Orion ran like a storm.
Caution, safety—those were shackles he had long discarded. What he wanted now was to make a statement. To gamble.
The instructor at the pit would have had a heart attack if he knew that a Seed of Virtue was even considering the idea of gambling.
But Orion wasn't just gambling. He was planning something much worse.
His eyes flicked to a broken wooden branch on the ground. Without hesitation, he took a sharp left. The last time he changed direction, he'd noticed footsteps. The time before that, claw marks.
To any observer, his movements seemed erratic, devoid of reason. On his climb to the summit, he zigzagged, doubled back, veered left and right, seemingly avoiding invisible threats.
Yet in the observation room, Nova remained unconvinced.
"He's losing control," Geraldth scoffed. "A minor setback, and he's already unraveling?"
Nova, however, wasn't watching Orion's panic. He was watching the spaces Orion avoided. The gaps between his steps. The rhythm of his madness.
His fingers drummed against his chair, his lips curling into a slow smile.
"You cunning beast."
Realization settled in.
He stood abruptly, all hesitation melting away.
"Let's go," he ordered.
"Eh? Go? Go where?" Geraldth blurted, scrambling to keep up.
Nova cast him an amused glance. "To pick up my new Nexus."
"What? Lord—wait! The exam isn't even over!"
Nova didn't bother responding. He simply walked out, anticipation crackling in his every step.
Orion finally skidded to a halt.
His chest heaved. His pulse thundered in his ears. The burn in his legs screamed at him to stop, but he forced himself forward, one step, then another, until the trees gave way to a clearing.
The air here was thick, damp with sweat and tension.
Thirteen figures.
Weapons drawn. Bodies poised in a silent, fragile standoff.
A deadlock.
Orion smirked.
Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap.
The sound rang through the clearing as he strode into view.
Every pair of eyes snapped toward him.
"Who is that?" someone muttered.
"I didn't think anyone else survived…"
"WHO ARE YOU? WHAT DO YOU WANT?" a man barked, leveling his weapon.
Orion tilted his head. "Easy, tiger," he said, voice as smooth as silk. "Point that thing somewhere else before you hurt yourself."
He took another step forward.
"Congratulations, by the way," he continued, tone dripping with amusement. "You all made it this far. Quite the achievement."
He exhaled sharply, his next words cutting through the air like a blade.
"My name is Orion—the future Nexus."
His grip tightened on his blades. Metal hissed as he dragged the edge along each other, the eerie sound scraping against the ears of those around him.
"Now… please forfeit your lives so I can win the selection."
Tension snapped like a taut wire.
"Alone against thirteen?" someone scoffed. "You must be suicidal."
Orion's smirk deepened. His next words fell like a hammer.
"Who said I was alone?"
A collective realization dawned on the group as their faces paled.
The glow of flames flickered around them.
Some turned their heads. Terror set in.
Towering walls of fire encircled them, crackling and closing in, their heat licking at the air.
And then—
A chorus of growls.
Low, rumbling, primal.
A howl tore through the night.
Then another.
Then a hundred.
From within the fire, eyes gleamed—hundreds of them. Shadows shifted. Clawed feet scraped against charred ground.
The hellhounds had arrived.
The thirteen survivors, once locked in their own battle, now faced a far worse fate.
Orion simply stood there, blade resting against his shoulder, watching their panic with amusement.
Dozens of sin marks flared to life in the darkness as the remaining candidates braced for the onslaught. The selection had turned into a battlefield of fire and blood.
"Focus on repelling the Hellhounds! We'll deal with him later!" someone shouted.
"I agree!" another candidate responded.
But Orion wasn't about to let them form an alliance. He had spent too long orchestrating this moment—he wouldn't let his plans unravel so easily.
"Behind you!" he shouted.
Like puppets on a string, the candidates reacted instantly, slashing and striking at shadows. The sudden confusion fractured their coordination—exactly what Orion needed. In the chaos, he lunged at a nearby candidate, his twin blades flashing.
"What are you—?!" the man barely had time to react before Orion's right blade clashed against his sword. A vicious kick followed, shattering his stance. Without hesitation, Orion hurled his left blade like a spear.
The steel struck true, impaling the man through the chest. Before the body could even slump, Orion ripped the weapon free and delivered the final, decisive slash.
Around him, it was carnage. Screams filled the air, blood stained the earth, and fire charred the flesh of the fallen. Candidates and Hellhounds alike fought for survival in the inferno.
His sin mark pulsed—an intoxicating heat rushing through his veins, urging him to embrace the chaos, to revel in the slaughter. The temptation was overwhelming.
But he knew—losing himself here meant death.
Gritting his teeth, he activated his virtue mark. A wave of calm washed over him. The battlefield sharpened into focus. The pounding of paws, the clash of steel, the terrified breaths of those still standing—all unfolded before him with perfect clarity.
Stillness Perception.
The world slowed. Two Hellhounds lunged at him, their movements sluggish in his eyes. He flowed between them like a shadow, his blades cutting them down in a single, fluid motion.
More threats entered his awareness. Five more hounds.
He weaved through the fray, dodging two fireballs before deflecting the third with his blade. Twisting his body, he thrust forward—steel met flesh. A beast howled, impaled. Another lunged. He barely dodged its snapping jaws, countering with a devastating kick that sent it sprawling.
It was a dance with death. Every movement was precise. Efficient. No wasted energy. No hesitation. His strikes were cold and calculated—like a strategist orchestrating the flow of battle.
But even a masterful performance had limits. His reserves dwindled. Stillness Perception flickered.
Five Hellhounds remained.
He charged. The first fell in a single slash. The second lunged—he spun, avoiding the bite by a hair's breadth, and responded with a crushing kick. The third—his blade found its mark, piercing through muscle and bone.
But then—his ability faltered.
The last two closed in. He had no time to react.
Desperation sparked a ruthless decision. He extended his right arm—bait.
The Hellhounds took it without thought, their fangs sinking deep. Agony seared through him. His vision blurred. His breath caught in his throat.
But pain meant nothing. Not now.
With his left blade, he struck. The heads of the beasts rolled to the dirt.
Silence.
He staggered, barely able to stand. His right arm was burnt and mangled, throbbing with pain. His body screamed for rest.
Only one Hellhound remained—the one he had kicked moments earlier. It stared at him from a distance, wary of the aura still lingering around him. Then, instead of attacking, it reared back and spat a fireball.
He had nothing left. No strength to dodge. No energy to fight.
"This is it…" Orion whispered as he closed his eyes. "Just a little more… and I would have won."
The heat rushed toward him—
And then—warmth. A presence. A shadow flickered before him, enveloping him in an unfamiliar embrace.
"Little emerald… you are one troublesome—"
The voice trailed off as darkness took him.