"This behavior cannot be encouraged," Raphael says, his voice cool, detached, and utterly lacking in empathy. "Crashing through the gates sets a chaotic precedent. It disrespects the Order."
Dean Nox smirks, adjusting her thin, silver-rimmed glasses. "That's why they made a promise, Raphael. If they fail to Awaken, they go straight to federal prison. High risk, high reward. These two children are quite confident. Would you like to stay and watch?"
"No," the Angel replies, smoothing down his pristine white gloves as if our very presence has soiled the air around him. "I have matters to attend to."
He turns to leave, brushing past me without a second glance. As he moves, a subtle breeze follows him. I pause, inhaling instinctively. It is a scent that screams 'untouchable.' It's the smell of authority, of absolute righteousness.
I watch his retreating back—the perfect posture, the hidden wings—and shrug. Smells expensive, I think. Like money I haven't earned yet.
---
Dean Nox leads us away from the administrative building and towards the massive dome structure in the distance—the Awakening Hall.
The Mythos Academy is larger than I expected. It's a city within a city.
We pass through the open-air training grounds, and for the first time, I see the competition.
It's a freak show.
To my left, a group of pale, beautiful students are huddled under a glass canopy that filters UV rays. Vampires. They hold parasols and sip from thermoses that definitely don't contain coffee or tea.
To my right, the ground shakes as shirtless students with excessive body hair spar in the dirt, throwing each other into concrete pillars. Werewolves.
We are a visual disaster. Dean Nox glides ahead like royalty in her shadow-woven dress. Arlo stumbles behind her, a porcelain doll one stiff breeze away from shattering. And me? I look like a crime scene on legs—caked in dried Zerg blood, smelling of violence, and grinning like I own the place.
Naturally, we attract attention.
"Check out the fresh meat," a drawling voice drifts from the Vampire sector.
A girl twirls her lace parasol, eyeing me with undisguised disdain. "That's the gate-crasher? Seriously? She looks like she crawled out of a sewer."
"And look at the boy..." Her friend snickers, his eyes glowing a faint, hungry red. "He's shaking. One strong sneeze and he'll snap in half."
"Boring. Just another pair of Duds looking for attention."
I keep walking, my face blank. But my mind is cataloging every face, every insult.
Underestimate me. Please. It makes the payout sweeter.
"Where's the Cain? I thought he was sparring today."
"In this sun? You moron," another snaps, shoving him. "He's a 99% Purity Awakener. He refuses to come out during the day. It's physiological disgust."
The gossip stops abruptly when they notice Dean Nox's icy glare. But as we pass, the whispers start up again, louder, hungrier. They are bored, arrogant elites, and we are their new entertainment.
"Wait, is she taking them to the Hall?"
"For a late Awakening? No way."
"Let's go watch," someone suggests. "The Hall has a public observation deck. I want to see them get arrested."
"Yeah, let's see them cry when the machine rejects them."
---
Dean Nox pushes open the heavy doors. The room looks like a high-tech laboratory crossed with an ancient temple. In the center stands a crystal pillar about waist-high, glowing with a soft, milky white light.
Above us, behind a wall of reinforced, blast-proof glass, creates a gallery. It's filling up quickly. The students who followed us are pressing their faces against the glass, pointing and laughing.
"Into the Arena," Dean Nox commands, pointing to the reinforced combat zone. "Power is lazy. It needs to think you're about to die to wake up."
Two massive shadows detach themselves from the wall. Giants. One is a tower of blue ice, the other is a mass of shifting magma. They loom over us, cracking knuckles the size of my head.
"I'll break the toys," the Fire Giant rumbles, looking at us like we're appetizers.
Arlo goes pale. "Me? Fight...them?" He looks like he might shatter from the sheer air pressure.
Dean Nox glances at his trembling frame and rolls her eyes. "Forget it. You run laps. Just try not to die." She turns her sharp gaze to me. "What about you? Want to join your boyfriend on the track?"
I let out a short, dry laugh. "Boyfriend? Please. He can't afford my rates."
I step forward, rolling up my sleeves with bored precision. I don't look up at the Giants with fear. I look at them like they are minor inconveniences.
"I don't run laps, Dean. I run businesses," I say, checking my nails. "But I suppose I can spare five minutes for a warm-up."
"Can I take them both at once? And are weapons allowed?"
"If it wakes up the beast...sure."
My hand instinctively goes to my hip. Empty.
Damn. I lost my knife in the crash.
I spread my hands with a theatrical sigh. "Fine. Bare hands it is. Try not to cry, big guy."
The blast doors seal. The students outside are laughing, placing bets on my funeral. "She's dead. One punch and she's paste."
Dean Nox sips her tea.
BOOM. The Fire Giant doesn't wait. A fist of magma the size of a wrecking ball crashes down where my head was a microsecond ago. The heat sings my eyelashes.
Too slow.
I don't run. I flow. I slide under the blow, a blur of motion. CRACK. I drive my elbow into the soft nerve cluster behind his knee.
