In the blue-lit corridor, a relaxed and pressing whistle rang, and the sound of steps intensified as the walls tightened.
Klint, arms crossed behind the nape of his neck, walked while humming a quick and energetic tune.
His mind was wrapped in the excitement of having taken the first step, his first margin of progress in his new life, and full of this satisfaction was ready for his next challenge. The lights began to shed more until a strong white blaze made him realize he had arrived at his destination.
Crossing the gap, Klint found himself in a curved room, with the front walls completely transparent and welded with strange black iron bars, the same one he saw in the hangar. Turning his head, he saw white seats with padding arranged in raised rows, all facing the windows.
Looking out he was able to notice the panorama outside the room: a lush clearing with grass and flowers but perfectly maintained, however, there was an element that considerably attracted his attention. The trees in the clearing were completely black as if charred, while their foliage was a dark purple, identical to what Klint had learned to recognize at NOIR.
As he was enraptured by the view, he felt timidly tapping on his shoulder, turning around he saw Arte, the maid who had almost crushed his hand an hour earlier.
As he was enraptured by the view, he felt a timid tapping on his shoulder, turning around he saw Arte, the maid who had almost crushed his hand an hour earlier.
The girl pointed to the dressing room and handed him the combat uniform: A completely black suit decorated with some purple and white lines, which formed a rhombus where a stylized N in gothic character was inscribed. Klint nodded and went to change, with rapid strides, through the ravines left free from the chairs.
He managed to notice Net, wrapped in a gloomy aura and disappointed while he was furiously biting her thumb, Klint would swear that there were drops of blood dripping from her lips but did nothing and did not try to arouse her from her nervousness, aware that he was the cause of this.
The sliding doors of the dressing room opened, revealing the white interior full of lockers and benches in the room. The floor composed of rhomboidal tiles gave a quite futuristic tone to the dressing room. Klint took off his clothes quickly and started wearing the suit, noticing that it was awfully tight.
It almost looked like a second skin but it was so elastic and resistant that it did not hinder any movement of his body.
Klint carefully stored his clothes in an unmarked locker, which as soon as it was opened was slightly remodeled, transcribing on the small plate all its features. Suddenly the doors of the room opened, revealing a subtle female figure. The light brown hair swayed over her shoulders covered with the thick white sweater.
Klint recognized the thin cut of the eyes, the pinkish and fine lips, the small and slightly raised nose, and that sharp and elegant face.
He answered with a smile and began to walk towards the door
He concluded, visibly embarrassed by his boldness, very unusual for someone who had never had long-term relationships with anyone but his landlady.
Jeanne was left stunned and embarrassed as she watched the boy leave. For a second she seemed to see a shining aura around his shoulders.
This was what the boy said to the maid as the elevator began to light up and disappear into the floor with him.
The corridor crossed by the mechanism also had a completely transparent vertical wall, that allowed Klint to see in the center of the clearing a figure wearing the same black suit but attached with a long cloak and a thick leather glove that covered his right arm. It didn’t take him long to realize it was Maliard, the boy who had brutally slandered Jeanne and Net.
The elevator stopped, and the doors opened, releasing a small blanket of white steam. Klint emerged from the light smoke and began to walk towards the center of the clearing, maintaining an empty and serious expression.
Maliard looked at him for a moment, noticing his heavy gait and his gaze so full of challenge and vigor.
A flare exploded over the clearing, followed by a powerful mechanic echo that marked the beginning of the challenge. In a moment, the ground beneath Klint tore, turning into a series of extremely sharp spikes and pikes.
With an athletic movement, Klint managed to lean away, cutting himself on the shoulder. A trickle of blood slid down the suit but stopped almost instantly.
The barrage of sharp stone continued incessantly, forcing Klint to the defensive.
A few minutes passed, and the clearing was completely surrounded by silence, only the breath of the boy gave that disturbing silence a minimum of reality.
A severe pain resounded through Maliard’s body, from his shoulder to his bowels, and a gush of blood filtered through the grass beneath. He turned his gaze to his right. Some of the flesh had leaped away, torn by a bullet.
He laid his hand on the naked bleeding skin. A white light enveloped him completely and after a few seconds, his shoulder was as good as new, but Maliard’s breathlessness implied that the trial had shaken him.
A strange rustle caught his attention, leading him to dodge a second bullet from the side. The dart ended up breaking a tree behind it, causing it to collapse with a deaf roar.
He pointed the index finger of the glove-covered hand towards the origin of the sound. In an instant, the area was completely torn by a series of sharp pinnacles of rock and wood, amalgamated with each other like snakes.
The sound of a broken branch changed Maliard’s attention, and he began to snap his fingers. A barrage of pikes and pillars began to tear the forest apart, stabbing the trees and tearing the ground.
