Chapter 83 – Excellence Camp – Outcast XI

Veiled Forest - Inner Section, 28th of Brightforge, year 315 UC

'Where is he?'

Alexander's worry competed with the fog of withdrawal that clouded his thoughts. Bryan was capable, more than capable, but the forest at night could be dangerous. The two-headed snake proved that.

Alexander shifted on the log, trying to find a position that didn't aggravate the cramping in his abdomen

'I should wake Sabrina. Hand off the watch.'

But the thought of admitting he couldn't handle even this simple task made his stomach clench worse than the physical symptoms. He'd already confessed his weakness to the team, already shown them how thoroughly he'd failed. The last thing he needed was to prove he couldn't even stand guard for a few hours.

His mind drifted to the conversation they'd had earlier by the stream. Bryan's harsh words about him being a burden. Farrah's defense. The way everyone had looked at him with that mixture of pity and concern that made him want to disappear entirely.

'What kind of punishment will Gloria give me?'

The question had been eating at him since the duel hall incident. But worse was the thought of facing his parents, of seeing the disappointment in their eyes when they learned their sacrifices had been for nothing.

Alexander pressed his palms against his temples, trying to ease the throbbing headache that had become his constant companion. The pressure behind his eyes felt like his skull might crack open.

A distant sound made him freeze—a shout, muffled by distance and trees but unmistakably human. Alexander's head snapped up, ears straining to catch any repetition of the sound.

'Bryan?'

Another shout came. Definitely Bryan's voice, though Alexander couldn't make out the words.

Alexander stood on unsteady legs, his knees nearly buckling as blood rushed from his head.

'I should wake the others.'

The thought came and went. If Bryan was in real danger, every second mattered. By the time Alexander roused the team and explained, it might be too late.

He stumbled into the forest, following the direction of the sounds. His breathing was labored within minutes.

The sounds grew closer—not just shouting now, but the clash of combat.

Alexander's pace quickened despite his weakness. Bryan was fighting something out there, and fighting hard by the sound of it.

Through a gap in the trees, Alexander caught sight of movement—a flash of white hair. He crept closer, using the massive tree trunks for cover as he approached the source of the disturbance.

What he saw made his blood run cold.

Bryan stood in a small clearing, his uniform torn and bloodied, his white hair wild and unkempt. Blood flowed freely from both his palms, forming into weapons that slashed and stabbed at empty air. He spun and dodged, blocked and countered, engaged in desperate combat with enemies that weren't there.

Scattered around the clearing were the corpses of massive spiders, each one the size of a large dog.

But Bryan wasn't fighting the dead spiders. He was fighting nothing.

"She's not a weakness!"

Bryan snarled, forming a barrier.

"She's a person!"

Alexander's hand flew to his mouth.

Bryan spun suddenly.

"Liabilities must be eliminated."

Bryan said.

"It's the first rule of operational security."

'That doesn't sound like him.'

Alexander thought.

Bryan's words carried an authority that seemed foreign.

"You're not real."

Bryan said to the empty air in front of him.

"Neither was she."

The spear launched into nothingness, disappearing into the treeline beyond.

Alexander watched as Bryan continued his one-sided fight. The display would have been impressive if it weren't so terrifying.

'I have to help him. I have to do something.'

But what could he do? In his current condition, he could barely maintain a water bubble for more than a few seconds. Against Bryan's overwhelming magical ability, he'd be less than useless—he'd be a target.

"This isn't real."

Bryan said.

"These things aren't real."

The words gave Alexander hope.

‘Is… is it all in his head?’

Maybe Alexander could reach him, talk him down from whatever this was.

But that hope died as Bryan's expression shifted, his features hardening into something cold and predatory.

"Why won't you just die already?!"

Bryan screamed, forming a massive blood blade that he brought down in a devastating overhead strike.

"Finally."

Bryan muttered, letting his blood dissipate.

"Took long enough."

Alexander seized the moment of apparent calm to step forward, breaking from his concealment among the trees.

"Bryan?"

He called softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Are you alright? I heard screaming."

Bryan's head turned.

"Again with this?"

Bryan said.

Alexander's heart hammered against his ribs as he took in Bryan's appearance. Blood covered his hands and arms, some of it clearly his own from shallow cuts across his skin. His uniform was torn in multiple places, hanging in tatters that revealed more wounds beneath. But it was Bryan's eyes that frightened Alexander most.

Alexander's brow furrowed as he tried to process Bryan's words.

"Again with what? Bryan, you're bleeding. What happened?"

He took a tentative step forward, his hand extending as if to offer help. The movement sent another wave of nausea through him.

