In the eerie silence that followed the Principal's announcement, a palpable tension lingered in the air, as if the very atmosphere of the arena had been charged with expectation. Ajal, lying amid the rubble of his latest confrontation, pushed himself to a sitting position, the pain from Molly's assault a sharp reminder of the stakes they were playing for. He wiped the blood from his lip, his gaze settling on the figure of the mysterious combatant who had just entered the fray. "Well," he muttered under his breath, "I wasn't expecting us to be in last place."
"It makes no sense," Molly mused aloud, her brow furrowed in confusion as she tried to piece together the logic behind the sudden change in the test's rules.
"Well, of course, it doesn't!" The figure interjected, "You can’t tell that they are just using us for entertainment? They just up and decide a team gets to pass before the test is even over? If I hadn’t known any better, this thing is rigged."
His words hung in the air, a bitter acknowledgment of the reality they faced. The realization that their struggles and efforts might be reduced to mere spectacle was a jarring one, casting a shadow over the integrity of the test and the institution behind it. It was a moment of disillusionment, a crack in the facade of fairness and meritocracy that the test was supposed to uphold.
"And you are?" Molly inquired, her gaze shifting from the focus solely on him.
"The name's Emil," he replied with a courteous bow, a flicker of pride in his eyes despite the tension in the air.
"Don't care anymore." Molly's dismissal was swift, her attention quickly returning to Ajal. "With only three teams allowed to pass, you aren't in a good position."
"Yeah, thanks, I got that," Ajal retorted, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "You seem to really hate me. What's up with that?"
Molly opened her mouth to respond, but her words were cut short as Emil suddenly appeared behind her, his pole raised high and swinging with lethal intent toward her head. The abruptness of his attack left no room for words, only action, as the dynamic of their encounter shifted dramatically in the blink of an eye.
But before Emil's blow could connect, Ajal launched himself forward, the wind at his heels accelerating his movements and allowing him to move with lightning speed. He crashed into Molly, pushing her out of harm's way even as Emil's pole slammed into Ajal's back. The sharp pain of static shook through his entire body.
With the agility of a feline, Ajal leaped away from the cross-wielding boy, putting some distance between them while Molly regained her bearings. She turned around, facing Emil with a dangerous glint in her eye, a glimmer of ferocity peeking through her usually stoic facade.
"Say..." Emil began, a sly smirk spreading across his face as he paced back and forth, his steps deliberate. "How about we do a little math, huh? Count up how many people your teams have defeated so far. My team? We’ve taken down nine. Based on that, I’m guessing each elimination is worth ten points. And if my hunch is right, Team L has already passed. The voice gave us their score as a clue—a hint to the threshold we need to hit. Now, assuming my theory holds up..." Emil’s smirk twisted into a sinister grin, his eyes gleaming with malicious glee. "That means I’ve got 20 points standing right in front of me. Even if I’m wrong about Team L being the ones who passed, the only other team I need to worry about is yours, Molly."
Molly’s eyes shifted to Emil, cold and calculating, though her head remained still. "Our team has also defeated nine others," she stated calmly. "I’m not one to put all my trust in a theory, but you raise an interesting point. That said, you didn’t stop to consider the possibility that the voice was lying about the point system altogether."
"And why would they bother lying about something like that?" Emil shot back, arching an eyebrow.
Molly’s gaze sharpened. "What I'm saying is that a theory is just that—a theory. What actually matters is that I eliminate anyone who stands in my way. I trust my team to hold their own and not get eliminated. My job is simple: do what needs to be done. Whether your theory is right or wrong, the result doesn’t change for me."
Emil chuckled darkly, shaking his head in amusement. "Fair enough. But if you don’t mind, I think I’ll go ahead and take the free points lying over there."
Before Molly could respond, Emil vanished in a flash of light, reappearing behind Ajal in the blink of an eye. Without warning, he struck, launching a swift kick aimed at Ajal’s head. Ajal reacted instinctively, spinning to block the blow, but Emil was already on the move again. In a fluid motion, Emil shifted position and drove his knee into Ajal’s chin, sending the young warrior spiraling to the ground.
