Chapter 20: Seeing Skills

  The chamber’s lights dimmed slightly as Captain Evin gave the order.

  "Start in order. Number Two, you're first. Show the squad what you're working with."

  All eyes shifted to Sandra.

  She stepped forward with calm precision, her boots clicking softly against the floor.

  There was something practiced in her posture, like someone who had already endured a hundred private tests before this one.

  Her orangish curls were tied back in a tight loop, and her expression was bnk and cold.

  Without a word, she lifted her right hand and activated her skill.

  The shift in the air was immediate.

  A sudden drop in temperature, a faint smell like wet stone and earth stirred from a grave, and then, a shimmer of greenish-blue light erupted from her back like a tether, floating upward into the space above her.

  And it emerged.

  A spirit. Half-translucent, towering above her.

  Its shape was both familiar and foreign, fish and lizard-like, with hardened scale ridges along its shoulders and a massive, heavy jaw.

  Its eyes glowed a dull amber, and thick tribal bands circled its wrists and neck. It hovered motionless, its massive arms folded, its muscles pulsing beneath the translucent sheen of its form.

  It wasn’t fully there. It wasn’t fully gone either.

  It hung above Sandra like a protector, like a summoned guardian from a war long forgotten.

  But Sym saw it first, thanks to Sage: the threads.

  Dozens of them.

  Thin, luminous lines connecting Sandra’s spine, chest, and skull to the specter above her, like a spider tethered to its prey.

  Sym narrowed his eyes.

  Sage spoke instantly.

  "Skill: [Salek’s Channeling] – Type: Guardian Invocation. Entity identity: unknown. Power output: high. Energy sync with user: stable, but…"

  Sage paused.

  "…there are corruption traces. Unreadable threads ced in the entity’s ethereal form."

  Sym felt a faint twist in his gut.

  So Sandra was carrying a passenger. One strong enough to turn heads, and maybe dangerous enough to consume her if left unchecked.

  Sandra took a slow breath, and her lips moved.

  "Return."

  The spirit turned without a sound and vanished, not into mist, not into light, but into her.

  It didn’t fade.

  It retracted, like a shadow being sucked into the soul.

  She turned back to the group and spoke with steady confidence.

  "I can’t hold him for long," she said. "It pulls too hard. So I only call it when needed."

  Caleb let out a low whistle.

  Burt grunted, unimpressed.

  Trey’s eye narrowed as if trying to see deeper.

  Sym simply observed her with a new weight in his gaze.

  She might not even know what it truly was.

  He folded his arms silently.

  And Sage whispered again:

  "Observation: Sandra is dangerous, not because of her strength… but because she does not fully understand what she’s carrying."

  Sym nodded inwardly.

  And neither, apparently, did the PRG.

  Captain Evin’s voice echoed through the chamber again, clipped and impatient.

  "Number Eight."

  Caleb stepped forward with a practiced ease, his movement almost cocky.

  The man had a lean, fit build, muscur and broad-shouldered, the kind who knew how to look bigger in front of an audience.

  His armor, though identical in base design to the rest of the squad, somehow looked tailored to him.

  He flexed both hands and cracked his knuckles. The gray-grade item assigned to him, a pair of reinforced iron gloves with minimal etchings, clinked slightly as he moved.

  “[Scorching Touch],” he announced, almost with pride.

  The air around him shimmered suddenly, a haze of heat, like sunlight bending over asphalt.

  Then, in his right hand, fmes erupted.

  They coalesced into a weapon; a sword, simple in design, glowing white-orange with tightly-contained fire dancing along its edge. The room temperature spiked instantly.

  Sym felt the change across his skin, subtle but real.

  “Damn,” Caleb said with a grin. “Took me a while to get used to this thing. Burned my hand the first few times. Wasn’t sure I’d ever hold it for more than ten seconds.”

  He raised the sword slightly, letting the fire flicker along its edge.

