Project:Imagine

Maxwell stood in the center of the gym, his body battered and weakened, every breath a reminder of the grueling battle he had just endured. His wings, once radiant and strong, now hung limply behind him, their feathers dulled by fatigue. In stark contrast, Noah stood across from him, barely showing signs of exertion, his calm demeanor unshaken. The entire class, though buzzing with anticipation, could sense the inevitable outcome. The tension in the air was thick, and each student was on edge as they waited for the clash that seemed more a formality than a fair fight.

But just as the two prepared to engage, the atmosphere in the gym shifted dramatically. A loud crack echoed through the room, and suddenly, a massive wall of bones erupted from the ground between them, towering and menacing. The bones, polished to an eerie sheen, formed an impenetrable barrier, their twisted shapes casting long, ominous shadows across the gym floor.

“Alright, listen up!” Ivan’s voice boomed, cutting through the stunned silence. He stepped forward, his expression stern yet composed. “We’re postponing this fight. You two will face off when you’re both at full strength.” His gaze moved from Noah, still calm and collected, to Maxwell, who was visibly struggling to remain standing. “Any moment now, Maxwell is going to collapse.”

The class, on the edge of their seats, now shifted uneasily. The sudden intervention, though unexpected, made sense. Despite his determination, Maxwell was in no condition to continue, and Noah’s victory, while almost certain, would have been hollow under the circumstances.

Ivan’s decision hung in the air, the bone wall a stark reminder of the power dynamics at play. The students exchanged glances, a mix of disappointment and understanding passing through them. This fight, the one they had all been so eager to witness, would have to wait.

But in the back of their minds, one thought lingered, when these two finally clashed at full strength, the outcome would be anything but predictable.

Ivan paced before the students, his boots echoing ominously in the gym as he observed their reactions. The bone wall had vanished, but the tension it left behind still lingered in the air.

“Overall, your combat skills were excellent,” Ivan began, his voice steady but carrying a weight that demanded attention. “It’s not unheard of for one or two geniuses to appear in a class, but having this many… well, it means this will be an interesting year.”

His gaze swept over the group, lingering momentarily on each student as if assessing their potential anew. “Listen up,” he continued, his tone hardening, “I’ll be your combat instructor from now until you graduate. While the recruits of the Alpha facility’s main priority is to hunt monsters, you all have a different prey. You will be taught how to kill the Awakened.”

The words hung in the air like a death sentence. Ivan snapped his fingers, and in an instant, bones materialized out of thin air, swirling around him like a violent storm. Thousands of weapons formed in the blink of an eye, each one more intricate and deadly than the last. The display was breathtaking in its brutality, a far cry from the crude blood weapons Ashe had created. These were masterworks, each blade and spear unique, crafted with a precision that spoke of Ivan’s terrifying mastery over his power.

“To survive my onslaught and be able to defeat me at least once is the standard I expect from you by the end of your time here,” Ivan declared, his eyes narrowing as he gauged their reactions. “Don’t worry, you’ll have until you turn eighteen before you graduate.”

He paused, letting the gravity of his words sink in. The room was silent, the students too stunned to speak. Then, with a casual flick of his wrist, he added, “Now, I’m sure many of you already know, but let me remind you that bombs have been placed on your necks. Should you attempt to escape or betray A.E.G.I.S, then your head goes boom.” He punctuated the statement with a mock gun gesture, a dark smile playing on his lips.

The fear was palpable, a cold wave that swept through the room. Maxwell, still weary from his earlier fight, felt a chill run down his spine. He was all too aware of the bombs, having encountered Frank, who told him of the bombs. The stakes had never felt higher.

Cynthia, trying to mask her fear with curiosity, raised a hand. “What’s so special about battling against an Awakened compared to when we have fought each other?” she asked, her voice steady but tinged with concern.

Ivan’s expression darkened, his eyes narrowing as he considered her question. “Excellent question. The answer would be madness,” he replied, his voice taking on a grim edge. “While technically, on infinitesimally rare occasions, a normal human can succumb to madness, with the Awakened, it’s nearly guaranteed. Should they be put on the verge of death, their minds shatter under the strain, and their bodies respond by absorbing the ambient aura. This overwhelming surge of power twists them into grotesque, monstrous forms, driven by a pure instinct to kill. Those beasts we call the Frenzied are much stronger than when they were an Awakened.”

