Location: Crestwood City - Crucible Grounds Perimeter
Time: Present Day - The Aftermath
---
The Crucible Grounds had become a gathering point for the scattered trainees—a sea of uniforms and anxious faces pressed together in the shadow of the arena. The air was thick with tension, the distant hum of helicopters and the crackle of police radios filling the silence between hushed conversations.
The trainees stood in loose clusters, their bodies tense, their eyes darting toward the arena where the chaos had unfolded. Some whispered among themselves, their voices carrying notes of fear and confusion. Others stood in silence, their expressions unreadable.
It was a scene of restless anticipation—like warriors gathering before a battle they didn't understand.
---
A group of trainees huddled near the edge of the perimeter, their voices low but urgent. One of them—a young man with sharp eyes and a nervous twitch—gestured toward his phone.
"Something tells me the reason we're being gathered here is because of that video," he said, his voice carrying a note of grim certainty. "And one thing's for sure—we need an explanation from them."
Another trainee nodded, his expression one of puzzled confusion. "Yeah, and what was with that whole... thing? That energy? That light? I don't even know what to call it."
A third trainee—a lanky young man with a perpetual frown—shook his head slowly. "It looked like some kind of malfunction. Like the suit's core overloaded or something. I've been doing drills for months, and I've never seen anything like that."
He paused, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"Recently, they signed me into some undisclosed agreement. An NDA. Told me it was for interface training—compiling data from my combat drills. At first, I was excited. Felt like I was offering my services for something important."
His hands clenched into fists.
"But lately... I don't know. I've been feeling drowsy. Off. Every day, it's like I'm walking through fog. And since seeing what happened to that Evan fellow... I'm starting to have suspicions about these suits of ours."
He stared at the faintly glowing lines along his aethernova suit, his expression one of dawning unease.
"What if it's not just equipment? What if it's something else? Something that's reading our heart signatures while we train? Their sick experiment to check what makes us tick during adrenaline rushes?"
His voice rose, his body trembling with barely contained anger.
"If one thing's for sure—if those guys don't give us an explanation, really explain what's going on... I'm guessing we should all revolt. Make them talk."
Another trainee's voice carried a note of genuine fear. "That's suicide. You shouldn't mess with those guys. I feel like... they might not be human."
The first trainee's brow furrowed. "You mean cyborgs or something? You watch too many sci-fi shows."
"I didn't say that," the other replied, his voice sharp. "Just... there's something off about them. Something wrong."
---
Nearby, a separate group stood apart from the main crowd. They were the tournament participants—the ones who had fought and bled in the Crucible Grounds.
Ishaan Patel stood with his arms crossed, his expression one of cold calculation. Beside him, Isha Patel whispered something in his ear, her voice carrying a note of quiet concern. Li Wei stood apart, his expression unreadable. The Volkov siblings—Yelena, Valeriya, and Dmitri—stood in a loose triangle, their voices low.
Yelena, as always, remained silent, her expression unreadable. She nodded occasionally, but said nothing.
Valeriya's voice carried a note of dry observation. "Everything went haywire with this tournament. Especially if we add Torrent losing someone of value to them."
Dmitri nodded, her expression one of genuine admiration. "And the sudden appearance of Elijah Isley? I thought the guy wasn't real. But turns out he was. And he really made an impact. Lives up to his reputation."
She made a gesture of admiration, her hands moving in a theatrical flourish.
Valeriya's expression shifted to one of sarcastic concern. "You're really rubbing off on the fact that you might have affection toward some psycho killer?"
She turned to Yelena, her voice carrying a note of mock seriousness.
"That's really not okay, right?"
Yelena simply nodded.
Dmitri shook her head slowly. "Man. Don't know where things will head from here. I'm telling you, I don't like it one bit. Why did they call everyone here?"
---
Isha Patel spoke to Ishaan in hushed tones, her voice carrying a note of quiet pride.
"You performed well for our Kronari subclan in the tournament. If it weren't for that oddity in Leo Jerkins, you probably would have made it far."
Ishaan's expression was one of analytical calm. "That Leo Jerkins... I analyzed his movements. He has an ability I couldn't quite place. Something that allows him to see weak points in martial forms. He used it to put me down."
Isha nodded slowly. "One thing's for sure—he is rumored to wield the Mandate. From what I know, such a person is said to grow, if they don't die, to the level of an Almighty. You and I both know such beings only existed during the Proto-Aerva and Asurim era, hundreds of thousands of years ago."
She paused, her voice dropping to a whisper.
"But what I can't put my mind on... if the city's Sutran experts—like Quantum Flow Adept Brenda—were aware he would appear in the Crucible Grounds... why didn't she or they do everything in their power to ensure he didn't escape? Something doesn't add up."
Ishaan's expression shifted to one of disdain. "Who doesn't know about that loose-mouthed savage from the north? The Frostlander—Michael Snovidenie. He always walks as though he owns the place. And I can't quite understand why someone as prestigious as Brenda would appear to have a partnership with him."
Isha's voice carried a note of quiet revelation. "Turns out Lady Brenda has unusual connections with Frostlanders."
