VERSE THREE

The heart bleeds,

Not just for those I love

But from the blade that feeds

The question I ask myself?

Should I move on, or should I concede?

---

Blood and sweat roll from Oberon’s forehead down his face in continuous streams. His hair is stuck to his skin, one eye bloodshot. He holds his hands over a large wound in Shayan’s abdomen. Looking around, only twelve others are still standing, but they won’t last long.

Shayan’s eyes slowly open; they’re foggy. Shayan looks around, but his gaze and awareness are distant, fading, his skin clammy and cold.

What’s got you looking so bent out of shape, Obi?

Oberon conjures forth what little reserves of magic he has; dark violet and red ichor runs from his nose.

Shut up, Shay! You talk too much! Focus on your injuries.

Oberon’s magic pools into the open wound; it begins to stitch skin, pulling the blood and flesh from Oberon’s hands and transmuting it into a grafted patch of tissue covering parts of the wound. Oberon’s attention is briefly pulled away as another member of Batch J falls.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

ONE HOUR EARLIER

TWO guides the nineteen remaining members of Batch J out of the testing room. If the pattern of three tests per day is still accurate, Day thirteen is almost over, one more to go. For what it’s worth, Shayan and Oberon have done their best at keeping the group together, making them into a team. Over the last two weeks, the numbers that dropped from Batch J have diminished; only two people have been lost since that dream room. Oberon hasn’t had much time to dwell on that vision, and no test since then has caused such memories to resurface. Shayan strides up beside Oberon as they make their way to the next site.

That last room has some of the others a little shaken. Maybe some words from their other fearless leader would do some good.

Oberon turns to Shayan.

Shay-Shayan.

Shayan slings an arm over Oberon’s shoulders.

Oh, you almost said it. C’mon, thirteen days of keeping you safe and helping to hold this ragtag team together, and you still don’t think I’m your friend? You wound me, Obi.

Oberon chuckles, waving his hand dismissively.

If I wanted to wound you, I wouldn’t have immobilized you when you were entranced four days ago…I simply would have stabbed you.

Shayan slings an arm around Oberon’s neck and pulls him in.

But you didn’t. And do you know why?

Oberon begins to twist to get his head free.

Whatever you’re thinki-

Shayan rubs Oberon’s head, ruffling his hair.

Because we’re friends. BEST friends even.

Oberon slips free and pushes Shayan away, picking up his pace to follow closer to Proctor TWO.

You vastly overestimate your importance to me.

Someone runs up and jumps on Oberon’s back. A deeper feminine voice shouts toward Shayan.

What are you two arguing about? We just survived another test because of you guys! I thought you’d be happier.

Shayan puts on a very obvious act of being distraught and saddened.

Obi here doesn’t consider us friends. Even after all we’ve been through together.

Oberon looks over his shoulder at the woman. She’s smaller than both Shayan and Oberon, with a freckled face, grey hair, and deep black eyes.

Is that true, Obi? You don’t think we’re friends?

Oberon snaps his fingers and the woman, Amara, falls off Shayan’s shoulders. Both Shayan and Amara glance around, confused, before looking ten feet away at Oberon and scowling. Oberon stifles a laugh as the pair fume.

First of all, It’s only Shayan I don’t consider a friend. The rest of you are far closer to reaching that level, I’d say. Shayan just wanted to drag you down with him.

Amara clasps her hands together, and as Oberon turns, he trips over his own leg. He falls to one knee, catching himself and snapping his head toward Amara.

She raises her nose at him.

I told you to stop using illusions on us. Fair is fair.

Shayan stands defiantly beside Amara.

Tell 'em Amara!

She puts a hand on Shayan’s shoulder.

And you…

Amara hooks the back of Shayan’s ankle and sweeps her leg up, sending him sprawling backward. Shayan has grown quicker in the last two weeks; he spins to plant his hand to stop his fall. Amara clasps her hands together again. Shayan’s head starts to swing in her direction.

Don’t you-

Shayan’s hand hits the ground and slips on a small wet spot. He falls onto his shoulder and groans.

Fair is fair...except for when it’s me…Then I just get the short end of the stick.

Shayan sits up slowly, rubbing his arm. The remainder of Batch J at their backs begins to laugh at the sight of the trio that, by all intents, has been guiding them through every uncertainty and test, and who leads them even now.

The irony of the camaraderie and light-heartedness capable of being found here is not lost on Oberon. He finds himself smiling, and so do Amara and Shayan. Amara gets right up into Oberon’s face.

Oberon turns away, trying to hide away from her gaze. A warmth burns in his cheeks, and his pulse quickens. He feels Amara’s head twist to look him in the eyes.

Were you smiling just now, Obi? Why are you hiding your face? Embarrassed to be seen gallivanting with us nobodies?

