Chapter 18: The Formation of an Unlikely Alliance.
The battlefield trembled under the force of Fulan's strike. His foot, crackling with blue electricity, slammed into Akira's head like a lightning bolt cleaving the sky. The shockwave rippled outward, sending arcs of energy dancing through the air. For a moment, the entire arena was illuminated in a dazzling flash. Akira's body was hurled backward like a broken comet, his azure hair trailing behind him as he tumbled toward the ground. The sheer power of the kick made the very air quiver, and even the sand beneath them shifted, as if recoiling from the impact.
But just before Akira could crash, a voice, thick with triumph, rang out.
"Don't forget, you owe me a point, you arrogant brat!"
A single word followed, charged with power.
[ Pull! ]
Akira's fall was abruptly halted. An invisible force yanked him back, as if unseen hands had seized him midair. His body twisted, his clothes flapping wildly in the unnatural wind. But there was no salvation—only another disaster waiting.
The bald man raised his right fist, an eerie, colorless aura swirling around it. The air distorted as though bending to his will, warping with raw energy. As Akira was dragged toward him, the bald man's voice boomed with finality.
[ Ultimate Push! ]
BASH!
The punch struck Akira's stomach with earth-shattering force. His eyes rolled back, turning white, and a spray of blood burst from his lips, misting the air with crimson. The ground beneath them didn't just tremble—it exploded. A shockwave of wind and sand blasted outward, carving a fresh crater into the battlefield. Akira's body was sent hurtling once more, this time beyond the boundaries of the arena and into the dense forest beyond.
His flight ended in chaos. He crashed through trees, shattering trunks and snapping branches like brittle twigs. Splinters flew in all directions, marking his brutal descent. Finally, his battered form slid down the last tree he struck, coming to rest in a crumpled heap on the forest floor. His once-mighty presence was reduced to a broken silhouette, his clothes torn, his body unmoving. Two consecutive strikes—Fulan's devastating kick and the bald man's crushing punch—had erased his score, leaving him unconscious in the dirt.
The bald man smirked, flexing his right arm as though savoring the sensation of his triumph.
"There's no feeling in the world better than landing a perfect hit on your enemy. I live for moments like this."
No sooner had the words left his lips than a figure descended from above. Fulan landed like a living thunderbolt, his impact sending a wave of dust billowing outward. The other candidates turned toward him, a mix of awe and caution flickering in their eyes. As the dust settled, he straightened, rolling his shoulders with mild curiosity.
"Not a single bone broken? Perfect. I thought I'd at least fracture something with that landing."
A silence stretched between them. A moment ago, they had been bound by a singular goal—to take down Akira. Now, with their common enemy defeated, the fragile alliance they had shared teetered on the edge of collapse.
The bald man was the first to speak, his voice tinged with reluctant respect.
"You there! Thanks to you, I got my point back. I owe you… though I hate admitting it."
Fulan's gaze flickered toward him, unreadable. He took a slow breath before replying.
"Really? But that boy still owed me a point. I wanted to take that one too."
The bald man's grin widened.
"Hah? Well, it's mine now. You want to try taking it from me?"
The tension between them thickened, coiling like the moments before a storm. But before either could move, an arrow sliced through the air and embedded itself into the ground between them.
A blond-haired archer stepped forward, his golden eyes calm but resolute.
"Fighting each other now would be a waste of time. I hate to admit it, but I don't stand a chance in an exam with rules like these. All I can do is shoot arrows. Punching and kicking are impossible for someone like me."
The bald man turned toward him with an irritated frown.
"Huh? And what do you want me to do about that? What's a kid like you even doing in a dangerous place like this?"
Fulan said nothing, his dark eyes shifting between the bald man and the archer. Before anyone could respond, a blonde girl stepped forward, her green eyes sharp and assessing.
"What he means is that we should work together. It'll increase our chances of success."
Nearby, Fayrouz finally managed to push herself to her feet. Her blue eyes were narrowed with suspicion as she studied the girl.
"Forming a team in an individual exam? That's against the rules."
The blonde girl's gaze met hers, unshaken.
"A clash of two lightning strikes just happened next to you, and yet you're still standing. Impressive, Justice Girl. But I think your understanding of the exam's rules is flawed."
A heavy silence followed. She continued, her voice measured and unwavering.
"They only explained how to pass and how to fail. They never told us what's forbidden. Does leaving the exam area mean disqualification? No. Does killing someone mean disqualification? No. Does forming a team mean disqualification? No. None of these things were mentioned before the exam. Which means…"
She gestured toward the edge of the arena, where dozens of defeated candidates stood, faces etched with frustration and regret. Among them, a handful remained calm—likely those who had already passed.
"The number of eliminated candidates is rising fast, and the number of successful ones is reaching its limit. And while we're standing here talking, someone already has nine points and needs just one more to pass. Do you understand what this means?"
The bald man's expression darkened.
"It means you're wasting my time. I'm going to fight!"
The archer quickly interrupted.
"Wait, Muscle Brain. Your chances of passing are almost nonexistent now. This isn't just about me. All of us need to form a team. Each of us needs seven points—except for this black-haired guy who can copy lightning speed."
He glanced at Fulan, whose dark hair and eyes gave him a mysterious aura.
"He needs eight points. Meaning, if we form a team, we'll need thirty-six points in total."
The bald man scowled.
"Thirty-six points? You've got to be kidding me. I can pass on my own using my ability. Why should I help you?"
Fayrouz's voice rang out, calm yet commanding.
"No… I can come up with a plan that guarantees our success."
She had their attention now. Even the bald man, reluctant as he was, listened. Her blue eyes gleamed as she laid out her strategy—an earthquake to destabilize, a forceful pull to gather opponents, golden hair to bind them, explosions to strike them down. The plan was ruthless, efficient.
The blonde girl smirked.
"This sounds less like a plan and more like an execution. I almost feel sorry for the ones about to be eliminated."
The bald man cracked his knuckles.
"Fine. I'll pull them in."
The archer nodded.
"My explosions are deadly—I'll try to hold back."
Only Fulan remained unassigned. He raised an eyebrow.
"And me? No role for the guy who helped take down Akira?"
Fayrouz turned to him, smiling slightly.
"I owe you. Let me at least give you eight points as a gift."
For a moment, Fulan said nothing. Then, he nodded.
And with that, the alliance was forged. The battlefield, once a chaotic free-for-all, would now witness something far more dangerous—a team of warriors bound by necessity, prepared to seize victory.