River stared at the board with a bit of contempt as if the board itself wronged him in some way.
'Oh sure, give him a True Name. What's next? A diploma in Ethical Dismemberment?'
River just couldn't help but question what the Spell was thinking when giving Tongue Ripper, of all people, a True Name. When River completed his First Nightmare, the Spell rated his performance as remarkable, but he still hadn't been given a True Name.
So, what did that mean for Tongue Ripper's performance?
'Is it possible that he was ranked even higher than me?' River questioned, unsure of what to think. He just didn't get it.
But, what baffled River most was the True Name itself. From what River knew, a True Name was a title granted by the Spell to the most exceptional awakened, a representation of who they were deep down.
So… what the hell had the Spell meant by calling him Tongue Ripper?
'Great choice, Spell. Really subtle '
River stood there, lost in thought when a soft murmur swept through the room. The air felt thick as if everyone was holding their breath. Without even looking, River knew who had entered.
He glanced toward the entrance. And sure enough, there stood Tongue Ripper, grinning lazily—like he'd been waiting for this reaction. The sharp intake of breath, the stares, the unease in the air—it only seemed to feed him. His grin widened as his cold eyes lazily scanned the room, savoring the fact that none of the sleepers dared to meet his gaze.
His crimson hair burned against the dull grays of the Academy's walls, but it wasn't just the color that unsettled people. It was the way it framed his face, a map of scars whispering of violence—of battles survived, or worse, inflicted.
But what everyone was really paying attention to was the object around Tongue Ripper's neck. Framing his neck was a strange necklace that possessed dozens of shriveled, leathery Nightmare Creature tongues. Each one varies in size and texture, strung together like some macabre trophy collection.
'Is he serious..? Where the hell did he even get that?'
This sight made River realize that maybe the Spell wasn't as insane as he thought for naming him Tongue Ripper. It was clear that the man was much more mad than he previously thought.
'…...and I'm supposed to share a room with him?'
Tongue Ripper stared for a moment before heading toward the buffet. Sleepers instinctively shifted out of his way as though some unspoken rule had been established the moment he entered. Even River felt the weight of that unspoken rule, his muscles tensing as he observed the strange authority Tongue Ripper carried. It wasn't fear but a sharp awareness—like a tension in the air, just waiting for something to snap.
"That's him?"
"He looks like a damn monster."
"He's insane… Do you see what the hell is on his necklace?!"
As River watched the crowds of sleepers, he could tell what the sleepers were starting to be unsettled by. It wasn't the grotesque necklace, the scars that littered his face, or the fact that the Spell had deemed this lunatic worthy of a True Name.
No, what really bothered them was the realization that the Spell hadn't chosen wrong.
Tongue Ripper was exactly the kind of person who would earn a name like that.
And that meant he was dangerous.
***
"Seriously... did they really blow the whole budget on just this one room?" River muttered under his breath as he scanned the dojo.
The Combat Training dojo was massive, so vast it felt like an entire building had been carved out of the Academy. The high ceilings arched like a cathedral, supported by thick iron beams that hummed with quiet power. Every inch of the place was designed for efficiency—bags hung from the rafters, weapons lined the walls, and multiple mats for sparring. Training stations for hand-to-hand combat, weapons, and tactical drills filled the room, marked by chalk-drawn rings. As River stepped inside, its weight pressed down on him, the air thick with anticipation.
As numerous sleepers flooded into the dojo, River could notice a few familiar faces. Earl of Oak stood firm among the crowd, his presence as steady as ever. The lofty legacy from before stood silently amidst the crowd, his eyes closed as if shutting out the chaos around him. He didn't fidget or shift like the others. He was completely still, his breathing slow and controlled. And then there was Tongue Ripper, striding in with that same lazy grin, his grotesque necklace ensuring no one forgot his presence. The air was charged—everyone here had something to prove.
'Looks like everyone's here... great.'
As the final few sleepers flooded in, the doors slammed shut behind them, signaling that the first rounds of testing were about to begin. Instructor Rock, a hulking figure with an equally gorgeous beard, stepped into the center of the room. His presence alone seemed to silence the room. His eyes, cold and assessing, scanned the group as he spoke, his voice low and gravelly.
"Listen up," he growled, his voice commanding attention. "Today, we're going to find out what you're really made of. Each of you will be tested—your strength, your skills, and your ability to perform under pressure. Based on the results, you'll be sorted into groups: novice, advanced, or expert. So, make sure you bring your best."
Instructor Rock's tone shifted, more methodical now. "Alright, listen up. Today's assessment is simple. First, you'll demonstrate your raw physical power. You'll each take turns delivering your strongest punch to that plate over there," he pointed to a large metal surface connected to a machine at the far end of the room. "The force of your punch will be measured and recorded. This is all about your basic strength, so hit it hard."
