Warning: If you like COTE characters, there will be a section that you can skip (marked).
I stood in the blood-splattered classroom, my shoes half-submerged in gore, while a hush, so thick, settled that every breath felt deafening. Then came the frantic pair of footsteps from the corridor, and my gaze lifted to the doorway. Nagumo appeared first, flanked by Chairman Sakayanagi. When they beheld the grisly carnage and my figure stained from head to toe in vivid red, both men fell silent, color draining from their faces.
Nagumo's mouth opened, forming a barely audible murmur. "W-what... happened...?" Chairman Sakayanagi's expression was equally rattled, but he forced composure. "Kiyotaka," he started, voice heavy with pity and regret, reminiscent of the look he'd often reserved for his daughter, Arisu. Then, locking his gaze on me, he added, "Please wait until the police arrive. They'll... want to question you."
I registered his words only dimly; my mind was still consumed by the question of why the trial had not ended. I had killed all twelve intruders. That should have concluded this elaborate farce, but nothing shifted or dissolved back to the cavern. My classmates and staff simply stared at me, too horrified for rational thought. The choke of iron-scented air lingered.
Their voices blended into meaningless background noise as I turned toward the open window. It was the very same from which I'd thrown two men mere moments before. I stepped up to it in a single stride.
"O-Oi, Ayanokoji, where are you going?" Sudo sputtered, voice unsteady, the shock in his eyes betraying that he still hadn't processed all he'd seen.
From behind him, Kei and Chabashira also spoke, calling my name. But I ignored them. Without pausing, I climbed over the sill and leapt out, seizing the rainwater pipe with one hand to slow my fall. The building's second floor wasn't too high, so in a swift slide and a short drop, I landed on the ground below.
Above me, the second-floor windows swarmed with silhouettes, students and teachers crammed together, peering down. Distantly, I heard their cries and exclamations—"Kiyotaka!" "Ayanokoji-kun!"—mingling in a chaotic echo. But I didn't look back. Wiping blood from my brow, I moved through the campus grounds.
Step by step, I made my way across the courtyard, each stride leaving faint bloody footprints on the once-pristine paving stones. Despite knowing this was all an illusion, the sheer accuracy of my surroundings stirred a mild unease. My memory of the campus matched perfectly. It was unnerving to see everything so flawlessly replicated, and my mind buzzed with questions about whether the Crimson Sage himself crafted this world or if it was formed from my memories.
Still, I couldn't wander around drenched in blood forever. Making a quick decision, I broke into a run toward the dorm buildings. The clock indicated lessons were ongoing, meaning almost no one would be in the dorm halls right now. That gave me relative freedom to slip in undetected.
Reaching the dormitory, I found the corridors empty as expected. The silence weighed on the air, every footstep echoing in the stillness. Good—no gawkers, no curious onlookers.
I hurried up a flight of stairs, my shoes squeaking with congealed blood, leaving smears on the steps that I didn't bother to wipe up. Reaching my room, I unlocked the door and let myself inside, flicking on the overhead light. Without hesitation, I stripped off the blood-drenched clothes, bundling them into a plastic bag left over from old packaging. I then retrieved a fresh uniform from the closet—pants, shirt, and the school blazer. Before pulling them on, I stepped into the bathroom to rinse the worst of the blood from my arms and face. A quick glance at my reflection showed streaks of reddish water swirling down the drain, but no sign of any deep injuries on my body. Physically, I was unscathed—just spattered in blood.
Feeling marginally more presentable, I grabbed a small towel to wipe my still-wet hair. Before heading out, I glanced around the dorm room. Everything looked in place—an eerily perfect copy, down to the minor scuff on my desk chair. Then, satisfied I was less conspicuous, I left the room, locking it behind me. Making my way back down the dorm stairs, I noted the same emptiness. No chance encounters with students or staff. Just more echoing silence.
Stepping outside once more, I sprinted toward the front gate. At the front gate, I paused, taking in the crisp air. In the distance, I spotted flashing lights—the distinctive red and white of approaching police cars. The wail of sirens cut through the hush, growing louder with each passing second until the vehicles screeched to a halt. Doors flung open, and a cluster of uniformed officers stepped out, scanning for any sign of disturbance. Their expressions were grim, tension thick in the air.
One officer—a tall man with a stern face—noticed me immediately. He frowned slightly, as if expecting a staff member and not a student. Still, he took a step toward me, hand on his utility belt.