Finally Klint emerged, snapping towards Maliard. In his hand a rock of the size comparable to a golf ball. With a lightning gesture, he stopped his run and hurled the pebble at Maliard, who erected a wall to stop him.
The stone shattered the wall, stopping his run, but to his surprise, he realized that was not Klint’s strategy. With a new dash, Lance found himself face-to-face with Maliard, giving him no time to react.
His fist sank into his abdomen, transmitting all the strength accumulated in the race. His skin swayed under the suit and thick, transparent saliva erupted from his mouth.
His body was thrown away, tumbling over the grass like a doll thrown on the floor. Klint gasped, his arm trembling and full of wounds but still tight, strong, and firm.
The ground beneath him opened like a chasm, letting out a thick series of sharp thorns, which completely tore his body, piercing his flesh and blocking his arms.
Klint broke the blades of soil that penetrated his flesh, the screams started to fuse with the crumbling of the stones. With an inhuman effort, he managed to dash again into the bushes.
His stride quickly covered the distance between him and Maliard, who was not worried.
With a snap of his fingers, a series of blades and pillars rose from the cloud to erase any trace of Klint if he survived the explosion.
Suddenly, a shadow completely covered his body. He looked up and turned his head, only seeing five knuckles a few inches away from his face.
The impact was atrocious. The pressure of the blow was such that the man bounced a couple of times before stopping against a tree, which broke almost instantly.
Klint gasped again, but this time his wounds began to heal, his breath and pulse slowly starting to adjust to that new urge.
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Maliard tried to get up, but his legs trembled terribly, preventing him from moving.
For the first time in a long time, someone can make me say the name of my ability. > He began laboriously, the white light had dissipated. He began to pull the leather glove from his arm, slowly loosening the ties that held him firmly to the limb.
The lining fell to the ground, revealing a dark black and red armor that completely covered his forearm and two fingers. The parabraccio shone in the sunlight, decorating the shadows with the purple and red reflections of the gems embedded in the knuckles of black iron.
He replied by stroking his forehead and walking towards him.
Maliard maintained a detached attitude but his thoughts were shrouded in dismay and a touch of wonder.
This rumbled through his head as he watched Klint approach.
A round of applause echoed through the clearing, the event being so unusual that it momentarily stopped Klint from his approach. He looked at Maliard confused, frowning and stepping back.
He couldn’t help but think that most of the people at NOIR were particular.
Klint felt a shiver behind his head, a feeling of danger had taken over his body, forcing him to duck to the side. He quickly realized that his gesture had been made within the limits as he watched his leg open to pour a long red gush on the grass.
With a second snap of the fingers, Klint found himself blocked by thick, heavy rock walls. He stretched his index finger, mimicking a gun while a pinkish light was pouring into the nail.
With a second snap of the fingers, Klint found himself blocked by thick, heavy rock walls. He extended his index finger, mimicking a gun as a pinkish light poured into the tip. Smoke began to form around his finger, pointing to the cage where Lance was locked.
Monica tried in every way to look away from the massacre that had just occurred but was stunned by the force of that blow. Jeanne covered her mouth with trembling hands, a tear was forming in her eyes.
"Weight: 76 Kg - Height: 182 - Age: 20 demonstrated - Chronological age= 95 - Ability = Farbern, Hel manipulation of Hybride class - Rank= Zwei"
Monica looked at the flames burning in the purple leaves, while Maliard’s glove shone in the lights with a dark black blink.
< Klint..... Will he be okay?> Whispered Net, feeling guilty for the boy.
Maliard was tired, on the tip of the index there were flaps of burned skin, and by now his ability was beginning to give adverse effects.
He reminded himself while shaking off the dust.
He thought as he turned his back, heading for the elevator, the charred grass and the slight black snow resting on his suit.
His pace was slow and tired, the clash had exhausted him, squeaking as he held his shoulder, sore from the recoil of the explosive ability.
A sound, followed by a dull stench, forced him to turn in shock. To his right Klint was inches from him with his arm tightened like a spring and his hand closed like a hammer.
His suit was partially torn, revealing the burns and cuts below while his face was covered in ash, but he still had a grimace of pain and anger.
Instinctively, Turner swiped his torso, blocking the blow with his forearms, but it was not enough to mitigate his strength. His bones fractured as he felt the pressure of his fist coming from his arms to his collarbones, throwing him off.
However, even before he could touch the ground, Klint grabbed him by the ankle, throwing him brutally on the scorching ground. Maliard tried to scream, but the shock was enough to stop his breathing. Lance threw himself beside him, lifting him off the ground and throwing him towards one of the rock pillars scattered throughout the clearing.
Maliard was about to faint from shock, but his instincts forced him to dodge as he watched Klint soar over him holding a tree trunk with his hands.
The stone and wood collided, destroying each other as both Klint and Maliard met their eyes full of fatigue and pain, but also enthusiasm.