Shayan circles around behind Oberon, and once again slings his arms around his shoulders.

Come on, Amara, you know our Obi is like those other high-ranking types. It’s probably something else. Isn’t that right, Obi?

Shayan’s eyes flit toward Amara; for a moment, instinctively, Oberon looks toward her as well before turning away to continue walking, catching a growing grin on Shayan’s face.

Ahh, so that’s it.

Amara leans in as Oberon walks away.

What? What’s it?! Shay, tell me!

Shayan lets out a dramatic sigh.

I would love to, but the secrets between best friends like Obi and me must be safeguarded from anyone and everyone. A weight carried until our dying breath.

Amara grumbles.

Which might be very soon…

Oberon fully turns his back to the pair and strolls ahead, concealing the look of amusement and contentedness on his face from those who never knew he’d come to trust so much.

TWO stands at the end of the hall. A single door behind her.

Something’s off.

Oberon feels anxious about that room; something about it brings a sort of terrifying nostalgic sense. A visceral reaction of uneasiness and caution, but he’s not sure why.

Oohhh, is that it? Last room of the day! Let’s get it over with!

Amara walks up beside Oberon and stops next to him.

Must be. TWO only stops to wait for us when she’s about to lock us in some pit of horrors.

Shayan stands on the opposite side of Oberon. Both turn toward Oberon and give him a nod, a look of confidence in his eyes.

Something’s off.

TWO doesn’t say a word; the door opens, and she gestures for the group to enter. For the first time in two weeks, Oberon pauses at the precipice; he does not take charge as usual. Unlike he’s done countless times before, Oberon hesitates. Those of Batch J stroll ahead of him and walk into the room.

Shayan stops just beyond the door. Amara notices neither of the two are proceeding further and turns to face them.

Everything alright?

Oberon’s jaw tightens. He stares at TWO, searching for anything in her posture or in the eyes visible behind the mask. There is a darkness and resignation to her, and it bothers Oberon greatly.

Oberon walks up to Shayan and Amara, stepping past them into the room, whispering as he does so only they can hear what he says.

Stay close to me. This room doesn’t feel right.

The door seals behind them as Amara and Shayan follow close to Oberon. The trio walks deeper into the expansive room veiled in darkness. Amara turns to look at Oberon.

What’s wrong, Obi? You’re not usually so…tense.

Shayan puts a reassuring hand on Oberon’s shoulder.

I haven’t seen you like this since our first days in this place. Ease up; we got your back.

Oberon’s eyes scan the room, searching for anything and everything. Any threat, any distinct features of the chamber, any-

There.

Oberon points toward the center of the ceiling. All eyes from Batch J look toward what Oberon directs them toward. There is a solid cube of an unknown alloy suspended by a cable and concealed in darkness. It sits some one hundred feet off the floor.

Shayan bangs his chest, and the arcane pact markings flash. Amara clasps her hands together, and in an instant Oberon feels a strange sensation, a familiar one: Amara’s ability to provide twists to circumstance and the possibility of desired individuals.

Oberon snaps his fingers and creates a ring of miasma, or rather, after the many days of using his abilities in these trials, something more akin to an aura or field that constitutes his personal area of awareness.

The other members of Batch J ready themselves, but nothing immediately happens.

TWO’s voice filters into Oberon’s mind. Her tone is different than before, and it sounds almost upset.

Rest. We will begin in fifty minutes.

Confusion and hushed conversation spread across the room. There has never been a day when breaks were given between tests. Something about this test is different, something about this test is-

Off.

Oberon turns to face Amara; her eyes are wide with fear and concern. A bead of sweat rolls down her face.

Something is off. I can sense that even with the boons I gave everyone, the scales are way past being in our favor.

Shayan circles to Amara’s side.

Meaning what? Your little luck boosts aren’t going to work?

Amara looks from Oberon to Shayan and then back toward the box hanging above the room.

I’m saying, when whatever is in there comes out…my little luck boosts won’t change a damn thing.

Oberon stares for a long while at the box, but eventually he and all others are hit by the fatigue of the day. With little else to do, those of Batch J settle down to rest, recover, and prepare. Whatever comes next, according to Amara, will take a lot more than good fortune to overcome, and Oberon intends to do just that.

Minutes go by; the members of Batch J congregate around Oberon, Amara, and Shayan. With only a day remaining, many are excited to see their friends and families again. All want to remain in touch with the others there. Shayan and Amara discuss forming a guild or organization with those from Batch J, and while Oberon entertains the conversation, his eyes never leave that box. His worries do not abate.

The cable unlatches from the box. Oberon rises to his feet, conjuring his blade of lilac that has since been named ‘Lily’ by Amara. The entirety of Batch J responds to Oberon’s movements and prepares themselves for whatever is about to happen.

