Chapter 7: Beyond

  Ten minutes earlier:

  The two professors stood at a distance, elevated atop a floating platform of compacted earth, its surface steady despite the wind and heat below. From there, they observed the two academy candidates moving through the wild zone.

  Professor Bernard broke the silence first.

  “Student Meliodas’ physical condition is deteriorating.”

  Professor Adelion nodded in agreement, his quill scratching softly against parchment as he continued to write without looking away from his notes.

  “His stamina is lacking,” bernard said. “But his judgment is not. Choosing to stop was the correct decision. Continuing in an exhausted state would have been reckless.”

  “He should listen to the half-giant’s suggestion. It may bruise his pride, but it would be far more efficient.” Adelion added

  “Indeed. They would have reached their destination by now,”.

  Adelion stopped writing and looked up.

  “They’ve got company,” he said.

  Bernard followed his gaze.

  “I wonder how they’re going to handle it.”

  “They should obviously run,” Adelion replied. “If you can even call them Straum users. What can two novices do against two, no, three monsters? Especially ones with a symbiotic relationship. Two Venomtailed Scarabs and a Burrowfang. Young specimens, perhaps, but still more than capable of killing them.”

  “You’re right, Professor,” Bernard said calmly. “Running while attacking would be the wise choice. Still…”

  He paused, eyes fixed on the scene below.

  “I have a feeling we might see something either extraordinary… or a very quick failure.”

  The Burrowfang looked up, and saw nothing.

  The shadow of the bird it had sensed moments before had vanished, the illusion dissolving as if it had never existed.

  Meliodas didn’t hesitate.

  He launched himself beneath the monster, diving toward its exposed underside. Pain tore through him as rough, blade-like hairs ripped across his skin, slicing through cloth and flesh alike. He clenched his teeth, forcing the cry back.

  All or nothing, he thought

  Two fiery orbs already circled him. As his body slammed against the hard ground, the third returned, snapping back into place beside the others, its glow unstable but intact.

  Meliodas closed his eyes.

  He focused, feeling the three orbs circling him, their heat brushing against his skin as they rotated faster and faster. He raised one trembling hand, drawing them in. The orbs obeyed, collapsing toward his palm and spinning rapidly above it, their light flickering wildly.

  Sweat poured down his face. A sharp pain coursed through his body as he forced all of his attention into a single point in his palm. His breath grew ragged.

  The orbs began to merge.

  The strain intensified, burning through his chest and down his spine. His vision blurred, but he held on. A moment later, the three became one, not larger, but denser, its orange glow brighter and more concentrated, pulsing like a living thing.

  The orb steadied.

  Then it changed.

  First, faint outlines formed, wings unfolding from the light. Then a beak. Feathers followed, forged from flame and heat. In seconds, the orb completed its transformation.

  A small bird of fire rested quietly in Meliodas’ palm.

  It chirped happily, hopping from side to side with almost childish excitement. Meliodas felt it, felt the simple, unquestioning joy of the construct, while his own body trembled from exhaustion. With what little focus he had left, he gave the bird a single, clear command.

  The Burrowfang screeched as it realized the deception. Rage flooded its eyes as it looked down, spotting Meliodas beneath it. One massive leg lifted, then came crashing down toward his ribcage.

  But before it could strike—

  The spider froze.

  A small, fiery shape darted out from beneath it, wings flaring as the tiny bird burst into the air and began circling its head. The Burrowfang recoiled, startled, its screech turning sharp and confused.

  Then it laughed.

  At least, that’s what it sounded like to Meliodas, a harsh, grinding noise as if the creature found the tiny bird pathetic, a desperate final trick. The Burrowfang swiped at it with one bladed leg.

  The bird slipped past effortlessly.

  Another swipe. Another miss.

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  The creature’s movements grew sharper, more irritated. It snapped its jaws, trying to bite the bird as it fluttered closer and closer—

  Until, in an instant, the tiny form stopped directly before its eyes.