The room was silent, the weight of Ivan’s words pressing down on them like a physical force. Each student could feel the looming threat, the terrifying reality of what it meant to fight and kill an Awakened. The path ahead was fraught with danger, and as Ivan’s gaze swept over them once more, they all understood that this was only the beginning.

Maxwell stood amidst his peers, feeling the weight of his anxiety pressing down like a vice. Being an Awakened was a curse he could never escape, no matter how much he wished to. The memories of the fighting pit resurfaced unbidden, a nightmare he couldn’t shake. The chaos, the blood, the screams—it was all a blur, yet the raw terror of losing himself to that madness was still vivid. A shiver coursed down his spine as he recalled the crazed look in the eyes of those who had succumbed, their humanity stripped away, leaving only a ravenous beast behind.

“You artificial Awakened,” Ivan’s voice cut through Maxwell’s thoughts, “despite the enhancements you’ve undergone, you still have the same chance as any standard human of succumbing to madness.” Ivan’s tone was as cold and sharp as the weapons he commanded. “The most crucial thing you must know when in combat is when to kill your own allies. If you’re on a mission with an Awakened, and you believe they’re becoming a Frenzied, you must kill them quickly.”

The room grew colder as Ivan spoke, the reality of his words sinking in like poison. “Six years ago, I was on a large-scale raid—many of you have heard about the Invidia raid, I assume. The worst part of that nightmare was Invidia’s ability to control madness and inflict it onto us. We weren’t just fighting a monster; we were battling our own comrades who, en masse, became twisted, grotesque beasts. For their sake and your own, you must put them out of their misery.”

A somber silence fell over the room as Ivan’s words hung in the air. His expression was distant, haunted by the ghosts of that raid. The students exchanged uneasy glances, the grim reality of their future laid bare.

Maxwell, his voice tinged with an edge of desperation, finally asked, “If we’re battling a Frenzied, what should we do?”

Ivan’s gaze locked onto Maxwell’s, the intensity in his eyes unmistakable. “If you’re alone, unless you’ve been assigned a powerful artifact, or if you’re Markus Valentine, you run. Without overwhelming power, you have no hope. Those things make their previous selves look like weak children.”

The mention of Markus Valentine piqued Rook’s curiosity, and he voiced the question on everyone’s mind, “Who is Markus Valentine?”

Ivan’s expression softened slightly, a mix of respect and something darker lurking beneath. “He is A.E.G.I.S.’s strongest Awakened, the Reaper. His power is so immense that the leader of A.E.G.I.S. has placed a total of three seals on his body to limit his pure power.”

The revelation left the students in awe, a silent acknowledgment of the terrifying power that lay within their ranks. But with that awe came a realization, they were all walking a razor’s edge, teetering between incredible power and the abyss of madness. And for Maxwell, the line between the two had never felt thinner.

Ivan’s voice carried a mix of authority and casual ease as he addressed the students, “For the most part, I’ll explain how things will work once your classes start tomorrow... wait a second, where did Sarah go?” He frowned as he realized she had quietly slipped away.

Ashe stepped forward, his expression calm but with a hint of concern. “Sorry, she snuck out a while ago to go check on Emily. Do you want me to bring her back?”

Ivan let out a chuckle, the sound almost out of place given the tense atmosphere. “It’s fine. I applaud that kind of stealth skill—she’s got potential. But I’ll have to keep a more watchful eye from now on.”

The tension in the room eased slightly, the students relaxing as Ivan’s laughter broke the intensity of the moment. “Go take a break,” Ivan continued, his tone now more casual. “You’ve got classes starting tomorrow, but I’ll schedule your rematch for the 13th.”

Maxwell’s heart skipped a beat. The date hit him like a punch to the gut, and a cold sweat broke out across his skin. The 13th, Nihil’s letter, had warned him that this was the day he would die if he couldn’t prevent it. His mind raced as the surrounding room blurred into a haze of anxiety. He managed a stiff nod, barely registering the rest of Ivan’s words as he hurried out of the gym.

