Project:Imagine

A few days later, Ivan gathered his students in the gymnasium, the hollow sound of his skeletal feet tapping the floor as he moved. He sat upon his familiar coffin, its dark, imposing presence matching the unsettling calmness of his bare bones, no longer concealed by his usual false skin. The attack on the facility had thrown everything into chaos, and classes had been canceled for a brief time, but now they were back, and the weight of upcoming events hung heavy in the air.

He let his empty gaze fall over each of them, his hollow eye sockets giving the impression that he could see far beyond the physical, as though he were staring into their very souls. When he spoke, his voice was unnervingly calm, the rattle of death behind every word.

“While our schedule has been thrown off, in a few days, we will resume with the joint training event alongside the students from the Alpha Facility,” Ivan said, his voice echoing slightly in the quiet gym. “There will be a small competition between your class and theirs. To be frank, the first-year Beta Facility students never win.”

Maxwell, sitting near the back with his arms crossed, scowled. “Why's that?” he asked, his tone sharp with irritation.

Ivan's skeletal face tilted slightly, as though amused by the question. “It’s because the game typically favors long-range abilities. The Alpha Facility students tend to excel in that area. Your class, however, is more specialized in close-range combat. That, coupled with the fact that Alpha students begin at a higher power level, makes it… difficult for you to win.”

As the weight of his words settled over the room, a ripple of frustration passed through the students. Their pride stung at the implication that they were somehow lesser.

“That's annoying,” Ashe muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing. “I want to win.”

Ivan's bony fingers tapped against the side of his coffin, a faint, hollow sound. “I said difficult,” he corrected with a sinister chuckle, “not impossible. This class is… different. Interesting. I fully expect you all to surprise them.”

Despite Ivan's grim tone, a quiet confidence grew in the room. His words carried an air of dark encouragement, a twisted belief that, against all odds, they could rise to the challenge. They weren’t just ordinary students—they were Ivan's students, and that made all the difference.

The atmosphere in the gym shifted. There was a shared understanding now, an unspoken resolve. Winning wouldn’t be easy, but the way Ivan spoke made them believe it could be done.

Ivan’s hollow, echoing laughter filled the gym as he announced the day’s task. “Today’s training will be simple,” he said, a hint of dark amusement in his voice. “Dodge. Avoid getting hit for at least an hour.” His skeletal fingers twitched, and suddenly, countless spectral hands erupted from the surrounding ground, each one clutching a dodgeball.

The class exchanged uneasy glances, their eyes widening in disbelief as the hands multiplied, lining the gymnasium like an army ready to strike.

“Anyone who manages to hit me with a ball gets to go home early,” Ivan continued, a wicked grin seemingly forming in the tone of his voice. “However, anyone who gets hit… well, let's just say you'll definitely feel it. Oh, and don’t worry—destroying the balls is permitted. I encourage creativity.”

Without warning, the dodgeballs were launched at breakneck speed. The air howled with the force of each throw, the balls moving faster than anyone had expected.

Ashe was the first to react, his blood manipulation swirling around him in an instant. Crimson blades materialized in his hands, slicing through the oncoming balls with precision. Each ball he cut through disintegrated midair, but the speed and frequency of the attacks pushed him to his limits.

Maxwell smirked, his hypercognition kicking in. To him, the balls moved in slow motion. He sidestepped each one effortlessly, his movements fluid and almost lazy, as if the entire ordeal was beneath him.

Noah, blind but far from helpless, danced through the barrage of dodgeballs. His body moved with an eerie grace, his other senses heightened to the point that he seemed to anticipate each throw before it even happened. Not a single ball touched him as he glided across the gym, a ghost within the storm.

Cynthia, weaving her fingers through the air, spun webs of sticky silk, trying to catch and redirect the balls back at Ivan. But Ivan was no ordinary opponent. He dodged each return throw with ease, his skeletal form bending and twisting in unnatural ways, making it impossible for her to land a hit.

Rook growled in frustration, his arms morphing into writhing tentacles. He snatched dodgeballs from the air, catching several at once. But as his confidence grew, so did the assault. Too many dodgeballs came at him at once. He was overwhelmed, and just as he caught one, another smashed into his leg, sending him stumbling to the ground.