Much to the confusion of the room, the box does not fall when the cable releases. It remains suspended in the air as if weightless. The sides and faces of the cube compress inward and disintegrate. An amorphous blob floats where the cube once was, then it plummets to the ground.

Oberon leaps into action, rushing toward one of the other members from the Batch, a large, hulking brute named Cabel. The ooze alters course mid-fall and bolts straight toward Cabel’s chest. It impacts, boring through his skin and into his body. Cabel screams, collapsing to the ground and clawing at his chest to the point of drawing blood.

Amara calls to Oberon across the room, her voice wracked with fear and concern.

OBI GET BACK!

Oberon spins around just in time to see Cabel launching to his feet, an outstretched hand coming straight for Oberon’s face. He leans back, but feels a cold sensation brush across the tip of his nose. Behind him, a thud.

Oberon tumbles back and spins to see the body of a woman, Jesserai, lying in a pool of her own blood; A chunk of her upper torso completely missing, as if erased from the very space it occupied.

Oberon doubles back toward “Cabel” and lunges, throwing a stone from his pocket in tandem with the strike. He grasps the air before him; the stone turns into a cloud of thick metal shavings. Whatever inhabits Cabel has twisted and contorted his body. Arms longer, legs stronger, neck shorter, eyes taking up most of the face. It swipes at the air toward Oberon; the cloud of shavings is erased, and Oberon is forced to duck once more and aim for a low shoulder tackle. Oberon shouts behind him.

Its attacks are invisible!

He impacts the knee joint, wraps his arms around it, lifts and twists to try and bring the entity down. It doesn't budge. That is until the large form of Tazamir, Cabel’s brother, slams into the creature, roaring in anguish and anger.

The creature stumbles back, plants a foot, stretching an open hand toward Tazamir.

The large man coughs up blood, but wraps his arms tight around what once was his brother. He looks down at Oberon with ferocity and pain in his eyes.

Can’t lose you yet. You have to get them through thi-

Tazamir’s face vanishes before Oberon’s eyes; however, his grip on the creature does not loosen immediately. Oberon has mere seconds to move and refocus his group's efforts. He leaps back and snaps his fingers; a ring of violet miasma encompasses him and the creature. He calls to the rest of Batch J as he prepares himself for another offensive.

Spread out and react to all of its movements! We don’t know which ones erase things!

Oberon reaches a hand out, conjuring a halo of shadowed daggers around his head. He plants his back foot, then dashes forward toward the creature, launching the daggers toward the creature, yelling to his companions as he does.

Hit it with everything you’ve got! Don’t give an opening to recover!

A volley of spells and projectiles soars over Oberon’s head; the remainder of the martial fighters, excluding Shayan, who supports the rearguard, rush to join Oberon in his charge. At the same time, Amara stands just off to Oberon’s side, preparing to guide them all with what little insight she gains on the flow of fortune around the area.

Focus Oberon. You’ve only lost two…three. Focus. Immobilize and eliminate.

He transmutes the floor beneath the entity into slick mud and conjures forth an illusion consisting of hundreds of blades coming at it from all angles. Ten seconds- that’s as long as his ‘Garden of Dreams’ can be maintained before it does more harm than good.

Oberon knows without a shadow of a doubt that they need to beat this thing in ten seconds or not a single person in Batch J is walking out of here alive. Luckily, the abilities Oberon possesses from being of Outer descent just might give them an edge in this battle. His ‘Garden of Dreams’ is without a doubt his signature move and his ace in the hole.

The entity distends its jaw and screeches. Oberon’s Garden shatters like glass before his eyes, all of his shadow blades disintegrating, while the barrage launched by Batch J

Impossible. By nature, Outer abilities are-

Oberon’s eyes go wide with shock and horror.

This is an Outer.

In an instant, the Outer is upon the vanguard’s lead combatants, including Oberon.

Both of the Outers' arms extend toward different targets, one being Oberon. Oberon can sense the energy build up in its hands; the shattering of his ability has left him too stunned to properly react. He begins to pivot away to try and avoid the attack that he cannot see, but knows is coming. Even if he dodges, someone else is likely to die. But he can’t dodge; it’s coming too fast. Oberon will need to somehow deflect it or-

Oberon is yanked by the shoulder and thrown behind a rushing figure. Shayan puts himself between Oberon and the Outer, his pact tattoos flaring with expenditure.

Unable to react and regardless, powerless to do anything, Oberon watches as Shayan is sent stumbling backward from the impact of an invisible strike. Shayan’s tattoos flash in response, doing everything they can to mitigate the damage and heal the wound as it forms.

Oberon’s head slams into the ground, and he blacks out.

Only seconds have passed; Oberon is certain of it; His eyes open. Directly beside him, Shayan lay on the floor motionless. Blood trickles from Oberon’s head and into one of his eyes; he wipes it clear and crawls onto his knees, moving toward Shayan.