"Are you from this school, son? We received an urgent call of armed intruders," he said, glancing past me toward the main building.
I inclined my head briefly, my demeanor calm. "Yes. Chairman Sakayanagi told me to direct you. He's in the second-floor classroom with the rest, where the incident took place."
He studied me, perhaps puzzled that I wasn't panicking or asking for help. "I see." His gaze flicked to my uniform—spotless, except for a few wrinkles from my hurried change—but nothing seemed off. He nodded. "Can you lead us?"
I gestured in a collected manner toward the building. "Through the main doors, up one flight, turn left at the first corridor," I recited, as though I'd rehearsed. "The Chairman asked me to wait here for additional responders, so I'll remain outside," I added, improvising a reason not to go with them.
He hesitated, possibly unsure how a student could remain so unruffled while a crisis loomed. But their priority was to reach the scene. "Alright," he said, turning to his squad. "Stay put. We'll be back with questions." A quick wave, and they hurried off, leaving me at the gate.
Silence returned as soon as the officers disappeared into the building. I glanced around—the last stragglers from earlier seemed to have vanished, and sirens in the distance suggested more vehicles were approaching. I wondered if the next step of the trial demanded something else.
My attention fell on a nearby police car, engine still running, the driver's door slightly ajar. The key was in the ignition—a careless oversight. No one was around to stop me.
With a short sigh, I slipped into the driver's seat and pulled the door shut. The seats were standard vinyl and the dash illuminated with the telltale glow of an active system. I placed my hands on the wheel.
I started the engine. It purred smoothly, and I saw no one rushing to intervene. The campus behind me was quiet, the main building's doors wide open for the officers. A fleeting image of what might be happening inside flashed by. But I had no role there. My part was to move on.
Pulling away from the curb, I eased the car onto the adjacent road, the campus gates passing in my peripheral vision. The bright midday sun glinted off the hood. The illusions might shift me back to that cavern or morph the environment once more. Either way, my mind was oddly at peace, navigating an empty street with no second thoughts.
The day's light streamed through the windshield, and suddenly my vision turned dark, yet again.
I found myself back in the classroom, blood once again staining my uniform. Nagumo and Chairman Sakayanagi once again stood at the door, mirroring images of what happened seconds ago, their faces equally pale and stunned.
