With eight minutes remaining in the Tryout, eighty-one Newbies had been eliminated from the Battle Royale and were now collected in the city square, waiting for the exit portal to open to bring them back to HQ.

Just as Commissioner Aryl had foreseen, the students who fought by themselves were the first and quickest to be eliminated. These individuals were easy targets for ambushes, betrayal, and traps set by the other, more resourceful students. Even the strongest magic user could still lose a fight in which they were vastly outnumbered or maneuvered. 

This is where loyal friendships came in handy. The students who banded together to create makeshift teams and squads made up a majority of those remaining in the fight. Friends, siblings, and lovers devised strategies to utilize their magics to heighten each other's potentials. 

With less than half of the original number of participants remaining, the potential to secure points was dwindling by the second. The streets had become more scarce, decreasing the chances of finding someone to fight. Despite this dilemma, many continued their struggle through the depths of Spiritfield in search of opponents.

Riarshi was not one of these people.

Sitting at -487, he still had not met the failing threshold of -500. But enough was enough. He had the ability and sense to call a spade a spade. 

Riarshi limped toward the city center, one bum foot dragging on the ground. Along with the sharp discomfort that stabbed his chest with each breath, the cruel and crushing pain of defeat lingered within his nauseous gut. 

With only seven minutes left in the Tryout, and his legs barely able to support his own weight, all hope of passing had drained from his body. His confidence had plummeted into the lurky depths of despair. It was impossible for him to make it to the top thirty now.

He had given up.

Pain rattled his body, and after a slow and grueling five-minute walk, Riarshi arrived at the grassy end of the city center. 

About a hundred other Newbies were scattered around the grounds. Some sat alone, cursing at themselves silently and punching the air, while some humbly talked in small groups. Many had their arms crossed and pouted sourly, the number on their chest reading -500.

A rare few were laughing, joking, and beaming bright smiles, their numbers ranging from 220 to 356. With only three minutes left till the buzzer rang - signalling the end of the Tryout - these students were evidently so confident in their scores they did not feel the need to continue fighting.

Riarshi let out a heavy breath, wincing upon its completion. With a cough, he dropped his head, guarded his throbbing ribs with his hand, and continued limping toward the stage set at the center of the square. 

On this stage sat Oran, who was sipping on some type of drink (could've been anything) and reading a newspaper with his legs crossed. He seemed as relaxed as one could possibly be while leaning back in his chair. Not a single ounce of tension plagued his features.

It must be easy not having a care in the world - to have succeeded once, never needing to worry again. Riarshi's mind floated in a black pool of despair, filled to the brim with jealousy, disgust, and resentment.

The timer in the sky continued to count down, and with each agonizing step Riarshi took, the ticking of the clock grew louder in his ears.

2 minutes left.

He couldn't do it. He failed to dive into his powers, despite declaring to Khohn he would. He made a promise to his parents that he would become a Hero - that he would beat the darkness which clouded his mind with a thick black fog.

Disappointment became disbelief.

Why couldn't he use his power? It was his own, and he should have been able to control it. Was he too weak? Did he do something wrong?

1 minute left.

He knew the answer; it was obvious the whole time. He was afraid - still scared of himself and what he could become if he dove into that never-ending darkness. His body and heart couldn't face it... he was a coward.

30 seconds left.

He was about to fail. He'd be kicked out of the program and was unaware if they would ever allow him back in. Maybe he'd have to wait till the next fall to re-apply. But then he'd lose Hara and Tabito. They'd be too busy with their internships, fighting demons and criminals and becoming the Heroes they deserved to be. They were high magic users - this was their destiny. They'd never see him again, nor would they want to after all this.

10 seconds.

Why couldn't anything in his life go right? How come the other students in the square could laugh and joke, knowing they advanced to the next step, all while he drowned alone in his own cold and suffocating despair. He wanted a miracle. He just wanted one handed to him at this point. Would that be too much to ask for?

3 seconds

Please... He needed someone. He needed a hero.

BEEP!

0 seconds

The timer sounded throughout the city. The Tryout had ended.