Back in his dorm room, the familiar walls offered no comfort. Maxwell’s thoughts were a storm of fear and doubt as he tried to make sense of what was coming. He couldn’t afford to fail. His eyes landed on his desk, and his blood ran cold. A letter, its edges crisp and clean, rested on the polished wood, with a white rose lying behind it, a stark contrast to the darkened room.

Maxwell’s heart pounded in his chest as he stared at the ominous letter lying on his desk. The room felt colder, the shadows creeping closer as he hesitated to reach for it. The white rose behind the letter, pristine and delicate, contrasted sharply with the dread settling in his stomach. With trembling hands, he picked up the letter, the paper feeling heavier than it should. Slowly, he unfolded it, his eyes scanning the elegantly written script, each word dripping with malice.

“Oh, corpse of future damnation,” the letter began, the words almost seeming to hiss off the page. “The day of your demise draws nearer with each passing moment. Each tick of the clock brings you closer to the inevitable. Do you feel it? The suffocating weight of your own mortality? The crushing certainty that with all your skills, and all your training, you stand no chance of survival. Not in the storm that’s coming.”

Maxwell’s breath hitched, his throat dry as he continued reading. The words twisted like a knife in his gut, taunting him with their cruel precision. “A large swarm of enemies shall descend upon the facility, a tide of darkness that will drown you and all the denizens of that hell. They will claim your lives, one by one, until nothing remains but silence and death. But perhaps, just perhaps, you’ll find the strength to fight. Should you decide you need more than your meager combat prowess, I might just offer you the assistance you so desperately require. When the time is right, and the world teeters on the edge of oblivion, you’ll be granted what you require. But make no mistake, it will come at a price.”

The words on the page suddenly began to glow with a sinister crimson light, as if the letter itself were alive, pulsating with dark energy. Maxwell gasped as a searing pain erupted from the keyhole on his forehead, a burning agony that sent him reeling. He clutched at his head, the pain so intense it felt like his skull was being torn apart from the inside. The keyhole seared with fiery heat, branding itself deeper into his flesh, as though marking him for something terrible.

When the pain finally subsided, Maxwell was left gasping for breath, his vision swimming. But through the haze of his torment, something caught his eye. The glowing crimson light faded, and his gaze fell on the key necklace around his neck. It had always been there, but now it pulsed with a faint, otherworldly glow. The key, small and unassuming, held the promise of something far greater, something that might save him… or damn him forever.

Maxwell sank into his chair, his mind racing. The letter had left him with more questions than answers, but one thing was clear: the 13th would be a day of reckoning. He would face not only his own fears, but the full weight of the darkness that Nihil had foretold. And when that moment came, he would have to decide whether to embrace the power offered to him or to fight on his own, against the tide of inevitable doom.

As Maxwell looked up, his heart skipped a beat. Sitting on his desk was a figure unlike anything he had ever seen. The being's body was composed entirely of crimson runes, each one pulsating with a dark, ominous energy. The figure was cloaked in a tattered, shadowy robe that seemed to swallow the light around it, revealing nothing but an empty void within. Its hair, if it could be called that, was a chaotic mass of the same crimson runes, flowing wildly as though caught in an invisible storm. The runes whispered incessantly, repeating the same words over and over—a chilling reminder of his impending doom on September 13th.

The atmosphere in the room grew colder as the figure's presence settled in. The runes on its body seemed to vibrate with a malevolent life of their own, casting an eerie glow that bathed the room in a blood-red hue. Maxwell could feel his skin prickling, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end as the figure’s gaze—or what he assumed was its gaze—bore into him.

“I’ve grown tired of these letters,” the figure said, its voice a low, mocking drawl that echoed through the room like a haunting melody. “I think it will be more entertaining if we spoke like this.”

Maxwell swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. “Wh-who are you? What are you?” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper, fear lacing every word.

The figure tilted its head, as if considering the question. “Who are you, who are you… Why must everyone always ask the same boring question?” It chuckled softly, a sound that sent a shiver down Maxwell’s spine. “I go by too many names to count, and you are not worth hearing my true name. So, just call me Nihil.”