"W-what... happened?" Nagumo's faltering words were the same as before, the same scene playing out in exact detail. Ignoring him, I focused on the ticking clock in my mind. If this loop repeated itself, I had limited time—ten, maybe fifteen minutes until the police arrived in full force. That had to be enough to do whatever the Crimson Sage's trial demanded.
Suddenly, whispers slammed into my thoughts, voices echoing inside my head.
"̶̧̭̌K̷̝̃i̴̗̿̀ḽ̷́͛̒̽l̵͈̥͐ ̵̮̬̩́͗y̴̗̓͐o̶̗͒̉ȕ̸̯͓̳͜r̴̥̪̺̿͐ș̴͚̖̍̈̒e̷̢̞̠̿͂ĺ̷̤̭̉f̶̰̐ͅͅ!̸͈͚̈́̋̅"̵̸̠͍͖̤̗̎͗̄͜"̸̦͋͗̈́̚Y̶͚͙͔͆̂́o̸͎͚̦̾͑̄u̵̡̢̠̽ ̴̜͗d̷̺͂ë̶̘̫͑̓̽v̴̫͓̚ì̴͕̬̫̔l̷̝̈́—̸͖̹̭͐̒̄l̶̻͓̬̫̑e̷̹̹͛̓͝a̴̝̟̙̻̎̈̍̀v̵̮̫̋e̶̛͍̭̮̙ ̴͇̂͋͜t̴͇̐͛̄̓h̶͈̰͉̓̈i̴̢̦̭̋̊s̵̟̈̑̈ ̵̫̦̺͗̈́w̴̹̺̺̃͘͜õ̶͕̩̬͎̃̑r̵̻͋̀͝l̶̠͔̮̤̈̚d̷̹̘͑͐̂͘!̸͍̩͖̠̀́̿"̸̵̧̗̦͓̟͚͈͖̉̿̌̐̚"̶̻̙͇̈́Ÿ̵̰̈́o̸͉̻͍͖̿̎̚ṳ̷͉̉'̵̡̰̝͋̀̒̌r̴͚͙̽ę̴̘̣̀̔͊ ̶̥̣̿̚ȁ̴̘̅̒͐ ̶͎̮͇̉̑̕m̴̲̠̭̗̋͘ö̴̦́n̵̢̥̥͗s̴̡͓͝t̴̫̱́̇͆̂e̶͇̪̫͋͆͗r̵̡̈́̋̔̈́!̶̧̞͎̮̆͋̾̆"̶̶͓̖̬̲͑̓͊͆̒"̸͈̇͝͝Ḧ̸̗̟͓́̑̓͘ȯ̷̲̹̥͌̅͝w̶̯͕͕̓ ̴̺̺͚̌͌̑̌ͅc̸̡̻̿̋̽ͅą̴͈̑̇n̴̢̪̘̫̏͘ ̶͙̣͂͠s̷͍͕͊͋o̷̪͑m̷͍̿̂e̵̥̳̿̈́͝o̸̡̰̻̒n̸͇̰͇̽̚͠e̵͎̭͑́̽ ̵̻͖̂l̸͈̉̊i̵̬̲̳͒̎k̸̡͉͘ę̴̬͎̬͛͗̅̕ ̴̢̭͚͉̇͑́̒y̸̨͓͒̐̔̒o̵͕̜̩̬͠ų̸̨̯̳͊ ̶̢̧̪̏̑ë̵̢̧̳͙v̸͕̗̇ë̷͉̙́͜n̸̜̳͚̅̌̽ ̶̖͆̚ę̶̈́̋x̵̖̐̏i̸̪̊̿͠ṡ̸̟͔̼̠t̷̟̎̌?̵̘͒̔̉!̷̬͚̋"̷̧̨̫̰̈́͘
"̸̡̧̹̩̞̞͂W̸̜̱̉̓͆̂́̍̅h̴̡͗̀̃ä̸̟͇͚̯̲́͆̆͌͐̓̚t̶̢̛̛̰̬̹̀̆̍͑̄͘...̵̛͇̹̈́̅̍̃̽̀̆ ̷̠͋͐̈́͗h̷͙͙͖͈͉̓́̎͒̓̀̎͝a̵̧͇̙͗͛͌v̷̧̛̯̘̤̞͛͒̾͗͠e̴̠̹͓̱͂̂ ̴̪̲̬͖͔͓͊̄̾͛̒̈͜͠͠ͅI̶͔̝͈͙͗ ̸͈͇̘̞̳͙͎̄͒̀̿͐̊͐͝ḓ̶̢̬͕̰͚͝ô̸̜̞̱̫̳̌͘͘n̸̺̿̌̐̈́͗̓̆̀ę̴̨͎̙̩̭̔̅̏̆͊͌̕...̴̨̡̰̂̐̓͋̉̒̔͝?̷͎͊̅̄́̃̋̅"̶̴̛̛̩͙̩̗̱͎̜̀̾̾̊̈́̏̈́͋̀̚͝"̴̠̖̼͓̟̅̔̔͒̇͛̈́͝Í̷̡̥̘͙͓͙̤̜̒͂ ̴̧̘̩̳̓̌̅̉̈́š̵̡̨͎̘̖̜̜̄̀͘̕͜͠͝h̸͓̉̓͂̓̃̄͘͜o̸̭̓͗̾̕ù̴̥̗̭̥̾̒̑͌̄ḷ̶͉͚͕̋̇̊͂̽d̶̛̼̟͇̈̒̐͒ņ̸̡̣̯̻̙̋̎͜'̶̨͖͂͂̀̾͠t̸̲̓̂ ̴̧̧̢͙̺̙͇̒̀̔̒͛͝b̴̫͙̺̥̤̟͍͑̿̏͑̐̕̕͠ȩ̵̪̟̞̈̉̋̈́͐ ̷̯͍̳̈́ȁ̶͉̱̻͙̘̭͙͋͜l̴̞̏̀͂̍î̵̯͉̞͌̈́̃͛͑͠v̴̮͂͑e̷̛̦̝͂̒̌́̇̇̿ͅ—̴̨̧͎͙͈̯̟̃͌̅͋"̵̵̧̜̱͚̠̜̗̯̪̫̒̔̆̏̍̏̒͛̂͝"̸̲͓̠̣̻̜͝E̷̛̥̫͇̗̗̾͗͒̉̉n̴̨̧̛̝̣͖d̶͔͇͓̀̉̓͊̽̚͠͝ ̶̢̼͚̭͍̬́́̅͆͊i̴̺͛́̊͝t̶̪̦̘͎͖̏ ̶̰͎̦̤̽̾̿̿̆͒a̵̫͙̺̭̩̹͊̆̓̄͗̓́͒l̵̯̻̀͜l̶̡͎̳̩͚͖̚...̶̺̼̹͈̹͆̿̔̐̀̿"̶̧̧̲̤͕͇́̈́̽͝
M̴̻͔̫̳͖̻͓̬̮̞̳͉͓͇̋̊͊̀̍͂̃̑͆͆̔̀͂̏͘Ơ̶̙͇̞̳̲̖͙̂̃͛̋̓͑͗͑͆̈̐̃̔͑́͌͒̚̕̕̕͘ͅǸ̷͔̘̮̝̖̹͕͔̱̥̱̻͈̻̝̮̰̘̻͝͝ͅŠ̶͎͚̩͈̲̼́̔̃̍̽̑̔̾̒̀̉̽͌̀͗͋͆͛T̴͕̯̝̭̬͉̫̯͎̣̪̣͓͂̏̑̂̔̔̋̈́̈̆͋́͆͌̈́́̆̆̕̕͜͜͝Ȩ̸̢̩͈̹̦͓͖̻̼̦͚͉̜̺̎͐̀̓͋̿̐̇͑ͅR̷̛̙̬̆͗̇̔̎̿̽̀̂̀̏̑́͊̄̀̿͆̃̕͠
It lasted only seconds, but the intensity was staggering, drilling into my psyche. A mental assault, I realized, likely another part of this trial, aiming to plant doubt or guilt.
"Interesting," I muttered under my breath. The moment I recognized it for what it was, I steadied my mind, letting the words wash past me. So the trial now tries to undermine my mental fortitude? With a quiet exhale, I brushed the last echoes of the whispers aside. Around me, a hush fell, as though the illusions recognized that particular tactic had failed.