Oberon reaches his friend, uncertain whether he is alive or dead. He scans for any of the medics, scans for Amara. He finds Amara mixed in with the rearguard and support members, trying to assist the vanguard that continues to press what little assault they still have ongoing.

Oberon looks back toward Shayan.

No, no, no, get up!

The Outer screeches somewhere behind him. The shouts and sounds of fighting continue. At least they aren’t being completely overpowered. Perhaps as a team, they can make a miracle happen. But Oberon is too distracted; Shayan might be dying or dead, and there is little if anything he can do.

Blood and sweat roll from Oberon’s forehead down his face in continuous streams. His hair is stuck to his skin, one eye bloodshot. He holds his hands over a large wound in Shayan’s abdomen. Looking around, only twelve others are still standing, but they won’t last long.

Shayan’s eyes slowly open; they’re foggy. Shayan looks around, but his gaze and awareness are distant, fading, his skin clammy and cold.

What’s got you looking so bent out of shape, Obi?

Oberon conjures forth what little reserves of magic he has; dark violet and red ichor runs from his nose.

Shut up, Shay! You talk too much! Focus on your injuries.

Oberon’s magic pools into the open wound; it begins to stitch skin, pulling the blood and flesh from Oberon’s hands and transmuting it into a grafted patch of tissue covering parts of the wound. Oberon’s head snaps around as another member of Batch J falls.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

The Outer only has two more people to get through on the front before it can make its way to an unguarded backline.

Amara.

Shayan thuds his hand weakly into Oberon’s chest. Oberon looks back toward his friend. Shayan grabs one of Oberon’s wrists, speaking weakly.

Go to her. I’ll either heal…or I won’t, but you can’t do anything for me. You can still make sure she’s okay, though.

Oberon’s pulse quickens. He’s powerless, just like…just like when? This pain, this self-loathing, he’s felt it before. He remembers it when he thinks about the parents he can’t remember, and it surfaces whenever Elio holds himself back on Oberon’s behalf. That feeling is present now.

Oberon closes his eyes and clears his mind. In the stillness, in the darkness, in the deepest pits from where he draws strength and power. Oberon begins to see something, feel something: Blood. Rain. A home. A monster. Death. A woman’s face. Salvation. Hatred.

Never again.

Some small voice within him speaks to his conscious mind. He listens.

Do not choose one or the other. Have them both.

A different voice speaks to him, a calmer one, a warmer one. Oberon opens his eyes as its words echo in his mind.

My little Star Tamer.

Oberon leaps into action, moving faster than he ever has before. Faster than any prior test, faster than his initial attack on this creature, faster than his sparring match with Elio. Oberon puts everything into getting between the Outer and his comrades.

Ten meters. That’ll have to be close enough.

Oberon snaps his fingers and in his free hand summons Lily. The Garden forms around him, and just at the edge of his range it reaches the Outer. Oberon’s eyes bleed, his nose oozes dark purple ichor. He will die before he lets this thing go any further; in this moment he needs to be willing to give everything to see his vision made real.

Submit to my dream.

—

TWO waits outside of the survey room. Fifteen more seconds until she can end the test. There’s a knock on the door. She turns to face it and approaches. A muffled voice can be heard from inside. She recognizes it as the voice of Amara, the lucky girl.

Ms.TWO are you there?

Five seconds.

Please…they’re dying.

TWO opens the door and stares in amazement at just how many members of her Batch are alive. More importantly, and most attention-grabbing, is the method by which so many still live. While many are injured or dead, the ones still able to function did not give up.

Firstly, the Outer is not dead; it stands idle near the entrance of the room, its eyes glazed over with a purple hue, all of the more physically combative members restraining it. At the same time, most of the support-specialized members, not tending to the wounded, crowd around Oberon, who has collapsed onto his knees, an aura of miasma surrounding him and swirling violently around the Outer. They focus their efforts on healing Oberon and keeping him stable.

—

Oberon’s vision is all but black; all of his energy and attention is tunneled, focused on the Outer.

How long has he been maintaining the illusion within the Garden? Who is still alive? Is Shayan okay?

A hand is placed on his shoulder. A voice breaks through to him. The soft, soothing voice of Amara.

You can let go, Oberon. It’s over.

Oberon responds; in his mind, his voice sounds steady and strong, but he’s not certain it’s as such for those around him.

Shayan? The others?

A different voice responds. He recognizes it as well; it’s Proctor TWO.

They will be taken care of…but you need to be treated as well. Rest, Participant Oberon.

The silky words of TWO worm through his mind and body, once again, but unlike before, he’s too weak to fight their intrusion and influence. Darkness takes Oberon as his grip on consciousness is forcibly released.