On the other side of the gym, Sarah was hit squarely in the shoulder, the impact bouncing the ball straight into her twin sister Emily's head. The twins yelped in unison, falling back as another ball hurtled their way. Ivan’s laughter rang through the gym once more, his skeletal hands merciless as they continued their onslaught.

“Come on, children,” Ivan taunted, his voice dripping with mockery. "I expected more from you. Surely, one of you can hit me. Or are you all content with simply surviving?"

The class, battered but determined, began to regroup. This wasn’t just a test of their reflexes—it was a test of their strategy, their willpower. Ivan was pushing them, testing their limits, and somewhere beneath the playful cruelty of his voice, there was a lesson.

But the dodgeballs kept coming. Faster. Harder. Unrelenting.

“Show me something new,” Ivan said, his skeletal grin widening as the class scrambled under the pressure, their powers pushed to the brink. The gym had become a battlefield, each student fighting to prove that they wouldn’t be so easily broken.

Ashe sprinted toward Ivan, the hammer of blood in his hands gleaming with dark crimson energy. His intent was clear: brute force. With a powerful swing, he aimed for Ivan's skeletal frame.

But Ivan, ever calm, raised his own weapon—this one a hammer made entirely of bone. The two weapons clashed with a resounding crack, blood and bone reverberating against each other. Sparks of energy flickered from the impact.

“To win, you need to hit me with a dodgeball, not an attack,” Ivan reminded him, his voice smooth, as if they were discussing the weather.

Ashe smirked, his eyes narrowing. “Maybe, but this isn’t against the rules, is it?” he shot back.

Ivan tilted his head, considering it. “No, it is not. I encourage the creativity. Just be careful.”

Suddenly, the ground beneath Ashe rumbled as dozens of dodgeballs, carried by Ivan's spectral hands, flew at him with insane speed. For anyone else, the barrage would have been impossible to counter. But Ashe's eyes glowed an eerie, vibrant blue. In an instant, he vanished, disappearing from the fabric of time itself. The dodgeballs sailed harmlessly through empty air where he had been just a heartbeat before.

When Ashe reappeared fifteen seconds later, all the dodgeballs that had been aimed at him were obliterated, and reduced to shreds. His presence rippled through the gymnasium, as if time had folded around him, his brief absence warping reality itself.

Ivan’s sockets flared with an unsettling light. “His use of the worm of time… it’s almost like an authority-type ability,” he mused to himself, watching Ashe with interest. “He’s both paused time for others and separated himself from it. Impressive.”

Meanwhile, Maxwell had been biding his time. Watching Ashe, an idea formed in his mind. With a flick of his wrist, countless white feathers detached from his wings, sharp and deadly. They spiraled through the air like missiles, aimed straight at Ivan.

Ivan dodged with ease, his skeletal frame bending unnaturally to avoid Maxwell’s feathers, but in the corner of his eye, he saw movement. Rook, taking advantage of the distraction, hurled a volley of dodgeballs. They arced through the air, homing in on Ivan's exposed position.

But Ivan was far from defenseless. With a twist of his hand, spears of bone erupted from his arm, whirling through the air and intercepting the dodgeballs. Each ball was pierced and destroyed mid-flight.

“So violent,” Ivan remarked with an amused grin, his bony form twisting back into a defensive stance. “That’s good.”

But the class wasn’t done yet. Cynthia moved next, her fingers weaving through the air as she spun webs of sticky silk. With a precise flick, she ensnared Ivan’s legs, the webbing tightening around him like a trap. She pulled hard, trying to trip him.

For a moment, it seemed like she might succeed, but Ivan’s bone-arm morphed into a blade, sharp and lethal. With a single slice, he severed the webs, freeing himself. “Clever,” he said with a nod of approval, but Cynthia wasn’t fast enough to ensnare him again.

Suddenly, from behind, a ball flew straight at Ivan's head. He hadn’t noticed Sarah sneaking up on him, and it hit him with a solid *thwack*. His hollow eyes widened in shock. But before he could react, Emily appeared like a blur, leaping into the air and spiking the ball down on him with force. The ball slammed into his skull once more.

