Its sword crashed down on me like a meteor from the heavens, the sheer force behind it enough to drive my legs halfway into the stone floor beneath me.

  My knees buckled, my body trembling under the crushing weight. A pained grunt escaped my lips as I felt my arms quiver, the pressure immense, unbearable. My Weaver, my only lifeline, hovered mere inches from my chest, its blade catching the light as the knight’s relentless assault forced it ever closer.

  My aura, once flowing freely around me like a protective barrier, had shrunk, condensed down to a faint glow around my arms and legs. It was all I could manage now, the last vestiges of my strength focused on keeping that barrier intact. But I knew it wouldn’t hold for long. My grip on my Weaver was faltering, my knuckles white as I struggled to keep the knight’s blade at bay. And the worst part? The knight didn’t even seem to be trying.

  Its sword loomed above me, the tip now only a hair’s breadth away from piercing my chest. In the narrow space between us, all I could see was the cold, metallic gleam of the weapon, blocking out everything else. The thought that this was the end briefly crossed my mind, but then I made the dumbest, most reckless decision of my life.

  I let go.

  I released my grip on my Weaver, letting it fall from my hands as I ducked to the side in a desperate roll. The knight’s blade slammed down where I’d just been standing, splitting my weapon in half with a sickening crunch as it clattered to the ground, useless.

  I stared at the shattered remains of my Weaver in disbelief, my mind racing.

  ‘I’m boycotting swords, armor, and knights for the rest of my life if I survive this,’ I thought bitterly.

  My aura flared once more, spreading back over my body as I scrambled to my feet, adrenaline pushing me forward.

  The knight, seemingly unfazed by my escape, began its slow, deliberate march toward me again. Its massive sword scraped across the floor behind it, a haunting sound that echoed through the chamber.

  But as it approached, an idea—a slim, insane idea—began to form in my head. The throne room was largely empty, save for the debris scattered around and a few towering columns. And then, I remembered something—a glaring weakness in the knight’s hulking form.

  Grinning like an idiot, I shouted, “That big suit of junk must be weighing you down, metal-face! Why don’t you take it off? Maybe you’ll catch up to me!”

  The knight paused, its steps slowing, and for a brief moment, I thought maybe—just maybe—my taunt had worked. But then it spoke, its voice a deep, menacing rumble.

  “Is this your pathetic attempt to provoke me? What use is there in crushing a roach when a mere step will suffice? Now cease your cowardly antics and face me like a warrior.”

  I rolled my eyes, already sprinting toward it.

  “Old age catching up to you, grandpa? You called me a bug! How can I face you like a warrior?”

  “Silence!” The knight’s roar shook the very walls, but it was just what I needed. He was angry now.

  We hurtled toward each other in a head-on collision, but at the last second, I dropped to the floor, sliding beneath the knight’s swinging blade. I shot behind him, aiming to leap onto his back, hoping to catch him off guard.

  But this knight was faster than any walking suit of armor had any right to be. It spun in a blur of motion, the sound of its massive body moving at that speed making my stomach drop. Before I knew it, I was caught—its cold, iron hand clamped around my torso like a vice.

  I barely managed to squeak out, “Could you at least throw—”

  And then it flung me. Hard. My world became a blur of marble and stone as I crashed through several columns before slamming into the far wall with enough force to shake loose chunks of debris. My body ached in ways I hadn’t known were possible, bones rattling from the impact.

  ‘Boycotting walls,’ I added to my growing list as I lay there, every inch of me screaming in agony. My bones felt like they had been reduced to splinters, my muscles torn, and my head—my head felt like someone had unscrewed it and jammed it back on the wrong way.

  Somehow, I managed to peel myself out of the wall and stagger back to my feet. By the time my head stopped spinning and my vision cleared, the knight was already advancing again, its heavy footfalls reverberating through the room.

  “Why don’t you come out of that suit and fight me like a real man!” I croaked, my voice barely above a whisper, sounding more like a dying animal than the confident warrior I was trying to portray.

  To my surprise, the knight stopped. For a long moment, it just stood there, staring at me through its visor. Then, slowly, it raised both hands to its helmet.

  “Very well,” it said, its voice low and ominous. “It is only natural.”

  My stomach dropped. “It is?”

  Dark mist swirled around the knight as it removed its helmet, and what stepped out of the armor was not what I expected.

