The signal to begin the race was given by the departure of Kalego, followed immediately by the collective roar of the Misfit Class as they unfurled their wings and took flight. Noir Sullivan stood alone on the jagged peak, his eight magnificent black wings flaring uselessly.
"Go! Go, my friend!" Alice shouted back, a fiery pink blur streaking across the valley, entirely confident that his all-powerful Lord would follow with a majestic, supersonic blast.
Noir looked at the tiny, rapidly disappearing silhouettes of his classmates—including the casually flying Clara—and felt a wave of crushing panic.
I have eight wings! Eight! I should be able to fly eight times better than anyone! But I'm going to fall!
He tentatively shifted his weight, trying to find the muscular coordination needed for takeoff. The powerful wind from the valley, now unimpeded by the bodies of the other students, buffeted his huge, sail-like wings. He lost his footing, his foot sliding on the loose scree at the edge of the cliff.
Noir wavered, his majestic form teetering precariously, before he slipped completely. With a terrified yelp, Noir Sullivan plummeted off the cliff face and began his immediate descent into the Warbling Valley.
Below, the race was unfolding with characteristic Misfit Class disorganization.
Kalego, watching the early moments of the race on a magical surveillance screen back at a faculty outpost, sighed in despair.
"Pathetic," Kalego muttered, seeing most of the class either struggling against the Sky Columns or pausing mid-flight to retrieve snacks from Clara. "Zero motivation. A perfect reflection of the Misfit Class."
The one exception was Asmodeus Alice, who was flying with blistering speed and flawless technique, determined to achieve the highest rank for his Lord. He was a streak of pink fire, easily leading the pack.
"I must secure a dominant time to set an appropriate standard for Noir-sama!" Alice declared internally.
He sped up, but quickly realized his flight felt unusually heavy. He glanced over his shoulder and found Valac Clara perched comfortably on his back, giggling, using his shoulder as a handrest.
"Hi, Alice! You're much faster than my own wings! Can you pretend to be an airplane? Vroooom!" Clara shouted gleefully, pulling a small, plastic pilot's cap from her pocket and placing it on his head.
Alice exploded in furious embarrassment. "Clara! Release me! You are compromising my speed and my dignity! This is a rank assessment, not playtime! Get off my back!"
As the two squabbled, battling over the pilot's cap, their combined speed stalled. They were oblivious to a figure veering sharply away from the main course.
Sabnock Sabro, completely ignoring Kalego's instructions, smashed his armored body through a section of unstable rock, entering the forbidden Cutthroat Valley.
Sabro was in his element. The Cutthroat Valley was narrower, filled with sharper currents, and teeming with more dangerous creatures. It was exactly the level of difficulty he desired.
He roared, his battle-axes shattering rock spires and his iron wings powering through the wind. The route was far more dangerous, forcing him to expend immense effort, but it was also a much shorter distance to the finish line.
"Hah! I am making record time!" Sabro bellowed, a sadistic smile splitting his face as his body absorbed the impact of shrapnel. "Let the soft demons take the scenic route! The Demon King's path is the most direct and the most brutal!"
Back at the outpost, Kalego watched Sabro's progress on a separate screen, shaking his head.
"The fool," Kalego sighed, pulling up the master list of student names. He took a pen and firmly crossed Sabnock Sabro's name off the primary rank assessment list. He then wrote his name on a secondary report filed under 'Severe Disciplinary Action.'
Inner Dialogue (Kalego):Defiance, inefficiency, and unnecessary danger. That path is riddled with fatal threats this year. I wonder if the boy will be lucky enough to escape with just a few broken limbs.
Noir, meanwhile, was in freefall. He desperately flapped his eight massive black wings, but they only served to destabilize him, spinning him in a dizzying corkscrew. He was crashing rapidly toward the valley floor, specifically into the largest nest he could see—the main breeding ground of the Scythe-Winged Harpies.
He slammed into the gigantic nest with a bone-jarring impact, narrowly avoiding impalement on a massive, curved talon sticking out of the bedding.
He had landed directly in the lap of a juvenile Scythe-Winged Harpy Chick, a creature roughly the size of a rhinoceros, covered in fluffy down and bearing razor-sharp proto-wings.
The chick, startled and hungry, immediately let out a screech and attempted to eat him whole, snapping its enormous beak at Noir.
Noir scrambled out of the nest, the massive chick giving chase. As he darted between the branches and debris, he noticed the beast suddenly collapsing awkwardly behind him.
Noir stopped, his panic momentarily giving way to curiosity. He peered back and saw a deep, bleeding gash on the monster's massive leg, likely sustained during the earlier chaos of the class takeoff.
His human instinct, the deeply ingrained reflex to help the injured, overcame his survival instinct. He saw the genuine distress in the monster's eyes—not aggression, but pain.
He grabbed a sharp stone shard from the nest debris. He quickly cut his palm, a familiar action from his old life when he needed to prove a blood debt. He held up the bleeding hand to the chick, showing the monster his own wound, attempting to signal that he meant to help, not harm.
The beast understood the universal gesture of shared pain and sacrifice. It whimpered, resting the injured leg on the ground, offering it for aid.
Noir leaned down, preparing to use the meager contents of his first-aid kit, but before he could apply the bandage, a large droplet of his human blood dripped directly into the chick's gash.
A brilliant, shocking wave of golden light erupted from the wound. The gash instantly closed, the torn scales knitting back together, and the bleeding stopped completely. The healing was immediate and total, the effect of his pure, untainted human blood on the demonic creature was astonishing. Both Noir and the chick stared in mute shock.
The massive harpy chick cautiously tested its leg, standing firmly on the healed limb. It let out a soft, grateful trill, then rubbed its massive, downy head against Noir, nuzzling him close in thanks.
Disregarding its initial plan to eat him, the beast lowered its back, indicating clearly for Noir to climb on. The fastest way out of the Warbling Valley was now riding a grateful Scythe-Winged Harpy.
Far away, in the heart of the forbidden Cutthroat Valley, Sabnock Sabro stood utterly alone. His armor was dented, his axes were chipped, and his body was covered in deep, bleeding gashes—injuries far beyond the scope of a mere flying competition.
He had smashed his way through the shortcut, but he had finally encountered the source of the valley's reputation.
Standing over him, radiating an unimaginable, oppressive malice, was a gargantuan, terrifyingly ancient winged beast—the highly placed guardian entity that Kalego had warned the students against provoking.
Sabro, his eyes wide, his body trembling, could only stare up at the behemoth, his ambitious smile gone, replaced by utter despair at the impossible, self-imposed challenge. He was bloody, broken, and hopelessly outmatched.