Chapter IV
The Azure Mountains
As Marco slowly opened his eyes, the stark emptiness around him was immediately palpable. The comforting presence of James and Sarah was conspicuously absent, their voices, laughter, and warmth replaced by an overwhelming silence. His heart raced, a mix of confusion and a tinge of fear setting in as he scanned his surroundings, only to find himself utterly alone.
Before he could surrender to panic, a sharp, insistent alarm from his wristband sliced through the quiet. With a flick of his wrist, Marco activated the device, and to his amazement, a detailed hologram of the Azure Mountains materialized above it. The map was divided into five distinct sectors, each marked with its respective names. Among these, a blinking red dot pulsed steadily—his current location, situated in the heart of the Thundering Peaks.
Marco's attention shifted from the holographic display to the world around him, the map momentarily forgotten as he took in his surroundings with a sense of awe and dread. He found himself on a narrow ledge, the ground beneath him a precarious mix of snow and rock. Beyond the ledge, the mountain stretched upwards, its peaks hidden by a blanket of clouds that glowed with the soft light of the setting sun. Below, a vast valley sprawled out, its depths shrouded in shadows that seemed to dance and twist with the mountain's secrets.
The silence of the mountain was profound, broken only by the occasional distant rumble of an avalanche or the cry of some unseen creature. The air was crisp, biting at Marco's skin with every breath he took, a reminder of the altitude and the unforgiving nature of his environment. As he turned, taking in the full panorama, Marco's gaze was drawn to the intricacies of the landscape—the jagged cliffs that jutted out like the teeth of some gargantuan beast, the ice formations that sparkled like jewels, and the snow that lay undisturbed, a pristine white canvas that stretched as far as the eye could see.
With each step, Marco's sense of isolation deepened, the weight of his solitude pressing down on him. Yet, as he ventured further, a curious sight caught his eye. Standing a short distance away was a creature that seemed to belong more to myth than the rugged slopes of the Thundering Peaks. It was a mountain goat, but unlike any Marco had ever seen or imagined. The creature was massive, at least one and a half times larger than any typical mountain goat, with a coat that shimmered with an otherworldly hue under the dying light.
Its horns twisted skyward, not just in the majestic curve one would expect, but adorned with peculiar markings that glowed faintly, casting eerie shadows on the snow. An ominous aura enveloped the creature, a dark mist that seeped from its body like smoke, swirling around it in a dance of shadows and light. The goat's eyes were a deep, penetrating red, burning with an intelligence and ferocity that spoke of ancient, untold power.
As Marco observed, his wristband vibrates once more, breaking the eerie silence between predator and prey. A holographic display materialized, announcing in a synthetic tone, "Target Identified: Tier 2 Monster - Gloomhorn."
The sudden noise startled the Gloomhorn, its red eyes narrowing as it pinpointed Marco's location. With a ferocious snarl, the beast charged, hooves pounding the snow, turning the tranquil scene into a battleground.
The Gloomhorn moved with surprising speed, its body a blur of dark fur and mist. Marco, caught off-guard, barely had time to react. The creature's eerie aura seemed to thicken, wrapping around Marco, trying to slow his movements with a chilling cold that sank into his bones.
With no option remaining but to confront the oncoming threat, Marco tapped deeply into his reserves of prana, the vital energy that coursed through him, a connection to the very essence of the air around him.
The air around him suddenly swirled and gathered around his stretched out hands and dual wind swords began to take shape. They were almost invisible, save for the faint, shimmering outline that hinted at their deadly form. This outline was not static; it pulsed and flowed like the wind itself, a constant motion that suggested the energy contained within. The swords, though seemingly ethereal, were unmistakably tangible, with their edges defined by a swirling torrent of wind that coalesced into a blade so sharp, it seemed capable of slicing through the fabric of reality itself.
The air around the blades crackled with energy, particles of ice and snow caught in their wake, spiraling around the swords in a mesmerizing dance.
Sensing the shift in Marco's stance and the sword within his hands, where the air around it crackled with energy, as particles of ice and snow caught in their wake, the Gloomhorn hesitated for a split second. Its instincts warn it of the impending threat. This moment of hesitation allowed Marco to act. With a swift motion, he sent a barrage of wind blades while slicing through the air towards the Gloomhorn.