Ivan staggered back, his bony form momentarily frozen. For the first time, the class had managed to land not just one, but two hits on him.

“Well now, that was unexpected,” Ivan said, clearly impressed. “Good job, both of you.”

Sarah and Emily beamed with pride, giggling as they exchanged high-fives.

“Hey, do we have to leave early? This game is fun!” the twins said in unison, grinning mischievously.

Ivan’s skeletal face twisted into a smirk. “Of course not, stay as long as you desire.”

The rest of the class looked on, eyes wide with awe and determination. They had actually landed a hit on Ivan, something none of them had thought possible. And now, the game felt less like a brutal test and more like a battle they might actually win.

But Ivan wasn’t done. He raised his bony arms, and more spectral hands appeared from the shadows, each holding new dodgeballs. The gym crackled with tension as they floated ominously above them.

“Now, let’s see how long you can keep this up,” Ivan said, his voice cold yet playful, as the next wave of attacks surged forward.

Maxwell surged forward, his angelic wings flaring out behind him, casting long shadows across the gym. A dodgeball gripped tightly in his hand, his expression was calm, calculating. Every step he took felt precise, as if a thousand possibilities played out in his mind before he even moved. His hypercognition, analyzed every angle, every possible move Ivan might make.

As Maxwell closed in, Ivan met his gaze with those hollow, glowing eyes. With a wave of his hand, more spectral arms rose from the ground, each holding a dodgeball. They launched at Maxwell with terrifying speed, but he was ready. With a sharp flick of his wings, Maxwell dodged left, spinning through the air as the balls narrowly missed him, whizzing by like bullets. His movements were almost too fast to follow, a blur of gold and white streaking across the battlefield.

“Your speed is very impressive,” Ivan remarked, his voice carrying a hint of amusement as Maxwell twisted through the air. “But tell me, how do you handle—this?”

Without warning, the spectral hands didn't just throw dodgeballs anymore—they launched them in unpredictable patterns, zigzagging and curving mid-air as if they had minds of their own. It was an overwhelming barrage, seemingly impossible to dodge.

But Maxwell didn't falter. His eyes flashed, hypercognition in overdrive, as he calculated every curve, every angle, every trick the balls would take. He weaved through the air, his wings propelling him at breakneck speed, dodging each ball with near-perfect precision. But as he flew, his grip on the dodgeball tightened.

With a final push, Maxwell closed the distance between himself and Ivan. His wings flared out as he launched the dodgeball with incredible force, aiming straight for Ivan's skull.

But Ivan was fast too—faster than Maxwell had expected. A skeletal hand shot up, catching the ball mere inches from his face. The force of the throw sent a ripple through the air, but Ivan stood his ground, a satisfied grin spreading across his skeletal features.

“Close,” Ivan said, his voice cold and smug. “But not close enough.”

Maxwell landed lightly, breathing hard. He wasn’t finished, though. His wings shifted behind him, ready to make another move, but before he could act—

Thwack!

A dodgeball slammed into the back of Ivan’s head, throwing him off balance. He stumbled forward, completely taken by surprise. He turned around to see Cynthia standing at a distance, her arm still outstretched from the throw.

Her spider-like webs glistened on the gym floor where she'd anchored herself, giving her the stability to launch the perfect shot.

Ivan blinked, his hollow eyes glowing brighter. “Cynthia,” he said, clearly surprised. “Very clever. I didn’t see that one coming.”

Cynthia gave a small smile, her usual calm demeanor unshaken. “Guess I finally got you.”

Maxwell grinned, genuinely impressed, but before he could say anything, Cynthia dropped her arms and turned to leave. “I think that's enough for today,” she said quietly, heading for the exit.

Ivan tilted his head slightly. “Leaving already?”

Cynthia paused, glancing over her shoulder. “Yeah. I just… need a break. I’ll see you all later.”

Maxwell watched her go, brow furrowing. He knew something was off, but now wasn’t the time to press her.

As the door swung shut behind Cynthia, Ivan’s voice echoed in the gym, “Well then, looks like some of you are catching on. Who’s next?”

Maxwell stood still, his eyes following Cynthia’s swift exit. Something about her departure gnawed at him—an uneasiness he couldn’t shake. Her throw had been calculated, and efficient, but the way she had left… something wasn’t right. He wanted to brush it off, but his hypercognition wouldn’t let him.

