Arcos picked up the gauntlets, sliding them over his hands. They fit perfectly, as if they were made just for him. He clenched his fists, feeling the weight of them before lifting his gaze to meet the head combat instructor's eyes.
"I'm ready," he said, his voice steady and resolute.
The instructor studied him for a moment, then gave a slow nod. "Your first test…" His lips curled into a grin as he stepped forward, picking up a sword. "Is to fight me."
A stunned silence filled the training hall.
Both Arcos and his teacher, Professor Elara, froze in disbelief. She was the first to speak. "You can't be serious," she said, her voice edged with concern. "You don't actually think he stands a chance against you, do you?"
The instructor barely spared her a glance. "Quiet." His voice was firm, unwavering. "I'll be the one to decide if he belongs in this combat class."
Arcos took a deep breath, pushing away any doubt. His hands tightened into fists as he focused entirely on the man before him. This was his moment. He had to prove himself.
"I'll make you accept me," Arcos said, determination burning in his eyes.
The instructor smirked. "If you can land a single punch on my face, I'll let you in."
Before Arcos could even react, the instructor was gone—a blur of motion.
A sharp, crushing pain exploded in his stomach as a fist slammed into him, knocking the air from his lungs. His body lifted off the ground, and in an instant, he was sent flying backward, crashing hard into the stone wall behind him.
Professor Elara gasped. "Take it easy on him!" she shouted, rushing toward Arcos. "He's still just a child!"
But the instructor didn't even look at her. His eyes remained on Arcos, watching, waiting.
"I was holding back all my strength," he says, his voice calm but firm.
Arcos staggers to his feet, his body screaming in protest. His vision blurs for a moment before sharpening again as he locks eyes with the instructor. This is bad. If this keeps up, I'll be out cold in a few more hits. His breaths come ragged, each one feeling heavier than the last.
He clenches his fists, his mind racing. If I charge in now, I'm as good as dead… but I can't just stand here.
With a deep breath, Arcos pushes off the ground, launching himself forward. His fist tightens, his steps steady despite the exhaustion weighing him down. No hesitation. No second-guessing. Just jumping into action.
The instructor's expression was unreadable, save for the cold disdain in his eyes. "Pathetic," he muttered, stepping forward.
Before Arcos could react, a powerful blow struck his chest, sending him sprawling to the ground. A sharp gasp left his lips as pain flared through his ribs. His hands trembled as he tried to push himself up, but the instructor didn't give him the chance.
A boot to the stomach sent him sliding across the floor. The impact knocked the breath from his lungs, and he curled inward, clutching his midsection.
"Weak," the instructor scoffed.
Arcos gritted his teeth, struggling onto his hands and knees. His breath was ragged, his vision swimming. He felt like he was teetering on the edge of unconsciousness, but something deeper burned within him—anger. Frustration. Humiliation. Every blow fuelled the fire inside him, stoking a rage he couldn't contain.
"You'll never make it into this combat class at this rate," the instructor said, watching him with disdain. Then he took a step closer, his presence looming over Arcos. Without warning, he grabbed the boy by the throat and lifted him off the ground.
"You rush into battle without thinking," the instructor continued, his fingers tightening around Arcos's neck. "That makes you weak."
Arcos clawed at the instructor's grip, his body thrashing, but it was useless. He couldn't breathe. His vision blurred, darkness creeping at the edges.
Across the training hall, Professor Elara gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. "Instructor, that's enough! Let him go!" she cried.
But the instructor ignored her. His grip only tightened.
"A weakling like you doesn't deserve to exist in this world," he said, his voice void of mercy.
Arcos's limbs jerked in desperation. Panic surged through him, mixing with anger and helplessness, twisting into something raw and unbearable. His heart pounded, his mind screamed for air, but something else was happening—something deep within him stirred.
The Aetherium inside him pulsed in response to his emotions. It coiled, seethed, and then—exploded.
A sudden surge of power erupted from within, wrapping around his body like a living force. His muscles burned, his skin tingled, and his mind blanked as the raw energy consumed him.
The instructor's eyes widened as Arcos's fingers pried his hand away from his throat with unnatural ease.
"What…?" the instructor whispered, shock flickering across his face.
Arcos didn't hesitate. He drove his fist into the instructor's stomach, sending him stumbling backward. A powerful wave of Aetherium burst outward from the impact, invisible to most—but to those who could wield it, the air itself trembled.
Aetherium crackled around Arcos like a living storm. His breath came slow and deep, his eyes gleaming with something primal.
The fear in the instructor's gaze was unmistakable.
John stood atop a jagged rock, his gaze sweeping over his students as they clashed with monstrous creatures, honing their skills with each strike. The training grounds echoed with the sounds of battle—grunts of effort, the clash of steel, the roars of beasts. His voice cut through the chaos.
"Ears up, eyes open!"