The creature reacted with astonishing agility, dodging most of the blades but one struck, slicing a furrow along its flank. The Gloomhorn retaliated with a powerful leap, aiming to impale Marco with its twisted, glowing horns. Marco rolled aside, allowing the snow cushioning his fall then at the same time he sprung up, summoning more wind blades as he maneuvered for a better angle.
The battle raged on, a dance of elemental magic and primal fury. Marco, despite his skill, found himself pushed to the limit by the Gloomhorn's relentless assaults. Each exchange left him more breathless, the cold air searing his lungs.
In a daring move, Marco feigned a stumble, luring the Gloomhorn into a charge. As the beast neared, he used his magic to leap high, somersaulting over the Gloomhorn to land deftly behind it. The Gloomhorn, caught in its momentum, struggled to stop and turn.
This was Marco's moment. With precision, he summoned a whirlwind, concentrating its force into a singular, devastating blade of wind which he then cast at the monster. He then followed charge with it and he readied his swords. As the Gloomhorn turned to face him, the released windblade hit its face directly causing black liquid, which seemed to be the monster's blood to splatter in every direction.
As the Gloomhord staggered due to the impact of the windblade, Marco, did not waste this opportunity. Going faster than ever before, he charged at the staggered monster and he stabbed it in its eyes through its brain mercilessly using his swords.
As the final blow was dealt, the Gloomhorn's pained cries echoed hauntingly across the silent expanse. The dark mist that had once enveloped the monstrous goat dissipated, and the once menacing glow of its horns dimmed to nothingness. Marco stood, breathless and fatigued, watching as the creature lay defeated before him.
Exhausted, Marco collapsed into the snow, feeling the cold seep through his clothing. A jubilant chime from his wristband momentarily cut through the solitude, announcing, "Congratulations! For defeating a Tier 2 monster, you have been awarded 50 points." He wearily stretched out the arm adorned with the device, covering his eyes with his free hand, seeking a moment of respite under the blinding white sky. It was then, amidst the silence, that a faint, yet playful whisper reached his ears. "Thank you," it said mockingly but at the same time, so softly that Marco questioned if he had imagined it.
Before he could ponder the voice further, his wristband piped up once more, "50 points transferred successfully." Confusion struck Marco as he bolted upright, quickly tapping through the holographic display of his wristband to check his accumulated points, only to find the balance stood at zero.
A rush of thoughts flooded Marco's mind, as confusion filled his mind. "How could this be?" he questioned internally, his heart racing as he remembered Principal Varick's warning about points being stolen by other students. It didn't take long for Marco to connect the dots; the only plausible explanation was that his hard-earned points had been pilfered.
Scanning the snowy landscape for any sign of the thief, Marco's eyes caught sight of fresh shoe prints near where he had been resting. Without hesitation, he harnessed his wind magic, and in a split-second decision, Marco unleashed a powerful wind blade towards the unseen assailant.
Blood splattered in every direction when the wind blade impacted on the invisible thief. Marco, without hesitation, charged forward towards it but what laid in front of him was a ghastly scene; a student laying on the ground, his body gruesomely severed from the head, and blood gushing out from its headless body, staining the pure snow.
Marco's heart sank into despair, the reality of his actions crashing down upon him. He knelt beside the lifeless body, his voice breaking as he repeated, "I didn't- I didn't mean to do it," he stuttered while his plea dissolved into the cold air. Tears, unbidden, began to stream down his face as he stammered apologies to the silence, clutching the body of the fallen student in a desperate embrace and bloodstains, covered his vest and hands entirely.
In a cruel twist of fate, their wristbands momentarily touched, triggering another notification. "550 points transferred successfully." The added points, far from a reward, only deepened Marco's anguish, the weight of his unintended crime bearing down upon him. A scream of sheer frustration and sorrow tore from his throat, echoing across the Thundering Peaks, a raw expression of the torment and the harrowing reality he now faced.
