Saint Academy

A brief silence swept over Saint Academy as the results of the second round spread through every corridor, courtyard, and common room. Five teams remained: each bearing the scars of trials and the tension of knowing that the next challenge could be their last.

For Team 11—Damien, Zeke, and Amara—their third-place finish was both shocking and emboldening. No one expected them to last this long. They'd become the dark horse of the tournament.

But as the final teams regrouped in the circular training plaza, a new announcement boomed across the sky from levitating speakers:

"Attention, remaining teams. You have 24 hours to recover and strategize. Round Three—The Ember Race—commences tomorrow. Prepare yourselves."

Void Whispers

That night, Damien sat beneath the towering Saint Statue at the heart of campus. Moonlight shimmered off its blade—cast in honor of Saint Jonathan Davis himself.

His eyes were hollow, fixed on nothing.

Darkness tugged at him again.

He wasn't asleep, yet he wasn't awake. It was a strange twilight of the mind where shadows felt sentient.

"You are the fracture in the light… the shadow that sings beneath the surface…"

The voice echoed from within him.

Damien flinched, gripping his chest where the faint trace of void-colored energy had surged back in Round Two.

"I'm not losing myself," he whispered. "I'll control it."

From a distance, Amara watched him.

She said nothing.

Just observed.

The Ember Race — Announcement

Morning came with no mercy. The sky was a bloody orange, casting sharp shadows across the tournament coliseum—an arena the size of five football fields, ringed by floating drones and Divinity-charged cannons ready to suppress any lethal accidents.

"Welcome to Round Three," Instructor Rayne's voice echoed through all academy terminals. "The Ember Race will test speed, tactics, alliance management… and brutal offense. Five teams. Four flags. One team gets eliminated."

"Your objective: Secure a flag and hold it for fifteen minutes or be the last team standing."

"The battlefield is alive. Divinity-enhanced traps, shifting terrain, and arena mutations will occur every five minutes. Good luck."

Cameras rotated in real time. The entire academy was watching.

Opening Skirmish

As the countdown dropped, each team was teleported to a different sector of the Ember Arena.

Team 11 landed atop a rocky slope partially buried in black sand. Before they could even get their bearings, a plasma net fired from a trap, nearly slicing Zeke's arm. He grunted and rolled aside.

"I guess the 'race' part is literal," Damien said, wiping dust from his brow.

"We head for a flag," Amara snapped. "Southwest. 400 meters. Elevation gives us line of sight."

Zeke smirked. "Let's hunt."

They moved fast.

At Flag Point C, Team 12—led by Theo Shaw—was already laying siege to a barricade of vines manned by Team 7. The air lit up with blasts of golden, violet, and pink Divinity. Theo's Uriel-rank energy surged like a blade, carving clean lines through obstacles.

"Cowards," Theo growled, as Team 7 fell back, trying to reposition.

Team 1 and Team 2 clashed in a swamp sector lined with electrified trees. Valyn Crowe's cybernetic implants allowed him to hijack surveillance drones and rain fire from above. Ronan Varell led Team 1 with cold, military precision, countering every move with precision grenades and seismic blasts.

It was war.

Team 11's Push

Damien's team reached an abandoned tower—Flag D—unclaimed.

"Trap's likely," Amara said. "Sweep for glyphs."

Damien nodded. "On it."

He ran his hand along the ground. As expected, pressure runes buzzed beneath the surface.

"Here." He jammed a stone into the crevice, triggering a spike trap early.

With traps disabled, Zeke burst through the tower doors like a battering ram.

The flag shimmered—glowing with encoded Divinity.

"We hold this," Amara said. "I'll scan incoming vectors."

They didn't wait long.

Team 7—still wounded from their skirmish with Theo—blitzed the tower.

"They're trying to steal our easy win!" Zeke roared.

He met their frontliner in a brutal mid-air clash, fists glowing, divinity compressed.

Amara dropped a light shield grid on the stairs, forcing the second attacker to fall back.

Damien fought smart—using debris and trap resets to redirect attacks.

The battle was gritty.

Zeke grabbed the enemy leader by the collar and slammed him into a support beam. "Wrong tower."

Within minutes, Team 7 was forced out—limping, dazed, and disorganized.

Drones whirred overhead.

"Team 11: Flag secured. Timer initiated."

Arena Mutation

The fifteen-minute countdown began.

Then… chaos.

The ground beneath Team 2 cracked—lava simulations erupted, forcing them into direct combat with Team 1.

At Flag B, Team 12 was still locked in constant skirmishes with mutated AI beasts released to punish camping.

Theo, frustrated, lashed out at his own teammate who panicked during an ambush.

"Useless!" he yelled, throwing him to the ground.

Back at Team 11's tower, the floor started collapsing every three minutes—shifting the stairs, disabling shield turrets.

"We'll have to defend this in pieces," Amara said.

Zeke grinned. "Good. Let them climb."

The final five minutes were hell.

Team 7 tried one last desperate push.

But they were uncoordinated. One member got separated and trapped in their own illusion trap. Another triggered an aerial strike from above.

Zeke broke through their line and tackled their second attacker out the side window. Damien held his own against the final assailant using sheer grit.

It was over.

"Time reached. Team 11 retains control of Flag D."

"Team 7: Eliminated."

Aftermath

Breathing heavily, the trio stood around their flag as drones hovered, broadcasting their battered but victorious image to the academy.

"And there you have it!" the announcer boomed. "The Ember Race concludes with Team 11 securing Flag D, earning one of the four advancement spots. Team 7 is hereby disqualified."

"Remaining Teams: Team 1. Team 2. Team 11. Team 12. One final round awaits."

As they were teleported back to the rest zone, Damien glanced at the crowd above.

Some jeered.

Some looked stunned.

Amara adjusted her cracked glasses and nodded. "They'll take us seriously now."

Zeke rolled his shoulders. "Good. Let them bring hell."

Damien, tired and sore, couldn't shake the feeling crawling up his spine.

A whisper.

A pulse.

The void… waiting.

To Be Continued...