An echo of cheers and hollers boomed around the square, rattling ghostly stalls and stands. Some Newbies shot their fists into the air. Others, with obvious distain, clapped to pay respect for those who probably passed.

Riarshi did neither. He remained silent and motionless at his edge of the square. His misty eyes swept the crowd of happy magic users, the red numbers on their chests shining bright enough to light a night sky. 

For all his prayers, the score on his armor did not change. Instead of glowing sharp figures like the others, it was dreadfully dim, and read: -487.

He had lost. The Tryout was over. And he failed.

Awareness of the situation overcame him. His legs surrendered their remaining strength, and he dropped heavily to his knees. Gravity took over and his broad shoulders slumped. The pain in his chest now pierced him with a chilling cold. His stomach ached, his arm throbbed, but more than anything else, his heart felt as though it had burst inside of his rib cage - bleeding down to his feet. His eyes swelled and a large lump formed in his throat, preventing him from speaking the words that raced through his mind.

I give up.

Now that the timer had sounded throughout the city, and the fighting stopped, more students started pouring into the city center from the openings at each corner. Everyone was awaiting an announcement from the MC - Chester. 

Groups of friends found each other among the commotion and began chatting. The tone was rather somber with some parties, and joyful with others. A few couples shared a quick peck before interlacing fingers and looking up at the cloudy sky.

Riarshi knelt in the grass alone. Tabito wasn't in the square, and Riarshi didn't want to think about Hara at the moment. Both had surely passed. They were high magic users who had the internship almost guaranteed the second they stepped foot in the replica city. It was impossible for them to fail, fate practically created them for greatness.

They wouldn't come over to support him, either. Why would they want to be seen with someone who had such an abysmal score on display? They'd be embarrassed, ashamed, and disgusted to even consider him a friend.

Four participants talking within their group strolled by Riarshi, who still knelt in a small grass patch. Passing by, they each glanced down at his chest, widened their eyes, and stifled an abrupt laugh. Controlling themselves, neither said a work to the teen. They simply continued on and resumed their talks, with a few stolen glances here and there. 

Riarshi felt his body shrink and deflate into the grass. His heart was heavy, and his mind swirled within his skull. Once again, he looked like a foolish idiot that dove way in over his head. 

On stage, Oran planced a hand up to ear as though he was listeneing to something. He nodded several times, said something too quiet for anyone else to hear, then folded his newspaper neatly into fourths and placed it to the side. A stiff grunt accompanied his bend to put his drink down on the stage and when he stood from his chair. Licking his lips, he opened his mouth wide.

"Congratulations on a job well done, everyone!" Chester's voice rang from Oran's mouth like a megaphone. "This year's Internship Tryout is now complete!" The crowd responded to the announcement with a loud cheer before he continued. "For those of you who failed this Tryout, don't let this get your hopes down. For those of you who put up amazing scores, be proud of yourselves and how much you've grown throughout the first semester. Before anything else, let's get you all back to the HQ and healed up! Then we will discuss what is next."

Chester's voice faded from Oran's voice. There was a moment of pause, but no spinning portal formed anywhere in the city square.  

Several few seconds of awkward silence and unease eventually became minutes. Oran studied the sky with a puzzled look on his face. He turned from the crowd of students and whispered something into his hand. He nodded, twisted to face the crowd again, and opened his mouth.

Chester's voice rang out again, but this time with a different tone, though still masked by lightheartedness. "Uhm... sorry about this, everyone! I'm having a hard time casting a portal spell over there. Wait... no. Uh, gimme a minute to figure this glitch out, guys and gals."

Another silent pause of uncertainty brought with it many shared looks, but the hundred fifty students resumed their conversations nevertheless. There was not much they could do besides patiently wait for the POH to sort out the glitch.

I don't even want them to bring us back, Riarshi thought. I never want to go back.

A flash of purple lightning struck in the sky, sending a clap of thunder echoing throughout the entire city and earning a flinch from most of the students.