But Bryan wasn't looking at Alexander anymore. Alexander turned to follow his gaze but saw only empty forest.

"You keep coming back."

Bryan said, and blood began to flow from his palms again, forming into the crescent blades.

"I'll just keep killing you."

'W-what?'

Alexander's mind reeled as understanding crashed over him.

Alexander's eyes widened in genuine terror as he took a step backward, his legs nearly giving out beneath him.

"Bryan, what are you talking about? It's me. It's Alexander."

Desperation leaked into his voice as he tried to reach whatever remained of his teammate's sanity. His hands shook.

The blood crescents moved around Bryan.

"No more games."

Bryan said, advancing.

"No more lies."

'He's lost it. He's not sane. I-I-I need to escape.'

Alexander's hand flew to his pocket, fingers desperately searching for the emergency beacon. His heart sank as his palm met only empty fabric.

'Shit. Shit. Shit.'

He'd left the beacon back at camp, tucked safely in his pack because he hadn't expected to need it during a simple watch duty. The irony was bitter—the one time he actually needed rescue, and he'd left his lifeline behind.

Distance. He needed distance. Alexander turned and ran, or tried to. His weakened legs betrayed him immediately, sending him stumbling over roots and rocks that should have been easy to avoid. Behind him, he could hear Bryan's footsteps.

A water bubble formed in Alexander's trembling hands. He managed to maintain it for perhaps one second before his control shattered, the spell dissolving into useless mist. But he had to try something, anything.

The bubble reformed, wobbling unsteadily as Alexander poured what little ether he could access into it. He launched it behind him without looking, hoping to buy precious seconds.

Alexander glanced over his shoulder as he stumbled through the underbrush. Bryan wasn't there. The bubble was gone. It was as if both had simply vanished into the night air.

'Where—'

"Help!"

Alexander screamed, his voice cracking as he realized Bryan could be anywhere.

"Help!"

"Let me help you."

The voice came from in front of him. Alexander skidded to a halt, nearly falling as Bryan materialized from the shadows like a nightmare given form. Blood still flowed from his palms.

'He's too fast. I-I need to... to what?'

Alexander's mind went blank. There was no escape, no plan, no hope. Bryan stood between him and the camp, between him and any possibility of rescue.

Alexander raised his hands in surrender.

"Bryan, please. It's me. It's really me."

His voice broke on the words, tears streaming down his cheeks as he looked into red eyes.

He never noticed before how scary Bryan looked. That pale skin of his with those red eyes. Those eyes that seemed to lack any emotion.

A crescent blade flew through the air, slicing through Alexander's raised wrist. The blade continued its arc, severing his hand completely.

Alexander screamed. He collapsed to his knees, his remaining hand clamping over the spurting stump as hot blood poured between his fingers. The severed hand lay in the dirt beside him, pale fingers still twitching.

"Bryan!"

Alexander sobbed, his vision blurring.

"Please! I don't understand! What did I do? What did I do wrong?"

But Bryan's expression remained unchanged—cold, focused, utterly without recognition or mercy.

The pain was beyond anything Alexander had ever experienced.

"Help!"

He screamed again, his voice weaker now.

"Somebody help me!"

Rustling came from multiple directions. Alexander's heart leaped with desperate hope as familiar voices called out through the darkness.

"Alexander!"

Sabrina called out.

"Where are you?"

Christopher asked in a shout.

"Alexander, we're coming!"

Farrah said.

They burst into the clearing almost simultaneously.

All three froze as they took in the tableau before them: Alexander kneeling in a pool of his own blood, his severed hand lying beside him, and Bryan standing over him.

"What the fuck—"

Sabrina began, her sword wavering as she struggled to process what she was seeing.

"Bryan?"

Farrah's voice was small as her eyes moved between Bryan and him.

"What happened? What's going on?"

Alexander tried to speak. But the words wouldn't come.

Bryan's head turned toward them.

"Bryan, step away from him."

Christopher said in a shaky voice or maybe Alexander was just imagining it. Stone started to crawl down his arm.

"Just step away."

Bryan’s left hand swept forward, and a spear of blood materialized in the air. The weapon hung suspended for a heartbeat.

"No!"

Farrah screamed.

Alexander looked up at Bryan.

'I'm sorry.'

He tried to say, but no sound emerged. His lips moved silently around the words as consciousness fled.

'I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough. Sorry I let you all down. Sorry I—'

The thought went unfinished as Alexander collapsed forward, his body coming to rest in the spreading pool of his own blood.

