Beneath the broken sky

Third trial

The third round began with a tension that hummed through the air like the prelude to a storm. Six hundred and twenty-four candidates stood within a magically reinforced arena; A vast space enclosed by high, thick walls that shimmered faintly with enchanted locks. The silence inside was almost oppressive, the soundproofing so complete that it felt as though the world outside had been separated from them.

Many of the examinees were already panting, their breaths ragged and heavy. Whether from nerves or exhaustion from the previous round, only they could tell. The violent motion of magical energy beneath the floor was the only feeling that accompanied the stillness.

Captain Wyatt Lawrence, the same man who had overseen the earlier examinations, stood elevated on a platform. His voice echoed clearly through the magically amplified speakers.

“The goal,” he declared, his tone calm yet commanding, “is simple. Defeat as many chimeras as you can within the span of one hour. Getting knocked unconscious will be counted as a failure, as will surrendering. The protective gear issued to you will dull the deadliest of blows, but not nullify them. I suggest reinforcing your own defenses if you value avoiding pain. Now then, let us see your worth. Begin.”

As he left the arena, sections of the floor split open with a grinding metallic roar. From the gaping chasms rose monstrous shapes, a wave of chimeras, each a grotesque image of monstrosity.

There were murmurs, quickly rising into disbelief as the full scope of the challenge became clear.

“There’s too many…”

“Twice our number!...”

“They can’t expect us to fight this many!...”

Hyperion’s eyes narrowed, his range art stretching outward. The number was precise; one thousand two hundred and forty-eight creatures, exactly double the number of examinees. He found himself wondering if this was a test of endurance as much as strength. The monsters had yet to attack, standing in eerie stillness as if waiting for a command that hadn’t come.

Then Wyatt’s voice returned through speakers.

“No time to dally. You have one hour to impress us.”

The creatures stirred.

They were enormous, towering several heads above even the tallest of us. Their bodies were thick and muscular, covered in jaundiced skin that reeked of rot. Their arms hung low, ossified knuckles scraping against the stone floor. Twin tusks jutted from their lower jaws, framing three rows of serrated teeth. Their legs bent backward like long birds, and their bloodred eyes screeched with dull hunger.

The sight was enough to send shivers through the unseasoned candidates.

But Hyperion, ever the observer, studied them not with fear but with curiosity. Their movement patterns, their breathing, the faint inconsistencies in their skin texture. All revealed the chimeras flawed constitution. Despite their size, these chimeras were imperfect creations: strong, yes, but far from invincible.

Then came a booming laugh.

A hulking man with a battle-scarred physique stepped forward, swinging a blade large enough to contest height with some of the participants. With one swift motion, he decapitated two chimeras, their grotesque heads tumbling with a faint thud to the ground.

“The woman captain was right,” he sneered. “We don’t have time for this nonsense. Not that I care what any of you do, just don't get in my way.”

His upper body was bare, muscles slick with sweat and blood. Whether he had lost his shirt in the fray or arrived that way, no one could say.

Nearby, Ida’s voice rang out sharply as she snapped her fingers in front of Hyperion’s face.

“Hey! Are you planning to daydream through the exam? We actually need to kill these things!”

He gave her a sidelong look, his tone dry as ever.

“Am I stopping you?”

With that, he sprinted forward, cloak swaying behind him. Ida let out an exasperated groan, dragging her hand across her face, a gesture that had become her signature whenever Hyperion’s sarcasm tested her patience.

Moments later, fire erupted from her palms. Waves of blue flames roared across the field, turning a cluster of chimeras to ash.

***

The battle unfolded like a violent symphony, bursts of light, shrieks of agony, the clash of steel and spells. Despite the creatures’ fearsome appearance, they fell easily once their weaknesses were exploited. Their hides were tough but not unbreakable; their movements strong but clumsy. A single well-aimed strike from a skilled mage was often enough to bring them down.

Some of the chimeras even displayed flashes of cunning, mimicking human combat stances or retreating when injured. But their intelligence, too, was limited. They were beasts caught between instinct and imitation, doomed to fail at both.

Within thirty minutes, the last of the fourth-grade chimeras fell. The arena was littered with corpses, their bile-like blood pooling across the floor.

Out of the original six hundred and twenty-four, barely four hundred remained. Exhausted bodies lay motionless, disqualified either by unconsciousness or surrender.

Hyperion, his breathing calm and steady, surveyed the carnage. Eighteen kills, he could have slain more, but he had conserved his energy. There was still another battle ahead, and he suspected it would not be as forgiving.

Across the arena, the shirtless warrior raised his arms and bellowed.

“More! I want more! Is this what you call a test? Pathetic! I don’t know what’s worse, the weakness of these beasts or the cowardice and weakness of those who dropped out!”

His laughter was wild, echoing off the walls. Ida appeared beside Hyperion, her expression both impressed and amused.

“Energetic, that one,” she murmured. “Can you guess how many I killed?”

“Fifty,” Hyperion answered without hesitation.

She stared at him in disbelief.

“You were counting?”

“No,” he said flatly. “I just picked the most excessive number that seemed like something you’d brag about.”

Before she could retort, Wyatt’s calm voice filled the space once more.

“An impressive performance,” the captain said. “But this was only the first stage, a means of separating those capable of surviving the next. The third-grade monsters will prove far more formidable, so calm yourself, ye who seek greater conquest.”

A ripple of unease passed through the surviving candidates.

“Surviving?” someone muttered. “What do you mean surviving?”

Wyatt chuckled softly.

“I never promised you’d all leave alive. I merely instructed you not to kill each other. The gear you wear will blunt only fifteen percent of a third-grade chimera’s power. The remaining, well over enough to make you cease. The rest, you’ll have to endure or die.”

His words hung in the air, heavy and deliberate.

“You have the remainder of your allotted hour. Use it to recover, or prepare.”

Hyperion’s eyes flickered toward the captain’s observation deck.

“So if we’d taken the full hour, you would’ve unleashed the next batch without rest?” he called out.

“No,” Wyatt replied coolly. “We would’ve recalled the fourth-grade chimeras first.”

Ida snorted beside him.

“Makes you question all that talk about not wanting us to die, doesn’t it?”

They had barely twenty-four minutes to recover. Workers poured in to drag away the bodies and scrub the bloodstains from the stone. Then, as the last remnants of the previous battle vanished, a deep metallic bell tolled through the chamber.

The air grew heavy, oppressive, as an aura of malice crept into the arena.

From the far end, new creatures emerged. These ones slithered forward on thick, scaled limbs. Their skin was deep green, coated in barbed scales that gleamed under the arena lights. Razor-like claws scraped against the floor, and their jaws dripped with venom. Each had a long, spined tail and a tongue that flicked like a whip.

Wyatt’s voice carried once more.

“Ladies and gentlemen — the third-grade salamanders,” he said as if passing a sales pitch

The arena expanded magically to accommodate the new beasts.

“Your suits are infused with an antidote that will counteract their venom,” Wyatt continued. “But do not grow complacent. A single blow from these creatures can still end your participation, or your life. You may forfeit at any time.”

A familiar voice boomed with laughter.

“Ha! Not on my life!” shouted Jhooni, the shirtless warrior. “Well then, what are we waiting for?”

And with that defiant roar, the next trial began.