The silence that followed my biometric scan was a physical thing, thick and heavy as wet cloth. It was broken by the head proctor, a stern-faced woman with a cybernetic eye that whirred as it focused on me. "Anomalous reading. Proceed to the power display arena, Greystone. We'll... assess you there."
The whispers started up again, a susurrus of speculation and suspicion. I kept my face a mask of neutral calm, a feat that would have been impossible for the old Ark. The System provided a steadying stream of data.
[HEART RATE: 68 BPM. RESPIRATION: NORMAL. ADRENALINE: WITHIN ACCEPTABLE PARAMETERS.]
I walked off the platform, my footsteps echoing in the hush. I felt the weight of countless stares. Isis's gaze was a laser of pure, unadulterated confusion. Jaxon's was a turbulent mix of concern and bewildered curiosity. Brody's was a simmering pot of resentment, furious that my moment of supposed humiliation had been stolen. And from the corner of the room, the frosty grey eyes of Athena Knight tracked me with the unblinking focus of a hawk. I had gone from invisible to a fascinating enigma in the space of thirty seconds.
We were herded out of the scanning hall and into a vast, cavernous gymnasium that made the previous chamber look like a closet. The ceiling soared hundreds of feet high, lined with shimmering energy dampeners to contain wayward powers. The air here was different—charged, electric, tasting of ozone, damp earth, and the metallic tang of spent energy. The floor was a seamless, resilient smart-material, already scarred from previous demonstrations.
The head proctor, who introduced herself as Proctor Vance, stood on a raised dais. Her voice, amplified by a discreet microphone, cut through the nervous energy.
"Your biometric scan reveals your potential," she announced, her cybernetic eye sweeping over us. "But potential is a promise, not a guarantee. Here, in this arena, we judge control. Power without control is a demolition charge. Control without power is a lockpick. We need both. Your display will determine your official class placement—Alpha or Beta. Do not hold back. Show us the pinnacle of your current ability."
A boy with hands the colour of dry soil was called first. He stomped his foot, and a section of the smart-floor rippled, surging upwards to form a craggy, six-foot-tall golem of condensed matter. It was impressive, solid. GEOKINESIS. CONTROL: BETA. PLACEMENT: BETA CLASS.
Next, a girl with hair like white cumulus clouds raised her arms. The air around her chilled noticeably, and a miniature weather system blossomed above her—a tiny, self-contained cloud that drizzled a fine mist before crackling with a few small, harmless sparks of lightning. ATMOSPHERIC MANIPULATION. CONTROL: BETA. POTENTIAL: ALPHA. PLACEMENT: BETA CLASS. She looked disappointed but resigned.
Another candidate caused vibrant, alien-looking flowers to erupt from the floor, their petals shifting through a kaleidoscope of colours. BOTANIKINESIS. CONTROL: BETA. PLACEMENT: BETA CLASS.
Then it was Tom Poland's turn. The lanky boy pushed his glasses up his nose, looking profoundly uncomfortable. The snickers started again, expecting a simple, silly stretch.
"Tom Poland. Begin."
He took a deep, shuddering breath, and then his body seemed to… deflate. His form lost its solidity, becoming rubbery and malleable. His limbs elongated, but it wasn't just stretching. His features blurred, his body mass redistributing. In a matter of seconds, where Tom had stood was now a perfect, if slightly wobbly, replica of Proctor Vance, complete with a flickering, silvery imitation of her cybernetic eye.
The snickers died instantly.
[SUBJECT: TOM POLAND. ELASTOKINESIS ADVANCED MANIFESTATION: SHAPESHIFTING. COMBAT/ESPIONAGE POTENTIAL: HIGH. PREVIOUS ASSESSMENT INACCURATE.]
The Proctor-Vance copy raised a hand and tried to speak, but only a gurgling, watery sound emerged before Tom snapped back to his original form, panting heavily, his face flushed with effort and triumph.
The proctors were scribbling furiously. ELASTOKINESIS. CONTROL: ALPHA. POTENTIAL: ALPHA. PLACEMENT: ALPHA CLASS.
A wave of murmurs swept through the crowd. The nerd had just become one of the most versatile people in the room.
"Isis McQueen."
Isis stepped forward with her characteristic grace. She closed her emerald eyes, and a profound silence fell around her. Then, from nothing, they appeared. Dozens of them. Butterflies. But these were not mere illusions of light; they were intricate psychic constructs. Their wings were stained-glass windows of memory and emotion—one flashed with the vibrant green of the park where we'd played as children, another shimmered with the warm gold of a shared laugh. I could feel them, a gentle, nostalgic pressure against my shielded mind. They weren't just seen; they were felt by everyone.
As the cloud of psychic butterflies swirled around her, the heels of her boots lifted off the ground. It was a subtle, effortless levitation, a masterclass in telekinetic control. She rose a full three feet, suspended in the middle of the beautiful, emotional maelstrom she had created. It was art and power, perfectly blended.
TELEPATHY/TELEKINESIS. CONTROL: ALPHA. POTENTIAL: S-CLASS. PLACEMENT: ALPHA CLASS. It was a foregone conclusion, but the beauty of the display earned a rare, slight nod from Proctor Vance.
