Elimination.
The word echoed in Drake's mind long after Alexis had spoken it. With zero grade points to his name, his future at Arachis Academy hung by a thread. But Arachis was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity—one he refused to waste. He would survive. He would climb the ladder of power, no matter how dark the path. Whatever sinister force had awakened inside him, he would wield it without hesitation.
With renewed determination, he left his dorm and marched toward Sir Duron's office.
---
Drake stood before the golden-eyed instructor, fists clenched. The air between them crackled with unspoken tension. Behind Duron, an ornate tapestry displayed academy heraldry and there, woven subtly into the border, a faint eye motif that made his skin prickle.
"You want to join the Vanguard?" Duron's lips curled in disdain. "An unranked worm like you, standing beside warriors?"
Drake didn't flinch. "I don't care about standing beside them."
"Then why?"
"I need strength," Drake said, voice low. "Enough to surpass them."
Duron's gaze darkened. "You think strength is what you lack?"
Drake met his stare. "I know what I am. Weak. Unworthy. But I won't let myself be eliminated next semester."
For the first time, Duron's lips twisted into something dangerous—not mockery, but approval. After a long silence, he grunted. "Fine. But the Vanguard isn't a charity. You'll earn your place—or die trying."
Drake exhaled. "Understood."
With a dismissive flick of his wrist, Duron slid a sealed envelope across the desk. "Take this to the Vanguard's vice-captain. Consider it your death warrant."
As Drake turned to leave, Duron's voice halted him.
"And Drake?"
He glanced back.
"Don't disappoint me."
Drake smirked. "And if I do?"
Duron's smile was that of a predator. "Then you were never worthy to begin with."
---
The night reeked of rain and iron as the Watcher slithered through Arachis Academy's shadows. His form blurred between the flickering lumen crystals lining the courtyard, unseen. His target: Vice-Captain Mater Kael.
For weeks, he had studied Kael—his gait, his mannerisms, the way he adjusted his gloves before a fight. Tonight, he would become him.
Kael trudged back from a late training session, shoulders slumped with exhaustion. The perfect moment.
The Watcher struck without sound.
A hand clamped over Kael's mouth. A blade slid between his ribs—precise, clinical. The Watcher held him as his struggles weakened, life seeping into the damp earth. When the body stilled, he pressed a palm against Kael's cooling face.
His skin rippled. Bones cracked and reshaped.
When he stood, he wore Kael's face.
---
The stolen skin didn't fit quite right around the jawline, but it would suffice. The Watcher flexed Kael's fingers, testing their grip.
He strode through the academy halls, nodding at passing students who greeted him with respect. None noticed the wrongness in his smile.
Then, a voice called out.
"Vice-Captain Kael!"
A young clerk from the Vanguard Club hurried toward him, clutching a datapad. "Sir! You left this in the training hall earlier. I thought—"
The Watcher's hand shot out, crushing the man's windpipe before he could scream. His eyes bulged as he clawed at the iron grip.
A sickening twist. The body crumpled.
The Watcher dragged the corpse into the shadows, then dipped his fingers into the pooling blood. He tasted it like fine wine.
"You shouldn't have seen me," he murmured.
With deliberate strokes, he painted the same symbol on the wall—a staring eye etched into a palm, identical to the tattoo on his neck.
Then he straightened Kael's uniform and walked away, whistling softly.
He had work to do.
---
Elsewhere, beneath the crest of a rearing unicorn—the symbol of one of the realm's most prestigious academies—the Breaking Dawn burned.
Flames devoured stone and steel. Student corpses littered the grounds. Instructors hung from the gates like macabre ornaments, their blood painting the walls in grotesque swirls—the same staring eye.
At the inferno's edge, two figures watched.
The man was tall, obsidian hair tied back, pale skin glowing in the firelight. The same tattoo marked his neck. His expression remained cold as he surveyed the slaughter.
Beside him, a woman ran fingers through her dark locks, lips curled in amusement. At her side crouched a twisted Null-beast—a mass of muscle and jagged bone, six eyes reflecting flames as it gnawed on a severed arm.
At the courtyard's center, the academy's duke-rank principal knelt in submission, his chest carved open to display his still-beating heart—branded with the same symbol.
"They'll panic when they find this," the woman mused.
The man turned away, coat flaring. "Let them see what happens to those who resist the Divine."
Behind them, the academy collapsed into embers.
---
The next morning, an eerie unease clung to Arachis. Students whispered, sensing the tension, but the faculty concealed the truth as always.
In Winston's office, silence reigned save for the crackling holoscreen. The emergency transmission showed only fragments—burning classrooms, the mutilated principal, that damned symbol smeared in blood. Vanessa's knuckles whitened around her armrest, a single bead of sweat tracing down Winston's temple as his hands trembled slightly.
Vanessa's fingers dug into her armrest. "They're not hiding anymore."
Winston exhaled sharply. "The Grand Alliance has called an emergency session. All noble Houses, academy heads, and military command."
Vanessa's crimson eyes flicked to him. "They'll suppress this."
"Of course," Winston muttered. "If the public learns a duke-rank was slaughtered..."
A frantic knock interrupted them. A junior officer stumbled in, face ashen. "Sir—Vice-Captain Kael is missing. And... we found this in the east wing."
The security feed displayed the bloodied symbol beside a mutilated corpse.
Vanessa's hand flew to her sword.
Winston didn't need to ask. It had begun.
Somewhere in Arachis, the enemy lurked within.
And Drake, armed with nothing but a borrowed blade and a death wish, was walking straight into the viper's nest.
---
END OF ARC ONE: THE BEGINNING OF THE END