Ajal rolled quickly, narrowly avoiding a stomp from Emil, then continued his evasive maneuver, gaining just enough space to get back on his feet. But before he could fully recover, Molly was upon him, launching a rapid barrage of strikes aimed at his arms and shoulders. Each blow landed with precision, pushing Ajal further on the defensive.
He stepped back, managing to block another flurry of punches from Molly, but just as he did, a powerful burst of energy slammed into his chest from the side. The force sent Ajal skidding across the arena, his footing unstable. Molly wasted no time, using her superior speed to close the gap, relentlessly pursuing him as she continued her onslaught.
"Can't I even get a thank you?!" Ajal exclaimed, his focus unwavering as he deftly parried a flurry of strikes and scythe swings from Molly, each block a testament to his skill and agility.
Unexpectedly, Molly ceased her assault, her weapons falling still as she regarded Ajal with a newfound solemnity. "Thank you," she uttered, her voice imbued with a sincerity that was as surprising as it was genuine, her posture reflecting a momentary truce.
Before Ajal could process this abrupt shift in her demeanor, his brief moment of confusion was exploited. Molly's white bandages shot out like serpents, coiling around his arm with a swift precision. With a heave of her strength, she launched him skyward, the world spinning around him as he was catapulted into the air, a human projectile caught in the whims of his unpredictable adversary.
As Ajal hurtled through the sky, Emil flashed towards him, kicking him again and launching him higher before he could recover his balance. A thunderous bang rang out as Ajal crashed back to earth, leaving a deep crater where he landed.
"One more time." Emil's voice echoed as his foot came crashing down towards Ajal, who raised his forearm in a desperate attempt to shield himself.
A second resounding bang split the air, marking Emil's foot once again connecting with Ajal's body. The force of the impact knocked Ajal deeper into the ground, cracking and tearing apart the stone below him.
For a moment, everything was still, as if the world itself was holding its breath.
"That takes care of that." Emil said, turning his attention to Molly. "I guess it's just the two of us now. It's kinda boring though, already knowing our teams are gonna pass, isn't it?"
"How annoying." Molly muttered under her breath as she stared at the crater. She turned to face Emil, her expression unreadable, and began to walk toward him, her steps slow and steady, measured like those of a predator stalking its prey. As she closed the gap between them, the tension in the air grew thicker, the feeling of anticipation palpable as both fighters sized each other up.
Then, without warning, Molly lunged forward, her scythe pulled back ready to strike. She slashed at Emil, only for him to use his giant cross to block the attack. The two opponents remained locked in a battle of wills, the pressure of their conflict resonating in the very air itself.
Their gazes met, determination and confidence shining within each of their eyes, reflecting the strength of their individual convictions.
Emil took a small step back, creating a brief pause in their intense exchange. "Hey, what's your dream?" he asked, curiosity coloring his tone.
"My dream?" Molly echoed, her expression softening as she considered the question.
"Yeah, what made you take this exam and fight this hard?" Emil pressed, genuinely interested in her motivations.
Molly hesitated for a moment, as if weighing the weight of her words. "I want to be a hero," she finally admitted, her voice carrying a mix of resolve and vulnerability.
"Hmm, interesting..." Emil mused, nodding in acknowledgment. He then reached for the flask that had remained in his tool belt throughout the entire battle. Bringing the flask to his lips, he continued, "My dream is to make a change in the world, even if it's the slightest thing. I want to be remembered."
He took a sip from the flask, but curiously, the level of the liquid remained unchanged, as if defying the laws of physics. Lowering the flask, he locked eyes with Molly once more. "Now, why don't we finish up this test?" His words were an invitation, a challenge, and a promise, all rolled into one, as they stood on the precipice of concluding their intense showdown.
Before either Molly or Emil could react to the implicit challenge, a distinct sound interrupted the tense atmosphere—the shifting of rubble and debris from the crater where Ajal had been laying. To their surprise, Ajal was rising from the ground, his demeanor a storm of fury and resolve. With a swift motion, he summoned his scythe back into his hand; the weapon appearing as if called by his very will. His glare at both combatants was laden with anger, a silent promise of retribution.
Molly and Emil instinctively tensed, preparing themselves for an imminent attack from the enraged Ajal. But instead of launching into a barrage of strikes, Ajal posed a question, his voice cutting through the charged air. "Hey, you two are using Divinity in your attacks, right?"
