Twelve crossbowmen fanned out across the room where Immanul stood in the middle, naked but for a cloth underwear he made himself. Into this tense arena strode Meyong, flanked by two fighters, their faces obscured behind masks, one blue one gold. Without a moment's hesitation, they advanced, and Meyong's voice cut through the air with a chilling finality, "You will defeat us, or I will leave you crippled and locked in this room."

Immanuel's instincts kicked in as he braced for the onslaught. The battle erupted with ferocity; he parried a sword thrust from the blue masked fighter and deflected a crossbow bolt in one fluid motion. Leaping backward, he sought to create space, his eyes darting between the multitude of assailants, strategically keeping Meyong and the masked fighters in the line of fire from the crossbowmen.

Both fighters came at him with a sword and a small round shield. They attacked from both sides. A bolt shot out, he deflected with his sword while jumping back, they jumped with him. A sword was about to pierce him from the front, and Meyong now came from behind to crush him with his ridiculous shield. He flashed and repositioned when Meyong was there and bashed him against the wall.

While sliding down the wall he jumped off and landed between the fighters. He deflected one sword with his shield and one with his own sword when Meyong again crashed him from behind and flung him against the wall. There was simply no reacting. Meyong was too fast. Sliding down the wall he deflected several crossbows when one bolt hit him in his feet simultaneously the realisation hit him. He knew.

He knew.

He knew what Meyong expected of him.

With no time to spare, he flashed to remove the bolt and reposition himself, but Meyong was already upon him, slamming him against the wall again. The impact only confirmed what Immanuel already understood: In this deadly dance, there would be only one victor.

As he fell towards the ground, the distinct sound of crossbow bolts being loosed filled the air once more. Seizing the moment, Immanuel flashed towards one of the shooters, aiming to knock him out. The blow was more powerful than intended; the man's head burst against the wall, like a melon being shattered. There was no time to dwell on this brutal outcome, as the two masked fighters converged on him with relentless aggression.

The chamber echoed with the cacophony of combat as Immanuel, reeling from the brutal encounter, quickly regained his footing. His mind raced, rapidly recalculating his strategy to turn the tide. Around him, the masked fighters moved with deadly coordination, their attacks a whirlwind of steel and malice, while Meyong's presence loomed like a storm cloud, ready to burst.

Immanuel ducked under a vicious sword slash from the gold masked fighter, feeling the air slice above him. He countered with a swift kick, driving his assailant back. His senses heightened, he could almost feel the trajectory of each incoming bolt, dodging and weaving as he jumped to another shooter. The man was about to fire when Immanuel pushed his crossbow with the tip of his sword. The bolt flew to the blue masked fighter who knocked it out of the air. With his momentum Immanuel rolled behind the shooter who reached for a reload and flung him towards Meyong. He did not look what happened, already parrying a series of strikes from the gold masked fighter.

In a swift motion, he leaped towards another crossbowman while fending off the enemy. The blue fighter jumped forward and made a slashing attempt, but Immanuel jumped back and hurled his sword at the attacker. As the first gold fighter advanced, Immanuel punched with his claw extended, anticipating the opponent's maneuver to the side, he flashed behind him and struck again. Just as he was about to land a hit, Meyong intervened, grabbing the gold fighter and tossing him out of the room.

A crossbow bolt found its mark in Immanuel's shoulder, causing him to grit his teeth in pain. The blue masked fighter was upon him instantly, but Immanuel defended with his shield and withdrew a throwing knife.

He threw the knife at his shooter, engaging in a swift exchange of blows with the masked fighter. Meyong knocked the knife from the air and struck Immanuel hard before he could flash. As he hit the ground, the masked fighter lunged, Immanuel flashed behind him, only for the fighter to roll away, creating distance.

Desperation crept into Immanuel's thoughts. As Meyong approached, Immanuel flashed next to the masked fighter, parrying strike after strike. He needed the perfect opportunity. Meyong and several bolts converged on him, two hitting his shield and one burying into his belly. Immanuel kept the fighter between himself and Meyong, deliberately leaving an opening. As the fighter lunged, Immanuel allowed the sword to pierce his shoulder, timing his movement he used his body to pull at the sword. As the fighter tried to withdraw the sword, Immanuel started a downward slash and then flashed to finish the fight. Again, Meyong intervened, throwing the fighter out of the room.

Now it was just Meyong and the last crossbowmen. Meyong's onslaught was relentless, cutting and blocking, leaving Immanuel with multiple wounds and a trail of bloody footprints on the stone floor. Immanuel’s energy was waning.