  The Burrowfang lunged.

  The bird unfazed pecked it.

  Lightly.

  For a heartbeat, nothing happened.

  Then the Burrowfang ignited.

  Fire erupted from within its body, not spreading across its surface but bursting outward, flames tearing through chitin, muscle, and bone as if the creature had become kindling. The spider screeched, once but the sound was cut short as the fire consumed it faster than thought.

  In seconds, there was nothing left.

  No corpse. No remains.

  Just drifting ash carried by the dry wind.

  “What the fuck…” Tyka muttered weakly, having managed to turn his head just enough to see the blaze fade.

  Meliodas lay still, staring up at the clear sky where the spider’s grotesque underside had been only moments before. Seconds passed, then more than seconds, before he finally realized he had done it.

  With a sharp breath, he pushed himself upright. Pain flared immediately, spreading through his body as his muscles protested the movement. Every limb felt heavy, strained, as if he had been wrung dry.

  He panted, then let out a breathless laugh, short, victorious, before it cut off as another wave of pain rolled through him.

  “Worth it,” he muttered weakly.

  He barely managed to force himself upright, and started staggering toward Tyka, his expression pale and unfocused.

  “Meliodas—INCOMING!” Tyka shouted again.

  Meliodas turned.

  Three more Venomtailed Scarabs emerged from the tall grass.

  Before he could react, his legs gave out. He dropped to his knees, muscles finally refusing to obey. The world tilted as he looked up, watching the creatures advance, their armored bodies clicking softly as they closed in.

  So this is it, he thought.

  No, no, it can’t be.

  I can’t fail here. Not now.

  Images flashed through his mind in rapid succession. His father’s quiet disappointment. All that training, all those years, for nothing. Then his sister’s gaze, sharper still, filled with expectation he hadn’t met.

  No.

  This can’t be it.

  He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, forcing focus through the pain. When he stood, he nearly stumbled again, instinctively clutching his broken arm as his vision swam.

  His eyes began to glow, faint at first, an icy blue light gathering behind them.

  One orb formed.

  Then a second.

  Then a third.

  The glow around his eyes intensified, shimmering brighter as he fixed his gaze on the monsters closing in.

  Then the earth erupted.

  Jagged earth spikes burst from the ground beneath the Venomtailed Scarabs, impaling them with brutal ease. Bodies were lifted and torn apart as if they were made of paper rather than flesh. The creatures didn’t even have time to scream.

  “What do you think you’re doing, student Meliodas?”

  The voice came from beside him.

  Meliodas turned his head just enough to see the elven professor standing there, calm and unscathed amid the chaos.

  Relief hit him all at once.

  His legs gave out.

  The world went dark as he collapsed, consciousness slipping away before he even hit the ground.

  Meliodas woke to the rush of wind against his skin.

  For a moment, he didn’t understand why the horizon was moving so fast. until the rhythm beneath him shifted and he realized he was being carried. He lifted his head slightly, blinking against the light.

  “Tyka…” he murmured, voice hoarse. “Could you be… a little less rough?”

  “Oh, you’re awake, sleepy prince,” Tyka said cheerfully. “I was starting to think I’d need to find a princess to wake you up or something. Hold on, we’re almost there.”

  “He’s awake!” Tyka called out to the professors sprinting ahead.

  There was no response. They didn’t slow, didn’t turn back, just kept moving.

  As the minutes passed, Meliodas slowly regained his senses. His body felt heavy, drained in a way that went deeper than simple exhaustion. He could barely move, but the world no longer spun when he opened his eyes.

  A dull headache settled in as sensation crept back into Meliodas’ limbs. He noticed, with faint surprise, that his broken arm no longer hurt. Whatever had been done to it had worked, at least for that injury.

  The rest of his body, however, protested fiercely.

  Every muscle screamed as if reminding him of the price he’d paid.

