…But not all was victory.
Beneath the clash and blaze, where glory danced in sparks and shouts, failure still had a voice.
Near the perimeter, a student screamed—not in fear, but in fury. Korran, wielding a blade that stole heat from the air, was locked in a duel with a mimic-class bot. It mirrored his every move, countering him blow for blow. The more aggressive he became, the more efficient the bot grew. His attacks faltered. His blade dimmed. And finally, the mimic feinted—a step he hadn't taught it—and slammed him into the wall.
His feed blinked out. Another signal down.
On the other end of the field, Aelea, who could fracture light to cast illusions, tried to mislead a squad of hunter-bots. For a moment, it worked—until the bots simply stopped relying on sight. They shifted to sonar, heat vision, magnetic resonance. Her illusions dissolved like mist under morning sun. She barely managed to eject from the sim before one bot's blade clipped her leg.
⸻
Back in the center arena, the core wave advanced.
Massive quadrupeds now lumbered through the haze—each a juggernaut of alloy and thundering hydraulics. Modular limbs adapted in real-time, adjusting form and function based on their opponents. One bristled with cannons. Another shifted into segmented whips. A third launched repulsor bursts that shattered ground and balance alike.
Sentinel, Ghostshade, and Gears braced.
"We're getting phased out," Kevin muttered. "They're adapting to the top strats… and fast."
Sentinel's voice was quiet. "That's the point. The trial isn't to see who wins—it's to see who breaks first."
Gears cracked his knuckles, eyes locked ahead. "Then let's not be the ones who do."
He didn't wait for a reply.
With a yell, he launched forward using his slingshot rig—hooking into a chunk of debris, yanking himself like a bullet toward the nearest juggernaut. He spun midair, lashed a boot into a cannon-arm, and used the momentum to hurl an EMP mine onto its back.
The explosion fried its sensors—but barely staggered the bot.
Still, it was enough.
Ghostshade slipped in, finishing the staggered machine with three surgical slices. Sentinel blurred past them both, crashing through two drones like a meteor, absorbing the force through his modified frame, IL glowing faintly behind the cracks in his armor.
Above them, the skies grew darker—not with clouds, but drones.
Hundreds now.
The second wave.
Kevin cursed. "Alright, now it's a real party."
The announcement blared across the field, Nyra's voice firm:
Second Phase Initiated. You've proven your strength—now begins the Trial of Wit.
And in that moment…
A strange thing happened.
Students—bloodied, exhausted, battered—rose again. Some limped. Some sparked. Some screamed into the sky, defiant. But they rose.
Kaelis streaked across the clouds, her voice a rallying cry.
Vex whirled back to back with Isha, blades singing beside folding light shields.
Brin, gravity cracking around her, lifted the battlefield itself—shifting angles, trapping bots mid-air as her squad cut them from all sides.
Sentinel raised a up and got into a boxing stance.
The battlefield started to turned to a digital projection with the bot clearly fading into the background.
He braced himself, but what came next threw him off completely. They were preparing for a hostage scenario—then suddenly, without warning, the battlefield shifted into an entirely different hostage situation.
The battlefield started to turn into a digital projection, with the bots clearly fading into the background like ghosts being dismissed by the system. Buildings rose from nowhere—holographic, but detailed. Streets, alleys, neon signs flickering on simulated brick walls. It was no longer an open combat field.
Now it was a city block.
A siren howled in the distance. Rain began to fall—soft, synthetic, but eerily real. And at the center of it all, a high-rise tower blinked red, its upper floors pulsing with warning lights.
Inside that tower, the new objective appeared: civilians—projections of them—trapped and terrified. A sniper bot with real lethality posted in the adjacent building. Drones buzzed across rooftops, scanning for threats. And below, the entrance was guarded by a squad of defense-class bots running high-threat protection protocols.
Nyra's voice rang out clearly:
"Scenario one: Contained Crisis. Objective—extract the hostages. Prioritize coordination. Minimize casualties.
The tone dropped cold.
"You have ten minutes. Fail, and they die."
Gears swallowed hard. This wasn't like the first test. This wasn't just about fighting—it was about thinking. Planning. Leading.
Sentinel muttered, "They're testing more than strength now."
Ghostshade nodded. "They want to see who can adapt… who can command."
And deep in Gears' gut, that slingshot rig hummed.
Time to move.
The city simulation pulsed with false life. Civilians whimpered in corners, frozen in fear. One hostage—a child projection—reached out through a broken window, waving frantically. It was a trap. Gears knew it instantly. The window was too exposed. Too perfect.
Elsewhere in the scenario, another applicant—a potential future student—was facing a different kind of trial.
No bots. No drones. Just silence… and choices.
The room she stood in was sterile. White walls. A single table. On it, three objects: a locked case, a broken comm-link, and a sealed envelope.
A voice crackled through the overhead intercom—calm, almost bored.
"Scenario Two: Crisis Triage. You are a field commander. Your team is down. You have ten minutes to decide what to save—intel, communication, or your extraction route."
No instructions. No right answers.
Just time ticking down, and consequences.
She closed her eyes, running through each possibility. Save the intel, and maybe others die. Fix the comm-link, and call for help—but what if no one answers? Choose the route, and live with what she leaves behind.
There were no enemies in the room.
But the pressure felt heavier than any combat sim.
This wasn't about power.
It was about judgment.
And somewhere, through another screen, Nyra and the evaluators watched—not for strength, but for who she chose to be when no one was watching.
Kaelis and Brin rejoined from above, slipping across cables strung between buildings like tightrope acrobats. Kaelis's wings flickered with light—low-emission to avoid detection. Brin's gravitational field crinkled behind her like a collapsing storm, barely restrained.
"This feels too staged," Kaelis murmured. "Like they want us to rush."