That hush was broken by a sudden shrill voice from across the room."Y-you monster, get out of here! Why are you in our class?!" It was Shinohara, trembling yet somehow mustering the courage to speak. Clearly, she expected others to back her up. But after a second, Horikita snapped, "Shinohara, shut up!"—her attempt at damage control was too late to prevent me from reacting.
So this is it, I thought. If I had any doubts, they vanished. Considering the bloodthirsty nature of the Crimson Sage, his trial would demand bloodshed. It was going to be cruel. No matter how callous it felt, I knew what I had to do.
(WARNING - BEGIN)
I walked toward Shinohara, my expression blank. Instinctively, people around her parted; they'd seen me kill so many people already. But Ike stepped in front, arms outstretched protectively, fear plain in his eyes. "A-Ayanokoji, please stop!" he sputtered. "Satsuki... S-she didn't mean it—"
Before he finished, I seized him by the neck with one hand, hoisting him off his feet, then hurled him sideways. He crashed into a desk, the edge slamming into his skull with a sickening thunk. Ike collapsed in a heap, his body flopping awkwardly on the floor. A panicked scream tore through the students.
"Kanji!"
"I-Ike!"
Their cries mixed with the acrid stench of fear.
Barely pausing, I turned to Shinohara. Her eyes darted from Ike's limp form to me, mouth quivering with unspoken terror. In one smooth motion, I punched her in the temple with all the strength I could muster. Her head snapped back. The light in her gaze flickered out like a candle. She slumped, consciousness—or life—extinguished in an instant.
Sudo roared from behind, raw anger and confusion twisting his features. "Ayanokoji! WHY?! We... we talked this morning! We—" He charged, fists coiled. I sidestepped, letting him rush past, then drove my elbow into his face. Momentum carried him forward, and I gripped the back of his head, slamming it against another table's corner. Bone met metal with a dull, loud thud. He fell limp, blood trickling down the side of the desk.
A human body is fragile. A single well-placed strike can end a life. Slips at home, diseases—humans die easily every second. Here, it was being demonstrated in the most brutal way. A single table's edge, an unexpected blow—enough to snuff out a breath. It confirmed the precariousness of life in the face of violence.
Screams rocked the classroom anew.
"Sudo!"
"What... what the hell!"
"Ayanokoji, stop!"
Voices from all corners—some wailing, some pleading.
Ignoring their reactions, I shifted my attention to the next target. My gaze locked onto Soshi Miyamoto—a lesser-known classmate, one of the many who had blended into the background until now. He was pressed against the wall, trembling, his face pale with sheer terror.