***

Veiled Forest - Inner Section, 28th of Brightforge, year 315 UC

Bryan stood over Alexander's motionless form, watching the blood spear protruding from his chest dissolve back into liquid crimson.

One threat eliminated.

His red eyes tracked across the clearing. Three white creatures stood at the edge of the treeline. Each one had taken a different shape to try to deceive him, but Bryan could see through their disguises now.

The tallest one had wrapped itself in stone armor.

The second creature had taken the form of Sabrina, complete with her coffee-brown hair and the sword she favored. But it held the weapon with a competence Sabrina had never displayed.

The third wore Farrah's face and form, her dark curls and pointed ears rendered in perfect detail. This disguise was the most disturbing, the most offensive. How dare it wear her image while plotting his destruction?

Behind them, partially concealed by shadow, stood the figure that had started this entire ordeal. Veron watched with arms crossed.

"So, whose next?"

Bryan asked, blood already beginning to flow from his palms again.

The one wearing Christopher's form spread its legs slightly. The Sabrina-thing raised its sword. The false Farrah's hands began to glow with light.

"Excellent work."

Veron's voice carried across the clearing.

"You're finally remembering your training."

Bryan didn't respond. It was a pointless statement. He never forgot.

The creatures were surrounding him.

He wouldn't give them the chance.

Bryan reinforced his body with ether. His muscles tensed, bones hardened, reflexes sharpened to inhuman levels. The world seemed to slow around him as his enhanced perception took in every detail of his enemies' movements.

He vanished.

One moment Bryan stood in the center of the clearing, the next he materialized behind the stone-armored creature. His blood had already formed into a spear during his movement, the weapon solidifying just as he appeared.

The spear punched through the creature's back, emerging from its chest in a spray of dark ichor. But Bryan wasn't finished. He twisted his wrist, and the spear inside the creature's body sprouted dozens of smaller spikes, each one tearing through flesh and organ.

The creature collapsed without a sound, its stone armor clattering against the forest floor.

"One down."

Bryan muttered, already moving as the remaining creatures reacted to his attack.

The false Veron launched a blast, the molten projectile searing through the air where Bryan had been standing.

"I never did like you."

Bryan snarled, his blood forming into a two-handed hammer that he hurled at Veron.

The creature dodged, but Bryan's follow-up kick caught it in the chest, sending it sprawling backward. As it hit the ground, Bryan heard a familiar voice emerge from its throat.

"Feelings mutual, asshole."

"You left me."

Bryan advanced on the fallen creature, his blood coalescing into grasping tendrils that pinned it to the ground.

"Dropped me off at that place to suffer."

The memories were clear now—abandonment, isolation, the white room where he'd spent countless hours alone.

Bryan reached down and grabbed the creature by its hair, lifting its head to meet his gaze. Blood formed into a razor-thin crescent blade, hovering inches from its face.

"Let's see how much you like it."

The blade moved, carving a line from forehead, down through the left eye, across the cheek, ending at the chin. The creature's scream was music to Bryan's ears—high-pitched, agonized, utterly satisfying.

Something slammed into Bryan's side.

The third creature—the one wearing Farrah's face—stood where it had struck him.

"STOP!"

It shouted.

"Stop this madness!"

Bryan's jaw tightened at the audacity.

"You're the worst one."

Bryan said.

"Using her face, her voice. Pretending to care."

The creature's expression shifted to something that looked almost like genuine hurt, tears gathering in eyes that were the exact shade of green as Farrah's.

"Bryan, it's me. It's really me."

But Bryan could see the truth behind the disguise.

He attacked without warning, blood spears flying in a barrage. The creature dodged most of them, but one caught it across the shoulder.

The false Farrah counter-attacked with spheres of light that exploded against Bryan's blood barriers.

They circled each other, trading attacks with increasing intensity. The creature was skilled, Bryan had to admit. But it lacked the raw power of his magic, the sheer versatility that came from using his own life force as a weapon.

Bryan pressed his advantage, forming multiple weapons simultaneously. Blood spears flew while crescent blades carved through the air, each attack coordinated to eliminate escape routes and force the creature into increasingly desperate defensive maneuvers.

"You cannot win."

Veron's voice drifted across the clearing.

"Accept your fate and surrender."

"Never."

The false Farrah snarled. Light exploded outward from its position, a nova of blinding radiance that forced Bryan to shield his eyes.

When his vision cleared, the creature had vanished. Bryan spun, searching.

A weight slammed into him from above—the creature had somehow gotten into the canopy. They crashed to the ground together, rolling through dirt and fallen leaves as each fought for advantage.