The crowd of students tilted their heads to survey the rapidly darkening sky. Pitch black clouds flooded over the skyscraper rooftops, casting a vast shadow over the buildings and sending a coating of darkness between every side street and alley.

Weather could change in a replica spell?

No one truly knew the answer to this question. One could speculate, but they'd probably be wrong. None of the students had intel magic strong enough to create a complete replica of an entire city, let alone a city as big as Spiritfield. None could explain this phenomina by either reason or experience. Unknown to the students, the simple answer to this question was - no... it couldn't.

A portal finally opened.

Lightning stuck again. This was not a portal any of the students were familiar with. Instead of the swirling aqua circle that Chester opened sixty minutes earlier, this portal spiraled in a dark, ominous purple. Small streaks of lightning crackled along the edges as black smoke poured from its center.

Two legs emerged, both donned in tall black boots that rose to a pair of blue jeans. Shining metal chains hung from the deep pockets of the pants.

It was difficult to make out what exactly was approaching them due to thick clouds shielding the sun. Many squinted their eyes to focus, but the blur was too severe. As the figure slowly descended from the sky, the lights from the square and its shops began to illuminate the figure with a variety of colors, starting at its feet and working up.

It was a man.

His bald head and countless face piercings reflected the purple light from the portal above. He continued to float down like a feather. 

Once his feet were just inches away from the stage, he hovered for a moment then finally dropped. His sturdy boots clanked upon its surface. The chains hanging from his belt and pockets chimed as they swooshed like a pendulum from the momentum of the landing. His eyes were closed and his face relaxed, like he was sleeping.

At first instinct, Oran stepped backward, his face stricken with surprise from this man's sudden entrance. With a unified gasp of alarm, it seemed everyone also realized this appearance wasn't planned.

Two fat wrinkles lay between Oran's brows as he rapidly tapped the side of his ear, signaling something to someone at the HQ.

His eyebrows shot up. Oran twisted his neck to address the cluster of stunned teens, his face now ghostly white.

"Kids, get back!" Chester's voice commanded from the man's vocal chords. His tone had never been this serious before. "This isn't part of the Tryout!"

Oran faced the bald intruder standing on stage and widened his stance. The man's eyes were still shut tight, and he hadn't moved an inch since his landing. Was this man really sleeping?

"Hey, you!" Chester's voice rang out from Oran as the bronze Hero pointed. "Who the hell are you? How did you even get in here?"

The bald man didn't reply. He remained where he was, not even flinching at the shouting voice.

Sweat seeped unhealthily from Oran's forehead and ran along his colorless cheeks. "Sir, listen to me, this is an official POH area! If you don't leave now, we-"

Oran never finished his sentence. He broke off abruptly when the mystery man on stage raised his hand toward him.

There was no time to react.

A beam of purple magic sliced through Oran's abdomen. Crimson-red blood spilled from his mouth, down his perfectly clean uniform, and onto the carpeted stage.

Everything went silent.

The bald man lowered his hand and opened his eyes. An evil blood-red shined through the city square, glaring over the frozen students and sending a cold wave of dread down their throats. His long, pierced face stretched with a sickening amusement that crinkled the corner of his eyelids.

It all happened in what seemed like slow motion. Oran's eyes widened in a combination of shock and disbelief. He grabbed for the gaping hole in his chest. His arms and legs went limp, staggered, and he fell sideways toward the edge of the stage.

A faint voice gurgled from Oran's throat - but it was not Chester's - it was his own. "K-Kids... run..." he mumbled before his body tipped off the stage and collapsed onto the grass below.

A dead silence hung over the city for a long moment. Its thickness was suffocating, clenching the throats of every student within the square. Their lungs seized in their chest, leaving them unable to speak or breathe. Everyone in the square stared at Oran, who lay motionless on the ground. His skin had quickly drained of color and his eyes were blank, staring aimlessly into the darkened sky.

"Time to get to work," the red-eyed man hissed with a twisted grin.

His right hand enveloped in a bright purple glow, shining along the side of his twisted face. His eyes flashed brighter than before.

"No... Time to kill."