The storm had calmed, but the sky above the First Division command post was still heavy and grey—clouds like stone, unmoving. The command post itself loomed high above the others like a fortress made for gods, constructed from obsidian and reinforced steel. It stood as a monument to power, history, and war—every carved emblem and etched name a reminder of bloodshed and sacrifice.
Lucien stood at the base of its steps, his clothes still damp from the rain. Beside him stood Rylen, arms crossed and posture firm. Jason, always the hothead, was pacing restlessly while Emiluna quietly observed the building with narrowed eyes.
They all knew they were standing at the gates of something bigger than themselves.
"You ready?" Rylen asked without turning his head.
Lucien didn't speak. He didn't need to. His eyes locked on the massive steel doors said enough.
They pushed the doors open and stepped into the grand hall of Division One.
Inside, the air was different—dense with power. Enormous black banners hung from the ceiling, etched with silver runes. Blue torches crackled with a fire that never flickered. Soldiers in full armor marched silently across the marble floor, their movements in perfect sync. The walls were lined with weapons from every era.
Kagetsu was already waiting.
He stood near the center of the hall in uniform, his posture sharp, but his face relaxed the moment he saw Lucien.
"You came," he said, walking toward them. "I was worried you might not."
Lucien gave a faint nod. "Thanks for meeting us."
Kagetsu nodded back, then glanced at Rylen. "You have a plan, don't you?"
Rylen smirked. "When don't I?"
The group followed Kagetsu deeper into the heart of the command post. The air grew colder, heavier. At the far end of a corridor guarded by two heavily armed sentries was a set of ornate steel doors.
"Captain Arakizawa is inside," Kagetsu said. "You've got five minutes."
They nodded.
The doors swung open, revealing a massive circular chamber. In the center sat Captain Karu Arakizawa—broad-shouldered, silver-haired, and sharper than any sword in the armory. He wore the crest of Division One on his shoulder, and his eyes seemed to pierce straight through Lucien the moment he stepped in.
"State your business," the captain said immediately.
Rylen stepped forward. "We're here to request an override of the judgment. We want Lucien admitted into the Nightguard Corps—specifically Division Five."
The captain leaned back slightly in his chair, uninterested. "The verdict of the Higher-Ups is final. Lucien was rejected. End of story."
Jason clenched his fists. "You can't be serious—"
"Jason," Emiluna warned.
Rylen stayed calm. "I know there are exceptions. You're the only one with access to the Higher-Ups. I'm asking you to use that access. He doesn't deserve this. You saw his performance."
"I also saw his instability," the captain replied coldly. "Tell me, Rylen. What happens if he loses control again? Will you still vouch for him when a city crumbles under his rage?"
Silence.
"Lucien is powerful," Karu continued. "But power without restraint is a ticking bomb. He's dangerous."
Rylen's eyes narrowed. "And yet we house war criminals and unstable mages in this Corps. What's one more, especially one who wants to fight for us?"
The captain didn't answer. He stood up from his chair, his towering frame casting a shadow over them all.
"I'm sorry," he said. "There's nothing I can do. Leave."
Lucien's breath caught in his throat.
And then—
"Wait," the captain said, just as they were about to reach the door. "There is one thing."
Everyone turned around instantly.
The captain's eyes narrowed slightly. "I lied. There is an exception."
Rylen's fists slowly relaxed. "I knew it."
Karu exhaled. "Once every five years, the Higher-Ups allow one recruit to undergo what's called the Death Trial. A final chance. One so extreme, no one's ever survived it."
Jason scoffed. "Sounds promising."
"It's not a joke," the captain said coldly. "The recruit enters a battle to the death… against a Level 3 monster."
The room went silent.
Lucien froze.
Level 3.
He remembered what the instructor said during the trials. He remembered the creature that killed him.