Klint’s lungs struggled to not let even a breath escape, while he pushed against the walls of the sphere.
Maliard gasping, began to squeeze something between his hands, the grain on his skin and the trembling of his flesh made the effort of the gesture shine through. Klint immediately felt the pressure around him. He started pressing on the bubble walls with even more violence, trying not to get crushed.
The force continued to intensify, as he perceived his bones cracking under the fury of the air, which was slowly enveloping him tighter and tighter. His sight only blurred, sinking into the thick of his conscience under the effort.
A voice echoed in the dark, pushing him from the back. A shiver ran over his brain as if a nail was slowly digging its way into his flesh. Lance could not speak, he was only able to follow the voice that was bringing him back to consciousness.
He landed on top of a dune of ash and grass, panting painfully as he held his head. His right eye was rushing into orbit furiously like it was about to pour out a river of tears and blood. His Head was bursting, his body was not ready to pour out the Frequency that way, and the migraine had returned, this time even stronger.
Trembling, the boy got up, the dust slipped from his Hair his face lighted by a golden glow. The Beautiful Brown of his Right Eye had been replaced by a Bright Golden Color, Eerie and unnatural.
Maliard got up, and his glove began to shine with red and purple gleams, illuminating the entire clearing of that Creepy Presence.
The dismay among the spectators was clear, what was to be a one-way massacre had turned into an actual conflict. Jeanne smiled as she saw Klint get up, but she couldn’t hide the fear of that bright yellow eye, the same could be said for Net, who smiled with happiness and dismay at the boy’s sight.
Clerc said by placing the third glass of wine and holding a glass with a transparent liquid with a pungent smell.
< Sorry...Why? > Jeanne asked timidly, looking down.
From his arm, a thick blanket of black smoke rose, while a dull mechanical thud followed by some sparks began to bounce in the air.
Klint disappeared from Maliard’s sight, reappearing behind him, only to find the road blocked by a series of blades and spears, composed of particular black metal and mud.
Lance continued to disappear and reappear, seeking an opening in his defense of blades. His tendons struggled to hold those sudden movements, but he was completely wrapped in that intoxicating sensation.
As soon as a drop of dense burning metal slid from the blade, Klint lifted Maliard, rotating his torso and crashing him to the ground. A strong pest followed the impact, shattering the ground below, and splashing small shards of white rock in all directions.
A heavy pain hit Klint, his side beginning to bleed. A thick gallow of rock had pierced his side by a few centimeters.
Screaming, the boy crashed him on the ground, breaking the weapon that was mutilating his side. Wiping his black arm, Turner got up, spitting blood and shaking slightly.
A violent series of spikes and blades appeared in front of Klint, cutting his face and torso. The rock and iron weapons only multiplied, encircling the boy, the temperature rose quickly and it did not take long before the blades began to melt. It took Klint too long to realize, but it was late.
The whole room was horrified by the force of that blow. Jeanne was bleached, unable to speak or look away as Net watched, furiously biting her thumb, causing it to bleed.
To his surprise, he noticed that on his weapons, the only thing left were shreds of a black suit torn and burned.
Klint emerged before him, his bare torso covered in blood, ash, and completely torn. He threw himself at him, keeping only his golden eye open.
The blows were as heavy as automobiles and did not show signs of diminishing intensity. Maliard with an angry scream managed to cling to Klint’s hand Klint’s expression changed in awe as Maliard smiled satisfied, before being struck again by another blow, followed by another and another. To his horror, he noticed that Klint’s arm had returned as good as new while the offensive continued. The gust of blows only intensified. It seemed to him to be hit dozens of times every moment. Each of those shots was fired with inhuman speed and equally incredible strength. Klint had fractured his knuckles and bones, but he didn’t care. The swarm of fists only increased under the boy’s screams, which masked the macabre sound of breaking bones. The ground seemed to become almost fluid while a wave-like movement of the surface could be clearly distinguished. The trees blew up, torn apart by the fury of the wind, and a thick blanket of ash was thrown to the sides of the clearing as if it were moving away from the point of impact. A superhuman scream echoed through the arena. Klint’s eyes were full of tears and his arms completely wrapped in a purple patina and covered with blood stood victorious. Maliard was barely breathing, the impact of the blows had reduced his suit to shreds, his torso completely covered with bruises and knuckle prints. Coughing, he managed to finish before closing his eyes and fainting completely. The boy’s head was a stormy sea. The effort, the anger, the fatigue and the excitement had condensed in that single moment to give birth to that single blow. His body was exhausted and the lack of sleep and food was felt. He was about to close his eyes when he heard a voice calling him desperately from afar. Turning his neck, he could hardly see the silhouette of a woman dressed in a blue cardigan, desperately running towards him with open arms. Lucas got up, taking the elevator to enter the arena.