Mina stood rigid in the stairwell, her back pressed against the peeling paint of the wall. Dev's "confession"—"You're right. He's not"—hung in the dead air between them, a statement so impossible it had frozen her in place.
Her analytical mind, the one that had relied on P.E. records and logical deduction, was shattered. It was replaced by a cold, primal terror. The "impostor" wasn't just a theory; it had admitted it.
"What..." Her voice was a dry, shaking whisper, all her previous confidence gone. "What... are you? What did you do to him? Where is Dev?"
Dev looked at her. She was a 'problem.' An 'intellectual threat.' A 'loose end.'
His (SPI: 29) analyzed her. She was smart. She wouldn't stop. She wouldn't be satisfied with a lie. Pity, reassurance, kindness—those were the tools of the weak boy she was looking for. He only had one tool left in his arsenal.
He needed to end her investigation. Permanently.
He didn't speak. He stepped past her, his new, taller frame brushing her shoulder, making her flinch violently. He stopped a foot away, his back to her, facing the solid concrete wall of the stairwell.
"What are you—" Mina began.
Dev placed his right hand, palm-flat, against the wall.
Mina watched, confused. Dev's eyes went cold and empty. He activated his 5% Synced (STR: 11). He didn't punch. He didn't brace.
He just... pushed.
There was a sound. A sickening, wet, grinding sound. It wasn't the sharp crack of a punch. It was the sound of something yielding when it shouldn't.
Mina's breath hitched.
Dust and paint flakes rained down. Dev's fingers, with a slow, grinding, terrible pressure, were sinking into the solid concrete. The stone groaned, complaining as its molecular structure was crushed, compressed, and displaced. His hand sank an inch deep, his palm pressing flat, leaving a perfect, five-fingered indentation as if he had just pressed his hand into wet clay.
The sound stopped.
He held it there for a beat, the silence of the stairwell deafening. Then, he pulled his hand away. Dust poured from the new cavity.
A perfect, impossible handprint was left behind, a five-fingered scar in the stone, the edges of the print sharp and defined.
Mina made a small, choked sound, her hand flying to her mouth. Her eyes were wide, not just with fear, but with a new, profound, all-consuming terror. This wasn't an impostor. This wasn't a replacement. This was an alien. A monster.
Dev turned, his face as impassive as the wall he had just permanently maimed. He looked at her, his hunter's eyes locking onto his new, terrified prey.
"Stop watching me," he said, his voice flat and dead. "Stop digging. Forget what you saw. Forget the paper. Forget everything."
He took a step toward her. Mina flattened herself against the wall, her entire body shaking.
"If you don't," he whispered, his voice resonating in the small space, "the next handprint won't be in a wall."
He held her gaze for one more second, burning the warning into her. Then, he turned and walked down the stairs, his footsteps silent.
Mina was left alone. She slid down the wall, her legs giving out, and stared at the impossible, five-fingered indentation in the solid concrete.
Her "Lookism" plot was over. The game was over. She was a terrified secret-keeper, living in a world whose rules had just been fundamentally, and violently, broken.
Dev got home. The encounter with Mina had cemented it. The "day" world was a cage, a fragile, brittle place made of paper, soft flesh, and (he now knew) soft stone. It was a distraction. He felt his new Level 5 soul thrumming, his 5% Synced body straining against the confines of this slow, weak reality. He needed the Nexus.
He locked his door, lay on his bed, and plunged his consciousness into the void.
He awoke in the Ebonguard Hub, and the sensation was glorious. His soul-form was complete. At Level 5, he felt no phantom pains, no leaks. He just felt... power. His (STR: 11), (AGI: 11), and (SPI: 29) were fully unleashed, a tangible, humming aura of blue mist around him.
Selina was waiting.
Her entire demeanor was different. The cold indifference was gone. The mild, assessing curiosity was gone. She was 100% professional, her posture rigid, her eyes sharp. She looked at him the way a general looks at a newly-forged weapon.
"Initiate," she said. Her voice was sharp, and for the first time, it held no trace of condescension. "Level 5. Title: 'Indomitable'. You have successfully graduated from the Nursery."
She didn't congratulate him. She got to work.
"Your contract is now fully validated," she continued, gesturing. A massive, holographic map of stars and swirling nebulas appeared in the gray-lit hub. "The 'Nexus' is not a game, Initiate. It is a multiverse at war."
She pointed to a cluster of stars. "This is a 'Sector.' Factions fight for control of worlds, for their resources, for the very Soul-Essence that fuels our existence. The 'Weeping Woods' you just left was a 'Hatching World'—a protected, Level 0-5 Nursery where we cultivate and test new assets. Your training," she said, her voice dropping, "is over."
With a wave of her hand, the sickly green portal to the Weeping Woods vanished. It was gone. There was no going back.
In its place, a new portal tore open.
It was a violent, swirling vortex of blood-red and black. It didn't hum; it roared, a low, guttural sound like a distant, unending battle. It looked like a wound in reality.
"This," Selina said, "is 'Tartarus-7'. It is a Contested Zone. A resource-rich frontline. A meat-grinder."
Dev looked at the new portal, his hand instinctively gripping the hilt of his [Ebonguard Initiate's Sword]. He felt its pull, a chaotic, violent energy.
"Our Faction, Ebonguard, is in a resource war with the 'Crimson Hand' Faction for control of this world," Selina briefed, her tone all business. "Your job is no longer to 'grind' mindless insects. Your job is to kill warriors."
She met his gaze, her eyes like chips of ice. "The Crimson Hand, like us, pulls recruits from a thousand different worlds. You will be fighting beings just like you. Humans... and others. They are intelligent. They are armed. And they are as desperate to level as you are."
This was it. The real war.
Selina brought up a smaller, tactical map, showing a barren, rocky landscape. A single red dot pulsed.
"A three-man Crimson Hand Initiate squad has been spotted at these coordinates. They are your level. Your mission is simple: cull them. Prove you are an asset, not a liability."
She looked at him, one last, assessing glance. "Welcome to the Ebonguard, Initiate. Do not fail."
Dev looked at the swirling, blood-red portal. He thought of the fragile, breakable concrete wall of his school. He thought of the terrified look in Mina's eyes.
He preferred this.
His new, Level 5 body thrumming with power, Dev stepped through the portal and into the war.