His query hung between them, an unexpected pivot from hostility to inquiry, yet it carried the weight of an unspoken accusation or perhaps a crucial realization that could alter the course of their confrontation.
Molly responded first, her tone laced with a hint of incredulity. "It's the most basic thing in combat, of course we are. It's honestly baffling someone as important as an Inheritor can't use it."
Emil's surprise mirrored Molly's as he exclaimed, "Wait, really?! You can't use your Divinity? No wonder you're getting owned."
Ajal, however, seemed unfazed by their reactions and the implications of his oversight. He brushed off Emil's comment, his focus narrowing on the revelation that had just unfolded before him. The fact that he had been fighting without tapping into his Divinity was a critical piece of the puzzle, one that he needed to address and understand. At that moment, his mind raced back to his training with Kaito and the cave they lived in.
"Oh. Yeah. That would make sense," Kaito conceded with a sheepish chuckle.
With a casual lift of his hands aimed at a wall, Kaito gave no warning before a portion of the wall exploded, reduced to rubble in an instant.
Ajal's eyes widened in shock. "Was that your Gift?"
"Yup. Of course, you’re too weak to actually see it," Kaito laughed, unfazed by the destruction he had wrought.
Ajal sighed, unimpressed. "Okay, but that didn't show me anything."
Kaito paused, considering his next move. "Summon your Scythe."
Obliging, Ajal grabbed his scarf and with a fluid motion, it transformed into his scythe, the metamorphosis as natural as breathing.
"Good," Kaito approved. "You just subconsciously used Divinity to do that. Just imagine that feeling when using your scythe to attack, and something will happen."
With a new understanding dawning on him, Ajal looked at his scythe, a tool he thought he knew, now a mystery to unravel. With determination fueling his movements, he charged toward Kaito, scythe raised for a decisive blow, aiming to cleave the man in two.
But Kaito was ready. In a display of skill and precision, he caught the blade of the scythe between his thumb and index finger, halting its deadly arc in its tracks.
"No, that was just another normal swing." Kaito said.
"I'm not really understanding," Ajal said.
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"Just focus and feel it move through your body."
"I don't feel anything," Ajal deadpanned.
"Well, you have to feel the Divinity running through your veins." Kaito explained, frustration bleeding into his tone.
"This is ridiculous." Ajal huffed.
"Alright, fine. Try this," Kaito said, exhaling in mild exasperation. "Focus all your energy into the tip of the scythe. Some people find it easier when they use specific poses, hand signs, or motions to help visualize the Divinity flowing through their body. Try running your fingers along the blade and picture the energy moving from within you onto the scythe."
"So… like spreading jelly on toast?" Ajal asked, tilting his head.
Kaito froze for a moment, biting back a laugh. His lips twitched before he managed to reply, "Exactly."
Ajal took a deep breath and concentrated. He envisioned the energy in his body flowing through his hands as he rubbed his two fingers across the blade and the Divinity gathering at the tip of his scythe. With a mighty scream, he swung the scythe at Kaito again, who once again caught it.
"I don't think this is working out." Kaito conceded. "Well, it'll come to you. The fact that you can summon the scythe shows that you can use it in some capacity."
"It'll just... come to me?"
"Yeah, whether it be in a fight, on the toilet or in one of those 'about to go to sleep and remember something embarrassing' moments. It'll come."
The scene from Ajal's memory faded out as he returned to the present, the words of his past mentor echoing in his mind. He understood the task at hand and readied himself with a newfound determination.
Ajal turned his scythe horizontally, holding it steady before him. He began guiding his hand along the length of the blade, a focused and deliberate movement. As he traced his fingers across its surface, he felt the faint tingle of Divinity coursing through the metal, a sensation that grew stronger with each passing moment. The blade responded to his touch, beginning to glow with a soft, white light, a visual manifestation of the power he was starting to harness.
With a deep breath, Ajal swung his blade with all the force he could muster. A small white flame, shaped like the scythe's blade, burst forth from the metal, cutting through the air with a brilliance that matched its wielder's resolve. The flame dissipated as quickly as it appeared, but its brief existence was a testament to Ajal's progress. He had taken the first step in unlocking the true potential of his Divinity, a milestone that filled him with a sense of accomplishment and a burning desire to master this newfound power.