  A young man emerged from the haze, his long black hair cascading over his shoulders, his skin pale as death. Black lines snaked across his body like veins, and his eyes—black as night—bore into me with an eerie intensity. He wore a simple white robe now, a stark contrast to the blood-red sword still clutched in his hand.

  “Okay, wait—hold on. What are you?” I asked, trying to buy time as my body slowly regenerated. From his previous mannerisms, I knew this guy wasn’t like the knights from The Academy. This wasn’t some mindless beast; it was something far worse—sentient, aware. Too human.

  The man sneered. “Why should I lower myself to reveal my name to an insect like you? Do you think you deserve it?”

  “Well, dead men tell no tales, right?” I shot back, my voice trembling slightly. My body was slowly healing, my strength returning, but it wasn’t enough. I needed more time.

  “You are insignificant. Why would I indulge in such trivialities with a puny existence?” His words cut deep, but I saw a flicker of hesitation. I had to press my advantage.

  “You know,” I said, my tone sharpening, “I’m getting sick of this bug talk. You’re the one stuck here, dead, or whatever. Maybe you’re the weak one.”

  The man frowned, his confidence wavering for a split second. “In…what way?”

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  “Every way!” I thought to myself, pressing harder. “What’s strength without freedom? Without the ability to go wherever you want, to be whoever you want? Doesn’t that make you weak? Trapped? Because if you’re bound to this place, how are you any different from a prisoner?”

  He stroked his chin, visibly contemplating my words. My heart raced as I prayed that he’d fall for it. Even I didn’t believe half the nonsense I was spewing, but if it got me out of this, I’d stick with it.

  “You’re right,” he finally said, his voice low.

  “I am?” I blinked in disbelief. “I mean, of course, I am.”

  "Very well. I should kill you and get this over with," the knight said coldly, its voice void of emotion as it raised its massive sword. In the blink of an eye, it vanished.

  "Wait, can we just–" I barely got the words out before the blunt side of its blade slammed into my arm, an impact so fierce I could only manage to raise it as a shield against my head. My body wasn’t thrown across the room, but the sheer force was enough to send me tumbling across the cold, cracked stone floor, my limbs fumbling as I tried to regain control.

  Instead of fear or panic, however, something far more intense bloomed within me.

  I was angry.

  Not just at the knight or this fight. No, this rage had been simmering beneath the surface for months. Ever since things had started going wrong at every damn turn. I had been blaming myself, thinking every failure was because of a poor decision I’d made. But no—that wasn’t it at all.

  The real reason was far simpler: everyone around me had been pushing me into these absurd situations. I wasn’t the one failing; I was being set up. That bastard Infra, for instance, instead of training me like any decent mentor would, had planted the stupid idea of The Underground in my head. And then, after I got beaten within an inch of my life, he had the audacity to tell me I had no hope of surviving.

  And before all that, he made me endure hell—over what? Five minutes of poorly researched nonsense, all of which could’ve been avoided if anyone had bothered to care. Then there were the academy teachers. Idiots, the lot of them, tossing me into a room filled with murderous, sentient suits of armor, only to later "allow" me entry into their prestigious halls, as if they were doing me a favor.

  And then there was Enzo. That piece of shit knew I didn’t stand a chance in hell against what I was up against. He knew and still sent me on this mission, unprepared and woefully underpowered.

  Not a single person had been on my side. Every last one of them had been pulling strings for their own amusement or gain. Infra was supposed to be my guide, and he was just another manipulative force, like everyone else in my life.

  I could feel my body burning, though I wasn’t sure whether it was from pain, rage, or something deeper, something more primal. My skin felt hot, too hot, and my blood seemed to be boiling. That anger, festering for so long, had finally exploded inside of me, and it needed a place to go.

  As the knight came at me again, the air around me shifted. The dust on the floor stirred, carried by a faint breeze, and the sound of whistling wind filled my ears as the blade hurtled toward my neck.

  But I caught it.

  I caught it.

  My hands wrapped around the cold steel, and I stared into the glowing eyes of the armored figure. My body felt like a furnace, my aura flaring up, expanding into something monstrous, something I had never seen before. But none of that mattered.

  Because right now, I had an outlet for all of it, standing in front of me.

  "I'm going to enjoy this," I growled, a deep, feral rumble escaping my throat as I tightened my grip. The world blurred, everything around me faded away, and for a moment, all went quiet.

  ?