Ishaan's brow furrowed. "How can that be possible? Isn't she related to one of the court families from the Albion Empire state in Europe?"
Isha nodded slowly. "Well, if I educate you a bit—those types of families interbreed with other powerful Sutran bloodlines in the world. So probably she might be of Frostland blood. Which would be surprising, with the northern continent having beef with the World Government Organization and the Mysterium clan."
She paused, her voice carrying a note of quiet wonder.
"So why would such a thing happen? That's the thing with big shots. Maybe their whole fight might be all an act. Just for creating a play where we sore losers entertain ourselves."
---
The atmosphere shifted. The murmurs died down as a figure emerged from the shadows.
Eugene Torrent walked forward, his expression one of cold irritation. Behind him, Niko Jovanović and Dragomir Petrov followed, their presence imposing.
But they weren't the ones who captured the attention of the crowd.
A man stepped forward—tall, handsome, with an air of quiet authority. His suit was immaculate, his posture relaxed. His face was one of approachable humility, his smile warm and disarming.
Augustine Halvern.
A trainee's voice carried a note of genuine awe. "Hey! That's Sir Augustine! The directing chief officer for Halvern Consortium!"
Another trainee's voice carried a note of confusion. "Wait, isn't Torrent Base actually theirs? Or something?"
Augustine walked with the ease of a man who owned the world—because he did.
Isha Patel's body tensed. Her heartbeat quickened, her breath catching in her throat. She could feel it—a presence that was almost abominable, almost beyond her perception.
Ishaan's voice carried a note of concern. "What's wrong?"
Isha's voice was a tremor. "He's... he's way abominable. Almost like he's not within our perception."
Augustine's gaze shifted to her. He winked.
Isha's body quivered.
---
Eugene Torrent stepped forward, his voice carrying a note of respectful deference. "Sir Augustine. We should be bowing to you right now. We all know who owns us."
Augustine's expression remained one of friendly humility. He said nothing.
A trainee's voice carried a note of bitter anger. "Great. Just when you thought the world wasn't going to gutters for me, it just had to show me the worst of the trash there is in a Halvern."
His companion grabbed his arm, trying to pull him back. The trainee yanked free, his voice rising.
"That's right! Well, Mr. All-No-Show-And-Humble—why don't you explain to us just what these crappy junk suits you all gave us actually are?!"
He pointed at his aethernova suit, his expression one of defiant fury.
Augustine Halvern smiled.
And then he stared at the one who had just spoken.
The world around the man seemed to fold inward. The air grew cold—so cold it burned. The shadows deepened, stretching toward him like hungry fingers. A sound filled the space where sound should not exist—a low, humming drone that vibrated through bone and marrow, like the universe itself was groaning in protest.
The man opened his mouth to speak.
Nothing came out.
His body began to dissolve—not violently, not with blood or screaming, but simply phasing out of existence. His form flickered like a corrupted image on a screen, his edges fraying into static. His eyes widened in silent terror as his fingers became translucent, then transparent, then nothing.
He didn't scream because he no longer had a mouth.
He didn't fall because he no longer had a body.
He simply ceased to be.
The crowd froze. Their voices died in their throats. The silence was absolute—a void where sound had once lived.
Another trainee—the one who had tried to hold his friend back—let out a yelp. His aethernova suit began to pulse erratically, the lines along its surface writhing like living veins. Something emerged from the suit—a grotesque, writhing presence that seemed to consume his head. His body convulsed, his limbs flailing, his screams turning into wet gurgles.
The others screamed. Some scrambled for the exits.
Augustine's voice carried a note of quiet humility. "If I were you all, I suggest you don't walk out that door."
The pressure intensified. The air grew thick—so thick it felt like drowning. The world around them seemed to warp, the ground beneath their feet trembling with the weight of his presence. The sky above darkened, the clouds swirling like a vortex. The temperature plummeted, and frost began to form on the ground.
The trainees collapsed to their knees, their bodies trembling, their voices lost in the chaos. Eugene Torrent knelt. Isha Patel knelt. Ishaan Patel knelt. Even the proudest among them were brought low.
Augustine's voice was calm, measured.
"Think of a board. Every piece has its place. Every piece moves as it is guided. The hands that move them are the laws. The rules. The ones who control the game."
His gaze shifted to Eugene, his smile friendly.
"As my incompetent subordinate told you—you are my assets. Don't think some renegade wacko would change that. And if you try to decide otherwise..."
He gestured toward the empty space where the man had once stood.
"...well, you all saw what would happen."
The trainees shook their heads frantically. Their bodies trembled. Their voices were lost in the silence.
Augustine's smile widened. "Well, if that is settled... then my lecture here is done."
He paused, his expression shifting to one of quiet anticipation.
"If there's one person I would gladly want to meet very soon—and give the same lesson—it would be that Elijah Marcus Isley. How interesting that he actually acquired an ancient power in the Astraseal. Now that got my attention."
His voice dropped to a whisper, his expression one of perverse longing.
"I would love to meet him."
Isha Patel's internal voice screamed.
What a monster.
---
The trainees remained on their knees, their bodies trembling, their voices lost in the silence. Augustine Halvern stood over them, his expression one of friendly humility.