“Any sign?” Ruvenne asked, voice tinny through the handheld comms gripped tightly in his hand.
“Have you found a single one of them?”
“No.
I’ve searched every nook and cranny of the courtyard, asked every last student about Delvey.” Ichett stood in the center of the quad, breath coming in shallow gasps, the sunlight caught in the fabric of his uniform.
“Those who know him said he was right here with the lot of them earlier.
You?”
“I see.
No, they’re not here either.
Someone reckons they saw them heading for the library, but there was no sign of them,” Ruvenne muttered, eyes hardening as he glanced toward the stacks.
“Does the puppet have a Rage signature we can track?”
“Yes.
But it’s not quite that simple.”
“How do you mean?”
“The manikin runs on Rage imbued by the user.
Trying to find it is no different from trying to track the students’ own Rage.
We could do it, but we’ve got no idea what their signatures looks like yet.”
“Tch.
What’s the worst case scenario, then?”
“If they’re just training, they’ll likely be messing about with the difficulty settings.
But that’s not the real danger.
There’s another switch that activates the puppet’s true purpose.” Ichett’s voice dropped, terrifyingly steady.
“The model they’ve nicked is a Cleaner.
And if that mode is triggered…” Ichett’s voice crackled through the speaker.
Ruvenne’s grip tightened on the comms, knuckles turning white.
“…the entire campus becomes its hunting ground.”
* * *
“Level three, then?” Farnz leaned in, peering at the buttons before spotting the word CLEANER etched into the casing.
He pressed level three, but his hand hovered over the large toggle.
“Hang on…
any of you lot know what this ‘Cleaner mode’ is about?” He glanced back over his shoulder.
“Cleaner?” Rasnes repeated, the word unfamiliar.
“Just leave it be,” Delvey said dismissively.
“We’ll only end up messing with its programming or cranking it up to a level we can’t handle.
Let’s just stick with level three.”
Farnz stared hesitantly at the button, then shrugged.
“Fair enough.” He stood up and leapt back, feet scraping, the puppet’s fingers twitching against the ground as he shoved his hands into his pockets.
“If I deck this thing in one go, I’m hitting that trigger.”
“Go for it, then,” Delvey clipped out.
Without warning, the manikin charged.
Farnz didn’t budge, unfazed.
The puppet closed the distance and thrust its arm, intending to strike.
Before it could land, he lashed out and batted the effigy to the ground with casual ease.
He flailed his hand out as the sting caught up, the motion a sharp blur.
“Ow!” He let out a theatrical squeak, one eye screwed shut.
“Stings a bit, that.”
The sight didn’t make Kisatsu feel any better.
Just as he was beginning to adapt, the puppet revved up, moving faster than he thought manageable.
He couldn’t stop his eyes from widening as the sheer, profound disbelief flooded his mind.
…I can’t keep up with that thing anymore.
The others took their turns and won effortlessly, as if playing a game they had invited Kisatsu to watch rather than join.
He studied their every movement—their timing, their weight distribution—with a desperate, concentrated effort.
Yet, the only thing he learned was—everything was moving too fast for him to apply.
When it came to learning, he hated to admit he was out of depth.
Dodge…
strike…
dodge…
His mind wandered, struggling to stay focused.
Before he knew it, his turn had finally come.
“You alright, mate?” Delvey’s voice broke through the fog.
Kisatsu turned toward him with a startle, more frantic than he intended to be.
“I…
yeah.
I can do this,” he said, unsure whether it was a lie or an excuse to avoid looking like a coward.
He took a deep, measured breath and stepped into the center, standing like a child handed a weapon he didn’t know how to hold.
He shifted his stance, hands at his sides, shoulders squared, feet anchored to the ground—a mimic of what he’d seen, correct or not.
It’s fast, but I can still read it.
I’ve got a shot.
That’s a different story.
His breathing changed, heart pulsing too quickly to be steady.
It’s all down to timing now.
Right.
Only the speed has changed—it’s not like it got any tougher.
If I can land just one solid hit, I win.
His violet eyes narrowed with a mix of unresolved doubt and lingering perplexity.
Still, I have no idea how I hit it that hard before—that was a first.
First the regeneration, now this.
If I’m capable of that, can I actually harden my body?
Can I tank a hit?
The moment the manikin closed the distance, Kisatsu’s stance faltered.
His legs tightened, muscles contracting without instruction, and his elbows sprang forward to shield him.
He utterly abandoned the replication he’d been attempting.
A loud, deadened impact—strong enough to send a small shockwave through the air—slammed into his arm.
He barely caught the strike on his elbow, the force slamming him onto his back.
He rolled clear just before the puppet could stomp him, springing back to his feet.
The others watched him quietly, curiously, a glint of amusement touching their gazes.
He’d only managed to block because he’d seen it coming.
Alright, damn it!
I underestimated this thing!
It’s…
way faster than I thought!
Doesn’t matter if I only need one hit if I can’t even get close.
He observed the puppet, eyes darting, analyzing.
Now…
I just need to sharpen my reactions.
If I can actually time these counters, I can end this…
but how?
Is there a way to force my reaction speed higher?
He hesitated, and the puppet seized the moment, striking another heavy blow into his flank, hurling him aside.