He paused, letting that sink in. "After that, we move on to sparring. You'll face off one-on-one, testing your abilities in real combat. No holding back. Show me what you've got."
Pulling out a spell-tech tablet, Instructor Rock flicked through the list of names before his gaze landed on River.
"River," he called out, his voice sharp and direct, "you're up first."
River straightened, a knot of tension forming in his stomach. He could feel every pair of eyes on him as he stepped forward, the weight of being the first to go pressing down on him.
'First one… great. No pressure, right?'
He approached the plate, trying to shake off the pressure. Instructor Rock's cold eyes tracked him with no trace of mercy.
"Hit it hard, River," he said, his tone carrying an unspoken challenge.
River exhaled, clenched his fists, and delivered his punch to the metal plate with everything he had. The impact rang through the dojo, the machine humming as it calculated the force of his blow.
A few tense seconds later, the result flashed on the screen in bright red numbers: 8.
There was a brief silence before a few snickers broke the quiet, and then a ripple of laughter spread across the room. River's ears burned as some of the other sleepers began to whisper, their mocking chuckles cutting through the tension.
"Guess that's what passes for strong around here," one of them muttered under their breath, just loud enough for River to hear.
Another voice chimed in, "A whole eight? Maybe you should've hit it harder next time."
River's heart sank.
'An eight…? Really?'
He couldn't hide the flicker of frustration that crossed his face. Eight was barely passable—it was a far cry from the kind of number that would make anyone take notice.
Instructor Rock didn't flinch. His eyes scanned the score with the same cold detachment as before, his face unreadable. "Not bad," he grunted, though it was clear from his tone that it wasn't anywhere near good enough.
River forced his posture to stay relaxed, though his mind was already buzzing with the sting of disappointment.
'Not bad?' He clenched his jaw, trying to keep his cool.
As he moved back toward the others, his eyes flickered to Tongue Ripper, who had barely even registered the result. The guy was too busy fiddling with the grotesque necklace around his neck, disinterested as if River's score was nothing more than a passing afterthought.
Tongue Ripper didn't even look in his direction, instead lazily twirling the necklace as if bored by the whole thing. River couldn't tell whether it was more infuriating or relieving that the guy didn't care enough to mock him. But either way, the sting of the score still lingered.
***
Most of the sleepers took their turns, their punches ringing out against the plate as the machine recorded their scores. Most numbers hovered between ten and fourteen, which was considered solid—only the most athletic could manage those kinds of numbers. A few of the more enhanced aspect sleepers, those with physical augmentations or specialized abilities, pushed through the limit, with some even managing scores of fifteen or sixteen. Yet, River hadn't really been paying too much attention to them; he hadn't even looked in their direction for a while now. He needed to come up with somewhat of a plan for the sparring; he refused to suffer another embarrassment like that again.
But as the last few contenders stepped forward, River refocused on the machine, pushing aside his lingering thoughts. The energy in the room seemed to grow as it was time for the top performers to go up.
"Earl of Oak, you're up." Instructor Rock commanded as he turned to gesture toward him.
Earl's imposing figure moved forward with his usual calm, almost meditative presence. As he approached the plate, his posture remained unshaken, giving no hint of nerves. Slowly, he raised his wooden arm, watching as it morphed, transforming into the shape of a massive serpent. In a sudden, explosive motion, his arm crashed into the plate like a force of nature
The room fell silent as the machine hummed to life. The numbers flashed across the screen: 17.
A few murmurs broke out in the crowd, impressed but not surprised. Earl had earned a reputation as a powerhouse, and his score only confirmed it. He gave a brief nod, acknowledging the result, and stepped aside to make room for the next contender.
"That's to be expected, he's a legacy after all."
"Seventeen's solid, but I expected more of him."
"Tsk… And what's your excuse? You couldn't even hit ten."
But while everyone else was focused on the score, River's face shifted in surprise as his eyes suddenly focused on something else.
Aspect Ability: [Bark Skin]
Aspect Ability Description: [Your connection to nature is so profound that you can transform your own flesh into powerful, protective bark]
'Wait… hold on… am I seeing how his aspect ability works?' He blinked rapidly, trying to process the flood of information. The way Earl's wooden arm had morphed into a serpent, the energy flowing through it—it all made sense now. River felt a strange sense of wonder at the sudden shift in his perception as if a veil had been lifted from his eyes.
River's face slowly morphed into a wide grin as he watched Earl walk back into the crowd of sleepers.
'Finally… a way to level the playing field.'