Chapter 3: Hundred
??? – Night
“The first phase of the exam is simple.”
Chaper’s voice boomed from unseen speakers, cold and precise.
“Right now, there are 213 applicants. By the end of this phase, that number will be cut in half. Only the top 100 will move forward.”
Half.
Blaine’s gaze swept over the gathered applicants, each standing within the vast, dimly lit arena. Even 100 felt like too many.
“This is what’s going to happen,” Chaper continued. “You will all be transported to the outer wall of the city. As you know, New York is one of the most densely IC-infested areas in the world. You won’t be short on targets.”
A ripple of uneasy murmurs spread through the crowd. Chaper let the tension settle before he spoke again.
“The Association has an Abiliter who will track the number of ICs you take down. To ensure fairness, each of you will receive a counter.”
Without warning, something materialized against Blaine’s chest. A small, sturdy device, cold against his skin. All around him, others reacted as their own counters appeared in the same place.
“The rules are simple,” Chaper said. “The first 100 to reach 100 points advance to the next phase. Level F ICs are worth 1 point. Level E, 2 points. Level D, 5 points. Level C, 10.”
''An elimination time attack.'' Blaine exhaled slowly.
Simple. Brutal... But efficient.
“Remember, only the first 100 will proceed. The moment your counter disappears, you’re out. That’s all. Good luck, rooks… and try not to die.”
The speakers cut off. Silence crashed down for half a second—then the world lurched.
A violent force yanked Blaine downward. The arena vanished.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
He was being sent to the outer wall.
***
Outer New York, Wasteland – Night
Every major city in the world was built around a colossal wall, designed to keep the ICs out.
It wasn’t perfect. The ICs had their ways—small breaches, hidden routes—but for the most part, the walls held.
Beyond human settlements, the world had become a wasteland, the last remnants of a once-thriving continent now overrun by wandering ICs. Some moved alone, others in packs or colonies. The most dangerous among them didn’t last long. The Abiliters Association made sure of that.
''Which means,'' Blaine thought, ''the chances of a Level B or higher IC lurking outside New York’s wall are slim... But not zero.''
That wasn’t the most pressing problem, though.
He had arrived in the middle of nowhere.
The moon cast its pale glow over the ruins of what had once been a peaceful suburb. Crumbling houses, rusted-out cars, nature slowly reclaiming what humanity had abandoned. The silence felt suffocating.
Blaine exhaled, scanning the empty streets. Whoever had transported the applicants must have spaced them out deliberately—probably to keep them from getting tangled up in the same fights.
''… This isn’t good.''
His ability, ''Everblade,'' was powerful. A summonable black sword, unbreakable and eternally sharp, capable of enhancing his physical prowess. But it wasn’t built for area attacks. It thrived in one-on-one combat, precision kills—not mowing down hordes of enemies.
He could already imagine Killian Venger, with his alterable-trajectory pistols and near-infinite ammo upon recharging, effortlessly clearing waves of weak Level F and E ICs. The guy wouldn’t even have to aim—just unload and let the bullets do the work.
Blaine couldn’t compete with that kind of kill speed. And who knew how many other applicants had abilities just as lethal—maybe even better?
... No point wasting time on things beyond his control.
Blaine shook his head, forcing the doubt away.
''Focus.''
He scanned the ruins, searching for ICs.
His best strategy was to hunt down Level C ones—they were worth 10 points each. The fastest way to hit 100.
That didn’t mean he’d ignore the weaker ICs. Every point counted, and speed was everything.
His gaze flicked down to the counter device on his chest. It was still there.
''Good.''
He just had to make sure it stayed that way—at least until he could take down ten Level Cs before a hundred others beat him to it.
***
Three Hours Later.
Blaine had been lucky.
In the past couple of hours, he’d taken down five Level C ICs—one owl-shaped, one oversized lizard, a monstrous fly and bee, and the most formidable of them all, a feral cat.
None had been particularly difficult. The real challenge had been finding them.
Time. ''That'' was the problem.
His gaze flicked down to the counter on his chest, his pulse quickening as he checked. Still there.
''90.''
He’d cut down enough lesser ICs along the way to pad his score. Now, all he needed was ten more points—either one more Level C or ten Level F ICs.
''Come on... I’m running out of time.''
For the first time, a realization gnawed at him. His one-on-one combat style—while effective—had limits. If he truly wanted to be a force within the Abiliters Association, he’d need a way to take down multiple enemies at once.
''But how?''
His thoughts scattered as he turned onto a secluded street.
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The ruins here were older—collapsed homes, their skeletons left untouched for fifty years. The wind was still. The night air thick.
And then—he felt it.
A presence.