"Student Marco." A watcher, as fast as the gust of wind appeared in front of Marco. He then extended a hand to comfort the torn young man as a fleeting gesture of empathy. Yet, this small comfort was swiftly overshadowed by the reality of Marco's actions. The clink of handcuffs echoed ominously as they were secured around Marco's wrists, a stark symbol of his grave transgression. "You have taken the life of a fellow student," the Watcher intoned, his voice a somber blend of regret and unwavering authority. "The consequences of this act cannot be overlooked. You must be held accountable."
Marco's voice, shaky and laden with desperation, attempted to pierce the solemnity of the moment. "I... it was an accident," he stammered, the words tumbling out in a plea for understanding, for some semblance of mercy. "I never meant to—"
The Watcher, his expression unchanging, held up a hand to halt Marco's faltering explanation. "Intentions, while they do matter, cannot reverse the outcome of actions. The laws of Isles are clear, and the sanctity of life stands paramount above all," he stated, his tone firm yet not devoid of compassion. "I understand the turmoil within you, but the path to atonement cannot be forged in words alone."
Marco's heart sank with the realization that no explanation could absolve him of the reality he had crafted with his own hands. The finality in the Watcher's voice left no room for argument, only acceptance of the harsh truth.
"Come," the Watcher continued, his gaze softening for a moment as if to acknowledge the weight of the burden Marco now bore. "I must report what happened here. The faculty and the principal at the bottom of the mountain will decide your fate."
"Marco?" A voice, barely a whisper, laced with confusion and a burgeoning dread was suddenly heard. "What... what happened here? "James emerged from the underbrush, his footsteps hesitant as his eyes took in the somber scene before him. The sight of Marco, handcuffed and broken, beside a watcher and a lifeless form on the ground, carved a pit of disbelief and horror into his stomach.
Marco lifted his gaze, eyes brimming with a torment that words could scarcely convey. The strength to articulate his nightmare eluded him as he looked away from his best friend. His gaze fell once more as he fought against the tears threatening to breach his defenses.
The watcher, sensing the need for explanation, turned to James with a gravity that immediately set the young man's nerves on edge. "There has been a tragic accident," he began, his voice steady but not devoid of empathy. "Marco... was involved in an unfortunate event that led to the death of a fellow student."
James' heart skipped a beat, his mind struggling to wrap around the enormity of what he was hearing. "But... Marco wouldn't—"
"It was an accident," the Watcher interjected gently, "but one that carries grave consequences. The laws governing the Selection are clear, and even unintended actions must be addressed."
The world seemed to tilt under James' feet, a sense of helplessness washing over him. He looked at Marco, seeing his friend in a light he never imagined possible. The urge to stay by his side, to support him through this darkest hour, was overwhelming. "I'll come down with you. Marco needs—"
A second Watcher stepped forward, blocking James' path with an authoritative hand. "You must complete the remaining time of the Selection," he stated firmly. "Your presence is required at the conclusion of this event, as per the regulations."
James' resolve wavered as he faced the Watcher, his determination clashing with the rules that governed the Selection. "I need to be there for him," James insisted, his voice carrying the weight of his loyalty and concern for Marco. "He shouldn't be alone through this. It's... it's not right."
The Watcher regarded James with a level of understanding that suggested he was no stranger to the complexities of human emotions. "Your desire to stand by your friend is commendable," he acknowledged, his tone softening. "However, the Selection is more than a test of strength; it is a commitment to the principles that govern us all, including adherence to its regulations."
"But what about Marco? Isn't there an exception for... for situations like this?" James' plea was tinged with desperation, the hope that compassion might prevail over protocol.
"The rules of the Selection are designed to ensure fairness and order, crucial to the integrity of our institution. To deviate from them, even in heart-wrenching circumstances, would compromise the principles we all stand to uphold," the Watcher explained, his voice firm yet not without sympathy. "Marco's situation will be handled with the utmost care and consideration for what he has endured."
Seeing the resolve in the Watcher's eyes, James felt the last of his resistance crumble. It was clear that no amount of pleading would change the course of action. Yet, the thought of Marco facing the consequences alone gnawed at him.
"Will he be... will he be okay?" James asked, the concern palpable in his voice.
"The academy will ensure he receives fair treatment and support through this ordeal. Your role, for now, is to complete what you both began. Honor your commitment to the Selection, and trust in the processes that protect and guide us all," the Watcher reassured him.
