The first thing Azrael's eyes landed on was a man lying on the ground. His skull looked crushed, like it had been hit by a cannonball.
'It's a miracle he is even alive,' Azrael thought. He was sure that should a mortal human receive this kind of injury they would be as good as dead. The mere fact that he was still alive even if he was in a critical condition was a testament to how useful the System really was.
Silence fell over the cafeteria, not the chaos Azrael had expected. He had been sure that sooner or later the privileged Chosen would have started mocking or harassing those they deemed weaker.
That kind of behavior, he thought, would lead to chaos and a massive free-for-all.
To his surprise, he was wrong. Completely wrong.
"A beast," he muttered in awe, eyes fixed on the one that had no doubt attacked.
He had seen this Chosen when the introduction had taken place, but hadn't paid him much mind. Not because he wasn't impressed but because he deduced that he had been looking at security or some of the instructors.
However, what he was looking at right now was a Chosen. One seemingly near his own age, which only made things more bizarre.
Two and a half meters tall (~8 feet), dwarfing everyone in sight, with ease, two massive arms thicker than an average man's waist. Broad shoulders that screamed primal power. Long brown hair and light beard on the man's sharp jawline.
Azrael himself was on the taller side, which made him stand out among the average fifteen-year-olds. He also had a fairly impressive build for his age. Yet, despite all that, he found himself genuinely impressed by the man he was looking at.
Standing on his feet, the massive behemoth towered over a group of privileged Chosen, they didn't wear their expressive attire, being forced to wear the standard military uniform, but the jewelry gave away their elite status. No doubt they'd tried to prove a point by challenging the rugged Chosen, only for one of them to be sent flying by a single blow from the giant.
Azrael idly activated [Inspect], just to be sure of what he was seeing.
Name: [Victor Watson]
Race: [Human]
Ascension Level: [Marked]
Purity Rank: [Chosen]
'He really is just like us... Maybe his Inborn Trait lets him grow at an absurd rate?' Azrael's curiosity sharpened. He watched closely.
"Are you mad?!" one of the Chosen spat, "you dare attack one of us?"
Victor gazed at him coldly, parting his lips as he spoke, making the air in the room grow colder.
"He insulted father. He's lucky I held back."
The lead Chosen, probably the group's leader, turned red with rage. "You! Do you even know which clan I'm from?! You're going to pa—"
"I don't give a shit," Victor simply stated, shutting up the privileged brat for good. Losing interest in the arrogant fools that had dared challenge him, he sat back on his chair and continued to eat the mountain of food that was on his plate.
A slow smirk crept onto Azrael's face.
'He doesn't care about status. He has raw power and a build that screams tank.'
His eyes scanned the empty seats around Victor. 'And he's alone… probably an outsider because of his imposing presence.'
He analyzed the situation, an idea forming.
'Earlier than expected, but I think I've found someone worth getting to know. Still… just to be sure, I'll wait for tomorrow's practical tests to see if he can actually fight.'
Casting a glance at the healers tending to the nearly-dead Chosen, Azrael made his way to his assigned room, ready for a long night's rest.
"Almost forgot I need to choose which lesson to participate in," he muttered, activating the device on his wrist.
It didn't take long. He was presented with a test containing questions about his personality. After he completed it, a list of courses best suited for him appeared, already marked with stars — a handy system for newcomers unsure of where to start. Once he selected his choices, he went to sleep.
*****
Sleeping on the soft mattress felt like a dream come true. In his entire life, Azrael had never felt so rested. After a quick bath and dressing himself in the military uniform, he headed out for breakfast before the first mandatory lesson began.
Thankfully, nothing unusual happened this time, except for a few uneasy glances thrown Victor's way.
Once fed, Azrael followed the instructions on his wrist device and found himself in front of another building, surrounded by the other Chosen. They were gathered before their new instructor — a woman with long purple hair and tired eyes.
"Good morning, brats," she said, unfazed and direct. "My name is Iris, and I'm the one who'll throw you into the monster's maw this morning."
Clearly not caring about formality, she flicked her finger, gesturing for them to follow.