"S-stay back!" he croaked, his voice breaking as he fumbled for something—anything—to shield himself. His desperate hands landed on a nearby chair. With a surge of adrenaline, he hurled it at me in a frantic bid to keep me away.
I watched it come, my expression impassive. The moment the chair entered my range, I snatched it from the air with ease. He had meant to use it as a shield, a weapon against me. Instead, it became mine.
Before he could react, I swung it. Hard.
The solid metal frame smashed into his ribs with a sickening crack. A strangled gasp escaped his lips as his body crumpled against the wall, the impact leaving a deep dent in the plaster behind him. His knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the bloodstained floor, groaning weakly.
A weapon was only as good as the hands that wielded it. And Soshi Miyamoto never stood a chance.
Blood slicked my hand. Each kill was swift, harsh, and unstoppable. My classmates yelled, sobbed, and retched. Some tried to approach me, but the memory of what I'd done kept them paralyzed. If this was truly the test, I had no qualms. Time was short.
I grabbed a blade, speeding up the cruel process.
The onlooking illusions—my "friends," acquaintances—saw only a monster exterminating them, one after another. Their pleas blurred together:
"Why—why are you doing this?!"
"He was fine just hours ago!"
"Kiyotaka... p-please, we can talk. Don't—!"
But I shut it all out, determined to fulfill the trial's conditions. The thick, metallic tang of blood weighed on my lungs, and the dying moans punctuated each moment. With each kill, I expected the scene to flicker, to yank me back into that subterranean cavern. But it continued, forcing me further into the role of butcher.
Names fell like leaves.
Ryotaro Hondo, dead. Hideo Sotomura, dead. Wataru Ijuin, dead. Maezono, dead. Death after death followed. Okitani, dead. Kayano Onodera, dead. Kokokoro Inogashira, dead. Nene Mori, dead. Yukimura, one of my old friends, dead. Akito, dead. Haruka, dead as well, her wide eyes fading into emptiness.
With so many people dying, some of the others realized the hopelessness of one-by-one resistance. They grouped up, grabbing whatever weapons they could find.
At their head stood Hirata—the gentle, ever-empathetic classmate who typically settled disputes with words. Now, a trembling fury burned in his eyes as he braced the handle of the axe in both hands. The weight clearly strained him, but adrenaline fueled his stance. "Ayanokoji!" he shouted, his voice raw with despair. "Stop this!" He looked ready to confront me with all the conviction he could muster.
He used my surname—Ayanokoji—like someone marking a boundary. Maybe he thought an appeal to reason would halt me. But I approached, blade in hand, unflinching. Realizing I wouldn't halt, he made the first move. He lunged, attempting a downward chop. But the axe was unwieldy in his inexperienced hands, and the blow came slow.
I stepped in and struck, short and brutal—my blade embedding in his torso. I murmured, "I'm sorry, Yosuke." His eyes went wide, mouth open. Blood trickled down his lips, mingling with tears forming at the corners of his eyes. "W-why?" he managed before his strength failed him. In the next second, the life bled from his gaze. I eased the sword free, letting him slip to the floor with a dull thud.
I cast a fleeting glance at his body. Then I turned, scanning the classroom for next targets. Koenji stepped forward next, his face grim. He'd evidently realized that even his abilities might not match mine. Still, he joined the cluster of remaining students, forming a last stand. Ryuen appeared too, excitement and fear painting his face.
They converged in a frantic push, driven by survival or by a flickering hope that if enough people attacked, they might overpower me. The air sang with the clash of weapons. Some among them died swiftly the moment they left an opening. Others attempted to corner me, only to find my reflexes, overcame them.
Amid the chaos, Ryuen tried a cunning approach: seeing me poised to kill another classmate, he believed he could strike from behind. But I sidestepped, reading his intentions, and rammed my sword straight through his chest. He coughed a spray of blood, then let out a strangled laugh. "Damn... never imagined this... end," he gasped, and collapsed.
Koenji attempted a direct blow, hoping to exploit an opening. He was likely the strongest physically among them, but even he faltered beneath the unhesitating precision of my attacks. Before he could recover from a narrowly missed swing, I drove my sword into his chest. "Hahaha... A-Ayanokoji-boy—" he choked, trying to speak. But I had no time. Only three minutes left, my mind warned me. I twisted the blade to ensure he couldn't strike back, then yanked it free, the wet, ripping sound accompanied by Koenji's final exhalation. Blood soaked the tile in a crimson puddle.