Another wave of monsters surged forward, their forms twisting in the golden afternoon light. John tensed, prepared to intervene if necessary, but then—he felt it.
Aetherium.
The surge of energy pulsed from the direction of the academy, sharp and wrong. His gut twisted as recognition struck. Arcos.
"What the hell—?" he muttered. Without a second thought, he bolted.
John moved faster than light it self, fear fuelling every step. He crashed through the academy doors, skidding into the hall, his boots striking the polished marble. The closer he got, the stronger the disturbance became. Then—
Glass shattered.
John burst through the tall windows of the combat training room, shards raining down around him. He landed in a crouch, breath heavy, eyes darting to the figures in the room.
Professor Elara stood frozen, her face pale. The head combat instructor beside her wore an unreadable expression, but John didn't care about them. His focus locked onto Arcos. The boy stood at the centre of the room, his body trembling, his usually bright eyes darkened—lifeless. Power crackled around him in unstable waves, twisting the air.
John's heart clenched. "What have they done to you?" Arcos didn't answer. He barely even seemed to see him.
John moved in an instant, closing the distance with a speed that no one had time to react to. He reached out, pressing two fingers gently against Arcos's forehead. The moment they made contact, Arcos's body gave out, his form going slack as unconsciousness took him.
John caught him before he could fall.
Slowly, he raised his head, his expression dark with fury. His voice, when he spoke, was dangerously low.
"Who is responsible for this?"
Silence hung heavy in the room. Then, one by one, the instructors turned, their fingers lifting toward the head combat instructor.
Professor Elara's voice was barely above a whisper.
"It was him."
John took a heavy step forward, his boots thudding against the cold ground as he closed the distance between himself and the head combat instructor. His fists clenched at his sides, jaw tight with anger.
"You," John growled, his voice low and shaking with barely contained rage. "You'd do this to a child?"
The head combat instructor didn't flinch. Instead, a slow, menacing grin spread across his face. His eyes gleamed with cruelty, his voice a dark whisper.
"That's right," he sneered. "The weak don't deserve to live—only the strong."
John's breath caught in his throat, the weight of those words hitting him like a punch to the gut. The instructor's face was a mask, unreadable, but John could feel the twisted conviction behind his words.
For a moment, everything was still.
Then, in a blinding flash, faster than the eye could follow, John moved. One second, he was standing feet away; the next, his hand was wrapped around the instructor's throat, lifting him off the ground as if he weighed nothing.
"Such flawed thinking," John spat, his grip tightening, the instructor's legs kicking beneath him, "only comes from a coward."
The instructor clawed at John's hand, gasping for air. "Let… go… of me!" he choked, his fingers scrabbling in vain, just as he had done to Arcos moments earlier.
Professor Elara stood frozen, her eyes wide with shock. She had never seen John like this—so cold, so merciless. It was as if a stranger stood before her, wearing the face of someone she thought she knew. She opened her mouth to speak, to pull him back from the edge, but before she could, a portal tore open beside her, its swirling energy humming in the air.
Her gaze snapped to it, and out stepped a tall figure, his presence commanding. The principal. He was dressed in flowing, ornate robes, his thick white beard cascading down to his chest, matching his heavy eyebrows.
"John! Stop at once!" the principal's voice boomed, firm and unwavering.
From the portal, several figures in white coats emerged—doctors—rushing past the principal, their faces tense with urgency. They hurried to Arcos, who lay broken on the ground, tending to his injuries with practiced hands.
But John didn't let go. His fingers only tightened around the instructor's throat, rage blinding him. "Why should I?" he snarled, not sparing the principal a glance. "The weak don't deserve to live, right, Thragg?" His eyes locked onto the instructor—Thragg—his stare burning with hatred.
Thragg's face twisted in fear now, his earlier bravado gone.
The principal took a step forward, his voice dropping low, laced with warning. "Let him go, John. Or I'll tell them who you really are."
The words hit John like ice water. His grip faltered. His chest heaved as the weight of the threat sank in. Slowly, he loosened his fingers, and Thragg fell to the ground, gasping and coughing, his face pale with shock and—something else—humiliation.
One of the doctors turned to the principal, voice urgent. "Sir, the boy—he's in critical condition. We're not sure if he'll make it."
The principal nodded, his face unreadable. "Take him to the facilities. Do whatever it takes to save him."
The doctors lifted Arcos carefully, moving swiftly as they exited the training room.
John stood there, staring down at Thragg, his breathing heavy. His eyes were dark, filled with anger and something deeper—hatred. Every part of him screamed to end Thragg here and now. But he didn't.
The principal's voice cut through the silence. "John, go back to your class. They need you. There are still monsters out there."
John didn't look up. He simply whispered, his voice low and full of promise, "This isn't over."
And in the blink of an eye, he was gone—no trace left behind.