The world bled into a grid of stark black and white.
Alvian found himself on an immense, featureless square. The Aetherium Colosseum. Above, a silent, gray void stretched into infinity. Around him, hundreds of identical platforms shimmered into existence, each holding a pair of trembling candidates. Stage two had begun.
An instructor's disembodied voice echoed through the void, cold.
"The Gauntlet. One-on-one duels. Single elimination. Opponent chosen at random. Two victories required to advance. Begin."
Across from him, an opponent materialized. A brute. The man was a mountain of muscle nearly seven feet tall, his face a crude map of scars. A massive two-handed axe rested on his shoulder. He grinned, a row of yellowed teeth flashing.
"Looks like I got lucky," his voice like grinding rocks. "A skinny little rich boy. This'll be quick."
'Rich boy?' The thought was almost funny. His plan was already working.
His true power—the Equinox Blade, the Soulforged Edge, the terrifying fusion of Aether and Null—was his greatest weapon. His most dangerous secret. To use it here was suicide, an open declaration of heresy to the entire academy. He needed another path. A path of misdirection.
He recalled the night before, locked away in his temporary quarters. He had accessed a low-level function of his system, spending hours crafting.
[System Function Unlocked: [Basic Glyph Scribing]]
[Allows the host to imbue simple concepts into a medium using Aether as a catalyst.]
He had poured a small fortune in high-purity Aether crystals, a gift from Warden, into dozens of small, flat stones. Each one he scribed with the simplest, most annoying glyph he could devise: Flash.
Now, his interspatial bracelet was full of them. His strategy was not skill; it was overwhelming, obnoxious advantage.
"Ready to cry to your mommy?" the brute taunted, lifting his axe.
The duel began.
The brute roared and charged. His heavy footsteps shook the platform. A straightforward force of nature.
Alvian did not even draw his sword.
With a flick of his wrist, he tossed a handful of stones. They scattered in the air between them.
The brute scoffed. "Throwing rocks? Are you a child?"
Alvian smirked. 'Flash.'
A mental command. The glyphs ignited. A dozen miniature suns detonated in the brute's face. A flash of pure, white light, utterly blinding. A sharp concussive pop rattled the senses.
"ARGH! MY EYES!" the brute bellowed. He dropped his axe, clawing at his face, completely disoriented.
Alvian moved. His steps were measured, calm. He flowed around the stumbling giant. With the pommel of his still-sheathed Arc-Edge Blade, he delivered a single, precise, non-lethal tap to the back of the man's skull.
The brute's eyes rolled back. He collapsed onto the platform with a heavy thud. Unconscious.
Silence.
On the spectator platforms that had materialized in the void, hundreds of candidates stared. Stunned disbelief. A ripple of laughter started, swelling quickly into a roar of derision.
"Did you see that?"
"He didn't even fight! Just used those flashy trinkets!"
"Must be some rich merchant's son. Thinks he can buy his way through. Pathetic!"
The reputation was cemented. Alvian was not a warrior. He was "the rich kid," a one-trick pony with deep pockets and no real skill. The perfect cover.
He was teleported to a new platform. His second opponent was a lean, cruel-faced man with a jagged scar across his lip. A jolt of recognition shot through Alvian. Not one of the Siji bullies, but his face was familiar from the memories of his predecessor. A crony of Kael's, a hanger-on who had often joined the mockery.
The man's eyes widened. A look of vicious glee spread across his face. "Well, if it isn't the freak from Siji village. The Aether-less anomaly. Heard you fainted during your awakening. I guess even a broken clock is right twice a day."
Alvian's expression remained neutral. A cold knot formed in his stomach.
"I'm going to enjoy this," the man sneered, drawing a long, thin rapier. "But first, tell me. I heard your mother was one of those Architect freaks. A heretic who dabbled in powers that should remain untouched. They say the Crimson Covenant did the world a favor when they purified her filth. She deserved to burn, and so does her monster of a son."
Something inside Alvian snapped.
The world bled away. A filter of searing, crimson rage descended. The quiet, calculating warrior vanished. In his place was the raw, primal fury of a boy hearing his mother's soul desecrated. The taunt was not just an insult; it was the Covenant's doctrine, the blind, fanatical hatred that had stolen his family.
[WARNING: Host's emotional state is critical!]
[Prismatic Heart of Duality is destabilizing! Null Essence output is surging!]
The air around Alvian's right hand went cold. A wisp of absolute black, pure unmaking Null, coiled around his fingers. His knuckles turned bone-white on the hilt of his sword. He could feel it—the overwhelming, intoxicating urge to draw his blade and unleash a full-power [Equinox Blade]. To not just kill this man, but to erase him from existence. One strike. That was all it would take.
"What's wrong, freak?" his opponent taunted, oblivious to the cosmic horror he had almost unleashed. "Cat got your tongue?"
Alvian's breath hitched. Through the red haze, he saw the quest log in his mind: The Path of Shadows. Failure: Annihilation.
He saw his father's face, etched with a lifetime of sorrow. He saw Valerius's somber eyes, entrusting him with a legacy.
He could not fail. Not here. Not like this.
With a shuddering, monumental effort of will, he forced the Null essence back down. He caged the screaming void within his soul. The cold receded. The rage remained, a white-hot coal in his chest.
He would not kill him. But he would make him suffer.
Instead of drawing his sword, Alvian reached into his bracelet with both hands. He pulled out every single Flash Glyph he had left. Over fifty of them.
His opponent's eyes widened in confusion. "More of your cheap tricks?"
Alvian's voice was a low, chilling whisper. "Good riddance."
He did not throw them. He crushed them in his fists.
The result was not a flash. His hands opened, birthing a silent sun. The platform ceased to exist, swallowed by a pressure that felt like light and a sound that felt like force. It was a white-hot, sensory collapse.
The light blinked out. Alvian was alone with his own ragged breath. Ten feet away, a body convulsed on the ground. Blood trickled from his opponent's ears, staining the dirt. The man's eyes were wide, vacant, staring into the ruin the blast had made of his mind. A perfect, unbroken vessel, now empty.
[Victor: Alvian.]
A wrench of light, and he was there. The final platform. A shudder wracked his frame, deep and uncontrollable. It wasn't the backlash from the teleportation sigils. He had just stared into the abyss of himself, and the abyss had smiled back.
He had won. He had maintained his cover. But the encounter had left a deep scar on his soul, a reminder of the monster he kept within.