  “But these gloves?” he nodded to the iron bracers. “Help keep me from turning into a roast pig. Now I can hold it without passing out.”

  He gave a few quick sshes in the air, fast, efficient, showing off more than testing.

  Then he deactivated the bde with a flick of his wrist.

  The fmes vanished.

  The heat lingered.

  He stepped back in line, a faint trail of heat still rising off his arm.

  Sym watched, arms crossed.

  But Sym also saw the micro-tremble in Caleb’s right wrist. The way his breath hitched slightly after the dispy. The gloves were helping, but barely.

  “Overexertion likely,” Sage noted in his mind. “Skill’s heat output exceeds the user’s current body tolerance. Long-term use is unsustainable without further conditioning or augmentation.”

  Sym said nothing aloud.

  Then Evin’s voice rang out again.

  “Number Thirty-Three.”

  Sym stepped forward.

  He walked slowly, deliberately. The leather armor clung tightly to his frame, his greatsword sheathed across his back.

  His boots clicked once, twice, as he reached the center.

  He could feel the eyes on him.

  Sym inhaled slowly.

  Then exhaled.

  "[Boost]," he said simply.

  The change was instant.

  The blue aura erupted around his body like a silent fre, not loud like Caleb’s fire, not theatrical like Sandra’s spirit.

  His veins pulsed slightly beneath his skin, the aura flickering like fluid neon light. Muscles sharpened. Senses tuned.

  He didn’t show off.

  He just stood there, letting them see, but not understand.

  Then, just as calmly, he let the aura fade.

  He straightened and spoke in a casual tone:

  “It gives me a physical boost. Strength, speed, control. Short bursts.”

  He paused.

  Then, added the lie, a clean lie which he had practiced.

  “But it… taxes my body. I can’t hold it long. If I overuse it, I get blurred vision and headaches. Sometimes I even feel like fainting."

  A few of them nodded, sympathetic.

  Sandra gave a slight nod of understanding. Caleb looked slightly relieved. Trey kept scanning.

  Evin raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

  “Response successful,” Sage said in his mind. “Perception calibrated. Deception accepted at face value.”

  Sym stepped back.

  He had shown them exactly what he wanted them to, nothing more.

  Let them think he was simple. Let them think he was fragile.

  It would be better that way when the time came.

  Captain Evin waved his hand toward the next.

  “Forty-Five. You’re up.”

  Burt stepped forward with heavy, deliberate steps. His boots hit the ground like he was stomping down anger one foot at a time.

  He was broad, almost square, his body shaped like it had been carved from resentment and raw muscle. A rge, ft shield was strapped across his back, and a heavy, spiked club hung from his hip.

  He looked like someone who hadn’t smiled in years.

  “My gear’s basic,” he said. “Shield’s got weight-dampening. Supposed to help absorb impact, hold ground for the team. I'm the one who gets hit, so the rest of you can stay alive.

  His voice was gravelly. Aged, but focused.

  Then he straightened and gave a sharp inhale.

  “My skill is called [Massive Message]."

  He opened his mouth and roared.

  It wasn’t a shout. It wasn’t a battle cry. It was a concussive bst of sound, a deep, brutal resonance that rattled the ribcage and sent a visible ripple through the air.

  The shockwave smmed into the far training wall with enough force to crack it along the left side.

  The room stilled.

  Even Evin raised an eyebrow.

  Burt grunted and coughed, shaking his head as he rubbed his throat.

  “Drawback’s obvious. Use it too much, and I can’t speak for days.”

  “Nice,” Caleb muttered. “Human megaphone.”

  Burt didn’t even look at him.

  He just stepped back into pce, silent again.

  Sage murmured in Sym’s mind:

  “Sound-based pressure skill. High burst impact. Extra effective in confined areas. Severe biological strain on the user’s throat. Estimate: three uses before vocal cord degradation begins.”

  Sym filed it away.