He hit the wall with a stiff, sickening thud, rebounded, and crumpled to the ground with a painful grunt.
He forced himself up slowly, head spinning.
The wall had actually done more damage than the punch—he’d been so fixated on reinforcing the point of impact that he’d left his back wide open for the secondary hit.
“Ha…
Not the first time…
I’ve eaten dirt.” His voice quavered, barely audible against the approaching footsteps.
If I’d known how to do this back then, would I have stayed on my feet?
Probably not.
That Partian was in a whole different league.
He tightened his stance, jaw set with unwavering resolve.
Compared to that, this is a fight I can actually win.
If only I could just chuck a fireball and be done with it…
The manikin refused to give him a second to breathe, lunging from across the chamber.
Kisatsu barely managed to slip the blow, the mechanical lethality in the puppet’s movement palpable even in the air it displaced.
Hey, hey.
Don’t tell me you’re still revving up—you can’t be getting faster!
He attempted a counter-punch, catching only empty air.
Tch!
How are those guys making this look so easy?
How are they faster than this?!
He straightened, the puppet returning to its spot, resetting the distance.
I get it now.
I’ve got to put everything into one shot.
That’s the only play.
I have to redline my strength until I blow past this thing—even if it’s just for a split-second.
If I want to walk away from this…
I have to one-shot it.
The manikin began a slow, menacing march toward him.
He dropped into a low, defensive crouch, muscles tensed as he concentrated every ounce of Rage into his limbs.
One hit to the gut and it’s game over.
His eyes narrowed with fierce focus.
Flashes of the Partian, the graffiti, the dragon, and the priest all flickered through his mind like a fever dream.
Please…
let me win this once.
He exploded forward, a blur of motion.
Before he could even process the hit, he was slumped against the far wall on the opposite side.
His gaze darted toward the center of the room, then to his side, where the puppet lay thrashed in a heap.
Delvey stepped forward, an air of awe and admiration about him.
“Looks like you’ve finally sussed it, Kisatsu.
About time, too.”
Kisatsu looked up, still sprawled on the ground, legs numb, paralyzed.
His eyes were pale, laden with a weary exhaustion, breathing shallow, heart still beating a frantic race.
He tried to lift himself up, movement shaky, but he collapsed back to the ground just as Delvey offered a hand.
“A bit much for you, was it?” Delvey said, pulling him up.
“No need to go another round if you’re spent.”
“There’s still…
a higher level?” Kisatsu’s voice rasped.
“Too right there is.
But don’t go forcing it.” Delvey draped Kisatsu’s arm around his neck for support.
“You’ve picked up the form well enough from your goes, haven’t you?
Just keep an eye on us from the sidelines—you’ll still learn a bit.”
Farnz sank low before the jumbled effigy, brushing the dirt off the casing, the wood creaking under the weight of his hand.
“Right then, everyone—I’m turning this bad boy into a ‘Cleaner.'” His voice carried a casual finality that left no room for discussion.
Kisatsu shuffled against the ground as Delvey assisted him to their observing spot, helping him down carefully.
“You alright?
Need a drop of water?”
Kisatsu shook his head perfunctorily.
“No.
I’m fine.
I just…
want to watch how you guys do it.”
A small smile ghosted across Delvey’s lips before he turned his watchful gaze toward Farnz and the reawakening puppet.
Let’s see the ceiling where these guys are standing at, Kisatsu thought, brows tightening with a hint of intrigue.
The manikin emerged once more.
The air changed.
The noise deadened.
The puppet’s steps—once the only indicator of its movement—were now soundless.
Its earlier graceless, uncoordinated gait steadied, assuming a posture almost terrifyingly human.
Farnz shifted, fingertips tensing.
Hullo?
Something’s gone a bit sideways here.
He made an uncharacteristic, almost instinctual leap back.
“What’s the hold-up, Farnz?” Rasnes taunted, voice suddenly sounding like a bell struck against the thick, suffocating silence.
“Losing your bottle before you’ve even landed a blow?”
Farnz ignored him, frowning, gaze focused entirely on the puppet.
Dead quiet now—what’s the game?
Aubrey stood rigid, sensing the change in the air.
“Need a hand there, Farnz?” His voice trembled.
“You look a bit stumped.”
Before Farnz could adjust his stance, the manikin was already behind him.
His gaze snapped back instinctively.
Crap!
The puppet struck a sharp, lethal blow into his side, sending him hurtling toward one of the large pillars hidden in the shadows.
The crash rang across the chamber with a keening whistle, followed by the force of which shattered the silence.
Delvey stood up abruptly, breath caught in his throat.
Kisatsu’s eyes widened, frozen in horror.
To him, it seemed as if the manikin had simply reappeared behind Farnz.
One second, he was there—the next, he was gone.
There was no blur.
No sound to make it believable, possible, or human.
…What happened?
Kisatsu’s mind swam.
His heart almost stopped beating.
The room suddenly fell dead silent.
I didn’t see anything.
He couldn’t even get a move on?
Farnz—of all the blokes?
Delvey’s brain screamed, eye twitching.
“Right, if he’s out cold, I’m having a go!” Rasnes took a deliberate step forward.
“Oi.
Farnz.” Aubrey clamped his mouth with his hands, voice echoing.
“Stop mucking about.”