"Jaxon Maximus."
Jaxon cracked his neck, a wild, confident grin spreading across his face. He didn't start small. He took a running start and slammed his fist into the ground.
The world exploded.
A pillar of raw, incandescent fire erupted beneath him, roaring like a awakened dragon. The heat washed over the front rows of students, forcing them to shield their faces. Jaxon rode the pillar upwards, a living comet wreathed in plasma. At its apex, twenty feet in the air, he didn't fall. He hovered, flames jetting from his hands and feet to keep him aloft. He spread his arms, and a corona of fire burst outwards, a brilliant, miniature sun contained within the gymnasium's dampeners. He was sheer, unadulterated power. The opposite of Isis's finesse, but no less breathtaking.
PYROKINESIS. CONTROL: ALPHA. POTENTIAL: S-CLASS. PLACEMENT: ALPHA CLASS. He landed with a ground-shaking thud, the flames snuffing out instantly, leaving behind the smell of smoke and superheated air.
"Brody Hendricks."
Brody swaggered forward, shooting a nasty glance in my direction. He didn't create a complex display. He simply raised his hands, palms outward, and focused. A low hum began, quickly escalating into a painful, teeth-rattling drone. He was amplifying the sound of his own power, turning it into a weapon. The frequency shifted, becoming a screech that made several students clap their hands over their ears, their faces contorted in discomfort. It was brute force, disruptive and annoying, designed to inflict distress rather than achieve a goal.
SONOKINESIS. CONTROL: BETA. PLACEMENT: BETA CLASS.
The dismissal in the proctor's voice was clear. Brody's face fell, his swagger evaporating. He'd been so sure of his Alpha status. He stalked back to his group, humiliation burning in his eyes.
Then, the air grew still.
"Athena Knight."
All conversation ceased. The silver-haired girl walked to the center of the arena, her movements economical and precise. She unstrapped the longsword from her back, the scabbard whispering as the blade was drawn. The steel was pristine, catching the light with a cold gleam.
For a moment, she stood perfectly still, a statue of focused intent. Then, in a motion almost too fast to follow, she threw the sword straight up into the air. It spun, end over end, a silver pinwheel climbing towards the distant ceiling.
What was she doing?
The answer came a heartbeat later. She didn't run or gather herself. She simply leapt. There was no pyrotechnics, no fiery propulsion. It was pure, unadulterated physical power. Her legs unleashed a force that cracked the smart-floor beneath her feet, and she shot upwards like a human missile, meeting the sword at the apex of its arc.
She caught the hilt, and then she moved.
It wasn't flying. It was a series of impossible, mid-air redirections. She kicked off the very air, her body a blur of grey and silver. She became a zig-zag of motion, a living bolt of lightning. With each impossible change of direction, she swung her sword. There was no visible energy wave, no flashy projectile. But the air itself screamed as it was parted.
Swish-SWISH-swish!
The movements were a complex, lethal kata performed twenty feet off the ground. And then she fell, landing in a silent, perfect crouch, the sword held loosely at her side. She hadn't even broken a sweat.
For a second, nothing happened. Then, with a series of sharp cracks, the smart-floor in front of her fractured. The fractures weren't random. They were deep, precise grooves that spelled out three words, carved into the hyper-resistant material as if it were soft clay:
ATHENA KNIGHT.
The display was devastating. It was strength, speed, agility, and a level of control over her own body that defied physics. The silence was absolute, then erupted into stunned applause.
[SUBJECT: ATHENA KNIGHT. PHYSIOLOGY RE-ASSESSED. DEMONSTRATED NEGATION OF KINETIC ENERGY UPON LANDING. DEMONSTRATED AERODYNAMIC MANIPULATION VIA UNIDENTIFIED MEANS. PHYSICAL THREAT LEVEL: CATASTROPHIC.]
Proctor Vance's voice held a note of genuine respect. SUPERHUMAN PHYSIOLOGY. CONTROL: ALPHA. POTENTIAL: S-CLASS. PLACEMENT: ALPHA CLASS.
Athena sheathed her sword and returned to her isolated spot, her expression as cold and unmoved as ever.
One by one, the others performed. A boy who could turn invisible. A girl who could generate hard-light constructs. The bar had been set astronomically high by Isis, Jaxon, and Athena.
Finally, the cybernetic eye settled on me.
"Ark Greystone."
Every eye in the gargantuan room turned to me. The pressure was immense, a weight of expectation and skepticism. The old Ark would have frozen, stammered, failed. The new Ark felt the System engage, the cold logic washing away the last traces of fear.
[OBJECTIVE: DEMONSTRATE COMBAT EFFICIENCY. ENVIRONMENT SCANNED. TACTICAL ANALYSIS COMPLETE.]
I walked to the center, feeling the residual heat from Jaxon's fire and the chilling presence of Athena's carved name. I stopped, not assuming a flashy stance, but simply standing, hands loose at my sides.
"Begin," Proctor Vance said, her tone neutral, but her human eye sharp with curiosity.