Emil, who had witnessed the whole spectacle, whistled sarcastically, unimpressed by Ajal's feat. "Wow, careful, you might burn that with us."
However, Molly paid no heed to Emil's snark, her gaze focused solely on Ajal, her brow furrowed in contemplation. There was a strange familiarity in the way he channeled his Divinity, the pattern of the flow eerily similar to her own. It was a detail that tugged at the back of her consciousness, a sense that something important was escaping her.
"Hey," she said. "Did you just have a random epiphany or something?"
"I realized something while fighting you, Molly," Ajal began, his tone thoughtful. "Every time you attacked, your focus wasn’t on me—it was locked on something else entirely. That’s when it clicked for me. My problem was that I was too caught up in the outcome, too fixated on the result, instead of being in the moment and focusing on the process itself. So yeah," he added with a faint smirk, "maybe I did have a 'random epiphany,' as you called it."
Both Emil and Molly remained unshaken by Ajal's initial display of power, their experienced eyes recognizing it as just the beginning. However, they couldn't help but sense the burgeoning threat that lay beneath the surface—the rising tide of Divinity within Ajal's body. With each passing second, it grew stronger, purer, a force to be reckoned with that demanded their full attention.
Ajal, sensing their wariness, stared back at them with an almost sinister grin, his posture betraying a mix of exhaustion and exhilaration. His back was slightly hunched from the effort, yet his arms, though hanging tiredly in front of him, still clutched the scythe with a firm grip, ready to unleash the full might of his awakening power.
The air around them seemed to crackle with anticipation, the tension escalating as both sides braced themselves for what was to come. The battleground was set, the players ready, and the stakes higher than ever, as Ajal's newfound mastery of Divinity promised to change the dynamics of the conflict in unpredictable ways.
⁂
The sewer's walls bore the scars of the fierce combat that had unfolded within its confines. Arrows were embedded at various angles, their shafts protruding from the concrete like the quills of a porcupine, while bullet holes pockmarked the surface, creating a constellation of destruction. Each mark was a testament to the intensity of the battle, a silent witness to the clash of wills and powers that is taken place in the dank, echoing depths of the city's underbelly.
"So, are we just going to keep going back and forth?" Ezekiel said, panting, the exhaustion evident in his voice as he assessed their prolonged stalemate.
The archer remained silent, but his heavy breaths were a clear indication that he, too, was feeling the strain of their prolonged engagement. It felt like they were playing a game of chicken, each waiting for the other to tire or show a weakness so they could capitalize on it.
"Only 10 minutes left," Ezekiel remarked with a smirk, despite the fatigue. "Hate playing catch-up, though. 40 points is a tall order with these rules and I don't think we're getting that keystone anytime soon with that Drapabarn guarding it. So that just leaves us having to defeat four people. With one team already passing, that leaves only two spots left. On top of that, your team and the other team aren't that far behind team L, so our team can't afford to lose."
The archer simply stared back, his expression unreadable, but there was a sense of genuine listening in his gaze.
"What a shitty setup. The principal really doesn't care about fairness," Ezekiel continued, a slight edge in his voice. He turned his attention back to the archer, who was still listening. "Sorry about rambling there, I tend to talk to myself when stressed out."
The archer nodded in agreement, but kept his silence.
"This fight's gotten boring. Normally I'd just bail whenever I'm bored but I can't afford to do that here, huh?" Ezekiel stated coldly, his posture stiffening as he readied himself for their next bout.
There was no response from his opponent, only an apprehensive tension as each waited for the other to make the first move. The moment hung heavily in the air, a palpable anticipation of an inevitable collision. Then, without warning, Ezekiel darted forward, his feet splashing against the shallow water as he sped toward the archer. With an impressive burst of speed, he closed the gap between them in seconds, his body low and poised for attack.
But the archer was equally skilled, nimbly leaping out of the way of Ezekiel's charge, his footsteps landing with barely a ripple in the water. The two fighters faced each other in a standoff, assessing and evaluating the potential outcomes of the next series of moves. They were locked in a duel of wits and strategy, a battle of calculated risks, their minds racing as they tried to anticipate and counter each other's plans.
