CLEAVER OF SIN

As Asher was busy taking his solitary tour, the rest of the candidates were embroiled in a relentless struggle, fighting with everything they had within their arsenal. Explosions ruptured across the forest in a violent, concurrent cacophony, as though the land itself were a vast drum and every strike upon it summoned another wave of chaos. Each blast came in steady succession, one after another, like an orchestra of destruction conducted by desperation itself.

Various weapons clashed continuously, echoing like a hymn in the grand cathedral of battle. Metal rang against metal, the sound layered with cries of fury and terror, until it seemed as though the very forest was alive with a dreadful choir.

Elemental abilities flared into existence, blazing in sudden, violent flashes, fire bursting outward like suns tearing open the earth, water crashing down in tidal surges, wind slicing in keen crescents, and lightning cracking like divine judgment.

People tore forward as the clock ticked away.

For those below the top two hundred, each second was a desperate gamble; they fought with the frantic determination of the condemned, struggling to scrape together enough points to claw their way into the ranks of acceptance.

The Star Academy would admit only two hundred, and no one wished to languish among the forgotten.

As for those already within the safety of the top two hundred, the tension was no less consuming. Some pressed forward with cold ambition, striving to climb higher in ranking, while others chose to hold their ground, desperate to preserve their current standings. To fall below the threshold now, with the exam nearing its end, was to taste bitter ruin.

The forest became a theater of abilities unrestrained. Blood manipulation writhed through the air in crimson tendrils, sound manipulation turned silence into shattering waves, senses were distorted by illusions that preyed upon fear, and monstrous beings were called forth by summoning.

Every imaginable manifestation of Astra pulsed through the veins of the candidates, each ability brought forth in its rawest form, the forest itself becoming a crucible of power.

The ground trembled ceaselessly as though it might collapse beneath the weight of unleashed energy. Earthquakes resounded from all directions, conjured by the clashing of powers far beyond what the land could bear.

Blood of every hue spilled across the soil, some belonging to Emovirae, beasts twisted into grotesque forms, others to criminals who had dared to enter this trial. Pools of ichor glistened beneath the shattered trees, while the grasses, drenched in scarlet, bore silent witness to the carnage.

Crimson stains from criminals splattered against bark and stone alike. These so-called candidates, children in years but hardened in resolve, slaughtered members of their own kind without hesitation. Screams erupted across the forest, criminals who once carried arrogance in their eyes now reduced to prey, fleeing with terror etched into their voices.

Even among candidates, civility had been abandoned. Those who encountered one another spared no words, no greetings, no prelude to battle. The moment two eyes met, battle intent flared, and bodies surged forward. Each duel began with no restraint, opponents unleashing their full power from the very first strike, for hesitation was tantamount to point loss.

Friends? Best friends? Comrades bound by shared struggle?

Such ideals were laughable here.

They did not exist in this place, not when survival and ambition were weighed on the same scale. Companions who had walked together for years now turned blades upon each other. Bonds of friendship, whether fresh or decades-old, were torn apart without remorse.

All for a chance to step into the Star Academy, all for the promise of a future of prestige, survival, or ascension to the very peak of the world. Even those who could not reach such heights sought merely to cling to others who might.

The exam had transformed into a maelstrom, an unholy trinity of chaos, death, and bloodshed, wreathed in flame and smoke.

Corpses sprawled across the forest floor in grotesque tableau. Birds abandoned their nests, wings beating frantically as they fled the cursed woods. Fishes within lakes and rivers darted away with desperate speed, disturbed even in the depths by the shockwaves of distant battles. Nature itself recoiled, as though unwilling to bear witness to the savagery of humankind.

And yet, not all candidates succumbed to reckless violence. Some proved cunning, their eyes shifting constantly to the dwindling timer.

They gambled differently, choosing concealment instead of confrontation. Better to hide in silence than risk losing half of their accumulated points to another's blade in the final moments.

Others took caution further, surrendering by choice. Sacrificing twenty percent of their points instantly, they forfeited the risk of losing fifty in defeat. To them, it was cold arithmetic: lose a fraction now to secure a place among the two hundred, rather than gamble half of everything and be cast into obscurity.

Each student deployed their own strategies, their own desperate measures to preserve what they had gained, each hoping not to fall beneath the ever-looming boundary.

But the forest was not merciful. Candidates who stumbled upon Emovirae they could not withstand had no choice but to flee, hurling themselves across the ground with Astra-fueled speed, every footstep a frantic thunderclap against the trembling earth.

Some did not flee from Emovirae alone; they ran also from humans, from familiar names and faces whose power eclipsed their own, understanding that to linger meant certain defeat.

It was a free-for-all, a battlefield stripped of morality, where cunning, brutality, and desperation reigned.

Some candidates, already stripped of fifty percent of their points in earlier missteps, found themselves broken further, losing another twenty percent, and with it nearly all hope, their losses a grim seventy percent in total.

Others displayed quick-witted ingenuity. When pressed into battles they could not win, they surrendered mid-fight, allowing the instructors watching from afar to intervene and preserve thirty percent of their score. To lose twenty was painful, but to save thirty was salvation, compared to the despair of losing half.

The Academy had permitted such tactics. It was a test not only of strength but also of wit, and those who knew how to bend the rules without breaking them often fared better than the reckless.

Those who lost their prey, whether Emovirae, criminal, or candidate, could only click their tongues in bitter frustration. They turned away with darkened expressions, searching for another target to strike down.

And while the masses struggled in desperation, the top ten carved their own storm.

For them, every cave, every nest, every pit, and every cavern was a battlefield. They swept through with unmatched ferocity, tearing down every obstacle in their path. These were not merely battles for survival or admittance; these were struggles for supremacy, for recognition, for dominion over their peers.

The ferocity of their clashes was savage beyond description. Each blow carried the force of titans, each strike resonating with the hunger of those unwilling to remain second. They battled not for a place within the Academy, that was already secured, but for a higher seat among the chosen elite.

Some of the top ten devised strategies to seek out their rivals directly. Defeating a fellow top ranked candidate promised a monumental gain, fifty percent of their points stolen in one decisive clash. But strangely, fate denied them such encounters. None crossed paths, as though the world itself had conspired to hold them apart until the very end.

Elsewhere, a colossal bone giant lumbered across the land, its form towering almost above the forest canopy. With a single punch or a sweeping motion of its jagged hand, an entire grove of green trees was transformed into a grisly thicket of pale white bone spikes.

Through Ryaen's massacre, she clawed her way back into the top ten, her crimson trail undeniable. But despite her power, she was halted at ninth rank, the eighth position refusing to yield beneath her assault.

And through it all, one name remained untouched, unshaken, and unchallenged.

Asher Wargrave.

His supremacy was absolute. No matter how the others fought, how they bled, or how they clawed, his position upon the number one spot stood inviolate.

While others tore themselves apart in desperation, Asher simply sat upon a mountain peak, gazing across the battlefield. The breeze caressed his skin, cold and refreshing, as though the world itself bowed to his calm. He sat there unmoved, his expression one of quiet detachment, waiting for the final moment.

When at last the timer struck zero, the familiar blinding white light surged across the forest. It swallowed every candidate, tearing them from the carnage and chaos of the battlefield, and in an instant, they were gone, teleported out, their fates sealed for the judgment to come.