I didn't move for a long moment. The silence stretched, becoming uncomfortable. A few scattered snickers came from Brody's direction. "He's frozen! The Null's finally broken!"
[TARGETING SOLUTIONS: 147. OPTIMIZING FOR DEMONSTRATION PURPOSES.]
Then, I moved.
It wasn't a super-speed dash. It was a sudden, explosive acceleration that was purely physical, a testament to the System's optimization of my baseline human body. I closed the twenty-foot distance to a series of reinforced training dummies in a blur. My first strike wasn't a punch; it was the stiffened tips of my fingers, driven like a piston into the dummy's torso. There was a dull thud as the impact point was precisely calculated to simulate a solar plexus strike, triggering the dummy's internal sensors to flash yellow for "significant impact."
I didn't pause. I became a whirlwind of calculated violence. I dropped, my leg sweeping out in a low arc to knock the dummy's feet out from under it—a perfect sweep that the System dictated would break balance. As it fell, I was already rising, my elbow snapping upwards into its jawline in a motion that was all tight, efficient kinetic energy. Sensor flash: orange for "stunning blow."
I flowed around the next dummy. A knife-hand strike to the throat (sensor: red for "incapacitating"). A finger jab towards the eyes that stopped a millimeter from the sensor, the control absolute. I used the dummy's own structure against it, grabbing its arm, pivoting my hips, and using its falling weight to launch it into a third dummy. They crashed together in a tangle of limbs.
It was a silent, brutal ballet. There were no energy blasts, no elements, no psychic waves. Just me, my body, and the absolute, terrifying knowledge of how to break it.
[DEMONSTRATING STEALTH PROTOCOLS.]
I kicked up a small cloud of dust from the fractured floor near Athena's name and seemed to vanish into it. It was a simple misdirection, but timed perfectly. When the dust settled, I was already five feet to the left, pressed against the shadow of a taller dummy, my breathing silent.
[DEMONSTRATING IMPROVISED WEAPONRY.]
I snatched up a small, twisted piece of shrapnel from Jaxon's earlier display, a piece of cooled, solidified smart-material. I didn't throw it. I flicked it. It wasn't about force, but about angle and velocity. The shard zipped through the air, not at a dummy, but at a dangling chain used for climbing exercises. It struck a specific link, and the chain fell, entangling one of the dummies in a clatter of metal. A non-lethal, but highly effective, immobilization.
I came to a stop, standing calmly amidst the seven dummies I had "neutralized" in under fifteen seconds. My chest rose and fell steadily, but I wasn't winded. The gymnasium was utterly silent. They weren't amazed like they were with Jaxon, or awed like with Athena. They were… unsettled. My display wasn't beautiful or grand. It was clinical. It was violent. It was murderous.
Proctor Vance stared, her cybernetic eye whirring softly. The other proctors were exchanging grim, uncertain looks. They had seen power, control, and potential today. But what they had just seen from me was something else entirely. It was a skillset. A profession.
"Ark Greystone," Proctor Vance said slowly, her voice cutting through the silence. "Your display is… unorthodox. It demonstrates a high degree of physical control and tactical analysis. However, it lacks a clear, quantifiable power source for classification."
[SUGGESTION: ACTIVATE KINETIC PRECISION MODULE.]
The System provided the answer. It wasn't about showing a power. It was about showing the result of the power.
I walked over to the last remaining, undamaged dummy. It was a heavy, reinforced model designed to withstand high-impact blows. I placed my palm flat against its chest, over its central sensor. I didn't draw my hand back. I didn't tense my muscles. I simply focused, and the System routed a precise, concentrated kinetic pulse through my arm.
There was no sound. No flash of light. But the dummy's chest cratered. A perfect, palm-sized indentation, two inches deep, appeared in the hyper-durable material. The sensor inside didn't flash yellow, orange, or red. It shattered, emitting a puff of smoke and dying with a pathetic fizzle.
The silence deepened, becoming profound.
I removed my hand. The evidence was there. A display of force that was both incredibly powerful and terrifyingly precise. It was the difference between Jaxon blowing up a swimming pool and me putting my fist through a bank vault door.
Proctor Vance finally spoke, her voice a low murmur that was nonetheless heard by everyone.
POWER CORE: [CLASSIFIED]. CONTROL: [DATA EXPUNGED]. PLACEMENT: [PENDING REVIEW].
No class. No designation. Just a question mark where my future was supposed to be.
I turned and walked back to the line. Isis was staring at me as if she'd never seen me before, her psychic butterflies completely forgotten. Jaxon's mouth was slightly agape, the master of fire utterly disarmed by the quiet, brutal efficiency he had just witnessed. Brody looked pale, his earlier bravado gone, replaced by a dawning, primal fear.
And Athena Knight, the unshakeable, the cold… she was looking right at me. And for the first time, I saw something other than ice in her eyes. I saw recognition. The recognition of one predator for another.
The System's text glowed softly in my vision, a private verdict.
[OBJECTIVE COMPLETE. THREAT ASSESSMENT SUCCESSFULLY COMMUNICATED.]
[AWAITING NEXT DIRECTIVE, USER.]