James took a deep breath, the weight of the situation settling in. With a heavy heart, he nodded, understanding the importance of fulfilling his duty to the Selection, despite the personal cost. "Okay," he acquiesced, the word barely a whisper. "I'll finish this..." Turning to Marco, he said, "Hang in there, okay? I'll see you at the bottom."
Marco's response was a fragile smile, one that barely masked the desolation within. It was a smile that spoke volumes, a silent plea for forgiveness and understanding in a situation that defied reason.
James mustered a smile in return, though it was tinged with a pain so acute it threatened to break him. With one last look, a promise unspoken but deeply felt, he turned away, stepping back into the trial of the Selection.
Sarah Castillo's journey through The Emerald Valley was marked by the rhythmic sounds of her boots against the lush, verdant undergrowth, her keen eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of the lesser monsters known as Parvulis and Domus Spiritus. With each successful hunt, the familiar chime of her wristband broke the natural chorus of the valley, a digital voice announcing, "10 pts awarded," fueling her determination.
The ease with which she dispatched these tier 1 creatures belied the depth of her power. Water, in her command, wasn't merely an element to wield but an extension of her being, capable of healing as much as harming. It was a unique attribute, reflective of her lineage and her deep connection to the Isles of Pearl. As the daughter of a high lord of the Zephyr Court, Sarah was no stranger to the responsibilities her power entailed.
By noontime, her wristband had chimed numerous times, each notification a testament to her prowess, her tally now standing at an impressive 1200 pts. Sheltered beneath the expansive canopy of a towering tree, its leaves filtering the sun's rays into a soft, dappled light, Sarah allowed herself a moment of respite. "1200 pts... Not bad at all," she mused, a small smile playing on her lips. "But I can do better." Her gaze drifted over the Emerald Valley, taking in the riot of colors that seemed to paint every inch of the landscape with life. The sprawling expanse was a mosaic of vibrant greens and earthen tones, dotted with the vivid hues of wildflowers and the shimmering surfaces of hidden ponds.
As she pondered her next move, the tranquility was punctuated by the distant sound of hooves, a rhythm that seemed out of place in the serene valley. Moving with caution, Sarah edged closer to the trunk of the tree, peering around its girth to lay eyes on the source of the disturbance.
What she saw was a creature of legend, an Equus Daemon. Towering and imposing, the Equus bore the unmistakable silhouette of a human being but its head is that of a horse and where the features were wildly aberrant. Its mane seemed to flicker like shadows in the twilight, and its eyes glowed with a preternatural light. It was said in the lore of the Isles of Pearl that these creatures were more inclined to lead unwary travelers astray than to confront them directly, a trait that made them as intriguing as they were intimidating.
The Equus, a being that tread the line between Tier 1 and 2 monsters, represented a formidable challenge. Sarah could not help but admire the creature's ominous beauty, even as she recognized the danger it posed. In the Isles of Pearl, the Equus Daemon was revered as a guardian of the natural world, a creature that commanded respect and caution.
Facing the Equus, Sarah knew the encounter would test her abilities. Yet, as the daughter of the Zephyr Court, she was no stranger to challenges. Drawing a deep breath, she summoned the courage that ran in her veins, steeling herself for the confrontation ahead. "I may not seek trouble," she whispered, her voice steady, "but I will not shy away from it. For my path, for the Isles, I stand ready."
Sarah, focusing her energy and drawing upon her profound connection with water, began the assault by conjuring up an array of water bullets. With a flick of her wrist and a whispered incantation, the air around her hummed with power as the bullets materialized, glistening in the sunlight like a swarm of deadly, liquid jewels. She aimed with precision, her eyes narrowing as she targeted the unsuspecting Equus Daemon.
As she released the barrage, the water bullets surged forward, each one imbued with a concentrated burst of her prana. They struck the Equus in quick succession, pummeling it with a force that left the creature visibly distraught. Its large, equine body jerked with every hit, confusion and pain flashing across its face as it tried to understand the source of this sudden and relentless attack.