Nihil’s tone was dripping with condescension, the mockery clear in its words. The runes on its body continued to pulse, the whispers growing louder, more insistent, as if urging Maxwell to acknowledge the futility of his situation. September 13th was not just a date—it was a sentence, an unavoidable fate etched into his very soul. And Nihil was the harbinger of that doom, a constant, chilling reminder that time was running out.

“Then tell me why you're doing this,” Maxwell demanded, his voice edged with frustration and fear. “Why are you so invested in saving me?”

Nihil remained silent for a moment, the runes on its body shifting and swirling as if contemplating the weight of the question. When it finally spoke, its tone was eerily calm, almost detached. “Twice,” Nihil began, “twice the world has ended. Two timelines, both drenched in despair. Your death, Maxwell, will trigger the apocalypse of the first timeline.”

Maxwell's heart pounded in his chest. “And what about the second timeline? Do you know how to stop that one?” he pressed, his voice tinged with desperation.

The runes on Nihil’s form began to change, slowly morphing into a single, chilling word, no.

“I didn’t experience it,” Nihil continued, its voice devoid of emotion. “I only know what happened because of a friend.”

Maxwell's mind reeled, trying to grasp the implications of Nihil's cryptic words. The idea of multiple timelines, each with its own cataclysm, was overwhelming. But before he could delve deeper into his thoughts, Nihil interrupted.

“However, enough of that,” Nihil said, dismissing the conversation with a wave of his hand. “I will train you, every day, after your classes. I have faith that the other key will survive. But you, Maxwell… I do not possess that same faith in.”

Without warning, the crimson runes that made up Nihil’s form began to spread, slithering across the walls like living tendrils. Every piece of furniture in the room was consumed by the glowing symbols, the air thick with their ominous presence. Maxwell’s skin tingled as the runes crawled across him, enveloping his body in a suffocating embrace. The room itself seemed to warp and twist under the influence of Nihil’s power, expanding into an endless void, a vast, black box where nothing existed but darkness and the oppressive weight of Nihil’s presence.

As Maxwell struggled to comprehend his surroundings, Nihil's figure grew larger, towering over him like a god surveying an ant. The runes on its body shifted once more, transforming into a new phrase, fight me.

The words were not just a command but a challenge, an undeniable force that threatened to crush Maxwell beneath its weight. Nihil’s towering form loomed above him, a being of incomprehensible power and malice. The void echoed with the command, and Maxwell realized that this was not just a test of strength, it was a battle for survival. It was a trial by fire that would determine whether he had the resolve to face the horrors that lay ahead.

The vast, black void hummed with sinister energy as Maxwell stood facing Nihil, his heart pounding in his chest. The towering figure of runes watched him with a gaze that pierced through the darkness, the crimson symbols glowing ominously against the inky backdrop. Maxwell’s six angelic wings spread wide, their feathers gleaming with a razor-sharp edge, ready to be unleashed.

Nihil’s voice, deep and resonant, echoed through the void, “Show me if you’re worth saving, corpse of the future.”

Maxwell didn’t hesitate. His hypercognition kicked into overdrive, his mind processing every possible outcome in an instant. He launched himself into the air, his wings propelling him with incredible speed as he unleashed a flurry of feathers. Each feather, arcing through the air with deadly precision, aiming for Nihil’s core.

Nihil responded with a wave of its hand, the runes on its body shifting and solidifying into spears of pure crimson light. Each spear bore the word death etched into its surface, a grim reminder of the stakes of this battle. The spears launched toward Maxwell with terrifying speed, slicing through the void with a sound like tearing fabric.

Maxwell twisted in midair, his hypercognition allowing him to anticipate the spear's trajectory. He dodged left, right, and upward, his wings beating furiously as he narrowly avoided each lethal strike. The feathers he had launched earlier closed in on Nihil, but the runic figure barely flinched. With a simple motion, Nihil summoned a barrier of runes, each one bearing the word shield. The feathers shattered against the barrier, unable to pierce through.