Humans weren’t supposed to detect radiation in the air—at least, not fifty years ago. But the new humans could. Especially those who had fought against the ICs long enough. The Abiliters like Blaine, for instance. Some called it instinct. Others called it an evolved sense of survival. Whether it was the shift in the air, the unnatural stillness, or just pure gut feeling, Blaine knew—
Something was here.
“… Fucking great.”
He stopped.
A hulking IC loomed ahead, its shell gleaming under the moonlight.
A cockroach the size of a small car.
Blaine’s jaw tensed.
''Of all things... It had to be that.''
He hated insect-type ICs. Their exoskeletons were a pain to break through, and worse, some of them laid eggs when they died. The last thing he wanted was to cut one open only to unleash a fresh swarm of horrors.
But there was no time to hesitate.
His counter was still there—for now—but he could feel it. Time was almost up.
He had to kill this thing.
With a resigned sigh, Blaine summoned the Everblade into his grasp. The black blade shimmered, sharp as ever.
''Please be male... No eggs.''
He prayed and moved.
... The cockroach IC was fast.
Far faster than something that size had any right to be.
Its hardened shell gleamed under the moonlight as it scuttled across the ruined street, dodging Blaine’s initial strikes with unnatural agility. His blade barely grazed its carapace, sending sparks flying but leaving no real damage.
Blaine gritted his teeth. No time to hesitate.
Desperation fueled him. He lunged, aiming for the softer spots—the face and the abdomen. His attacks were relentless, his swings precise. Everblade slashed through the air in a flurry of sharp arcs, each one seeking an opening.
The cockroach hissed and retaliated, spewing a toxic, radioactive liquid from its mouth.
Blaine barely needed to think. He moved instinctively, sidestepping with ease, letting the glowing acid splash uselessly onto the crumbling asphalt behind him.
He hated fighting insect-types.
But that didn’t mean he didn’t know how to kill them.
Five minutes passed—an agonizing eternity.
Blaine’s breath came in sharp bursts, his arms ached from swinging, but finally, he severed almost all of its scuttling legs. The massive insect thrashed, struggling to balance on its remaining limbs.
Now.
He drove Everblade straight into its grotesque, twitching face.
The cockroach convulsed violently. Blaine pulled the sword out and struck again. And again.
Insect-type ICs were persistent. Their nerve endings kept firing even when half their bodies were gone. He wasn’t taking any chances—he needed to destroy everything connecting its broken body to its brain.
And then—
Stillness.
The cockroach IC lay motionless, its hideous form finally defeated.
Blaine exhaled sharply, yanking Everblade free. His heart pounded as he glanced down at the counter on his chest.
100.
Before he could even catch his breath, the world around him warped. He was being transported again.
But this time, he felt it.
Relief.
He made it.
***
Waiting Room, Abiliters Association Office (???)
Blaine arrived in a different area from before. Smaller, quieter. About seventy other applicants sat around, waiting. Sofas and chairs lined the walls, refreshments untouched at the center.
A hundred large screens dominated the room—not digital, but the result of someone’s ability, broadcasting fight scenes from those who had passed Phase One of the exam.
"You look like hell."
Blaine turned to find Killian smirking at him.
Only now did he realize he was covered in sweat, blood, and IC goo from the night’s hunt. Meanwhile, Killian stood next to him looking pristine, not even a drop of sweat on him.
"And you look nice," Blaine grumbled.
"Yeah, well, we knew the assignment was going to be difficult for you."
Blaine nodded absentmindedly, scanning the room.
Most applicants weren’t paying attention to the refreshments. Instead, they were gathered beneath one screen at the far end, murmuring among themselves. Blaine frowned, wondering what was so important.
"Wait, you’re up."
Killian pointed at one of the screens as it flickered to life.
A caption appeared at the bottom:
#77 Blaine Carver
Ability: Everblade
Completion Time: 3''45''''12''''''
Footage of Blaine’s fights played—mostly highlights of his battles against Level C ICs.
"Seventy-seven?" Blaine muttered.
"You’re the seventy-seventh to pass," Killian said.
Blaine frowned. Seventy-six others had beaten him to the finish. That put him on the lower end of the competition. The fact that his ability wasn’t suited for this kind of assignment didn’t console him.
Only the two of them were watching. The rest of the room was still gathered around the farthest screen—likely watching whoever had passed first.
"Damn, that last one was disgusting," Killian muttered, squinting at the footage of Blaine cutting down the cockroach IC. "Good thing it didn’t lay eggs all over you."
"Yes, I feel so lucky," Blaine said dryly.
"Well, it could’ve been worse," Killian added with an apologetic grin.
Blaine nodded toward the crowd. "What’s everyone looking at?"
"#1, obviously," Killian said, like he’d already seen it.
Blaine turned back to him. "What’s your number?"
"Twenty-four. Wanna watch mine?"
Blaine shrugged. Killian led the way to his screen.
