For the next six days, the rubber balls flooded the stronghold, flashing in all directions with relentless fury. Recruits continued to fall beneath their crushing power, but the number of casualties dropped with each barrage.
The weakest had been eliminated during the first day; those who survived into the second and third had enough strength to endure. By the fourth day, recruits only fell during the Death Ball waves, when the silent, impossibly fast spheres descended at unpredictable angles and tore through the air with lethal precision.
Sylar's eyes were bloodshot, his breathing ragged. Sweat drenched his body, and the unending tension made every muscle ache. Six days had carved exhaustion deep into his bones… yet he still wore a faint smile. Not a single rubber ball had touched him—not once. Every hour of dodging, every burst of effort, every calculated movement had paid off.
And now, at last, the trial was entering its final hour.
Sylar's senses sharpened as he realized this last stretch would be the hardest. His suspicion was confirmed the moment Captain Lancel's voice thundered across the stronghold.
"Death Ball!"
Unlike the previous barrages—where the Death Balls appeared only near the end—this final hour began with them immediately. No warm-up. No mercy. Lancel intended to break them with the hardest challenge from the very start.
The Death Balls scorched the air as they burst across the stronghold, ricocheting off stone pillars, walls, and the ground. Screams of pain followed soon after as recruits were struck, thrown, or incapacitated. Yet among the chaos, flashes of power erupted, manifestations of mutations and genetic abilities, each recruit fighting to survive in their own desperate way.
Sylar's eyes glowed with golden heat more often than not. His Heat Vision couldn't be used continuously—each discharge required several seconds of recovery, and the strain on his bio-energy was immense—but he remained ready to fire at a moment's notice, and that was not all he used.
Whenever a Death Ball came too close to evade, he triggered Metabolic Surge, enhancing his physical agility for short, intense bursts.
His challenge was heavier than that of the others. While the other recruits could afford to be grazed or even struck by the regular rubber balls without failing the trial, Sylar could not afford even the faintest touch. He needed to complete the mission perfectly to earn the experience and Agility points he sought.
Metabolic Surge had a price, of course. Every use increased his Entropy Debt by 1%. The accumulation had now pushed him past 30%, bringing dizziness, pain spikes, and strange symptoms he refused to acknowledge. Even so, the 50% increase in his Agility and Adaptability made the price worthwhile.
Sylar's feat was so impressive that the instructors had begun paying close attention to him. Not a single recruit remained untouched by the rubber balls—except Sylar. Each of his explosive bursts of speed rivaled a Grade +3 lifeform, and his Heat Vision was not only fast but potent enough to incinerate Death Balls mid-flight.
Captain Lancel also focused on the black-haired youth, and as the final seconds of the trial ticked away, his eyes narrowed.
Then, without warning, he launched three Death Balls at once.
They fired in completely different directions—left, right, and low—but the moment they struck walls, pillars, and the floor, their trajectories bent. In a perfect, nightmarish convergence, all three redirected toward Sylar from different angles at the exact same time.
Sylar's eyes widened. For an instant, the world seemed to slow. His mind stretched the final second before impact as far as it could, analyzing every possible movement, every escape route. He could survive the barrage—barely. He would likely end up with broken bones, but nothing fatal.
Yet there was no way he could avoid being struck.
Or at least, that was what logic told him.
"All Agility!" The thought flashed through his mind, leaving no room for hesitation.
He dumped every Free Point he owned into Agility. Combined with the 50% burst from Metabolic Surge, his Agility surged past the limit of Grade +3 and broke into Grade -2!
Sylar barely crossed the threshold, but it was a leap—an evolutionary step into a realm few recruits ever touched.
The boost didn't simply make him faster. His proprioception sharpened, his equilibrium stabilized, and his reflex coordination refined to supernatural levels. His entire sense of bodily control transformed in an instant.
Sylar tucked himself tightly into a curling position, minimizing his target profile. His Heat Vision fired first, vaporizing one Death Ball midattack. Then he sprang upward with a precise, minimal jump—just enough to lift his body a meter off the ground, allowed him to slip between the paths of the other two spheres.
The instructors stared in stunned silence. The speed, finesse, and absolute control required for such a maneuver were unlike anything they had seen from a recruit.
But Captain Lancel's gaze remained sharp. It wasn't over.