"That's suicide," Emiluna whispered. "A recruit can't—"
"The rules are simple," the captain continued. "You kill it, you're in. You die… well, you die. There's no help, no savior. One arena. One monster. No rules. No time limit. No weapons but your own."
Lucien's heart was pounding. His mind reeled. "I… I died to a Level 4 monster."
"Exactly," the captain said. "A Level 3 isn't just an animal or an abomination. It's intelligent. Cruel. Sadistic. And it doesn't just fight—it enjoys killing."
"You're saying it's worse?" Jason barked.
"In some ways, yes."
The silence thickened again.
Lucien stared at the ground.
He could say no. No one would blame him. The chance of survival was next to none. He'd seen firsthand what these monsters could do.
And yet—
He clenched his fists.
"I'll do it."
The captain raised an eyebrow. "You're certain?"
"I wasn't strong enough before," Lucien said quietly. "But I won't lose again. If this is my only way in, then I'll take it."
Jason looked like he wanted to protest but held his tongue. Emiluna stepped beside Lucien, placing a hand on his shoulder. Rylen smirked faintly.
The captain nodded. "Very well."
He walked to a communication device on the wall and typed in a secure code. A moment later, he was speaking in a quiet tone—first to an assistant, then directly to one of the Higher-Ups.
When he turned back to them, he gave a single nod.
"They've approved it."
Lucien took a breath—but it felt like breathing lava.
"You begin at sunrise tomorrow."
Lucien slept surprisingly well that night.
Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was clarity. But when the morning light bled through the clouds and fell over Division Five, he awoke feeling something he hadn't in weeks.
Focus.
Jason stood by his bedside, arms folded.
"No cold feet?" he asked.
Lucien sat up slowly. "Not yet."
Jason smirked. "Good. 'Cause I didn't write a funeral speech."
The walk to the arena was quiet.
The special arena wasn't inside the compound. It was a separate building—more like a prison than a coliseum. Barbed walls. Thick steel gates. Cameras everywhere. The kind of place made to contain nightmares.
Rylen, Emiluna, and Jason were allowed to watch from the observation deck—strictly forbidden to interfere. The Higher-Ups were already behind their veil of darkness, high above in a special chamber, watching silently like gods judging a mortal's final hour.
Lucien stood alone in the center of the waiting platform. No armor. No weapons. Just his own body and the searing burn of purpose.
The intercom buzzed.
"Recruit Lucien," said a cold, filtered voice. "You are about to engage in the Death Trial. You will be placed into the combat arena with a hostile Level 3 entity. There are no time limits, and no forms of assistance will be provided."
"Are you prepared?" the voice asked.
Lucien nodded once. "Yes."
The gates in front of him began to creak open.
The voice returned one final time.
"Then enter the arena."
He stepped through the doors.
The arena was massive. A dome of shattered stone and sand, surrounded by black walls stretching forty feet into the sky. Bloodstains painted the ground like abstract art.
And across from him… it emerged.
From beneath a steel hatch in the opposite corner rose a monster.
Thirty feet tall.
Eight legs.
Its skin was armor—dark crimson and covered in barbs.
Its face was a twisted mockery of a spider's—a mouth full of layered teeth, six glowing eyes of sickly green, and pincers clicking hungrily.
A Level 3 monster.
Lucien's chest tightened.
Jason gasped from above. "What the fuck is that thing—"
"It's called a Grynnathak," Rylen muttered. "And it's one of the worst possible options."
"Can he handle it?" Emiluna asked.
No one answered.
Back in the arena, Lucien's pulse slowed.
The monster growled—no, spoke in a guttural, ancient tongue. Its voice was a fusion of insect clicks and human snarls. It wanted blood. It wanted sport.
It charged.
Lucien bent his knees.
He didn't know if he would live. He didn't know if he could win.
But he knew one thing:
He wasn't going to die on his knees.
Not again.
He stared at the approaching terror and clenched his fists.
"Let's see if you're worse than death."
And then—
He launched forward