The entrance to Rift Zone Gamma-7 was a chaotic whirlwind of nervous energy and youthful bravado. Hundreds of first-year students, clad in their standard-issue combat suits, buzzed with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. They formed small, tight-knit teams, checking their equipment and making last-minute preparations. For most of them, this was their first real foray into a Rift, their first taste of genuine danger.
Michael, by contrast, was an island of calm in the sea of nervous chatter. He stood alone, slightly apart from the other teams, his presence creating an invisible bubble around him. His victory over Gideon had made him a celebrity of sorts, but it had also made him an outcast. The other students didn't know whether to fear him or resent him, so they settled for keeping a wary distance.
"Looks like you're all alone, Azazel."
Michael turned to see Isabelle Sterling approaching, her own team trailing behind her. Her expression was, as always, cool and composed, but her eyes held a flicker of something he hadn't seen before: grudging respect.
"Director Reed assigned me to your team," Michael stated simply, not bothering with pleasantries. He had received the notification on his bio-monitor shortly after leaving the Genesis Archive.
Isabelle sighed, a faint wisp of condensation in the cool air. "I know. The Director seems to have taken a special interest in you. Don't make me regret this. My team's assessment score depends on our performance. We can't afford to carry any dead weight."
Her teammates, a trio of earnest-looking students, shifted uncomfortably behind her. They had all witnessed Michael's duel with Gideon, but the ingrained prejudice against a "low-talent" was hard to shake. They still saw him as a liability, a potential anchor that would drag down their scores.
"I'll pull my own weight," Michael replied, his tone even. He had no interest in their petty squabbles. He had his own objectives, his own quests to complete.
As the final countdown for deployment began, the teams gathered before the shimmering, vortex-like entrance to the Rift. A massive, ethereal gateway had been established by the academy, a stable portal that would transport them to the alien jungle of Gamma-7.
"Remember your training," an instructor shouted over the din. "Stay with your teams, watch your sectors, and do not engage any beast above your designated threat level. Good luck."
With a final surge of energy, the portal stabilized. One by one, the teams stepped through, vanishing into the shimmering void. When it was their turn, Isabelle gave Michael one last, appraising look before leading her team into the Rift. Michael followed without a word, the familiar sensation of spatial displacement washing over him.
The world on the other side was a riot of alien life. The sky was a sickly green, and the air was thick with the scent of strange, exotic flora. Massive, twisted trees, their bark a deep shade of purple, towered over them, their canopies forming a dense, light-dappling ceiling. The ground was a soft, spongy moss that squelched under their boots.
"Alright, team, form up," Isabelle commanded, her voice sharp and professional. "Standard delta formation. Weapons hot. Scan for threats."
The team moved to obey, but their movements were clumsy, their inexperience evident. They were academy students, trained in simulations, but this was the real thing. The oppressive atmosphere of the Rift, the sheer alienness of it all, was clearly getting to them.
They didn't have to wait long for their first encounter.
A rustle in the undergrowth, a flash of movement, and a creature lunged from the shadows. It was an Iron-Grade 1-star Razorclaw, a vicious, wolf-like beast with chitinous plating and claws that could shred steel.
"Contact!" one of the students yelled, his voice cracking with panic.
The team scrambled to react. The two warriors in the front raised their shields, their stances unsteady. The support-class student in the back began to channel a defensive barrier, his hands trembling. They were a mess of uncoordinated, panicked movements.
The Razorclaw, sensing their weakness, pounced on the nearest warrior.
But before its claws could find their mark, something moved with impossible speed.
It was Michael.
He hadn't waited for orders. He hadn't bothered with formations. The moment the beast appeared, he had acted. He activated [Phase Shift].
For a single, imperceptible instant, his body became ethereal. He passed through the lunging Razorclaw as if it were a ghost, reappearing directly behind it. His High-Frequency Resonance Blade, a dark blur in the dim light, was already in his hand.
He didn't waste the opportunity. With a single, clean, flawless strike, he brought the vibrating blade down on the back of the beast's neck, severing its spinal cord.
The Razorclaw let out a choked gurgle and collapsed, its charge cut short. It twitched once, then lay still.
The entire encounter had lasted less than two seconds.
The other students stared, their mouths agape. They hadn't even had time to properly raise their weapons, and the threat was already neutralized.
Isabelle Sterling was the first to recover. She looked at the dead beast, then at Michael, who was calmly wiping a non-existent speck of dust from his blade. A complex mix of emotions played across her face: shock, disbelief, and a dawning, profound sense of awe.
"How..." she began, her voice barely a whisper.
"It was coming for you," Michael replied simply, deactivating his blade and letting it dissolve back into his system. "I took care of it."
He looked at the stunned faces of the other team members. "Are we going to stand here all day, or are we going to complete the assessment?"
That single, decisive action changed everything. The team's dynamic shifted in an instant. The whispers of "liability" and "dead weight" died, replaced by a new, unspoken understanding. They were no longer protecting Michael; he was protecting them.
Isabelle, her professional composure returning, nodded sharply. "Right. Let's move out."
But this time, when they formed up, there was a subtle but significant change. They no longer placed Michael in the protected rear. They moved around him, instinctively forming a perimeter, their eyes now looking to him, not to their team leader, for guidance.
Michael didn't comment on the change. He simply moved forward, his senses scanning the alien jungle.