“Are you completely out of your mind, Xan?!” Jahek shrieked, his voice cracking into a high-pitched panic that echoed sharply off the cold stone walls of the central command center.
He slammed his oversized leather gloves hard against the edge of her wooden desk, nearly overturning a stack of blank parchment sheets.
He began pacing the office frantically, his boots clicking rhythmically as sweat dripped down his temples and his single missing tooth showed through his parted lips.
“Leeroy will literally tear him to pieces!
He’s a zero-Astral rookie who doesn’t even know how to throw a proper human punch!
Matching him against the guild’s most notorious, bloodthirsty bully is a death sentence!
You might as well execute him yourself right here!” Zaiden stood perfectly still near the shadow of the heavy curtains, his arms folded neatly across his chest.
His unique half-white, half-black hair remained completely motionless against his shoulders, and his eyes watched the loudmouth’s outburst from beneath his comical bunny face mask.
He didn’t say a word to defend or argue, but his posture remained cold, calculating, and entirely unbothered by the dramatic scene.
“Sit down, Jahek, and shut your mouth,” Xan commanded, her voice cutting through his panicked breathing like a heavy iron blade.
She didn’t look up from her ledger, slowly dipping her quill into the dark inkwell.
“I am not standardizing this registration test, nor am I throwing the boy to the wolves.
This mock battle will be held in absolute secrecy.
There will be no screaming audience, no lower-ranking Cullers filling the stands, and the entire guild will remain entirely unaware of the match or its results.
The only judges present in the room will be myself and Zaiden.” Ambo blinked, rubbing his sore, pale shoulder as he sat on the interrogation stool.
The split-tongue vein lines running along his jaw tightened slightly as he looked at the Acting Leader.
“But why Leeroy?
If he hates us this much, why force us into a room together?” Xan finally closed the registry book with a heavy thud, leaning forward until her leather pauldrons caught the flickering yellow torchlight.
“Because Leeroy Jenkins has spent years pushing his Premera manipulation to a genius level, forcing his raw energy to harden into an impenetrable, physical suit of armor encircling his torso.
He possesses zero elemental flexibility and will never unlock a Segonda spark, but his defensive ability is unmatched among our Sentinels and Vanguards.
If I want to accurately assess what that black fluid of yours can actually handle, I need an opponent who won’t accidentally incinerate you with a rogue element, but can take absolute physical punishment without breaking.
He is your perfect wall.” The next morning, the dusty western training courtyard became a literal furnace of physical exhaustion.
The morning sun broke lazily over the stone arches, baking the dirt into a hard, cracked crust.
BANG.
Ambo crashed heavily into the dirt, coughing violently as a thick cloud of dust filled his lungs.
His blunt wooden training sword flew spinning out of his hand, clattering against a stone pillar several feet away.
Zaiden stepped past his guard with a blinding, mechanical velocity, his tiny leather gloves resting on his hips as his bunny mask stared down at the fallen rookie.
“Again.
Stand up,” Zaiden commanded, his flat voice muffled but firm beneath the cloth.
He hadn’t used a single spark of his heavy Astral element, forcing Ambo to rely entirely on his raw human reflexes and stamina.
Ambo scrambled back to his feet, his muscles groaning in agony as he thrust his hands forward, focusing his mind on the dark panic hidden deep within his bone marrow.
Instead of manifesting a flat defensive shield like he had in the shipping vault, he forced his thoughts to narrow.
SPLAT.
A thick, bubbling surge of Black Goo violently erupted from his palms.
The dense, oily fluid rippled over his knuckles, and as Ambo willed it to expand, the substance suddenly stretched, hardening into a jagged, imperfect edge that looked remarkably like the crude blade of a short dagger.
Zaiden froze instantly, his eyes narrowing slightly beneath his split-colored bangs.
He stepped forward, raising his own wooden sword and tapping the hardened fluid blade.
The black mud rippled under the impact, then perfectly held its rigid, solid structure.
“It’s not just a basic defensive element type,” Zaiden murmured, his analytical brain immediately processing the weight of the discovery.
“It’s a complete physical materialization.
Your black goo can reshape itself into anything—any weapon you can clearly think of in your mind.
If we can feed you with a lot of knowledge regarding ancient weaponry and train your body’s movements how to properly swing them, you will be able to fight anyone on the surface.” Zaiden lowered his wooden blade, his gaze tracking the way the fluid slowly melted back into Ambo’s deathly pale skin.
“But for now, since we have absolutely no time before the afternoon test, you just need to think of a simple weapon.
Or better yet…
just coat your hands with the fluid, exactly like Jahek’s oversized gloves.
You can technically bring back that full, devil-looking form you used yesterday, but I think that shroud is directly connected to your physical stamina.
When you triggered it during your first mission with Drax, it drained your energy so rapidly you nearly collapsed, right?” Ambo nodded, leaning against his knees as his chest heaved.
“Yeah.
It felt like it was eating my blood from the inside.” “Then do not use the full form,” Zaiden ordered, his voice sharp and absolute.
“Instead, just keep it in your hands.
Control the fluid locally to save your energy for the impact.
Now, let’s start practicing again.
Forget the blade for now.
Coat your fists, and fight me with all your might.” By afternoon, the atmosphere inside the lower subterranean corridors of the guild felt suffocatingly cold and tense.
The air smelled of damp earth and rust, lit only by a few spaced-out iron torches.
Ambo and Jahek walked quietly toward the heavy, iron-reinforced entrance of the sunken Pit arena.
Ambo’s hands were tucked into his vest pockets, his fingers trembling slightly as the gravity of the match loomed over him.
Just as they reached the threshold, a massive, heavily built shadow stepped out from the opposite locker corridor.
Leeroy Jenkins smirked, his long blue-and-crimson gradient hair swaying against his shoulders as he cracked his massive knuckles.
He wore his formal dress attire but his posture radiated absolute malice as his cruel eyes locked onto the amnesiac boy.
“Well, hello ladies.
Get ready to have your ass beaten later in the dark.” Jahek instantly took a cowardly step backward, dragging his boots through the dirt as he raised his large butcher gloves defensively.
“Hey, watch your mouth, punk!
I’m not even a part of this mock battle!
I’m just the moral support!
If you lay a finger on my white t-shirt, I’ll tell Xan!” Leeroy’s face twisted in pure annoyance, his eyebrows twitching violently at the sound of the loudmouth’s high-pitched voice.
“God, I absolutely hate your voice, Jahek.
I should just punch you right now to stop you from breathing—” GROAN.
Before Leeroy could lift his hand to strike, the massive, ancient iron gears behind the stone wall began to slowly turn.
The colossal metal doors to the Pit arena slowly parted, revealing a dark, sunken stone colosseum.
The heavy, hollow quiet of the empty arena washed over them.
The three teenagers instantly froze, their petty bickering completely dying down as the heavy reality of the secret registration test settled into their chests.
High up on the stone judges’ balcony, the silent shadows of Xan and Zaiden were already waiting, peering down into the deep, sandy pit.
Ambo took a deep, steadying breath, tightening the buckles on his boots as he stepped forward into the darkness, ready to face the heavy armor of the guild.