  "This is becoming a real problem," I muttered as I came to, blinking my eyes open. "Maybe I should switch to a less violent career."

  The pain was gone, and my body felt... strangely refreshed. Whatever had happened while I was out had healed me, leaving me with nothing but a vague sense of disorientation. I was still in the throne room, meaning the test wasn't over. I still had a chance.

  My memories of what had happened before I blacked out were hazy, but I could recall the anger—blinding, uncontrollable anger. And then… heat. An overwhelming sensation of heat before everything went dark.

  I let out a sigh of relief as I scanned the room, noticing that the knight was nowhere to be seen. Maybe it had assumed I was dead and disappeared back into the mist.

  "I’ve gone nowhere, human," a voice echoed in my mind, this one far less mechanical than Infra’s cold, detached tone.

  "Ahh!" I yelped in shock, stumbling backward and landing awkwardly on my ankle. Pain shot up my leg as I crumpled to the floor. "Infra?"

  "You dare compare me to a mere machine?" The voice was sharp, indignant. "If I still had my body, I would grind you into a fine paste."

  Great. Just great.

  Now, not only did I have a robot invading my head, but I also had a vengeful spirit in there as well. My life was just a never-ending parade of complications, wasn’t it?

  "What the hell are you doing inside me?" I demanded, rubbing my aching ankle.

  "Wait—scratch that. How did you even get in me?"

  "It’s simple, really," the voice replied, a dark amusement lacing its tone. "As my physical form began to fade, I transferred my consciousness into the nearest viable host, which happened to be you. Do you understand now, or should I explain it again, insect?"

  I scowled. The voice may have been different, but it was just as condescending as Infra. Of course, I wouldn’t get a break.

  "That’s not simple at all," I grumbled. "But I feel like any further conversation will just make me more suicidal." With a sigh, I staggered to my feet, limping over to the remnants of my Weaver. The once powerful weapon was now nothing but a pile of broken, charred fragments scattered across the floor.

  I knelt down, picking up the largest piece in my hand. For a moment, I considered giving it a proper burial—or maybe a cremation.

  At the thought of cremation, the piece in my hand suddenly grew blisteringly hot. I yelped, dropping it, and watched as the shards sizzled and boiled on the floor.

  "What the hell? Did you curse my Weaver?" I snapped, glaring at the empty air.

  "I do not deal in petty magic," the voice said disdainfully. "I am a warrior, not some hedge mage. I need only my body."

  I stared at my hands, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Then a thought struck me, and I let my aura flare out, spreading across my body.

  There was no change in its strength or reach, but there was something different—its color had darkened, turning into a deep, violent purple, and tiny sparks flickered across it.

  I knew exactly what that meant.

  "Lightning!" I exclaimed, a grin breaking across my face. "Yes! I got lightning! Not only did my aura awaken fully, but I got one of the strongest abilities possible!" My heart raced with excitement. Heat plus sparks? There was no other explanation.

  I thrust my hand forward, trying to summon the power I had felt earlier. I imagined lightning crackling from my fingertips, arcing across the room. I focused, willing it into existence.

  Nothing.

  I shook my hands in frustration, staring at them as if the sparks would magically reappear.

  "What the hell? Am I out of juice or something?"

  "What are you doing, boy?" The voice, now calmer but still condescending, questioned.

  "I’m trying to summon my lightning abilities, but nothing’s happening!" I snapped, feeling a knot of frustration tighten in my chest. If anyone knew about magic or abilities, it had to be the ancient spirit now living rent-free in my head.

  For a moment, there was silence. Then the voice burst into laughter—deep, mocking laughter that echoed through my mind and caused my head to throb.

  "What’s so funny?" I growled, rubbing my temples.

  "Ah, very good!" the voice finally calmed down, but I could still hear the amusement in its tone. "Tell me again, what did you say your ability was? Lightning?"

  "Yeah..." I replied hesitantly, the knot in my stomach tightening further.

  "Ahahaha! Excellent! Back in my day, you would have made the perfect jester."

  "Listen here, bastard or whatever you're called—cut to the chase, or I swear I’ll knock myself out again!" I was on the verge of snapping. The headache wasn’t helping.

  "If you must, call me Haedon," the voice chuckled, clearly enjoying itself. "As for knocking yourself out—feel free. It does nothing to me."

  "Just tell me what’s wrong already!" I barked.

  "Boy," Haedon said, the humor draining from his tone. "Your ability is..."