The word had it that the legendary diver, the Dark Master himself, was announcing that he would take an apprentice.

At the designated hour, thousands of people gathered at the old, abandoned train station. The first candidates arrived as much as three days before the appointed time. Some in groups, some alone. Then there were those who teamed up on the spot.

Among the early birds, there were still those who were too late to find shelter under the partially destroyed roof of the train station and were promptly forced to huddle outside or find refuge in the nearby houses.

Skirmishes were a common occurrence, people died, but the rest of the candidates put little mind to it. As well as to all the people who just vanished after looking for a place to sleep.

The largest part of the candidates arrived on the last day. The crowd was so dense it was nigh on impossible to push through it. The noise would have been the worst thing with all the shouts, swearing, and insults had it not been for the persistent smell of sewage. Toilets at the train station were busted long before it was abandoned. There was nowhere really to relieve yourself, and few people bothered to try to find a secluded spot to do it. In case you moved, somebody would take your place, and then good luck squeezing through the crowd without pissing someone off.

It was ironic that there was so much distrust among the earliest arrivals. An eagle-eyed observer could count up the parties and still be surprised to find that each and every one had one skeptic who was loudly whipping up nervousness of the rest of the party. A more insightful look would show that the silent ones were also doubting. Irony did not stop there, however, for almost no one really believed in the fact that the Dark Master was truly looking for an apprentice. They thought of it as a fraud and a scam, but still here they were. In spite of their skepticism, they all paid caravanners to drive them through the wild lands and risked their life and freedom to come to this broken-down and abandoned part of the outskirts.

A paradox in and of itself.

Bleak from the very start, the situation became rapidly worse with every minute that passed and every new arrival.

It was impossible to say how the unrest would end, and then, all of a sudden, the crowd fell silent. No one in attendance knew why they were hushed, or where this feeling of discomfort was coming from, one that made you want to tuck your head between your shoulders and make yourself invisible. Next, everyone got the feeling that they needed to gather on the train platforms. Those who were on the streets were lucky, while those who were crammed into buildings would end up being stuck there if they were not able to force their way out. Such a crowd was a nasty thing to be in… A simple offence, a mistakenly placed shoulder or elbow, could very easily end up with a knife shoved into your side. And you wouldn’t even know where it came from.

Once upon a time, there were dozens of platforms on this station. Trains came and went, carrying with them thousands of people. Now there were awnings over the platforms. Still, one of them was better preserved than the rest. On it, a dark figure appeared.

Exactly at twelve o’clock. As promised.

Those who could, looked up and squinted, trying to see who had come to them. Was this truly the hero that descended into the Pit, reaching its Depths and returning more powerful? Was this the man of the legends or was this another trick on the desperate to get them to come to this abandoned place?

The gravity of the situation was weighing down on the crowd; they froze, swallowed, and forgot how to breathe. You could hear the flies buzzing how still the air was, and then the man moved. He got to the edge of the platform roof, squatted, and scanned the crowd. You couldn’t see his face. One glance was enough to understand that his matte dark gray armor was not of this world. The polished steel of his featureless helmet reflected the bewildered gaze of the crowd. Some would pay exorbitant amounts of money to know what the person under it looked like, but few here thought of that at the moment.

Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

“So many,” the voice, quiet but audible, sounded annoyed.

I flinched. Even those who were still in the buildings or outside the station heard him as if he were standing next to them.

“How pathetic.” Condemnation and mockery could now be heard in his voice. “You came running like cockroaches. How many? Thousand? Two? Or is it three? Fighting amongst yourselves for a spot under a broken roof. And for what? To die shamefully?”

The crowd wavered. Normally, these words would have earned you a mocking scoff or a threat. But not uneasiness. These people weren’t used to a comfortable life. Quite the opposite. Aggression and violence were regular parts of their everyday lives. And yet, for some reason, the man’s words cut deep. Hearts started to beat faster from a feeling that could only be described as instinct awoken when one was in the presence of a vastly more dangerous predator.

“Now then…” The man looked around the crowd as he stood up. “Let's get this over with. I don’t want to waste my time on you lot. To clarify for those with lesser mental faculties. You all heard that I would be taking students for the first time ever, and that anyone under the age of sixteen can try their luck. I’ll be frank, your chances are close to zero. I’d like to take a hundred of you but I’ll consider myself lucky if I find even ten among this trash. As for the rest of you... You are most likely going to die, if not by someone else’s hand, hunger, or thirst, then by demonic claws and fangs.”

The crowd got its voice back and released a roaring noise. Death was nothing to be afraid of compared to meeting a demon in a fight.

“Don’t like it?” the man asked the crowd. “If you don’t wish to die, this is your chance to leave. Those who stay will be tested, and those who survive will be trained. I will make real shinobi out of you. You will be my tools. And those who become my disciples will regret not dying during the trial. Believe me, I won’t make this easy.”

The crowd was whispering intensively. Not many people expected an… introductory speech. Even fewer understood what they were being offered or what kind of shinobi they would be.

“Now about the trial. Rule One: you must be under sixteen years old. Let me clarify this for those whose mothers dropped them on their heads as children. If you are turning sixteen in a month, you qualify. If you turned sixteen yesterday, you don’t qualify. And if, for some reason, you idiots don’t know when you were born or how old you are, but you look the part then, hell, you might as well join while you’re here.”

He did not care that his logic was loose at best.

“The train will arrive soon,” The man continued. “Board it and ride it to its next stop. You won't all fit, of course. Not unless half of you are contortionists…” There was some gaiety in his voice as he imagined the scene. “Consider this the first cutoff point. I need disciples who are strong, smart, lucky, and ready to do anything. If you can’t even ride the train, well then… I guess you are shit out of luck. The journey will last two hours, and for the numbskulls in the crowd, I will repeat: I will take only a hundred of you. But, hey, anything can happen during a train ride...”

The feeling of discomfort returned and intensified. If there had been a shred of team spirit before, now it was gone. We were now rivals.

“Once you get there you will be pointed in the direction of Fortuna. It’s three hundred kilometers from the drop-off point. The road goes through the wild lands.”

To these words, almost a hundred people turned tail and went for the exit, just in time to get out of here before the massacre began.

“Containers with rations, weapons, and everything necessary to spend a few exciting days in nature are scattered along the way. As should be expected, there aren’t enough supplies for everyone, so you will have to show your brand of diplomacy if you want to eat. Ah, yes I almost forgot… One more important thing. On the route, I left fifty small power gems and ten rare ones, each one granting you an ability. If,” he was clearly mocking everyone there as he said, “you can hold on to them long enough to learn something.”

Some who were ready to leave stopped. No wealth was as precious as gems, powerful stones extracted from the Pit or from demons. A single one, no matter how small, could provide a chance to ascend.

If you could hold on to the power, of course. For some, this was a good enough reason to stay, while others, having assessed just how much trouble these gems would bring, somberly but resolutely headed for the exit.

“I hope at least one of you survives.”

The man dusted his hands off after a job well done and disappeared into thin air, clearly a demonstration of what he was capable of.

The crowd began to tense with expectation of the coming train.

The trial had begun.