With a fluid motion, Sarah summoned the moisture in the air, weaving it into a series of sharp, whip-like streams that danced around her with a mind of their own. These tendrils of water lashed out with precision, striking the Equus before it could fully comprehend the assault it faced.
The Equus, caught off guard by the sudden and violent onslaught, recoiled and raised its arms in a futile attempt to shield itself. It emitted a series of guttural noises, a mix of pain and what could only be interpreted as pleas for mercy. Its large, horse-like eyes, filled with a primal fear, scanned its surroundings as if looking for an escape.
Sarah, undeterred by the creature's apparent distress, concentrated her prana, the vital force within her, gathering a massive reservoir of energy between her palms. With a shout, she unleashed her newly devised technique, "Aqua Torrent's Fury," a concentrated beam of high-pressure water that roared like a tempest as it hurtled towards the Equus. The impact was monumental, sending the creature crashing into a nearby stone wall with such force that the air itself seemed to tremble.
As the dust settled, Sarah stood panting, her heart racing from the exertion. Her wristband pinged, a bright notification flashing across the screen: "50 pts awarded." She paused, a frown creasing her brow. "Fifty points? But it was surely just a Tier 1..." The realization dawned on her slowly - the wristband must have classified the Equus as a Tier 2 creature, a testament to the unexpected ferocity of their encounter.
It was then that the tranquility of the valley was shattered by a new, more ominous presence. A deep, chilling voice cut through the air, "You hurt my son." Sarah whipped around, her blood turning cold at the sight before her. Towering over her was a majestic Equus, standing more than 2 meters tall, its imposing figure exuding a regal yet ferocious aura. Its mane, a shimmering cascade of white gold, flowed down its neck, catching the light and casting an ethereal glow around its head. A crown of twisted branches, wrought from the purest gold, sat atop its head, signifying its noble lineage. The armor it wore was not of metal, but of a material that seemed both ancient and alive, moving with the creature as if it were part of its very being.
Sarah's wristband began to blare a warning, a frantic voice repeating, "Danger. Tier 4 monster detected. Equus Furiosus," over and over. The Equus Furiosus' aura was overwhelming, a suffocating force that rooted Sarah to the spot, her body refusing to obey her commands to flee.
Without a moment's hesitation, the Equus Furiosus reached out with one massive hand, its grip closing around Sarah's throat. The world went dark as she felt the air being squeezed from her lungs, her consciousness slipping away into the void.
The watcher grabbed Marco's shoulder and he tore a teleportation scroll. In a flash, they materialized at the base of the mountain, they were immediately met by the sight of a cabin that seemed more akin to a palace hidden within the wilderness. The structure was an opulent display of wealth and taste, with dark, lustrous wood paneling that caught the gleaming sun, reflecting a rich, golden hue. Expansive glass windows offered panoramic views of the verdant surroundings, merging the boundary between the crafted and natural world. The roof, with its sophisticated shingles, added a final touch of elegance to the building's majestic facade.
Mr. Calderon, with a haste born of concern, emerged from the cabin's grand entrance, his face a canvas of worry. "Marco, are you okay?" His voice, laden with anxiety, sought to penetrate the veil of shock that seemed to envelop Marco, who offered no reply, his eyes downturned, haunted by recent events.
They stepped inside the cabin, entering an interior that contrasted sharply with the untamed exterior. Here, luxury was in every detail: from the plush, inviting sofas that dotted the spacious living area to the delicate art pieces that adorned the walls, each telling a story of privilege and fine taste. The rich aroma of aged wood mingled with the subtle fragrance of lilies, creating an atmosphere that, under different circumstances, might have been welcoming.
The procession moved towards the conference room, passing by various faculty members who had gathered from Classes A to D, including Principal Varick. Each teacher bore an expression of concern or curiosity, their gazes fixed on Marco as he passed. The conference room itself was a stark, formal space, designed for deliberation and decision-making. At its center stood a long, polished table, surrounded by high-backed chairs. A massive TV screen dominated one wall, currently displaying the Selection's live feed, showcasing the varied fates of students still engaged in the trial.