Maxwell gritted his teeth, frustration mounting as Nihil remained unfazed. He knew he needed to close the distance, to fight Nihil up close where his wings could do the most damage. He dove toward the ground, retracting his wings for a brief moment before unfurling them in a powerful thrust that sent him hurtling toward Nihil like a meteor.

Nihil didn’t move, its expressionless form simply watching as Maxwell closed in. At the last second, Maxwell’s feathers transformed, each one becoming a sword of brilliant light, burning with an intensity that seemed to slice through the darkness itself. He swung both swords with all his might, aiming to cleave Nihil in two.

The impact was explosive, with light, and shadow clashing in a blinding flash. But when the light faded, Maxwell found his swords stopped dead in their tracks, blocked by two massive spears of crimson runes, each one etched with the word death. Nihil had conjured them in an instant, matching Maxwell’s strike with terrifying precision.

Maxwell’s eyes widened in shock, but he didn’t have time to react. With a flick of its wrist, Nihil twisted the spears, forcing Maxwell’s swords out of alignment. The momentum carried Maxwell forward, off-balance and vulnerable. Nihil seized the opportunity, thrusting the spears forward with unyielding force.

Maxwell felt the impact before he could even process it. The spears pierced through his defenses, pinning his wings to the ground with a sickening crunch. Pain shot through him as he struggled against the unyielding force, but Nihil’s power was too great. He was trapped, his wings pinned like a butterfly on a board, unable to break free.

Nihil leaned down, its towering form casting a shadow over Maxwell as it gazed down at him with those unreadable, rune-covered eyes. “You’re not ready,” Nihil said, its voice cold and devoid of any hint of sympathy. “You still have much to learn before you can even hope to stand against what’s coming.”

Maxwell gritted his teeth, refusing to give in to despair despite the agony coursing through him. His swords of light flickered and faded, unable to maintain their form under the crushing weight of Nihil’s power. He was beaten, pinned down, and helpless, but the fire in his eyes hadn’t dimmed.

Nihil’s form began to shrink back to its original size, the spears dissolving into the air as it stepped back, allowing Maxwell to collapse to the ground. “Survive this,” Nihil whispered, its voice now eerily soft, “and perhaps you might have a chance. But for now, remember this defeat, and let it drive you to become stronger.”

Maxwell lay on the cold, featureless floor of the void, panting and exhausted, his wings limp at his sides. He had lost, but as he watched Nihil’s form fade into the darkness, he knew this was only the beginning. The fight was far from over, and he would have to push beyond his limits if he wanted to survive the trials that lay ahead.

The void began to dissolve around Maxwell, the oppressive darkness lifting as Nihil waved a hand over his face. The eerie glow of the runes that made up Nihil's form shifted, each crimson symbol rearranging itself into a new configuration. Heal. The word pulsed with a gentle light, and Maxwell felt a warm sensation spread through his body. Every injury he had sustained during both this fight and his fight with Ashe, the bruises, the cuts, the agony that had wracked his form, began to fade as if they had never existed.

The once vast, featureless space returned to the confines of his dorm room. The walls reappeared, the furniture materializing as if pulled from the ether, all of it just as he had left it. Maxwell felt a fleeting moment of relief, the familiar surroundings providing a small measure of comfort after the harrowing battle.

But before he could fully process what had happened, Nihil’s runes shifted once more. Sleep. The word shimmered in the air, its influence immediate and overwhelming. Maxwell's eyes grew heavy, his vision blurring as an irresistible drowsiness took hold. He tried to fight it, tried to stay awake and make sense of what had just occurred, but it was futile.

His body crumpled onto the bed, consciousness slipping away like sand through his fingers. The last thing he saw before darkness claimed him was Nihil’s form, still hovering in the room, watching him with those unreadable, crimson eyes. The runes continued to shift, their meaning lost to Maxwell as he drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.

In the silence that followed, the room was still, the only sign of the recent battle was a faint, lingering scent of roses and the subtle flicker of crimson light that faded as Nihil vanished into the shadows. For now, the storm had passed, but the ominous presence of the entity known as Nihil lingered in the air, a reminder that this was only the beginning.