As they stood across from each other, a subtle shift began to manifest on Ezekiel's face. A slight grimace formed, an indication of some inner turmoil bubbling below the surface. His teeth clenched as the gears in his head churned, processing the options at hand and forming the best plan for success. With renewed conviction, he sprinted towards his foe once more, determined to bring their stalemate to an end.
After about two steps, Ezekiel came to a halt as an arrow came from directly above him and landed just short of in front of him. It was close enough for him to notice a blinking red light coming from the black point on the tip of the arrow. An explosion occurred and sent him flying backwards. Ezekiel flipped over several times in the air as he tumbled through the air until he landed back-first onto the concrete floor, knocking the wind out of him.
"Shit!" Ezekiel screamed.
But then, as if compelled by an invisible force, Ezekiel suddenly flipped over, his body landing perfectly on his feet in a crouched position. This rapid reversal caught the archer completely off-guard, but he recovered quickly, switching tactics to go on the offensive, firing volleys of arrows at the seemingly invincible challenger. The arrows zipped through the air with deadly precision, their razor-sharp tips seeking flesh, but each one was dodged by Ezekiel.
"Is that your only move?" Ezekiel taunted, his voice echoing through the sewer as he tried to goad the archer into action. But as the barrage of arrows ceased, a sudden silence fell over the battleground. He scanned the area, his eyes searching for any sign of his opponent, but the archer had vanished without a trace, leaving Ezekiel alone with the echoes of his own challenge.
The seconds crept by, agonizingly long and stretching out into an eternity, as Ezekiel awaited a response from his adversary. His senses were on high alert, his muscles coiled tightly and prepared to strike at the slightest hint of movement. Yet as the silence persisted, his uneasiness grew, the quiet giving birth to a creeping sense of anxiety that ate away at his confidence. The feeling intensified with each passing moment, becoming a constant companion as he wrestled with the prospect of being the lone target in this dangerous game of hide and seek.
At last, as if released from the constraints of inertia, the sound of footsteps resonated from behind Ezekiel. Before he could turn around, a flash of pain erupted from the back of his knee, as if stabbed by a thousand needles. With a swift motion, he dropped to one knee, supporting himself on the elbow of his injured leg. Looking down, he saw the arrow piercing his leg. However, there wasn't any blood, just pain.
Suddenly, another arrow came whistling from a tunnel in the opposite direction.
"How the..." Ezekiel's words were cut short as he found himself unable to dodge an incoming arrow. It flew with deadly precision, seemingly piercing his chest. But, to his surprise once again, there was no blood, only a sharp, searing pain.
With a grimace, he yanked the arrow out, expecting to see a wound. However, as he examined the area where the arrow had pierced, there was no hole, no sign of injury. It was as if the arrow had caused pain without leaving a physical mark. Confusion mixed with relief washed over him as he tried to make sense of this peculiar turn of events.
Ezekiel's senses were on high alert as he heard footsteps echoing from both his left and right. Every time he turned to confront the source, an arrow would come flying from the opposite direction, catching him off guard. Each arrow seemed to phase through his body, causing intense, searing pain without leaving any physical marks.
The relentless assault forced him onto the defensive, preventing him from launching any sort of counterattack. He gritted his teeth, the pain becoming increasingly unbearable as the arrows continued to land with unnerving accuracy. After a few more arrows landed, he collapsed onto his knees, his breathing heavy as he desperately fought to keep himself conscious.
Ezekiel's mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, desperately searching for a strategy to halt the relentless assault. When the next arrow came hurtling towards him, he made a snap decision to try shooting it down. He aimed his gun with precision and fired, but to his dismay, the bullet behaved just like his body had. It simply phased through the arrow, and then through Ezekiel himself, causing more pain, though this time it was slightly more bearable.
After that, Ezekiel came to the realization of the phasing arrows' weakness; Each object it passes through makes grow weaker. With this newfound information, Ezekiel concocted a plan. Mustering the strength to absorb the pain of the constant arrows, Ezekiel aimed his guns upward and fired shot after shot, the bullets biting into the infrastructure above with a ferocity that echoed through the sewer. The ceiling groaned under the assault, cracks spider-webbing across its surface as it struggled to hold. Then, with a final, thunderous rumble, it gave way.
