Day 19
Marcus stretches and climbs down from the tree where he had spent the night. The height had given him some security against potential ambushes, although sleeping there was not entirely comfortable: the branches creaked, the wind rustled the leaves, and the sounds of the forest prevented a deep rest. Still, he was ready to continue.
He moves through the trees with measured steps. Every root and fallen trunk becomes a reference point as he avoids dry twigs that could give him away. The morning light filters through the canopy, casting shadows that shift around him, and Marcus analyzes them without breaking his rhythm.
Separating from Liora had been necessary: both of them were after the same prize, and staying in the same group would make it difficult to compete fairly. He could only act according to his own judgment, adapting to the terrain and the situation.
The forest begins to thin as he approaches the northern trail that leads to the event mountain. Marcus leaps over a fallen trunk, steps carefully over the leaf litter, and pauses briefly to listen.
The sounds are minimal, yet enough to indicate if someone is approaching. Every step is part of a silent calculation: distance, cover, possible escape routes.
Upon finding a large rock beside the path, he crouches behind it. From there, he can observe the trail and nearby areas without exposing himself too much. He adjusts his position, resting his hands on the ground and gauging lines of sight.
The spot allows him to stay hidden while moving quickly if needed. While waiting, Marcus analyzes how opponents might approach and which routes they might take. Patience is his ally; moving too soon would be counterproductive.
In his mind, he reviews his plan: his monstrous form and fighting style are not suited for facing crowds. Fighting scattered groups would be risky; he cannot rely on brute strength or area attacks. That's why he focuses on the unprepared, taking advantage of surprise and moving quickly when the opportunity arises. His goal is not to defeat everyone, but to approach the egg with minimal risk, securing a place in the top three while maintaining an edge over the other contestants.
Marcus remains motionless behind the rock, his senses alert to every sound in the forest. The morning breeze carries the scent of damp leaves and fresh earth, while rays of light filter through the canopy, casting irregular shadows on the ground.
Every snap of a branch, every soft rustle of leaves, is carefully recorded in his mind. He allows himself to be guided by the silent rhythm of observation, analyzing patterns in the environment, evaluating which paths seem more traveled and which offer better cover.
The event mountain rises in the distance, still shrouded in a light mist that softens the contours of rocks and trees, creating shadows that blend with the vegetation.
Suddenly, a different sound breaks the monotony: hurried footsteps crunching softly on the leaf litter. Marcus crouches even lower, pressing his back to the rock as his eyes focus on the source of the noise.
Two students appear, jogging along a nearby path, talking to each other without noticing the danger around them. Marcus evaluates the situation quickly; although he could attempt a swift attack, his judgment tells him it would be risky. They outnumber him, and any misstep could alert other nearby rivals. He decides to remain motionless, letting them pass without noticing his presence.
A few minutes later, another disturbance reaches his ears: more voices and heavier footsteps. Three students advance through a nearby clearing, scanning the terrain as they move in formation. Marcus stays behind the rock, silent and patient.
The distance, the layout of the terrain, and the numerical superiority of the opponents make any direct intervention dangerous.
Marcus remained motionless behind the rock, breathing steadily as the forest awakened to the morning. A gentle breeze stirred the leaves, carrying the scent of damp earth and fallen foliage. Shafts of sunlight pierced through the canopy, casting dappled patterns across the uneven ground. Every sound—the creak of a branch, the rustle of a leaf, the distant call of a bird—was cataloged in his mind, a constant flow of information feeding his situational awareness.
The mountain of the event loomed in the distance, partially shrouded in morning mist, its jagged outline softened against the pale sky.
Marcus adjusted his position, pressing his back against the rough surface of the rock to remain completely concealed, muscles coiled and ready.
And then he saw him: a student moving alone, his brown hair tied in a neat ponytail, body slender, medium height, advancing cautiously along the narrow forest path. No allies were in sight; he was an isolated target. Marcus's gaze measured every detail—how the boy shifted his weight, the speed of his steps, the distance to nearby cover. A single miscalculation could alert him. There was no time to hesitate.
Calmly, Marcus reached for the rope that held one of the five claws Emma had entrusted to him. He gripped it firmly, feeling the cold, smooth metal under his fingers, and channeled the energy of Kara's Éter technique into its tip.
With a precise flick, he sent the claw flying toward the student's leg. It moved with uncanny speed, slicing through the air with a faint whistle. Marcus didn't wait for the outcome—he charged immediately, closing the distance at a pace that blurred the line between running and lunging.
The claw struck with a sharp, solid impact, embedding itself in the boy's thigh. He stumbled, lifting his gaze in shock and fear, eyes wide as they met Marcus's. Blood seeped slowly around the wound, marking the start of a battle he hadn't expected. Panic flickered across his face.
Instinctively, the student invoked a throwing dagger.
Energy swirled around his hand, condensing into a sharp, gleaming blade that seemed to materialize from thin air. He hurled it at Marcus with all his strength. Marcus reacted instantly, lowering his center of gravity and sliding beneath the arc of the knife. The dagger sliced through the air just above his shoulder, missing by mere inches, while Marcus maintained perfect balance, ready for the next movement.
Using the momentum from his slide, Marcus spun on himself and struck the student's ankle. The boy collapsed onto the leaf-strewn ground, his hands grasping at nothing but dirt and roots.
Marcus moved over him like a shadow, rolling fluidly to encircle the fallen student, preventing any chance of resistance. The claw in the boy's leg restricted his movement, leaving him exposed and vulnerable.
Marcus's arms closed around the student's neck with calculated precision, forming a chokehold. The boy struggled, thrashing, trying to twist free, but Marcus adjusted his weight and grip with surgical exactness. Every shift of muscle and angle of leverage was deliberate, ensuring complete control.
The student's breathing grew ragged, eyes wide with terror as he realized the futility of his efforts.
Around them, the forest seemed to pause. The crunch of leaves under the student's flailing hands, the whisper of wind through the branches, and the faint trickle of blood from the claw blended into a tense, almost palpable silence. The boy struggled violently, twisting his body and jerking his arms in a desperate attempt to break free from Marcus's grip.
Every movement he made was met with a precise adjustment from Marcus, who tightened his hold just enough to maintain control while preventing the student from recovering. Marcus's focus never wavered; even as he maintained the chokehold, his eyes scanned the surrounding trees, the ground, the paths, anticipating any potential threat. Every second counted.
And he kept the pressure steady until the boy's bracelet glowed red, signaling complete incapacitation. Marcus released his hold just enough to ensure the student could not rise or resist, his dominance absolute.
The forest remained eerily quiet around him, the rustle of leaves and distant birdcalls filling the empty spaces. Every movement, every breath, was measured. The encounter had been swift and decisive, a demonstration of precision and control rather than brute force.
Marcus straightened, checking his surroundings once more before continuing toward the rock again.
The goal still ahead.