'Doesn't waste time on useless protocols. I like that,' Azrael mused, following the others.
As the sound of thousands of footsteps echoed through the hallways, Iris continued, clearly noting the worry on their faces.
"Some of you are probably wondering why the first mandatory lesson is a practical one, where you're immediately thrown into battle against monsters."
She took a glance at the crowd, some looked scared, others confused or indifferent, before continuing.
"It's because we want to see how you perform in panic. Don't worry, you'll only be facing monsters of the Feral Level. You won't die… well, most of you won't." She scoffed coldly.
"But aren't you going to guarantee our safety?" one of the young Chosen asked.
Iris stared at him for a few seconds, chuckled, and ignored the question completely.
"You might be wondering how we bring the monsters to you. Well, it's the opposite. We're going to them, specifically, to one of the Rifts we've contained underground."
Azrael perked up at the mention of containment. 'So they built the underground facility first, then forced a Rift to appear? Is that even possible?'
Curious, he asked aloud, "Did you force the Rift to appear inside the containment zone?"
A faint smile appeared on Iris's lips. "Yes, we did. You'll learn more about this later. But to satisfy your curiosity, if enough Chosen die in one place, the Divine energy their bodies release will eventually cause a Rift to open there."
A flicker of understanding crossed Azrael's face.
'So in other words… they've sacrificed countless Chosen in one spot just to make the Rift appear,' he concluded.
It was all starting to make sense. The Moon Breakers likely rivaled the Elite school, not because of their resources, but because of the extreme methods they used to push their students to the limit. Most would break… but the few who didn't would be polished into diamonds.
Azrael released a long sigh. 'Thank goodness for the old man… It seems his heartless training sessions might have actually prepared me for what's coming next.'
Walking through the long halls, Azrael slowly began to feel a crawling sensation beneath his skin. His breath hitched. His eyes sharpened, his muscles tensed.
'So this is what it feels like to be near a Rift,' he noted, memorizing the sensation.
Eventually, the group of Chosen stopped before a display of weapons lined up across the wall.
"Take your pick," Iris said with detached indifference. "Once you do, you'll all enter the contained room where a Rift of Feral Danger Level is located. The Rift itself is sealed behind a barrier—so no, suicidal maniacs, you can't jump into it. But the surrounding area is crawling with monsters. If you want to get out… all of them need to be killed. Don't expect help."
'Makes sense,' Azrael thought. 'Even if most of us are here because of recommendations or status, the school clearly doesn't want to waste resources on useless fools. They're testing whether we're even worth training.'
Of course, the document he had signed beforehand had mentioned that death was a very real possibility, but he didn't mind the risk, especially considering the promise of immense power.
Now it all made sense, why Seyra's parting words were, "Don't embarrass me at the ceremony." She was counting on him to achieve something extraordinary.
Unlike many of the other Chosen, he didn't need to think about his weapon choice.
His dark eyes locked on the superior weapon in the lineup, towering over the rest in presence and power.
"A scythe," he murmured, running a hand over its polished black metal. "And in perfect condition. Not like the cheap junk I've been using until now."
He took it, feeling the full weight in his hands. It was light, it felt right, it was perfect.
His whole body seemed to respond to the weapon, like it had been waiting for it all along.
'Is this feeling because I'm Death's Heir?' he wondered, eyes narrowing in realization.
It all clicked together. Why he had fallen in love with the weapon type the moment he first touched one years ago. Why was he able to use it so naturally, as if the weapon had always belonged to him.
But of course, the moment couldn't last.
A sneer cut through the air.
"Really? A scythe?" someone mocked, loud enough for all to hear. "The most useless and inefficient weapon of all time?"
Azrael's gaze slid toward the source of the voice.
The one who dared mock him looked like a storybook hero, the kind found in romanticized fairy tales. Blonde hair, green eyes and clear face. A posture that screamed entitlement. Azrael immediately recognized him as the same arrogant fool who had shouted at Victor yesterday.
A few tense seconds passed as Azrael simply stared at him, silent and unreadable.
Then… a slow, menacing smile crept across his face.