MIGHT AS WELL BE OP

In a dimly lit room, the only illumination came from an array of glowing screens, casting eerie reflections across the space.

A group of figures stood in silent vigilance, their gazes fixed intently on the shifting displays.

At the center of it all, one figure sat in quiet authority, while the others positioned themselves behind and beside him in disciplined formation.

Among them, three familiar faces emerged from the ambient glow.

Seated at the helm was Colonel Vazeryth, his expression unreadable as he analyzed the unfolding scene.

Behind him stood Lieutenant Darren and Corporal Daniel, flanked by soldiers of varying ranks, their postures rigid with anticipation.

Their eyes remained fixed on the screens, studying the recruits with unwavering focus.

None of them had prior knowledge of the individuals they observed, forcing them to divide their attention across every display, ensuring nothing went unnoticed.

Yet, despite this collective vigilance, the gazes of Colonel Vazeryth, Lieutenant Darren, and Corporal Daniel instinctively gravitated toward one screen in particular, Anthony's.

Vazeryth, having reviewed Anthony's file, was eager to assess his performance firsthand.

Darren, on the other hand, was unfamiliar with Anthony's background, having never seen the file himself.

However, the presence of the name 'NULL' attached to Anthony's identity stirred his curiosity.

That name was not one to be taken lightly; it signified a connection to 'them'.

And then there was Daniel.

Unlike the others, his attention was drawn to Anthony for a different reason, because Anthony had done the unthinkable.

He had withstood Colonel Vazeryth's presence.

Then, the test began.

The recruits had no time to hesitate, battle was thrust upon them the instant they arrived.

Demons lunged without warning, forcing each recruit into combat before they could even assess their surroundings.

Mana flared to life, surging from their cores like a raging tide.

In response, the chaotic energy of the demons erupted, a sinister counterpart to the recruits' power.

The battlefield ignited.

Across countless skirmishes, the sounds of flesh being torn reverberated through the air, mingling with the clash of steel.

Weapons were raised in defiance.

Sabers, daggers, staves, swords, katanas, spears, halberds, each wielded with extreme resolve.

And then, they fell.

The death counters surged.

Heads rolled, limbs were severed, entrails spilled onto the blood soaked ground.

Chaos lashed out in violent bursts, the air thick with the acrid stench of burning flesh and spilled gore.

The scent of death clung to every breath, yet none hesitated.

None stopped.

None wavered.

Mana roared to life, a symphony of destruction unfurling across the battlefield.

Fire consumed everything in its path, leaving only embers in its wake.

Wind howled like a vengeful specter, slicing through flesh and bone with ruthless precision.

Ice spread its merciless chill, freezing demons where they stood.

Earth trembled and surged, binding foes in place, crushing them under its weight.

Lightning streaked across the battlefield, an untamed tempest of devastation.

Water surged with unrelenting force, drowning all it could claim.

The mages wielded their elements without pause, shaping them into intricate forms as they surged forward.

Explosions tore through the battlefield, each detonation shaking the ground with deafening force.

Shockwaves rippled outward, scattering debris, stirring dust, and sending thick fumes spiraling into the air.

The acrid stench of charred flesh clung to every breath, a grim testament to the carnage unfolding.

Their staves and wands, each imbued with unique enchantments, worked seamlessly in concert with their wielders.

Life after life was extinguished beneath the relentless barrage of spells.

Their Mana Zones pulsed with ethereal energy, optimizing their power, ensuring not a single drop of mana was wasted.

It heightened their senses, allowing them to react instantaneously, detecting demons before they could breach their defenses.

For now, they held the upper hand in this ruthless battle for survival.

The close quarter combatants moved with flawless fluidity, their motions honed to lethal precision.

Blades slashed and cleaved through flesh, each strike executed with relentless efficiency.

Their footwork was swift and calculated, tapping across the battlefield as they shifted positions, refusing to be overwhelmed.

From above, arrows rained down like a relentless storm.

Their auras flared in response to their summons, an untamed force unrestricted by the suppression bracelets.

Unlike mana, aura was not something contained, it was an extension of their very being.