Meyong's blade descended with lethal swiftness towards Immanuel's head. With a deft motion, Immanuel parried using his sword and, simultaneously, his shield intercepted a bolt. However, Meyong's unexpected kick to his side sent him hurtling through the air. Mid-flight, Immanuel flashed further than he ever had, reappearing beside a crossbowman. He burnt his core at full power, grabbed him and flung him with such force that he crashed against another shooter, on the other side of the room.

Blood-smeared and with a feral glint in his eyes, Immanuel lunged towards the remaining crossbowmen. As they both shot, he deflected the bolts with his shield. Just as he readied himself for the final blow raising his Haiken claws, the adversaries dropped their crossbows and scrambled towards the exit.

At this moment, Meyong intervened, "Enough."

Immanuel, panting heavily, watched the fleeing foes, their abandoned crossbow clattering to the ground. A visceral urge to pursue them and cut them down surged within him, but he restrained himself.

Meyong approached, coming to stand before him, offering a warrior's salute — the first one. Their eyes locked for a moment. "We are out of time. You have until tomorrow night to ascend," Meyong said, then turned, leaving the room.

‘Just like that.’ Immanuel thought.

Immanuel's gaze swept over the carnage-filled chamber, ‘fuck’. A sense of numb disbelief enveloped him. He assessed his own condition, feeling the latent potential for violence simmering just beneath his skin, ready to erupt at the slightest provocation. Yet, beneath this, a profound exhaustion weighed on him. Blood still dripped from multiple wounds.

He stood there looking at the open doors before he shook his head.

He methodically collected all the crossbows and bolts from the battle, storing them in his special storage. These were his spoils of war, earned through combat. Exhausted, Immanuel headed to his 'room' to store additional beast cores along with his staff, sword, and claws, too drained to worry about potential discovery.

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After staring at the corpse of the crossbowman whose head he had shattered, Immanuel departed the scene, his only attire being the makeshift cloth underwear he had fashioned for himself. As he ascended the stairs, his gaze fell upon his feet against the stone steps.

Reaching the top, he found himself behind the three. The sight that greeted him was breathtakingly beautiful, the first thing of beauty he had witnessed since this ordeal began. Each leaf of the tree before him was perfect. He knew he could not draw a single one and do it justice and here nature had made thousands.

He slowly walked around the three when he saw a young servant girl he recognized.

"Hi!" Immanuel called out, prompting the servant girl to halt, her eyes widening at seeing him. As he approached, she bowed deeply. "Hi, sorry, don’t do that. I just trained a bit," Immanuel quipped, trying to inject some humor. "Did you find that pipe?"

In a flurry of apologies, the girl threw herself to the ground. Immanuel looked around and happily saw the lobby was a lot less busy than normal.

He urged her to stand, helping her up as she retreated a few steps. "It was a joke. A stupid joke. I completely forgot about the pipe. I am terribly sorry," he admitted with a sigh.

"Look. Do you know where my room is?" She hesitated then nodded, "Can you bring food and drinks for at least four people to my room? And make sure I can take a bath in the bath house?"

As she continued to bow while backing away, eventually hurrying off, Immanuel let out a weary sigh and walked towards the elevator.

Riding the elevator, he stopped at the bar, storing an additional twenty drinks. Opening one, he drained it quickly, then another. Peering outside, it was sunny. ‘It feels like it should be night.’ He thought. He moved to his room, gazing out at the city while slowly sipping his drink. Everything outside remained unchanged. ‘Why did nothing change? Why is it still the same?’

He walked back out to the hallway and into another room, it looked mostly like his. It didn't seem to be occupied, there were no clothes in the closed. He picked up a beautiful wooden table and stored it in his special storage, surprised it worked. Then he took the four chairs too.

He realised he was angry but didn't understand why. He walked around and stored the sheets and mattress, sadly no one used pillows.

Leaving the room, Immanuel entered the bath area, finding it deserted. He gathered twenty towels from a rack, storing them too, before returning to his room and collapsing onto the couch.

He opened another drink, its sweetness contrasting with its strength. As he reflected on the brutal end of his training, a laugh almost escaped him, but he stifled it. ‘No! No no no no!’

He started filling his pipe with herbs, focusing intently on each step of the process before lighting it and taking a deep inhale.

"Damn you Mayong. Damn you. You have taught me something important about myself. I have that option. I can become a beast, but damn you I will not be like you," he said aloud, feeling a surge of anger that he allowed to rise and then ebb away. A knock interrupted his thoughts.