  They finally came to a halt. Tyka gently set Meliodas down and propped him against the trunk of a nearby tree. Meliodas winced as his back touched the bark, then let out a tired breath.

  “Shit… that was a rough one,” he muttered, glancing up at Tyka.

  Tyka waved it off with a shrug. “Ah, nothing to worry about. If I hadn’t gotten bitten, I’d’ve smashed that spider, easy.” He paused, then added more seriously, lifting a clenched fist. “Still… thanks, bro. You saved my life back there.”

  Meliodas raised his own fist and tapped it against Tyka’s. “No worries,” he said, managing a weak smile. “You’d’ve done the same.”

  “Are you insane, or just plain stupid?” Professor Adelion snapped as he strode closer.

  Before Meliodas could answer, Adelion seized his arm. A cold pressure washed over Meliodas as the professor’s aura crept into him, probing, measuring, judging.

  “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Adelion demanded.

  Bernard stepped closer, his expression unusually grim. “How is his condition?” he asked, voice low and controlled.

  Meliodas met Bernard’s gaze and saw genuine concern there, no irritation, no disdain.

  “He’s stable,” Adelion said at last, releasing him. “Exhausted, fractured arm, early signs of Straum depletion.” He scoffed. “And painfully reckless, if you ask me.”

  “That’s enough professor,” Bernard said firmly. “Let him recover first. You can lecture him later.”

  Adelion clicked his tongue but didn’t argue. He straightened and moved toward Bernard, muttering under his breath as he went.

  Bernard flicked his wrist, tossing a small vial toward Tyka.

  Tyka caught it awkwardly, nearly fumbling it. “Woah!”

  “Give it to him,” Bernard said without turning. “We move in ten minutes. He should be able to walk by then.”

  Meliodas barely had time to look at the vial. Inside, a greenish-gold liquid swirled slowly, thicker than water, catching the light in an unnatural way.

  Before he could ask a single question, Tyka uncorked it and tipped the contents straight into Meliodas’ mouth.

  The taste was awful, bitter, sharp, and metallic. Meliodas gagged as he swallowed, and then the pain hit.

  Heat surged through his body like liquid fire, racing along his veins, burrowing into muscle and bone. He gasped, fingers clawing into the dirt as his body tensed, a strangled grunt tearing from his throat.

  For a heartbeat, it felt unbearable.

  Then the heat softened.

  The fire didn’t vanish, it settled, spreading evenly, sinking deep. The sharp edges of pain dulled, fracture knitting, torn flesh tightening. Strength crept back into his limbs, not fresh, but enough.

  Meliodas exhaled shakily.

  Tyka stared at him, eyes wide, half-panicked, half-amazed. He glanced toward the professors, about to say something, but Bernard and Adelion were locked in a heated argument, voices low and sharp, completely ignoring them.

  Tyka swallowed and looked back at Meliodas.

  “…You good, bro?”

  “Yeah… I’m good,” Meliodas said, pushing himself fully upright. The movement sent a dull ache through his body, painful but bearable. He wiped the sweat that had gathered on his brow, forcing his breathing to steady.

  “You should rest, bro,” Tyka said, watching him closely.

  “I’m fine,” Meliodas replied, more firmly than he felt.

  His gaze shifted past Tyka as the two professors began walking toward them.

  Meliodas swallowed.

  Had he failed?

  No he couldn’t have. First-years weren’t expected to kill monsters. They weren’t even supposed to engage. He’d done well, hadn’t he? He had to have.

  But doubt crept in anyway.

  They were supposed to run. Escape routes. Avoidance. That had been the point of the test, hadn’t it? Why hadn’t he thought of that sooner? Why had he stayed?

  Damn it.

  His chest tightened as the weight of it pressed down on him. If this was a failure, if this counted against him, how was he supposed to face them?

  His father.

  His mother.

  His sister.

  And worst of all, his brother.