The pain room was quiet.
Too quiet.
The kind of quiet that makes your skin itch and your thoughts squirm. It smelled faintly of steel, sterile chemicals, and something... older. Like an ancient instinct clawing up your spine whispering You shouldn't be here.
Rows of high-tech chairs lined the curved chamber, each one sleek and polished, connected to a spiderweb of glowing cables. At the center, a floating glass monolith shimmered faintly. This was the Resonance Core, the machine designed to extract your limits — not physically, but mentally.
Here, pain was data. And data didn't lie.
The Willpower Test had only one rule:
Endure.
The longer you sat inside, the higher your rating. No illusions. No enemies. No screaming. Just pain. Pure and unrelenting.
Most cadets didn't last past 2.0.
Anything above 3.0? You were built different.
At 4.0, you were a ghost forged from iron and spite.
And the theoretical cap was 10.0.
No one had ever reached it. Or at least, no one who still had a mind left to tell the tale.
---
Dennis and Aviel stood at the edge of the chamber like two kids at the mouth of a horror house.
"So…" Dennis muttered, adjusting his bandana. "They're really just gonna zap our brains?"
"Not zap. Simulate pain until you break," Aviel corrected, already reading the guidelines on the wall.
"Yeah that's so much better."
They watched as cadet after cadet went in with confidence—and came out limping, twitching, or just silent. One girl ran out crying after hitting 1.3. Another guy threw up at 1.9. Even the prodigies were struggling.
Then it was her turn.
The dark-haired tower-born girl stepped into the chair like a queen claiming a throne. Her name? Raye Darenthal. Daughter of a Seeker who was currently on Floor 38.
The lights dimmed. The numbers began to tick.
0.1
0.2
0.3
Her brow furrowed. A wince.
0.4
0.5
0.6
Sweat formed on her forehead.
1.2
1.5
1.8
She gritted her teeth.
2.0
The room watched in silence.
2.5
She jerked forward.
2.8
One hand curled into a fist.
3.0
Then—
3.1...
3.2...
3.3...
At 3.9, she screamed and slammed her hand down, ejecting herself from the test.
Gasps echoed.
Someone whispered, "That's the highest today…"
She stood, breath ragged, glaring at everyone like they were bugs beneath her feet. Her eyes locked onto the twins.
And lingered.
On him.
Aviel smiled lazily.
Dennis leaned over and whispered, "Oh, she definitely hates you."
---
Then the screen flashed.
Next: Aviel [Ø]
He stepped forward.
Calm.
Expression unreadable.
Avael grabbed his sleeve.
"Don't push too hard," she said softly. "I know you."
He looked back, eyes golden and quiet.
"I'll be fine."
But inside?
The echoes were rising.
Old memories.
The pain he buried beneath that smile.
He stepped into the chair.
It closed around him.
The machine whirred.
And the numbers began to rise.
0.1
0.2
A soft stinging sensation crept over his skin.
0.3
0.4
The pain began.
0.5
A sharp tingle ran across his limbs, like needles in his nerves. His body twitched slightly, but he didn't move.
His lips parted.
Pain?
This much is enough... I've felt far worse.
0.6
His breath slowed. Deliberate. Rhythmic.
0.7
It spread now—his ribs tightened. It wasn't physical pain, not exactly. The machine stimulated the illusion of agony by amplifying the nervous system. Every muscle began to buzz like a live wire.
0.8
0.9
There was tension in his jaw now. His hands clenched.
1.0
Aviel blinked once. Expression blank. Not calm—just neutral.
1.1
1.2
Sweat dripped from his temple. His teeth dug into his bottom lip, crimson welling slowly from the corner of his mouth.
1.3
1.5
1.8
Somewhere in the chamber, a cadet muttered, "He's still going…?"
Raye Darenthal, the tower-born prodigy, stared silently.
2.0
One of the top five scores.
Aviel didn't flinch.
2.2
2.5
A drop of blood fell from his nose.
3.0
His body jerked. Just once. A spike of raw pain surged through his chest—but he leaned into it. Breathing steady.
"I haven't gotten this far… to back down now."
3.2
3.5
3.8
A red haze crept into his vision. His brain screamed. His nerves howled.
The system warned him.
[Caution: Neural stress at 74%]
4.0
Professor Chelsea's eyes widened. Her clipboard fell.
"What…?"
4.2
4.5
The room held its breath.
Dennis had stopped sipping his juice.
"That guy…"
4.6
Then—
4.7
Alarms blared.
[DANGER: CRITICAL NEURAL LOAD – EJECTING PARTICIPANT]
The pod hissed violently as the restraints released. Smoke curled around the chamber. Sparks flickered.
Chelsea stepped forward with lightning reflexes and slammed the emergency override.
"Shut it down. NOW!"
The pod opened.
Aviel stumbled out.
Blood ran from his nose. His lip was bitten raw.
His feet hit the ground—
And for a single heartbeat, the pressure that rolled off him silenced the room.
Every cadet froze.
Even Raye, with all her pride, couldn't meet his eyes.
And his eyes… were empty. Not dead. Not dazed.
Just… cold.
Until something clicked. A switch flipped. The gold returned. Light flickered in.
And he smiled.
"…I'm good."
---
Dennis approached, cautiously.
"Dude…" he said, eyes wide. "You—what the hell was that?"
Aviel blinked. Wiped his lip. Shrugged.
"Guess I've got a strong pain tolerance. After all I gotta pass one of these tests with flying colors don't I?"
Dennis didn't believe that for a second.
"You've been through stuff, huh?"
"…Maybe."
"...That was terrifying. And also? Really cool."
Aviel chuckled lightly, wincing from the pressure in his head. "I just hope Ava doesn't start mothering me again."
The two of them walked off together. One bruised, one pale. Both silent for a moment.
Behind them, whispers buzzed like flies.
"No way…"
"That was higher than Raye…"
"That guy—he's not normal."
"But he's the lazy one, right?"
"There's no way he was faking that pain…"
Raye Darenthal stood stiff in her spot.
And for the first time, she looked at him not with disdain…
But with doubt.
---
[Aviel Ø — Mental Fortitude Rating: 4.7]
[Top of the Willpower test Leaderboard — Tutorial Academy, Batch 47]