of Burg and its inhabitants. He’s just replaying my past again? He scoffed at the picture at first, but he began to smile as it displayed his day-to-day peaceful life; his trek to the academy in the mornings, the classes, the training, then the walk back to Kate’s inn and helping her out. He frequented her backyard to practice with his wooden weapons, fueled by Kate’s snacks and dinner.

Then he slept, and the days repeated. One after another. Peaceful, and…

Boring.

The same gnawing feeling chewed his insides yet again; a feeling he’d forgotten after acquiring the core, dangling on his legs, weighing his feet, disabling him, maiming his mind. But in this… scene. In this picture, the nightmarish invasion never happened. Zayne lingered in that dream, a dream of peace and quiet, a dream of utter disdain and despair. Kate’s smile and his old friends clutched his arms, unwilling to let him go. “Stay with us,” They spoke, grinning from ear to ear, laughing…

BEGGING.

Slowly, pieces of their skins flaked, revealing rotting, writhing flesh underneath. It pulsated with bulbous, ardent fury, cracking their skins, dislocating their eyes, squeezing them out of their sockets. Yet, they never complained, they never stopped smiling, and they never let go. Zayne pulled with a grimace, failing as their fingers dug into his skin, burrowing into his muscles, rooting into his bones. No gasps left his mouth as their putrid flesh burst forth, leaving their sickening smiles behind. “Get away…” Zayne spoke, finding the strength to yank his arms back. But was it enough? Was anything he’d done enough?

The skies thundered. A dark spot of darkness expanded in the center of the clouds. The monster invasion, Zayne screamed. A rain of silhouettes ravaged Burg, but all the monsters ignored Zayne and the twisted images of his friends and family. They simply smiled and giggled. Laura’s other arm reached for Zayne’s ashening face, her fingers trailing his quivering lips. “Stay with us.” She chanted. “Come with us.” She pleaded, her smile frowning. Zayne kept his lips shut. The others followed, repeating the same sentences over, and over, and over, and over-

This isn’t what I want.

Zayne, for better or for worse, had tasted the life of the other side. A life he’d kill for.

Zayne opened his eyes, leering at their disfigured faces with a mixture of regret and longing. He knew none of them were real; they were fragments of his past formed by the blond man, but he couldn’t help but savor this… crooked sense of nostalgia. He never got to say his final words to them. Their grasps loosened, their roots withdrawing. “I loved who I am today. Be it as disorganized and as poor as I am.”

Their faces froze. Zayne talked as if he’d moved on from his past, but his actions didn’t reflect that. Wyne was right, a part of Zayne had assumed the siblings as a replacement for his friends; a reminder that yes, an anchor had lodged a part of him to his past, locked with a seal of sorrow and regret. “I loved you all.” He spoke, letting another part of him loose. The rowdy, selfish, sick, and narcissistic side of his had rotted his soul, waiting for their moment to shine. “But…” He whispered, “I won’t part with this life, no matter the cost.” The truth was; if Zayne had a choice to let go of his core and relive that life again…

I don’t want to. Maybe that is wrong, and I must be punished for being that selfish. His limbs burst apart from their pleading figures. A sword and a spear fell from the skies, clasped tightly on both his arms. Sever my past. He whispered. Two slices ripped his nightmare apart; ending the suffocating dream of his listless life. His old friends wailed, writhing in agony at having their bodies ripped apart, and Kate…

Kate deserved a better life.

And so was Zayne.