I was right.
I sound like a broken record. Is it not a bit coincidental, contrived perhaps, that I am always right, all the time? Isn't that a bit boring? That I'm never wrong? That I can somehow do no wrong? That I am rewarded for taking ridiculous, improbable risks?
No, I say. Absolutely fucking not. I love it. I will keep being right until I draw my final breath. And damn the 'hidden Luck stat' explanation; this is pure intellect. Nothing can take this away from me.
What exactly was I right about? Mostly everything I gambled on.
'Multi-day' implying 24/7 participation? Check. Isolated island environment? Check. Wilderness? Check. Combat objectives? Check. Miscellaneous objectives and point system? Remains to be seen, but the point still stands. I'm a genius.
The explanation of the rules was left very vague. This is probably by design.
They have an ambiguous rubric. Having strict rules with an ambiguous rubric wouldn't make much sense.
But there are two core ideas to the Exam: capture or eliminate.
Killing and maiming are difficult but not impossible. Every student has a protective Artifact that'll likely prevent fatal wounds, but Tremors cuts through everything. I doubt it'll care about an Artifact.
If you subdue a member of an enemy team, you can capture them. They essentially become your team's servant—within reason. If they disobey, they'll fail.
If they put up with their masters for long enough, there's a chance their remaining allies will free them.
The test ends when one team remains.
I wonder who's on my team.
***
Fuck this shit.
I'm bringing the Luck stat explanation back out of retirement. There is a universal hand in this world, and it's a cruel, sad, unattractive creature.
I've been thrown into a dark, windowless, van-sized airship. It whirs with Essence; I can feel it slowly descending onto the island. The Entrance Exam is starting.
Sitting on a seat closely across from me is none other than my new ally, the Bloody Wolf, Valeria Drysdale.
She does not look like an ally whatsoever. Something is wrong with this wild animal. Is she all caught up with her rabies vaccinations?
Valeria isn't my issue. I'm actually quite pleased to have her on my side. She's a top 10-ranked student and a Big Five member, and above all, my faction ally. Out of a thousand students, I've hit the jackpot with her.
No. She isn't the issue at all. There's a creature far worse than Valeria, no matter how much her all-devouring, hungry yet stoic leer begs to differ.
"So…" the foul wretch timidly croaks. "What's… what's your guys' names?"
Valeria and I eye the weakling. The thing swallows anxiously. As if it took everything just to say that singular sentence.
As if he's currently building more courage to speak again.
"Well… my name is—"
Don't say it.
"…is… uh—"
Please, don't say it. Don't let it be true.
"…is Nicklas—"
My head goes limp in defeat.
"…of Adeca."
I have shut down. My life is over.
The bane of my existence has now come to reap my Soul.
I've overstepped. I ate the heart of the Hero, and now I will die for my cannibalistic sin.
The Gods themselves have sent Death.
Nicklas fucking Adeca.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I knew Valeria was too good to be true.
One very high-ranked, one mid-ranked, and one ranked at the deepest, bottom-feeding depths.
It makes sense, but still, this is far too cruel. You'd need ranks 1 and 2 on the same team to balance out this… thing.
The good-for-nothing, childish, retarded runt whose dossier I was forced to memorize has come to destroy everything, just as I'm starting to hit my stride.
I'm overreacting. Obviously. Clearly, I'm the crazy one. There are many ways around this. I can make this work. It's not the end of the world. Don't be such a crybaby noble. I'm far too deep into this facade.
"Is… something wrong?" Nicklas sounds like he's about to cry, for some reason.
"Say, Nicklas," I break the awkwardness with superficial warmth. "You wouldn't happen to have been placed last out of one thousand possible students for the statistical measurements, would you?"
…
"Uh… I… yeah. I think so."
I flash a dead-eyed look at Valeria. Instead of scornful agreement, I'm met with pure enmity.
She looks like she's about to tear me limb from limb.
"What's the issue?" I've snapped out of my tantrum, now adopting a more common, mildly irritated demeanor. It's the most minimally combative response I could give to her ridiculously intense smoldering.
"You." Valeria sneers.
Over Nicklas of Adeca, I'm the problem. Really?
"I would've thought you'd be quite happy to see a familiar face."
"I am not…" Nicklas chimes in loudly, pauses, realizes he's fucked up interrupting the two of us, but continues so as not to have his words misconstrued. "I am not familiar… with you. I know who she is, though. If that… helps."
"I'm Auren," I say, still staring at Valeria. "Thank you for that, Nicklas."
"Sorry," he scratches at his neck and visibly sinks. At least he understands sarcasm.
"Any particular grievances you wish to air out, Ms. Drysdale?" I say, leaning back and tugging on the incredibly uncomfortable protection Artifact that every student is forced to wear. It's like a dog collar. It's just plain awful.
"I'm not your ally," she huffs out declaratively.
We are literally fucking teammates for this Exam, you dumb bitch. Why do the Gods insist on tormenting me?
"Have you ever heard the old adage 'an ally of my ally is my ally'?"
…
"You made that up."
"It's just common fucking sense."
"See? You're a liar. A schemer. I do not trust you." Valeria is an actual troglodyte. I'm even more convinced that I've been put on the losing side. Maybe if things get super bad, I can try and convince the Landeskog faction to take me in. Just maybe.
"So long as it soothes your worries," I pull down the sleeve of my prosthetic left arm and display it. "You can at least trust in my desire for money."
…
"The hell was that?" Valeria angrily leers in confusion.
"What?"
"The arm."
"I was showing it to you."
"Why? I don't give a shit about your Imprint," she snaps, despite making a big fuss about my Imprint just the other day.
"It's a fucking prosthetic. That she paid for."
"Who's 'she'?"
"…Are you serious?"
Gods. Please. Please save me. Kill me or save me.
"Oh wow…" Nicklas chimes in. "Auren, you're Imprinted… and it's a prosthetic…"
"I'm aware, Nicklas. Thank you."
"That's really cool," he chuckles awkwardly. "Looks like I'm in good hands."
I pray that one day, I strangle you to death with these hands.
Both of these utter morons need to die.
I'm going to die.