Chunks of concrete and twisted rebar rained down in a chaotic cascade, each piece a harbinger of destruction. Dust billowed, filling the air with a thick haze as the street above caved in, surrendering to the relentless force of Ezekiel's gunfire. The debris crashed into the sewer with a series of deafening impacts, sending shockwaves through the water and shaking the very foundations of the underground.
Amidst the chaos, Ezekiel's barrier took shape. The fallen street formed a rugged dome around him, a haphazard fortification wrought from the remains of the city above. It was a sight of desolation, a testament to the desperation of the battle, but within its confines, Ezekiel found a momentary respite, a chance to catch his breath and steel himself for what was to come.
"The arrows stopped," Ezekiel noted, a hint of relief in his voice. "They probably can't phase through this much debris."
Suddenly, from one direction, he heard explosions. "Probably that explosion arrow from before," he concluded, recalling the earlier phase of their battle.
Then, another set of explosions erupted, but this time from a different side. "I think I'm understanding," he mused. "He's messing with my perception of sound so that it's coming from any direction he wants. Just like his arrows."
Ezekiel sat and pondered for a moment as the explosions grew closer and closer. A grin spread across his face as a plan began to form in his mind. "The explosions are coming from only two directions. I guess that arrow barrage took a lot out of him, so controlling my sound perception is hard to maintain. It's a wild guess, but I'm assuming he isn't going to have the explosions sound like they are coming from where he actually is. Meaning two tunnels are crossed out, and the only two left should be directly in front of me and behind me."
With a steady determination, Ezekiel stood poised and ready, his arms outstretched, each hand gripping a gun aimed at the respective tunnels to his right and left. The cold metal of the weapons felt reassuring in his grasp, a familiar weight that grounded him in the moment. He inhaled deeply, letting the anticipation and adrenaline of the impending confrontation fill his lungs, sharpening his focus and heightening his senses.
As he exhaled, he tapped into the wellspring of Divinity within him, channeling its energy through his body with a clarity he had never felt before. A vibrant aura flared around him, a visual testament to the power coursing through his veins. With a primal yell, he released his Divinity, allowing it to surge through him and into his guns. From the tips of his guns' barrels, balls of light emerged, swirling with a mesmerizing mixture of colors. They hovered around his hands like ethereal spirits, awaiting his command.
"Final Gambit," he whispered, a determined resolve in his voice. The glowing orbs of light shot into each of his guns, infusing them with a raw, unbridled energy. The metal of the guns shifted and morphed, transforming into the shape of shotguns, each one radiating with the potent force of his Divinity.
With a decisive pull of the triggers, Ezekiel unleashed a torrent of energy, a raw and unbridled force that surged from the depths of his being. Giant laser-like beams of light erupted from both guns, transforming the confined space into a spectacle of blinding radiance. The beams blasted through the debris with a ferocity that was both awe-inspiring and terrifying, their intensity so great that the very air seemed to crackle and hiss in their wake.
The light carved through the city's underground, rending stone and metal asunder, leaving behind glowing tunnels that bore witness to the incredible power Ezekiel had harnessed. The beams cut through the darkness, illuminating the dank, forgotten spaces with a brilliance that was almost otherworldly. As the dust cleared, Ezekiel surveyed the destruction he had caused, a gaping canyon of rubble now stretching in the distance in both directions.
In the aftermath of Ezekiel's display of power, a momentary stillness enveloped the scene. It was as if the world itself had paused, holding its breath in the wake of the devastation, suspended in a timeless, eerie quiet.
Catching his breath, Ezekiel asked aloud, "Did I beat him?" The question hung in the air, a reflection of his uncertainty and hope.
Then, a voice echoed in his mind, clear and unmistakable. "Team Z's points have increased to 70." The announcement was a confirmation, a validation of his efforts and a sign that his gamble had paid off.
Overcome with a mix of relief and triumph, Ezekiel collapsed to the floor, exhaustion taking its toll. Yet, even in his fatigue, he raised his fist in a gesture of victory, a symbol of his defiance and determination. "Guess that answers that. You jackasses better hold up your end. Ya hear me, Reaper?" he called out, his voice a mix of challenge and camaraderie, reaching out to his unseen teammates with a message of hope and a demand for their best. The battle was far from over, but for now, Ezekiel had claimed a hard-fought victory.