Outside the gym, Cynthia’s footsteps quickened. Her heart pounded in her chest as she rushed toward the bathroom, her stomach twisting with nausea. By the time she reached the sink, she collapsed against the counter, gasping for breath. Her reflection in the mirror looked pale, a haunted shadow of herself.

Then, without warning, blood-red tears streamed from her eyes, cascading down her cheeks. Her vision blurred as pain seared through her skull, the throbbing so intense it felt like her head might split open. Cynthia clutched the edges of the sink, trying to steady herself.

“Not again… why is this happening again?” she whimpered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Her trembling gaze fixed on the mirror, and that’s when she saw it—a figure behind her, lurking like a nightmare brought to life. A young boy, about her age, with short purple hair and hollow purple eyes. His severed head hung grotesquely in his hand, and a twisted grin spread across his lifeless lips. He wore a black button-up shirt and matching pants, levitating a few inches above the ground as if he didn’t belong to this world.

The boy’s voice echoed in the small, sterile bathroom, filled with malice and venom. “This is your curse, monster. I’ll torment you, slowly… until you break, until you die,” he laughed, his tone as cold as death itself.

Cynthia’s breath caught in her throat. Her knees buckled, and she gripped the sink harder, her knuckles turning white. “Why, Caleb? Why are you doing this to me?” Her voice cracked with desperation, pleading for an answer that would never bring her peace.

The boy’s severed head rose into the air, levitating on its own as his body closed the distance between them. His hands, pale and cold, reached out and wrapped themselves around her throat. His grip was unrelenting, squeezing tighter with every passing second.

“You know why, you *monster*,” Caleb sneered, his fingers digging into her skin as if to erase her existence, to choke the life out of her. His words were a dagger, twisting deeper into her guilt, her fear.

Cynthia’s legs gave out, and she collapsed to the cold tile floor, gasping for air, tears of blood still streaming down her face. But then, as suddenly as he had appeared, Caleb vanished. His hands, his voice—gone, leaving only the suffocating silence of the empty bathroom.

She lay there, trembling, her head still throbbing with pain, but the blood-tears had faded, replaced by normal tears of helplessness and terror. Curling up into a ball, she pressed her face against her knees, sobbing quietly into her arms.

“Why… why won’t this end?” she whispered to herself, her voice hoarse, broken.

For what felt like an eternity, she stayed there, too afraid to move, praying no one would come in and see her like this.

Amid the flurry of chaos, the gym was alive with rapid movements, dodging, and the rhythmic sound of dodgeballs ricocheting off walls and Ivan’s bone-crafted defenses. The twins darted around, giggling, as they tried to get another lucky hit on Ivan, but each ball either missed or was effortlessly destroyed by the bone spears Ivan summoned.

Ashe and Maxwell worked in tandem, using their abilities to enhance their attacks. Maxwell's feathers sliced through the air while Ashe’s blood-forged weapons smashed dodgeballs with pinpoint precision, yet Ivan parried each attempt with an eerie calm, his skeletal hands weaving through the assault like a ghost.

Rook, never one to back down, transformed his arms into a mass of tentacles, launching multiple dodgeballs at once, but Ivan's spears of bone obliterated them before they could get close. His smirk was unflinching, his aura of control undeniable.

And yet, Noah simply stood in the corner, his posture relaxed, holding onto a single ball. Despite his blindness, he could sense the surrounding chaos—the rapid movements, the balls whizzing through the air, and the concentration of his classmates as they each tried to score a hit. But Noah knew better than to rush. He was patient, waiting for the moment when everything would fall into place.

Ivan’s gaze briefly flickered toward Noah, noticing how he hadn’t yet made a move. “Waiting for the perfect moment, Noah? It won’t come if you stay idle,” Ivan teased, but there was an edge of respect in his voice.

Noah’s blank eyes remained calm, unshaken. His senses were heightened beyond what most could comprehend, and he didn’t need sight to know when to act. His grip tightened on the dodgeball, feeling the exact weight of it in his hand, calculating the trajectory with precision. Every vibration in the room, every breath his classmates took, every shift in Ivan’s stance—it all painted a picture in his mind.

