<h2 style="text-align: center">Chapter Twenty-two: Then, There Were Screams</h2>


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    Chronifers (POV)


    Chronifer watched the red haired girl, as she walked away, he felt a bit amused, as much as he could be within the tense atmosphere. When she had looked back the last time her eyes seemed to have been asking for a fight or maybe a challenge.


    Who knows maybe challenging her might be a fair challenge, since she''d be someone my size.


    He felt like laughing at his own silly thought, but before the smile could even reach his face, he felt something change and he felt his blood run cold. His head whipped around furious finding what a change but then his eyes caught a frightened child a bit taller than him to his side pointing with quivering arms.


    He looked.


    Where the paper walls had once held the faint light of burning lanterns, something else had now changed, shadows of different sizes now lingered behind each and everyone of them. Chronifer closed his eyes, they burnt and his head hurt badly, he felt like he had taken a bat to his head.


    A felt something hot on his face and felt for it, it was warm on his hands, he opened his eyes, which were now blurry and saw red. Chronifer felt a surge of panic. Was this the same as with my parents?


    Then he heard something as if from far away. Tearing through his panicked thought, a whisper? He felt unsure, he locked around and found a stampede, children seemingly overcome with madness running away from the podium and as though with his sight the sound returned a brutal cacophony of terror and raw fear.


    Chronifer made sure to look away from the podium where the harmful silhouette lingered, but then try to put his thoughts back together he felt something.


    It was knowledgeable and a fact, it felt like a truth he was meant to know as sure as breathing. The presence of the silhouette crushed him, yet, It was not an attack, nor was it intentional. It simply was. A fundamental truth that his existence could not deny. The despair that bloomed in his chest was absolute. He understood, with a clarity more damning than any revelation, that he was dead. That he had been granted salvation. That all things, good or ill, could befall him, and he would have no say in the matter. He could struggle, cry, fight—but it would be meaningless. He wanted to run. Not out of cowardice, but out of a primal rejection of the cruelty of this reality. A reality in which he was nothing.


    He could hear it clearly now, the crying of the children around him, the fear as some collapsed to their knees, there was a poignant smell in the air, it smelled of piss and despair.


    Yet Chronifer did not run, he knew not what sat before him, yet he knew one thing, he wanted what they had, their strength, yes Chronifer was nothing, but he had accepted that reality long ago, and deep in his stomach like a fire within a desolate snow scape Chronifer felt comfort for the warmth that burned within him, he would become something.


    He was not alone in standing heads facing the ground, or looking around and yet avoiding gazing at the podium. He saw other children, not just the red haired girl, they were many beyond his count but in their rigid and defiant stance he knew that a tempered ambition burned bright within these children. Yet they all shared one other fact in common: they swayed and shocked like lone trees against a hurricane.


    Chronifer, burning with curiosity, tried to take a quick look at the podium, his eyes swiveled past and he swayed, almost falling to his knees. his spine chilled as something deep within him quivered. It was not fear – fear was something one could fight. This was something else, something more insidious, something Chronifer felt came from deeper within himself, originating from that inner most part of himself where a tree grew, his soul.


    What was that? Chronifer lowered his head, he felt it in his soul yet he felt it on his skin like it had caused a change on his body.


    “Be home.” The word echoed from the podium like the voice of a kindly preacher and into the ears of everyone, yet at the same time the sound reached them Chronifer heard the voice as of overlapping, one had come through his mind and the other his mind. Chronifer shivered.


    Yet that was but the start


    Like a vision, the words carried explanations, Chronifer somehow knew that the people that had panicked, and not been able to withstand the pressure from the podium would be sent home.


    With the knowledge the space around them suddenly cleared by a significant amount. It was as if all signs of the panic going on had just vanished, but no, it was more than that. It seems as if they had never been here. Chronifer gulped.


    “All left standing have passed.” Said a young feminine voice, with no particular special thing about it, except the weight it carried. The voice seemed to follow the same formula as the first, reaching him through both ear and mind, but the vision never came.


    “Now, The Summons begin.” The same voice spoke. “The Integration is here, out first. This is a boon to our future and it lies in your hands, for you are the future and us the past. We shall forge you however into what the future requires, for the past shall be the blueprint upon which a better future is built, That is all. This summons is but a prelude to what follows, your anvil and hammer. It is not dissimilar to the Spiral introduction, only tougher for we want the best of you.”


