The marble floor of the Royal Aegis Hall was cold—a 2/10 for comfort, but a 15/10 for structural resonance.
Avon coughed, the sound wet and metallic. He spat a glob of crimson onto the white stone, watching the way the high-density mana in the air made the blood shimmer. Disgusting. Everything in this room was "blessed," "talented," or "divine." It made his skin crawl.
"Stand up,worm" Prince Kaelen spat. The Prince stood ten feet away, shrouded in a aura of Golden Solar Mana. He looked like a god. To the crowd of noble students watching from the balconies, he was the pinnacle of human evolution. "I haven't even used a Tier 3 spell yet. Don't tell me a 'Mistake' like you is already at his limit?"
Avon adjusted his glasses. One lens was cracked, spider-webbing across his vision in a way that made the Prince look like a shattered mosaic.
15/10 for the speech, Kaelen, Avon thought, his internal voice cold and clinical. But fuck yourself for your situational awareness.
A tiny, flickering spark of the Original Avon—the boy who once wanted to be a healer, the boy who lived in the dirt and just wanted a mother's hug—felt a 1/10 pang of pity. He's just a kid, the voice whispered. He doesn't know what you've done to him.
Avon's lip twitched. The "Predator" rose, crushing that soft voice under a mountain of Spite.
"Bwahahaha!"
The laugh was sudden, sharp, and jagged. It didn't belong in a temple of heroes. It sounded like a bone snapping in a quiet room.
"What's so funny, worm?" Kaelen lunged, his golden sword trailing a wake of light that could melt steel.
[Activation: Battle Vision]
The world turned into a ledger of gray and blue. Avon didn't see a "Golden Hero." He saw a skeletal structure with a 15/10 over-extension in the right deltoid. He saw a center of gravity that was 0/10 stable because of a "minor" digestive cramp Kaelen had been feeling for three days.
Avon didn't even draw a weapon. He stepped forward—not back—into the heart of the Golden Light.
Frame 1: Pivot.
Frame 2: Two-inch tilt of the cranium.
Frame 3: Anatomical Strike.
Avon's index finger tapped a very specific point just below Kaelen's collarbone—the intersection of the brachial plexus and the central mana-vein.
The golden light didn't just fade; it imploded.
Kaelen's sword clattered to the floor. The Prince's eyes went wide, his pupils Dilating as his nervous system sent an error message to his brain. He hit the marble with a sickening thud, his body seizing like a fish out of water.
Silence gripped the hall. 0/10 for the audience's reaction time.
Avon stood over him, looking down with a face that was canonically attractive yet utterly hollow. He slowly reached up and pulled back his hair, revealing the Eye of Refikull. It didn't glow; it seemed to suck the light out of the room.
"15/10 for the effort, Kaelen," Avon whispered, his voice dropping to a terrifying, dominant silk. "But did you wonder why your 'Divine' training felt so easy this month? Did you wonder why the tea your 'Average' maid served you every morning tasted so... sweet?"
Kaelen tried to scream, but his lungs were 0/10 functional.
"I've been sabotaging your nervous system for 180 days," Avon smiled—a Maniacal Grin that reached his eyes but lacked any warmth. "I made you feel like a God so that when I touched you with a single finger, your 'Identity' would shatter. You aren't a genius. You're a Project I've finally finished. Bwahahaha!"
Avon turned his back on the fallen prince, walking toward the exit. As he reached the shadows of the corridor, three janitors and a cook stepped out, bowing their heads in unison.
"The carriage is ready, master," the lead goon whispered.
Avon didn't look back. He felt the internal bleeding in his chest fucking hell for the pain—but he just kept walking.
"20/10 for the result," Avon muttered to the shadows. "Now... let's go find a Quiet Life. Bwahahaha!"