"KIYOTAKA, PLEASE STOP!" Kei's shrill cry pierced the carnage, her voice raw with panic. Ignoring her own safety, she flung herself at me, arms out as though to restrain me with an embrace. Her tear-streaked face contorted in heartbreak.
I froze momentarily, staring at Kei's terror-filled eyes. Something in me itched, and yet I muttered, "I'm sorry, Kei." Then, as she neared, I stretched my blade forward, plunging it into her midsection. She made a small choking sound, eyes widening in disbelief, tears mixing with blood on her lips. For an instant, it looked like she tried to say my name. But no word came, only a faint breath before her knees buckled, and she slid off the sword, collapsing.
A hush quivered through the ruined classroom, thick with fear, overshadowing the reek of gore. I cast my gaze about. Bodies littered the floor in broken, twisted poses. Blood painted the walls, the desks, my clothes. Students had tried to band together—and I'd cut them down without mercy.
One last glance at Kei's face, contorted in death. I closed my eyes in a slow exhale, pushing down a flicker of discomfort in my chest. The clock in my head told me I had maybe two minutes left until the police would storm. If the scene persisted, I'd have to kill them, too. I prepared myself for either possibility.
I moved methodically through the battered classroom. Corpses and moaning survivors lay scattered, the stench of so much blood now almost suffocating. In the dim hush, I could hear only my own heartbeat and the dull throb of pulses from those still clinging to life. But I had precious little time, and the trial demanded that I finish.
Wang Mei-Yu crouched against the wall, hands pressed over her ears and head, refusing to lift her gaze. The panic in her trembling limbs spoke volumes—she'd already surrendered to her fate. With minimal fuss, I ended her life swiftly, a quick strike that spared her any extended suffering. The faint rattle in her throat was all that marked her passing before she crumpled to the ground.
Next, I turned toward Matsushita, who shivered visibly at the sight of my blood-drenched uniform. She didn't try to run; she just gazed back with hollow acceptance. "Why aren't you running?" I asked quietly, genuinely curious for a moment. Her lips curved into a bitter smile. "Would it work?" she replied, voice trembling. I sighed—this entire scenario felt more hollow each moment. Yet I drove my blade into her heart, quick and clean. Her eyes widened briefly, then she slumped motionless.
My gaze fell on Kushida, now huddled behind an upended desk, her usual sunny expression replaced by stark fear. She drew a shaky breath and mustered some measure of courage. "Can I...touch you?" The request startled me, enough that I paused. In the corner of my vision, Horikita, the last surviving student aside from Kushida, also gaped, unsure what to make of it.
Kushida seemed to sense my confusion but repeated softly, "Can I touch you?" A fleeting glance at the clock in my mind reminded me how little time remained. I shrugged inwardly and gave a nod, stepping closer. With trembling fingers, she brushed them over my chest, sliding her hand slowly upward until she cupped the side of my face. Perhaps she was searching for humanity in my cold stare or simply needed to confirm I was real. Satisfied, she lowered her arm, then opened both hands wide, as if welcoming the final blow. I obliged—quick, painless. Her eyes lost their light, and she toppled gently against a broken desk.
Horikita, standing at the back of the room, stared at me with hollow, tear-bright eyes. She alone remained within the carnage of Class D. Her voice quivered. "Why? Why are you doing this? You saved us from those... intruders, and then you turn your blade on us. It makes no sense."
I felt no impulse to justify anything, but I still responded. "I'm sorry, Horikita," I said quietly. "But there are things in this world that must be done. This is one of them."
Her shoulders slumped in defeat. A faint trembling overtook her voice. "I see. Go on, then, Kiyotaka." She used my first name, a rare gesture, especially in a moment like this. I noticed the flicker of surprise in her eyes too, as if she never thought she'd utter it. This illusion was so painfully convincing.
Bracing herself, she gave a slight nod. I whispered, "Sorry, Suzune," a final courtesy, and struck. My blade pierced her chest, her eyes widening for the briefest second, then dulling as her life slipped away. I lowered her carefully. My last classmate from Class D lay lifeless on the floor.
Now, the entire homeroom was dead. Everyone except a few from outside the door—Amasawa, Ichinose who lay collapsed on the floor, barely conscious, and Sakayanagi—lingered out there. Inside, the only figures left standing were Nagumo, Chairman Sakayanagi, and Chabashira, who watched, paralyzed by the brutality that had just unfolded.
I lifted my gaze, breath steady. One final part of the scenario, perhaps. My mind refused to relax, bracing for whatever remained.