Then, in the middle of another flurry of attacks, Noah felt it—the moment when Ivan had overextended, just slightly, a gap in his defense. With perfect timing, Noah reared back and threw the dodgeball with a smooth, deliberate motion. The ball cut through the air silently, unnoticed by everyone else in the chaos.

Ivan, caught mid-defense, didn’t see it coming until it was too late.

THWACK!

The dodgeball slammed into Ivan’s chest, the impact resonating across the gym as a stunned silence fell over the class. Ivan stumbled back, blinking in genuine surprise. He glanced down at the ball, now lying at his feet, and then up at Noah.

For a moment, no one moved.

Then Ivan broke into a chuckle. “Well played, Noah. Well played.”

The rest of the class erupted into laughter and cheers, surprised and impressed that Noah, without even moving from his spot, had managed to land a hit on their formidable instructor.

Noah simply smiled, his face calm and collected. “Timing is everything,” he said softly, a hint of satisfaction in his voice.

Ivan shook his head, still chuckling as he retrieved the ball. “Seems I underestimated you, Noah. But you’ve earned your early dismissal.” He glanced at the rest of the class. “You can stay if you want, but you don't have to.”

Noah gave a small, respectful nod and, without saying another word, made his way toward the exit. The door closed softly behind him, leaving the others to continue their futile attacks against the undefeated instructor.

Noah walked through the halls, his steps quiet but purposeful. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. The scent of blood was faint but unmistakable, and his heightened senses had picked it up immediately. It led him directly to the bathroom. Without hesitation, he pushed the door open.

Inside, Cynthia was hunched over the sink, her face pale, her hands trembling slightly. Her eyes shot up in alarm as Noah entered.

“Hey! What are you doing here? Get out!” she snapped, trying to sound strong, but her voice wavered, betraying her exhaustion.

Noah stood still, his expression calm but focused. “Why do I smell blood on you?” he asked, his voice soft, yet firm.

Cynthia flinched, wiping at her face hastily, her eyes darting away. “It’s nothing. I’m fine. Just… go away, Noah,” she muttered, her tone uneven.

“There’s a lot of blood,” Noah said gently, not moving. “I can smell it. Is it your blood?”

She hesitated, her shoulders stiffening. Finally, she let out a shaky breath, her voice barely above a whisper. “Yes… it’s mine. But I’m fine. I’m just… not feeling well.”

Noah’s brows furrowed in concern, but his voice remained calm. “I’ll stay with you, at least for a little bit. You don’t have to talk, but… if you want to, I’ll listen.”

Cynthia’s eyes flickered with frustration. “This is the girls’ room, idiot,” she said, her voice sharper now, trying to regain some control over the situation. “Just get out.”

Realizing his mistake, Noah’s eyes widened slightly, his face flushing. “Oh… sorry,” he mumbled, awkwardly turning around. “I’ll, uh… wait outside.”

He stepped out, closing the door behind him, his thoughts racing. He could still sense something was deeply wrong, but he respected her boundaries. Standing just outside, he leaned against the wall, his head tilted slightly, listening for any sign that she might need him.

A few moments later, the door creaked open, and Cynthia stepped out. Her face was still pale, but she had composed herself. She glanced up at Noah, her expression guarded, yet a hint of vulnerability lingered in her eyes.

“Just… don’t tell anyone about this, okay?” she said quietly, her voice lacking its usual edge. “I’m going back to my dorm. I’ll… I’ll see you later.”

Noah nodded, his face soft with understanding. “I won’t tell anyone. But… if you need anything, I’ll be around.”

Cynthia hesitated for a moment, her eyes meeting his. Something unspoken passed between them—a silent recognition of shared pain. Then, without another word, she turned and walked down the hall, her footsteps echoing in the quiet space.

As Noah watched her go, his senses still tingling with unease, he knew this wasn’t over. Whatever was happening to Cynthia, it was something dark, something that had its claws in her. And he wasn’t going to let her face it alone, no matter how hard she tried to push him away.

The weight of their unspoken secrets hung heavy in the air as Noah stood there, wondering just how much more his classmates were hiding beneath the surface.