It was in this charged atmosphere that Marco was met with a harsh welcome from Mr. Salazar, the homeroom teacher of Class A. With a sudden, unprovoked motion, Salazar slapped Marco across the face. His sharp features, from the hawk-like nose to the thin, pressed lips, seemed to tighten further with disapproval. His suit, though elegant, seemed to serve as armor, projecting an air of authority and superiority.
"Why on earth would you do that?" Mr. Calderon exploded, stepping forward, his voice a mix of outrage and disbelief. "Look at him! He's clearly been through enough."
Salazar, ever the opportunist, responded with a sneer, "Discipline and order, Calderon. Our students must learn that actions have consequences."
Their confrontation was escalating, voices rising in anger and frustration, when Principal Varick, a commanding presence, rose from his seat. "Enough," he thundered, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "Sit down, both of you. This is neither the time nor the place."
Principal Varick leaned forward, his hands clasped on the table, as the room hung on his every word. The authority of his position was palpable, commanding an attentive silence from all present. He began with a reflective tone, imbuing the atmosphere with the gravitas of the institution's long-standing ethos. "This academy," he intoned, his voice deep and resonant, "stands not merely as a beacon of knowledge and skill, but as a crucible for the forging of character and the instillation of societal values. It is here, within these hallowed walls, that we strive not only for academic excellence but for the cultivation of integrity, honor, and the courage to stand for what is right."
He paused, allowing his words to permeate the room, his gaze sweeping across the faces of the faculty, each carrying the burden of molding the next generation. "We are entrusted with a sacred duty," Varick continued, "to guide our students not just in their intellectual pursuits but in their moral and ethical development. Our rules, our regulations, are not mere constraints. They are the very framework within which freedom, discipline, and responsibility are balanced and nurtured."
His voice grew firmer, underscored by a palpable sense of conviction. "It is with this understanding that we must address every incident within our academy. Each action taken, each decision made, must reflect not only the letter of our laws but the spirit of our founding principles. The path of righteousness is often fraught with challenges, with temptations to deviate from our core values. Yet, it is precisely in navigating these trials that we affirm our commitment to the ideals upon which this institution was founded."
Salazar, growing impatient with the preamble and eager to address the matter at hand, interjected respectfully, "Principal Varick, with all due respect, how shall we proceed with Marco?"
Varick paused, his gaze distant, as if traversing through the corridors of his memory. "I knew Elias," he finally said, the name evoking a sense of respect. "Marco's father was not just a friend but a warrior of exceptional courage and integrity. We stood shoulder to shoulder in the times that tested our very beings." He shared anecdotes of battles fought and wisdom gained, painting a picture of camaraderie forged in the crucible of conflict.
However, the warmth in his voice cooled as he returned to the present. "Despite the legacy and my personal sentiments, the law is clear. Marco will be expelled from the academy." He paused, letting the words hang heavy in the air before continuing, "And it is with a heavy heart that I must inform his parents personally. Given the gravity of his actions, may it be intentional or not, Marco will be sent to juvenile detention. And upon reaching the age of eighteen, he will be transferred to Aurorae Retentum, the prison of criminals in the Lumina Sancta."
Calderon, unable to contain his dissent, stood. "Lumina Sancta? Principal Varick, you can't! As we have seen in the footage, Marco clearly didn't mean to kill that student. The severity of his punishment—"
"That Student?" Mr. Salazar then interjected. "That student was my student. And his name is Skyler. He may be very mischievous at times but he is a good son to his parents." He added with his eyes flaring up in anger.
"I feel your pain Salazar," Varick cut in, his tone brooking no argument, "Now, Calderon," He said turning to look at Mr. Calderon. "I know how close you are to the students but Marco here should be punished for his act. Intentional or not, he knows that there should be a price to pay for this.
It was then that Marco found his voice, a whisper of strength amid the storm of his emotions. "Mr. Calderon," he said, his voice steady despite the turmoil within, "I can't thank you enough for standing by me. But I must accept the consequences of my actions, no matter how harsh. It's the only way to... to make amends, in whatever small way I can."
The room fell silent, the weight of Marco's acceptance settling like a shroud over those gathered. Principal Varick gave a solemn nod, acknowledging the young man's resolution, while Calderon looked on, the lines of his face etched with a deep, unspoken sorrow.