Chabashira lay slumped in the far corner of the classroom, her left leg obviously broken—a jagged fracture jutting beneath her torn slacks, every movement drawing pained gasps. The remnants of a failed intervention. She'd tried to stop me mid-carnage, only to be struck aside by flailing weapons. Now, Chairman Sakayanagi hovered near her, shell-shocked and sweating, while Nagumo attempted to help them both get out of the room. Every small shift jarred Chabashira's injury, prompting a stifled groan from her lips.
Slowly, I approached, wiping away stray blood from my blade's edge. These three plus those outside the corridor remained. Some corner of my mind still counted the remaining seconds. The police might arrive soon, I thought, or the trial might shift again. Regardless, I had to finish.
Chabashira's eyes lifted, dull with ache. "A-Ayanokoji..." she murmured, voice tight, as though each breath rubbed salt on her broken bone. Her face contorted in regret, not hatred. Perhaps she'd realized she was next.
A sigh rumbled in my chest. I now understand why no one passes the trial by the Crimson Sage, I thought. Replaying the slaughter of illusions dressed as classmates and teachers required a measure of detachment few cultivators, real or not, could muster.
She tried to speak further, but it emerged as a whimper. I stepped forward and ended her with a precise stab to the heart. Swift. Painless. She managed one last exhalation—"A...yan...o..."—and collapsed in an unceremonious heap, blood seeping onto the stained floor. Chairman Sakayanagi let out a ragged cry, near hyperventilating, clutching at his chest. Nagumo, equally pale, tried to coax the older man to his feet so they could flee, but their terror rendered them nearly immobile.
I pivoted my gaze from them to the hallway. Amasawa stood there, eyes glinting with an unreadable mix of reverence and fascination. Ichinose lay half-collapsed behind her, faint or close to it, tears slipping down her cheeks. Sakayanagi lingered at the edge, arms crossed, wearing a faint expression of pity or resignation. Perhaps if I struck them next, the illusions would conclude.
But it never got that far. My vision abruptly dimmed. The entire scene darkened like a flicked-off lamp. In an instant, the illusion snapped away, replaced by the familiar sight of the subterranean cavern.
(WARNING - END)
Standing near the half-buried stone idol, the Crimson Sage was half-manifested, his scarlet hair drifting around his scar-laden face. A thunderous laugh tore from his chest, echoing violently off the cave walls. "Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!" The sound was gleeful, unhinged, brimming with savage delight. The echoes cascading until eventually his mirth settled to a coarse chuckle.
He locked his gaze on me with an evil grin, eyes glittering under the dim glow. "While I didn't personally see your actions, my Dao told me every detail," he said, voice low and crackling with energy. "And now... your aura has changed." A twisted glee underpinned his tone. "You still wear the same outward expression, but I can sense the difference. An intangible heaviness, or darkness, that only blooms when one truly treads the line between man and monster. You've proven yourself compatible with my Dao," he rumbled, voice resonating like thunder within the tight confines of the cave.
He tilted his head, as if appraising me anew. "To think you endured that entire slaughter without crumbling." His scar twisted into a sneer. "Fascinating, mortal. Many have attempted this trial and only a few passed. Yet here you stand, not a tremor in your hands."
"You have passed." He raised a scarred arm, gesturing to the idol half-buried in the rubble. "Go on. Touch the idol and receive my inheritance."
I studied the Crimson Sage for a moment longer. The trial was done, or so he claimed, and only one step remained.
With purposeful steps, I approached the stone idol, noting how the same malevolent aura I'd felt earlier now seemed to pulse in time with my heartbeat. I extended my hand, letting my fingertips press against the idol's rough, cold surface. A jolt rippled up my arm—like an electric surge, but softer, deeper.
Immediately, a weird feeling blossomed in my core. The idol's form blurred, melting in my vision until it turned semi-translucent. Then, as though it were liquid, the idol flowed into me, sinking past my flesh and bone, navigating its way to my dantian. My chest seized for an instant, and I gasped. When it settled, I felt an odd intimate connection—like gaining a new limb I'd never had before.
I pulled my hand back, eyes wide, then glanced at my abdomen, not physically seeing any change but feeling a distinct weight. If I focused, I sensed the shape of the idol resting somewhere deep within. And with a single thought, I felt I could call it forth again.
Noticing my confusion, the Crimson Sage let out a short, sharp laugh. "That is your soul link with the idol," he explained, crossing his arms over his scarred chest. "It's no longer just a chunk of stone. It's bound to you—part of your dantian. If you infuse Qi into it, the idol will impart knowledge and techniques corresponding to your cultivation realm."
