A hushed, electric silence hung over the Combat Arena. The sight of Gideon Croft, a respected Rank 3 Super Soldier, writhing on the ground in agony, his limbs broken by nothing more than the academy's most basic combat form, had short-circuited the collective consciousness of the student body. The duel was over, but the shockwaves were just beginning to spread.
It was into this stunned silence that Mr. Davies, his face a contorted mask of fury and disbelief, stormed onto the arena floor. The public humiliation was more than his fragile ego could bear. The "trash" he had openly derided had not only won but had done so in a way that made a mockery of everything Davies believed about power and rank. He refused to accept it.
"This is an outrage!" he bellowed, his voice echoing with manufactured indignation. He pointed a trembling finger at Michael. "This... this farce is a clear violation of academy rules! No student could achieve such motor control without illegal augmentation!"
He was doubling down on his earlier accusations, his voice rising in volume to ensure every spectator heard him. "I'm talking about forbidden cybernetic implants! Neural enhancers! He's a cheat, and he has made a mockery of this institution!"
A few of the academy's security guards, drawn by the commotion, began to move uncertainly onto the arena floor, their expressions conflicted. Davies was an instructor, a figure of authority, but his accusations were growing more unhinged by the second.
"I am placing this student under immediate arrest for gross academic misconduct!" Davies declared, puffing out his chest. "He will be subjected to a full-body invasive scan. We will find his illegal implants, and he will be expelled and handed over to the authorities!"
He lunged toward Michael, his hand reaching out to grab him, his face twisted in a triumphant snarl. This was his chance to reassert his dominance, to crush this upstart and erase the stain of his own public humiliation.
But before his hand could make contact, a voice, as calm as a placid lake yet carrying the unshakeable weight of a mountain, cut through the tension.
"That will be quite enough, Mr. Davies."
The security guards froze. The murmuring crowd fell silent. Davies's outstretched hand stopped dead in the air as if hitting an invisible wall. Every head turned toward the entrance of the arena, where a single figure now stood.
It was Director Evelyn Reed. She had been observing the duel from her private office, and her timing was, as always, impeccable. She walked onto the arena floor with a slow, deliberate grace, her tailored uniform immaculate, her expression unreadable. The air around her seemed to shimmer with a quiet power, a presence that made Davies's blustering rage look childish and pathetic.
"Director Reed," Davies stammered, his face draining of color. "I was merely—"
"I am perfectly aware of what you were doing, Instructor," she interrupted, her voice cool and cutting. She didn't raise her voice, but every word was a steel-edged blade. "You were abusing your authority, publicly harassing a student, and making baseless accusations in an attempt to salvage your own bruised pride. You have become a disgrace to the title of 'instructor'."
She finally turned her gaze to Michael, and for the first time, he saw a flicker of something that looked like approval in her sharp eyes. "Mr. Azazel's performance was a testament to his dedication and a profound understanding of combat fundamentals. It is a level of skill we should be encouraging, not punishing out of envy and ignorance."
She turned back to Davies, who now looked as if he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. "Your prejudice against students you deem 'low-talent' has been noted on multiple occasions, Mr. Davies. This, however, is the final straw. You will report to my office for a formal review of your position. I can assure you, the outcome will not be in your favor. As of this moment, you are suspended from all teaching duties, and you are to have no further contact with Mr. Azazel."
The finality in her tone was absolute. Davies stood there, his mouth agape, his face a mess of conflicting emotions—rage, shame, and a dawning sense of terror. Defeated, he gave Michael one last look of pure, unadulterated hatred before turning and storming away, his career at Ares Academy effectively over.
With the instructor gone, Director Reed addressed the still-stunned audience. "Let this be a lesson to you all. True strength is not defined by the rank of your talent, but by the depth of your mastery. Dismissed."
The crowd began to disperse, now buzzing with a completely different kind of energy. The story of Michael's duel, and Director Reed's dramatic intervention, would become the stuff of academy legend.
"Come with me, Mr. Azazel," the Director said, her tone softening slightly as she turned back to him. "We have much to discuss."
Michael nodded, a sense of profound relief washing over him. The system had given him a path, but Director Reed had just cleared it of its most immediate and troublesome obstacles. He followed her from the arena, leaving the whispers and the awe behind him.
Her office was just as he remembered it, but this time, the atmosphere was different. There was no longer a sense of being tested, but of being welcomed.
"I believe a reward is in order," she said, her lips curving into a rare, genuine smile. She tapped a command into her desk console, and a section of the wall slid open, revealing a hidden vault. "Your performance has earned you more than just public recognition. It has earned you access."
She gestured to the vault. "This is the Genesis Archive, Mr. Azazel. It contains some of the rarest and most powerful combat arts and genetic skills salvaged from Rifts, data that is restricted to only our most promising students. I believe you have more than earned the right to peruse its contents."
Michael's heart pounded. This was an opportunity beyond his wildest dreams. The Genesis Archive was a treasure trove of lost knowledge and forgotten power.
"I am granting you Level 3 access," she continued. "It will allow you to view and download any non-restricted combat art or mobility-enhancing skill. I have a feeling you will make excellent use of it."
"Director... I don't know what to say," Michael managed, his voice filled with sincere gratitude.
"Say nothing," she replied, her smile returning. "Just continue to surprise me. Now, go. The archive awaits. Find something that will help you become even stronger."
With a nod of thanks, Michael entered the vault. The door hissed shut behind him, sealing him inside a vast, circular room lined with glowing data-ports. A holographic interface shimmered to life in the center of the room, displaying a dizzying array of files.