My First Pet Is a Nightmare God

The arena reeked of ozone and fresh blood as I stood on the cracked marble platform with thousands of eyes pressing down on me. Holographic screens floated throughout the vast circular chamber, displaying student names alongside the majestic silhouettes of the beasts they had summoned. A phoenix wrapped in living flame circled above one platform, casting flickering orange light across the stands. A storm serpent crackled with raw lightning, its scales shimmering like liquid mercury. Even a lesser void wraith earned approving nods from the senior instructors seated along the raised dais.

Central Beast Academy occupied several blocks in the heart of New York, where towering skyscrapers blended with ancient rune-etched spires. Here, strength decides everything: your rank, your future, your very right to exist in the upper echelons of society. Today decided my entire future, and I had spent years training in the hope that this moment would finally tip the scales in my favor. I had memorized every known beast type, pushed my body through grueling drills in the lower training halls, and studied forbidden texts late into the night. Perhaps the egg waiting in the center of the summoning circle would crack open to reveal something powerful enough to silence every doubt that had followed me since childhood.

“Next,” the Headmaster’s voice rang out, calm and impossible to read. Alistair Crowe stood on the elevated dais like a statue carved from shadow and absolute authority, his dark robes embroidered with glowing silver runes. “Lucien Drax.”

My name echoed across the arena. A few scattered whispers rose from the crowd, but most of the students simply waited in expectant silence, their own fresh bonds still glowing with pride beside them.

I stepped forward into the glowing summoning circle. Ancient runes pulsed beneath my feet as I placed my palm against the smooth obsidian-black egg. Energy surged through my veins, hot and electric, searching for a bond that would define the rest of my life.

The arena held its collective breath.

Then the light exploded outward in a brilliant wave.

A silver-scaled frost wolf materialized beside a girl two platforms away, its icy breath frosting the air around it. Another student summoned a flame lion that scorched the edges of the protective barriers, drawing thunderous cheers. Instructors scribbled rapid notes while the holographic screens updated with glowing ranks and potential evaluations.

My egg remained dark.

The energy continued pouring in, yet nothing answered the call. No shape formed. No roar broke the silence. The circle kept feeding power into the shell, but the egg absorbed it like a black hole, giving nothing back.

Seconds stretched into an unbearable eternity before the circle finally dimmed. A single jagged crack spider-webbed across the shell, ugly and unnatural, as though something inside had been struck by a dying force. A thin wisp of black smoke leaked out, weak and sickly, before dissolving into nothing.

The entire arena fell deathly silent.

An elder stepped forward and scanned the egg with a glowing gauntlet. The device beeped twice, then emitted a low, mournful tone that carried across the stands.

“F-rank,” he announced flatly. “Cracked. Vitality near zero. No viable beast signature detected.”

Laughter erupted from the back rows sharp, relieved, and cruelly spreading like wildfire through the crowd. Students pointed openly while voices called out, “Better luck in your next life, Drax,” and “Even the trash got rejected this time.”

I remained motionless on the platform, my palm still pressed to the cold shell, feeling the last traces of warmth bleed away into emptiness. My future had just been decided in front of the entire academy, and it was worse than nothing. In this world, weakness was never pitied. It was erased without hesitation or mercy.

Yet as I slowly pulled my hand away, a quiet and dangerous thought flickered to life inside me. They are laughing now. But they have no idea what is waiting inside that shell. The thought carried a cold spark of satisfaction that surprised even me  a small, private defiance amid the public humiliation.

I turned and walked off the platform with measured steps while the laughter chased after me like hungry shadows.

The day fate was decided, and fate, it seemed, possessed a particularly cruel sense of humor.