He paused, eyes still dancing with malicious amusement. "But don't expect too much just yet. You're only at Qi Condensation. That level only grants you the basic set of arts—enough to stand above common rabble, but nowhere near the apex. Each time you ascend a realm, you'll be able to feed more advanced Qi into the idol, unlocking further secrets."
I exhaled slowly, pressing my palm lightly against my navel, half-expecting to feel the idol's weight there physically. "So every breakthrough amplifies what I can learn," I said quietly, absorbing the revelation.
The Crimson Sage's scar twisted with a half-smirk, half-sneer. "Precisely. My Dao is woven into that idol—my techniques, my path of slaughter, my mastery of sacrifice. You've now inherited it in its seed form. If you fail to progress or squander your potential, well, the idol's higher arts will remain locked away forever." He leaned forward, his voice dripping with challenge. "But if you do keep pushing your cultivation, you might someday wield everything I once did...and more."
I nodded, still feeling the lingering buzz in my dantian, like a newly lit ember. "I see."
The Crimson Sage lifted a hand to his chest as though to steady himself, scarlet hair drifting in spectral currents around him. His menacing grin remained fixed, but the brightness in his eyes flickered, like a candle nearing its end. A faint ripple of energy passed through him, hinting that this manifestation was about to fade.
"Well," he intoned, "now that the stone idol is bound to you, my spirit form will soon dissipate. This inheritance is, however, not complete." His voice dropped in a way that felt oddly personal. "For the higher techniques—beyond what you can currently glimpse—you'll need to collect more idols."
I arched a brow, realization sparking in my gaze. "More idols?" I repeated quietly.
The Crimson Sage chuckled, that mad, half-feral mirth reemerging. "Yes," he confirmed. "You see, my past self scattered multiple stone idols across various corners of the world. Each houses a shard of my Dao and legacy. You now have one... there are more." His grin showed teeth, unhinged. "If you wander near such an idol, you will sense it, because part of my essence already resides in your dantian. And so the hunt begins."
His laughter grew louder, bouncing off the dank cave walls. "But beware—others could be owners of idols too. Some may have succeeded in their trials, or inherited remnants of my Dao through different methods. And the final inheritance can only belong to one cultivator. Only one can piece together my complete Dao. Meaning, those who own the idol fragments are competitors." A dangerous shimmer lit his eyes. "Once you sense another cultivator with an idol, you can guess what must happen. If you want to claim everything, you'll have to fight for it."
The implications were grim: the trial extended beyond this cave, into the outside world, forcing conflict with others who bore the Crimson Sage's idols. "I see," I finally replied.
"Excellent." He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. "Of course, you can choose to do nothing—remain content with one shard. But be aware that others can sense the idol within you and you know what that means, hahahahahaha!" He gestured dismissively with a hand. "Now, mortal, my time here wanes. The idol is yours, and my spirit will soon meld back into oblivion."
Even as he spoke, his form began to flicker, patches of translucence bleeding across his limbs. At that, the cavern rumbled softly, and to my right, a gap appeared in the solid stone—a neat, rectangular outline forming a sort of door. Its edges glowed faintly with red-black Qi, like the afterimage of the Crimson Sage's aura. It slid open with a gravelly groan, revealing a narrow passage leading deeper underground.
The Crimson Sage's voice echoed one final time as his figure shimmered and broke apart. "Behind that door is my last gift," he said, "or rather this cave's final reward. Take it and then step into a world that hungers for war and power. Survive... and piece together my entire inheritance!" A final cackle reverberated before his spirit scattered, dissolving into wisps of red light, which faded away after a few moments.
For a moment, I stood alone in the cavern, breathing unsteadily. The walls no longer hummed with his presence—only the faint pressure of Qi lingered. My eyes flicked to the door, still open, red light spilling out from the corridor beyond.
I inhaled, steeling myself. It seemed the trial continued, but differently. And somewhere beyond this cave, across unknown corners of this world, others like me carried idols, each piece of the Sage's fearsome legacy.
"So be it," I murmured, glancing at the dim silhouette of my own hand against the gloom. Finally, I stepped toward the newly revealed passage, bracing myself for whatever the last gift of this cavern might be, ready to continue down the path of the Crimson Sage's inheritance.
I need to get stronger to continue to survive, especially with this marking now that I have.