As the final moments of the event ticked away, more adventurers reappeared one by one, breathing heavily but victorious. Some looked elated, others relieved. But not everyone made it back.
A loud chime echoed through the air, and the floating timer faded into nothingness. The remaining recruits—those who hadn't reached the spell circles in time—were disqualified, their dreams of becoming adventurers crushed, at least for now.
Takeshi stood quietly near Nyx, scanning the crowd. His body was still buzzing from the fight, but something else had caught his attention. Just beyond the open gates of the building, a glint of familiar metal shimmered in the sunlight—a weapon that looked eerily similar to his stolen sword.
His eyes narrowed.
Among the crowds, a group of cloaked figures clad in dark red robes stood at the edge of the square, speaking in hushed tones. The sight of them sent a chill down his spine. One of them had something slung over their back—his gun.
"Wait here, Nyx," Takeshi said, his voice low.
She looked at him, concerned. "Are you sure? You just got back after the trial."
"I just need to check something."
Without waiting for a response, Takeshi slipped away, disappearing into the stream of people.
The red-robed group moved swiftly through the streets of Aventia, heading toward the slums near the city's edge. Takeshi followed from a distance, keeping to the shadows. They eventually stopped before an old, half-collapsed building marked with a crude red eye painted across the outer wall—a symbol that sent a flicker of recognition through Takeshi's mind, though he couldn't place where he'd seen it before.
The figures entered the building. A moment later, Takeshi followed.
The interior was dim and seemingly abandoned, the air stale with dust and mildew. But Takeshi could feel it—magic. Old, foul, pulsing through the walls. He explored the space cautiously until his fingers brushed against an odd marking carved into the stone.
The moment he touched it, a pulse of energy surged through his body.
Light swallowed his vision.
When it cleared, he was somewhere else entirely.
A narrow corridor stretched before him—cold, metallic, and dimly lit by flickering torches. It twisted like a labyrinth, the air thick with whispered chants and strange arcane energy. Takeshi moved forward silently, his footsteps muffled against the stone floor.
Eventually, he reached a chamber bathed in a dim crimson glow. Arcane symbols lit the floor, and the robed figures he'd followed stood in a circle, chanting in unison. The stolen sword lay at the feet of one of them. His gun was strapped to another's back.
Takeshi stepped forward, his voice firm. "Hey! What do you think you're doing?"
The chanting stopped.
One figure turned, lowering his hood to reveal a pale face marked with ritual scars. His eyes gleamed with cold intent. "An intruder? Eliminate him."
At once, the air exploded with spellfire—fireballs roared, beams of light pierced the darkness, and tendrils of shadow lunged at him. Takeshi sprang into motion.
Channeling the power of time, he accelerated his movements to a blur. Every attack missed by inches as he weaved through them with precision, the chamber flashing with bursts of light and magic.
He drew his sword—his sword—the weight of it comforting in his hand. He slashed forward, cutting down one cultist, then another. The robed figures screamed and scrambled, but Takeshi was a storm of steel and speed.
"Good to know my old sword still works like a charm," he muttered, the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.
Another barrage of spells flew his way. He raised his left hand.
"Second Hour: Freeze."
A wave of temporal energy rippled out from his palm. The entire room locked in place—cultists, flames, even falling dust suspended midair. The only sound was his own breath.
He strode through the stillness, retrieving his gun from one of the frozen attackers and stepping toward the cult's leader. With a flick of his fingers, he unfroze just the man's head.
"Why did you take my weapons?" Takeshi's voice was low and dangerous. "What are you casting?"
The leader coughed, barely able to move. "The ritual... to summon the ancient Demon King. He'll rise again. And the world will tremble before the demons' true power."
Takeshi's grip tightened. "Not on my watch."
The cultist barely had time to blink before the blade pierced his heart.
One by one, Takeshi silenced the rest. No hesitation. No mercy.
By the time the time-freeze faded, the chamber was deathly still.
Takeshi stood alone, blood on his sword, his breathing steady. He glanced at the now-faded ritual circle—just sparks and ash remained. Whatever darkness they had tried to summon… it wouldn't be coming today.
He turned and walked away without looking back, the shadows swallowing him once again.