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    Chronifer could not have been prepared for the sudden understanding that bleed into his mind from the words.


    A test began by twelve that temperes the youth of the spiral till the day they turned sixteen and unlocked their system. But now it was hosted not by the youths'' family but by the gods of the spiral themselves. They needed the best and would forge the best.


    At the end Chronifers expectation and fear were realised, but thankfully he had made up his mind.


    A wizened laugh emitted from the podium yet it felt like it traveled through the stale air within the maw of the cosmic serpent.


    “You have passed the first test. Standing before us.” Voice said, carrying a deep pride and amusement. “Now a question, a choice, and I''ll tell you this, decide wisely: Do you seek our anvil for a chance at the Incursion? Hmm, do you? Or do you wish for normalcy, continue as you have always done? Wisely, wisely.”


    Before they could answer, some individuals vanished.


    What? Thought Chronifer in confusion. He had been expecting the understanding that followed the words but it seemed they had control over it.


    “Consideration of the question is a refusal.” The first voice spoke up once again, still sounding kindly but with an almost authoritative conviction.


    So I could have been whisk back home just like that?


    "Now be ready. The second test begins—catch the golden cards.” The female voice rang out once more, a herald of the challenge to come. At the end of her words, golden cards—shimmering like cash—manifested mid-air, darting through the space at dazzling speeds. "You have one minute. In failure, look up at the podium."


    The moment the podium was mentioned, Chronifer was already moving, dashing after a card that flickered past him. But he wasn’t the only one.


    Chaos.


    A boy slammed into his side, knocking him off balance. His legs lost contact with the ground. Another impact followed, sending the world tilting, the floor rushing up fast. Unrelenting. He reached out to catch himself. From his peripheral vision, he caught sight of another figure lunging toward him.


    He gritted his teeth, shoulders burning, but kept moving. With a sharp push-up, he kicked off the ground, twisting mid-air. His leg whipped around in a brutal wheel kick, clearing space. Landing light on his feet, his eyes locked onto another card, relatively close. He lunged forward.


    His mind was razor-sharp, focused, as he wove through the mass of competitors. Some panicked, others moved with deadly coordination. He spun through gaps, slipped past blocks, vaulted over shoulders and heads—relentless.


    A flash of red hair.


    Chronifer halted, locking eyes with a girl heading straight for the same card. They glanced at each other, then back at the prize. Their moment of hesitation shattered as a swarm of competitors rushed toward the same goal.


    No hesitation.


    Chronifer struck first.


    He rammed an elbow into the spine of the nearest boy. Not a competitor anymore. Dropping into a low stance, he grabbed the kid and hurled him overhead. His screams were lost in the uproar—the shouts of desperate challengers and the hunting gaze of the Spiral Council, the gods.


    Chronifer was a beast among his peers.


    He tore through them—pulling, striking, grappling. Every movement, sharp, efficient, brutal. And then, suddenly, the chaos parted.


    The card was right there.


    So was the red-haired girl.


    Her fingers stretched toward it, inches away.


    Chronifer didn’t stop.


    His grip tightened on the head of a boy he had punched earlier. The card veered, dodging the girl’s grasp. Without hesitation, he reached into the boy’s mouth, feeling loose teeth beneath his fingers.


    The kid bit down.


    Pain flared through Chronifer’s hand, but he ripped free, tearing the teeth from the boy’s mouth.


    Three.


    He flicked the first fast and vicious—aiming straight for the red-haired girl’s eye. The second, he hurled toward where he expected the card to go, limiting its options. The last? He sent it toward the nearest competitor, forcing them to flinch.


    The golden card had nowhere left to fly.


    Except into his waiting hand. At contact the card melted and it felt like burning metal, Chronifer screamed. Even through the haze of pain and exhaustion, his mind barely registered the words now glowing on his wrist.


    First Challenge Conquered. (1/3)


    Next Challenge: War Child


    Goals:


    Kill 5000 Soldiers (0/5000)


    Kill  or be involved in the death of 3 of the 14 generals of Quaborne