"Yes?"

"Food?" It was the girl, Immanuel realized. "Yes. Come in." She entered with five others, carrying an assortment of food and drink, which they arranged on his table.

"One of the baths is being filled," she informed before bowing and starting to leave.

"Hi, wait. Let’s sit and talk. I still feel bad for making you search for a pipe."

She bowed again. "I am happy to help," she replied, her discomfort evident.

"You want something to eat? You want to sit down?" Immanuel asked.

"Let me know. How can I help?" she responded, standing there like a frightened lamb.

"Thanks," he said with another sigh. "You can go." She quickly exited the room.

Immanuel began to eat and drink, enjoying something like ham steaks in thick gravy, interspersed with sips and smokes. Afterward, feeling full, he gazed out at the city from his high vantage point. He blew out smoke and pretended to be a dragon setting the whole city on fire.

Deciding it was time for a bath, he added more herbs to his pipe, lit it, and headed to the bathhouse. Inside, servants busily carried urns of hot water to fill a small, jacuzzi-sized bath. One of the servants placed an urn at his feet, which he used to pour water over himself. Without being asked, a servant began to scrub him clean.

"That’s a lot better," he commented, holding his pipe between his teeth. He then took off his bloody cloth for underwear and entered the steaming bath, enhanced with rose-scented water.

This is how those songbirds feel, trapped in a golden cage, its wings clipped yet surrounded by wealth. Or a Disney princess, pre-royal romance, sitting in a tower, singing to the woodland creatures with a wistful look in her eyes. He chuckled at the thought.

As the bath filled, a beautiful woman joined him, starting a massage.

"Why are you sighing so, Innan family?" she inquired gently, her hands continuing their soothing motions across Immanuel's muscles.

"Yes. The family," Immanuel responded. "What is a family?" he asked.

Pausing her massage, she moved in front of him. "You are not in agreement with your brothers and sisters? Or perhaps your fathers and mothers?" She asked.

Immanuel hesitated, weighing his words carefully, unsure of how much to reveal.

"Oh, now, don’t give me that look. I am here to wash away your worries," she reassured him with a gentle smile, her hands resuming their work.

"It’s just that I tried talking to a servant who could only bow to me, your question takes me off guard," he admitted.

"I’ve been a part of the family for a long time. My nephew had the spark and, as it is custom, when he grew in the family in power and place we all got our own role." she shared.

"Don’t they, uhm we, adopt people with a core and pay their family?" Immanuel inquired.

"That too. That too. But being here brings many advantages," she explained, her skilled hands moving to massage his arms and shoulders.

"The girl," she continued, locking eyes with him. "Did not know what you wanted. You veered off the standard."

"The standard?".

"You command we obey. You ask, we answer," she clarified, her words reflecting the rules governing their world.

"I wanted to apologise and have someone to talk to," he clarified.

"Ah! You are a strange one," she answered with a kind smile. "But I already saw that. You have kindness." She said it matter of factly.

"How do you know?" he queried.

"Instinct," she replied simply. "I see how you carefully wait while we carry the water. How you smile to show us, saying with your eyes; it’s okay, don’t worry, I won’t bite. I see."

After a brief pause, she resumed massaging Immanuel's face, her touch gentle and reassuring. Immanuel, feeling more at ease, stored his pipe away making it disappear behind her back and allowing himself to relax under her skilled hands.

After some time the confession came, "I was trained by one of the elders, and, as a test of some sort, he had me fight him and several crossbowmen. They were ordinary men. He made me kill them," Immanuel confessed, his voice low and eyes closed, not daring to see her reaction.

"I don’t know who those crossbowmen were. Maybe they were thieves or captured from other places?" she responded nonchalantly. "Maybe they were punished. Did you know them?"

"No," he replied.

"Why are you-" she began to ask, but Immanuel's irritation flared up at her apparent lack of understanding. He abruptly stood up. "Thank you for your attention," he said, and then walked out.

Immanuel retrieved a towel from his storage, drying himself off only partially, the weight of his thoughts more pressing than the dampness on his skin. He collapsed back onto the couch, his gaze drifting over the cityscape outside the window.

He took out the stage 4 transformation core, its potential both thrilling and daunting. The thought of it working, of gaining wings, filled him with a reckless determination. He envisioned shattering the window and soaring away from this place, leaving behind the constraints and turmoil that currently bound him.