Magma skin is hard. Physics is harder. He roars, his leg buckling.
The Frost Giant swings—a wall of ice aimed to swat me like a fly.
I don't retreat. I launch myself at him.
I scramble up his frozen arm like a spider, twisting mid-air to lock my legs around his massive neck.
Chokehold.
I dig my thumbs into his pressure points. He thrashes, gasping for air, clawing at his own throat.
Before the Fire Giant can recover and burn me off, I use the Frost Giant's head as a launchpad. I backflip off, driving my heels into his skull for momentum.
WHAM.
I land in a crouch. Behind me, the two giants collide in a heap of tangled limbs, groaning in pain.
Ten seconds. Flat.
Silence. Absolute, terrified silence.
Outside the glass, Dean Nox's tea cup freezes mid-air. The students' mouths are hanging open, their bets forgotten. This isn't a bar fight. This is a surgical dismantling.
"She's trained," a teacher whispers over the intercom.
"No," another voice replies, sounding shaken. "That's not training. That's instinct. She's a weapon. Combat rating: S-Class."
My heart is hammering against my ribs. Not from fear. From the high. I feel it—a dark, heavy presence in my core, waking up from a long nap. It itches. It burns. It wants to eat.
"That's enough," Dean Nox's voice cuts through the static. "Save some energy for the machine."
I stand up, dusting off my hands. I'm not even out of breath. The Giants are still trying to figure out which way is up.
I flash a grin at the glass. "Can we test now?"
---
Arlo steps up to the machine. His legs are shaking so hard I can hear his knees knocking together. He looks back at me with eyes full of panic.
"Go on, Darling," I say. "Just touch it."
He places a pale, trembling hand on the crystal. The pillar glows a soft pink, then shifts to a vibrant, verdant green.
A robotic voice booms through the entire facility:
[AWAKENING CONFIRMED. SUBJECT: ARLO NAPKI. RESULT: 80% NARCISSUS (THE GOD OF VANITY). 20% ASCLEPIUS (THE GOD OF MEDICINE). ALIGNMENT: LAWFUL GOOD.]
Silence. Then, the gallery erupts into laughter.
"Holy shit, a total of 100% capacity?" one student gasps.
"Yeah, but look at the data. It's impure," another scoffs loudly. "It's a split bloodline. Eighty percent Narcissus? He's definitely awakening as useless eye candy. The dominant gene always wins."
"What about the Medicine God part?"
"Twenty percent? That's barely better than nothing. Tsk. What a waste of potential."
Someone laughs. "Well, that settles it. Get ready for the lawsuit!"
Arlo shrinks back, his face draining of color. He looks at me, his eyes wide with panic, pleading for some kind of reassurance. I don't offer any. Sympathy doesn't pay the bills.
I step past him without a word. It's my turn.
I step up to the crystal. The laughter in the gallery gets louder. "Here comes the crazy girl!" "Enjoy prison!" "Maybe she'll awaken as a Goblin!"
I ignore them. I place my palm on the cold surface of the crystal.
For a second, nothing happens. Then—everything happens.
The milky light inside the crystal doesn't just change color. It dies. It is instantly devoured by a darkness so absolute it feels heavy. Ink-black shadows explode from the pillar, swirling around me like a tornado.
The lights in the facility flicker and die, except for the red emergency strobes that start spinning wildly.
The shadows twist and writhe, condensing behind me. I can feel it. A massive, towering presence looming over my shoulder.
I glance back. A cloaked figure, three meters tall, floating in the void. In its skeletal hand, it holds a massive scythe that drips with phantom blood.
The God of Death.
The robotic voice returns.
[AWAKENING CONFIRMED. SUBJECT: REA REED. RESULT: 100% PURITY. ENTITY IDENTIFIED: THANATOS (THE GOD OF DEATH). ALIGNMENT: CHAOTIC EVIL.]
The numbers flash on the screen in blood-red. One hundred percent. The legendary Single Bloodline.
[AUTOMATIC LEVEL 1 SECURITY ALERT ENGAGED.]
The words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating. Chaotic Evil. The Villain Alignment. The alignment of monsters, murderers, and the Fallen.
I still feel the lingering cold of the crystal on my fingertips. It feels good. It feels like power. And in my world, power equals money. Power equals freedom. Power means I never have to starve again.
Rea. It really does sound like Reaping. How fitting.
I withdraw my hand. The shadows disperse, but the heaviness in the room remains. The silence is deafening. No one is laughing anymore. The students who were mocking me moments ago are now looking at me with pure, unadulterated fear.
I smooth down my shirt, dusting off the imaginary dirt. I look directly into the camera behind the glass where a stunned Dean Nox is standing. The red emergency lights wash over my face, casting long, demonic shadows.
I flash my most polite, innocent, business-like smile.
"So, Dean Nox," I ask, my voice calm amidst the blaring sirens and the terrified silence. "Does this mean I'm hired?"