The caption appeared:
#24 Killian Venger
Ability: Free Bullets
Completion Time: 0''35''''32''''''
"Free Bullets?" Blaine blinked. "Really?"
"I like to keep things simple," Killian said with a shrug.
Blaine watched the highlights of Killian’s run. It wasn’t exactly exciting.
Too easy.
Killian’s biggest challenge had been finding enough Level F and E ICs in a single horde. Once he did, he simply pointed his pistols upward and fired. Nonstop.
Now, Blaine saw it—Killian’s bullets weren’t just trajectory-controlled. They auto-targeted enemies.
"Not bad, huh?" Killian grinned smugly.
"That’s almost like cheating," Blaine muttered, shaking his head.
"How’s it cheating? It’s my ability. I worked hard to master it!" Killian protested.
Blaine gave a half-hearted nod before finally turning toward the crowd, all fixated on number one''s feat.
"You already watched it?" he asked.
"Yeah... and if you think my ability is cheating, you’re in for a treat with this one."
They moved toward the group. The atmosphere was heavy—serious, almost unnerved. Whatever they had seen had left an impression.
The screen showed a simple scene on loop. Five seconds. That was all it took for number one to reach 100 points.
#1 Hikaru Lavalier
Ability: Absolute Chain
Completion Time: 0''0''''7''''''
''Seven seconds?'' Blaine felt a chill run down his spine. That number didn’t feel real.
Finally, he focused on the footage—short, but devastating.
A lean Asian young man stood alone. Curly, disheveled hair. A disinterested expression. No ICs in sight.
Then, the camera—probably a drone controlled by the Association—zoomed out to capture the full scope of what had happened.
Within a mile radius, the ground convulsed as millions of chain links erupted like a living creature shaking off its restraints. They shot upward in a brutal frenzy, impaling hundreds of ICs in an instant. The air rang with the sickening crunch of ruptured exoskeletons and the shrieks of dying creatures.
The earth itself seemed to rebel, fracturing under the sheer force of the ability. Fissures split open, swallowing debris as jagged chains surged forth, skewering anything in their path. The ground became a slaughterhouse, bodies writhing like grotesque ornaments strung along steel threads.
But the devastation didn’t stop. The chains moved with intelligence, relentless in their hunt. Wave after wave followed, an unending torrent of destruction, until the entire area was ensnared. Within seconds, what had been an open wasteland was now a dome of interwoven chains, sealing the massacre within its iron grasp.
Blaine’s sharp eyes caught at least a thousand ICs struggling against the iron prison before the footage looped back to the beginning, replaying the mass slaughter over and over.
Killian nudged him, nodding toward the corner of the waiting room.
"That’s him."
Hikaru Lavalier sat slouched in a chair, dozing off. Completely at ease.
Blaine didn’t dare approach. Every instinct in him, every bit of his Abiliter’s awareness, painted a vivid image in his mind—a chain shooting out of nowhere, piercing his chest before he could even react.
"What a cocky bastard," Killian muttered, clicking his tongue.
"Yeah..." Blaine murmured.
But in his mind, a different word came to him.
''Monster.''
Within minutes, the rest of the 100 applicants had filled the room, lighting up all the screens.
Blaine moved through the displays, scanning the top-ranked applicants.
The AA entrance exam was multi-phased, and historically, pitting one Abiliter against another was a staple—whether through duels, team battles, or competitive face-offs.
These screens were more than just highlights; they were valuable intel. Blaine tried to commit notable abilities to memory, though the overwhelming impact of Hikaru Lavalier’s display made everyone else seem like an afterthought.
Just then, the booming sound of the invisible speakers crackled to life.
This time, a lively woman’s voice filled the room.
“Well, that’s 100. Congrats on passing Phase One of the exam! I’m your next examiner for Phase Two—Athena Warden, Veteran Rank.”
There was a slight pause, a hint of amusement in her tone, as if she were holding back laughter.
“Ron might have introduced you to hell, but now? You’re in it for real. Prepare for Phase Two, whelps, and mark my words—some of you will definitely die this time.”
Blaine tensed. His eyes instinctively flicked to Killian, who was forcing a grin, though it barely masked his unease.
Then he noticed Hikaru rising from his chair, stretching with a yawn—completely unfazed by the examiner’s grim warning.
“The next phase doesn’t start for a few more hours,” Athena continued. “Until then, wash up and rest in your assigned rooms. You’ll be sent there shortly. See you soon!”
A familiar sensation took hold—like the ground pulling him downward—and in the blink of an eye, Blaine found himself elsewhere.
A simple, hotel-like room. No exit.
A bed. A small table. A restroom with a shower. A mini-fridge stocked with drinks and snacks.
No clock. Instead, a countdown displayed on the wall.
T - 2:45 until Phase Two started.