  Likely a tank. But not built to st.

  Then Trey stepped forward. Number 77. His eyes flicked to the others, lingering too long, a habitual twitch of someone not used to attention.

  He adjusted his coat awkwardly, then looked at Evin.

  “I received a ring that improves my stamina, my skill… well, it's a support skill,” he said ftly. “Not as fshy. It's a debuff. I weaken enemy targets while my [Eye of the Cursed] is active. Has to be line-of-sight.”

  Evin grinned. “Perfect. Use it on Forty-five.”

  Trey blinked, confused. “Uh… what?”

  “It’s for demonstration,” Evin said, with a casual shrug. “We’re all learning, right?”

  Sym didn’t miss the glint of malice in Evin’s eyes. He wasn’t testing Trey’s skill; he was testing Burt’s patience.

  Trey hesitated.

  Then, reluctantly, he activated his ability.

  His right eye gleamed with a violet glow, unnatural, like corrupted gss catching firelight. He turned toward Burt and locked eyes.

  Burt’s face stiffened instantly.

  His body staggered just slightly, knees bending, shoulders sagging. His eyelids drooped, and a faint tremor ran through his arms.

  He looked… dulled.

  Slowed.

  But what caught Sym’s eye was the expression, not pained, not even surprised.

  Furious.

  If murder could be expressed in silence, Burt was radiating it now.

  And Evin? He smiled.

  Trey’s cursed eye dimmed, and he stepped back quickly, eyes darting downward. He looked like he wanted to apologize but didn’t dare to.

  Sym watched the tension simmering just beneath the surface.

  These weren’t teammates.

  They were forced allies, roped together and told to cooperate under the heel of someone like Evin.

  Sage spoke quietly:

  “Psychological fracture detected. Burt’s hostility toward command is rising. Trey’s self-confidence: declining.”

  Then came the st.

  Number 130. Elen.

  She stepped forward quietly, smaller than everyone else by a head, her eyes half-hidden under long dark bangs.

  Unlike the rest, her armor wasn’t the standard leather uniform; hers was some kind of synthetic weave, estic, flexible, and clinging like skin, hinting that PRG had made adjustments just for her.

  On her back were two brass knuckles, massive ones, practically her own size. They gleamed like relics from a colossus, absurd in comparison to her tiny frame.

  Sym blinked.

  “Sage?”

  “No compatibility detected. Physical parameters: insufficient to lift or wield.”

  Elen reached up and pced one hand over her forehead.

  And then she whispered:

  "[Green Within].”

  A ripple passed through her body, followed by a pulse of green light.

  A mark appeared on her brow, jagged, leaf-shaped, pulsing softly like a vein. From it, green tendrils shot down across her arms and chest, weaving through her body like vines fed by adrenaline.

  And then she grew.

  Her body expanded rapidly, her limbs thickened, bones cracked and extended, skin turning dense, her armor stretching impossibly with her as if made for this.

  In less than five seconds, Elen was no longer Elen.

  She was a towering ogre-like creature, nearly seven feet tall, muscles bulging, skin covered in semi-glowing green patterns that pulsed like a living engine. The brass knuckles now fit her fists perfectly, gleaming as if awakened.

  She exhaled — once. The sound was a guttural growl.

  Everyone stared.

  Even Evin’s mouth opened slightly.

  Elen held the form for a few seconds longer and then reversed it, shrinking rapidly back to her original size. She staggered a little, caught herself, and folded her arms tightly around her chest.

  "I can only use it a couple of times before it shuts down for a while," she said quietly, barely above a whisper.

  Sym watched her.

  And for the first time… he couldn’t read her.

  Sage whispered: “Transformation ability. Massively enhances strength and durability. Low energy efficiency. However…”

  There was a pause.

  “…her System signature changes completely while transformed. Almost like a different entity.”

  Sym’s eyes narrowed.

  What the hell had PRG done to her?