The creature's claws—disguised as Farrah's hands but ending in razor-sharp points—raked across Bryan's face, opening fresh wounds that immediately began weeping blood. He retaliated by forming spikes along his arms, punching through the creature's disguise to reveal pale flesh beneath.

They separated, both bleeding from multiple wounds. The creature's mimicry of Farrah was breaking down—its features flickered between human and alien.

Bryan saw his opening. He formed a massive spear of blood.

The weapon flew, punching through the creature's defenses and driving deep into its stomach. Bryan felt the resistance as the spear found its mark, felt the satisfying give of flesh parting before sharpened blood.

But as the weapon struck home, something changed. The creature's features stopped flickering, solidifying into a face Bryan recognized.

Farrah stared at him with wide green eyes, her mouth open. Real tears streamed down her cheeks as she looked down at the blood spear protruding from her abdomen.

"B-Bryan?"

Her voice was weak.

"Why?"

Bryan's hand trembled as the full scope of what he'd done crashed. This wasn't a creature.

This was Farrah. The real Farrah.

"F-Farrah?"

His voice cracked on her name as his magic wavered.

He looked around the clearing with new eyes. Christopher lay motionless, Bryan's earlier spear still protruding from his back. Sabrina writhed on the ground, her face carved with the line Bryan had inflicted, her hands pressed desperately against the wound.

A light that shot into the night sky lay next to her.

And Alexander—Alexander lay in a pool of his own blood, his severed hand pale and still in the dirt beside him.

"N-no. No, t-this can't be—"

Bryan took a step backward, then another, his legs threatening to give out beneath him. The blood spear in Farrah's stomach dissolved as his concentration shattered, leaving her to collapse forward onto her hands and knees.

"What have I done?"

He whispered, his voice barely audible.

"What have I done?"

The forest around him began to shift and blur. Images flashed through his mind with devastating clarity—

A woman's voice singing lullabies in the evening light, her brown hair catching the glow of sunset through windows. The taste of warm rolls shared in a kitchen that smelled of safety and love.

"Ms. Kelly."

He breathed.

The image shifted—

A nobleman's laughter as boots connected with his small body. Ms. Kelly rushing forward, her voice raised in protest. The flash of a cane, the crack of breaking bone, crimson spreading across white fabric as she fell. Her hand reaching toward him as life left her eyes.

"No, no, no!"

Bryan's voice rose as the memories continued their assault.

Another shift—

A train swaying gently through the night, Emilia's arms wrapped around him as he slept against her shoulder. Her black hair tickling his cheek, her breathing steady and reassuring. The warmth of someone who cared, who had chosen to protect him when no one else would.

Men in dark uniforms flooding into the compartment. Emilia being impaled then tossed off the train.

"They took me."

Bryan gasped, his knees hitting the forest floor.

"They took me and made me forget."

Ms. Bertha's face twisted with hatred and fear, her finger pointed at his small form. The words that had branded themselves into his soul: "Cursed child! Demon! It's all your fault!"

The flames consumed the orphanage. All because a five-year-old boy had been born different, had awakened magic too early, had killed, and started a chain of events that led to a massacre.

"Cursed."

Bryan whispered, tears streaming down his face as he stared at his blood-covered hands.

"She was right. I am cursed."

He looked up.

"I'm the monster."

The admission came out as a sob.

"I've always been the monster."

A slow clap echoed through the clearing. Bryan's head snapped up to see Gloria Reinhart stepping from the shadows between the trees.

"Well, well."

She said.

"This is quite the mess you've made."

Bryan tried to speak, to explain, but only broken sounds emerged from his throat.

"I didn't—"

He began, then stopped. Because he had. He had done this. The evidence was scattered around him.

Gloria moved closer with unhurried steps. She crouched beside Alexander's body. After a moment, she shook her head.

"Dead."

She stated, then moved to Christopher.

"Also dead."

Her assessment continued as she examined each fallen teammate.

"This one might survive if she gets medical attention soon."

Gloria's gaze fell on Farrah.

"This one too, though barely."

She indicated Sabrina, who had gone silent, her hands still pressed against the carved line across her face.

Gloria straightened, fixing Bryan with a look.

"How are you—why aren't you—"

"Horrified? Shocked?"

Gloria finished for him.

"Because I've seen this before."

She clicked her tongue in what might have been disappointment or disapproval.

Before Bryan could react or respond, Gloria moved. Her fist connected with his temple, the blow delivered with such speed and force that he couldn't even register the attack.

He'd become exactly what Ms. Bertha had always said he was.

A demon. A curse upon everyone who dared to care about him.