Power surged through their bodies, enveloping both flesh and steel.

Their speed soared.

Their strikes grew fiercer.

Their movements became a blur, too fast for the eye to follow.

They carved through the endless tide of demons, unrelenting, unstoppable.

Never lingering in one place for more than a fleeting second, they remained in constant motion.

To be confined, to be cornered, was a death sentence.

And so, they surged forward, holding the upper hand in the relentless struggle for survival.

But having the upper hand meant nothing.

For every demon that fell, more emerged, an unending tide of monstrosities.

They surged forward without hesitation, trampling over the corpses of their own kind, driven by an insatiable hunger for destruction.

Their numbers were ceaseless, an abyss from which no end could be seen.

Then, the shift began.

Fatigue crept in, gnawing at limbs and dulling reflexes.

Stamina drained away with every passing moment, every exertion becoming heavier than the last.

What had begun as a battle now felt like a race against time, one they were beginning to lose.

Some adapted, abandoning reckless offense for survival.

They dodged, weaved through attacks, and defended with measured precision, conserving what little mana and strength they had left.

But it was futile.

The relentless onslaught left no room for restraint, no moment to breathe.

The waves of incoming attacks crashed down without mercy, shattering any attempt at conservation.

Teeth clenched.

Muscles strained.

They pushed themselves beyond their limits, forcing their bodies to endure.

Time slipped away.

Then came the injuries.

At first, they were minor, cuts, bruises, fleeting stings of pain.

But they mounted.

They stacked.

Every wound slowed them, chipped away at their endurance, dulled their reactions.

Their chests rose and fell in ragged, uneven rhythms.

Their senses stretched to their absolute peak, desperate to track every movement, every shadow.

Blood pumped furiously through their veins, driven by the frantic drum of their racing hearts.

Their lungs burned, muscles screaming for more oxygen, demanding more strength to sustain the relentless battle.

Screams tore from their throats as agony exploded in their minds.

Pain receptors fired relentlessly, flooding their brains with searing signals.

Every wound, every injury, became an unbearable weight.

For some, endurance reached its breaking point.

Without hesitation, they shattered their restriction bracelets, an act of surrender.

In an instant, they vanished, teleported away in a flash of light.

Others clung desperately to survival, turning to whatever tricks they had left.

Some wielded the darkness element, melting into the shadows, erasing their presence from sight.

Others manipulated light, bending rays around their bodies, becoming nearly invisible to the naked eye.

Under normal circumstances, these demons would have been nothing, mere fodder, weaklings that could be slaughtered without a second thought.

But there were too many.

An unending flood.

And no matter how many fell, more took their place.

They were moving constantly.

Attacking constantly.

Dodging constantly.

Thinking constantly.

Anticipating constantly.

Defending constantly.

Vazeryth and the others observed in silence, their expressions steady.

They watched intently, noting every movement, every decision made by the recruits.

One of the primary purposes of this test was 'control'.

They sought to measure their control over mana, elements, their own bodies, their aura, and even their breath.

Though the test appeared brutal, even cruel, it was by design.

With mastery over these elements, these recruits could endure the relentless waves of demons, even if only just.

Control, after all, was one of the reasons why mana rank alone was never the deciding factor.

Those with lower ranks could overcome opponents of higher mana rank, provided they possessed superior control.

Another critical aspect of this test was to evaluate their battle experience.

The military had no need for those who had been coddled, trained in isolation without the harsh realities of real combat.

While Colonel Vazeryth's focus was drawn to Anthony, a sense of anticipation simmering within him, he couldn't afford to narrow his attention.

He had to observe the other recruits as well, their fates unfolding alongside Anthony's.

His eyes shifted to Anthony, who tore through the demons with effortless precision, never needing more than a single strike to fell each opponent.

His breath remained steady, his movements surgical, flawless in execution.

Not a hint of excess energy was wasted.

'I wonder if he can push me to use what I've prepared'

Colonel Vazeryth mused, a mental grin curling at the edge of his thoughts as he watched Anthony's performance unfold.