One of the Death Balls struck a pillar behind Sylar and bounced—redirecting straight toward his back as he descended. Mid-air, Sylar couldn't adjust his falling speed. He couldn't dodge.
Yet just as it was about to strike, Sylar slammed his fists into the ground, raising stones from it and making them collide with the Death Ball in a heavy crash, knocking it off-course just inches before it could reach him.
[Quest #006: Do not let any of the rubber balls touch you
Mission Grade: +3
Status: COMPLETED
Reward: 10,000 XP / +10 Agility]
[You have reached Level 21 – 10 Free Points Available]
A wide smile spread across Sylar's face as the familiar voice echoed in his mind. Not only had he succeeded—he had emerged unscathed. The horrible, mind-breaking trial was over at last.
Captain Lancel regarded the young man for several seconds before giving a subtle nod of acknowledgment. That gesture shocked the instructors more than Sylar's acrobatics; they knew how cold and demanding their captain was. For him to nod at a recruit was nothing short of extraordinary.
"The challenge is over," Captain Lancel announced. "You may now rest for twelve hours. There is to be no fighting. This is a safe location—relax."
His voice, once the herald of death and agony, suddenly became the sweetest sound in the world to the exhausted recruits. At once, bodies sagged to the ground, every muscle trembling with relief. Many simply collapsed where they stood. After seven days and nights of relentless dodging, the promise of rest was almost too good to be true.
Sylar was no different. He let his body sink to the rocky floor, a faint smile forming as he exhaled deeply. He had worked hard—very hard—pushing himself to his limits and beyond. And he had succeeded. Few feelings in life compare to the satisfaction of falling asleep after improving oneself.
Slowly, Sylar opened his eyes.
But the world he saw was not the stronghold's cold stone. Instead, he found himself once more in the radiant realm of light and serenity—the dimension he saw after he overcame the Omega Component.
He lay upon a floor of shimmering luminescence. When he turned his head, he saw her: the woman with golden eyes, smiling at him with warmth and pride. To Sylar, nothing in the universe was more beautiful than she was in that moment.
He wanted to reach out. But he didn't move. He simply gazed at her, allowing the moment to exist without interruption.
Then, as always, darkness swept the vision away.
And Sylar opened his eyes back in the stronghold.
He rose from the ground, a solemn expression on his face. Recurring dreams could be born from obsessions and traumas, something the boy had in great supply. But dreams always changed. They shifted, twisted, and morphed. They were never identical.
Yet this one had been exactly the same as the last.
Same colors. Same light. Same woman. Same smile.
Sylar closed his eyes and forced the thoughts to the back of his mind. He had far too little information, and this place was no environment for speculation. Here, a moment of distraction could mean death.
However, one day—when he had power and time—he would seek the truth behind this mystery, and no one would be able to stop him.
As he steadied himself, he turned and saw Vorg rising as well. The two exchanged a small smile and bumped their fists together.
The bond formed between men was a strange thing. Two people could know each other for years, work together, and talk every day without becoming true friends.
Yet seven days standing back-to-back in a deadly game of dodgeball, without uttering a single word, was enough to forge a brotherhood that could last a lifetime.
Together, they walked toward a corner of the stronghold where dozens of recruits were gathering. A large board had appeared, displaying one hundred names. At the top, in bold letters, it read:
Recruit Ranking
Each line listed a recruit, their placement, and the number of times they had been hit.
Vorg found his name in the third position. He gave a satisfied nod—proud, but not boastful. The young man was happy with what he had achieved and did not care about the one above or below him.
As for Sylar, his hands clenched as he saw it, his heart full of well-deserved pride.
Rank 1 – Sylar
Number of Hits: 0
Naturally, many recruits turned to stare. He was the only one who had completed the trial without a single impact. Even those who begrudged his talent couldn't deny the feat.
Before anyone could speak, Captain Lancel's voice cut through the air.
"Everyone, gather into formation."
At once, the recruits moved. This time there was a heaviness in the air—a silent acknowledgment of how many were missing. When they had first assembled in formation, thousands had stood shoulder-to-shoulder. Now fewer than six hundred remained.
Of course, not all the missing were dead; many had simply been removed after losing consciousness. But the reduction in numbers still weighed heavily on those who remained.
Captain Lancel looked over the formation without a flicker of concern for their emotions.
"You survived the first challenge," he said. "That means at the very least, your bodies and minds can endure the basic demands of war. Our next step will be simpler—it will give your bones time to heal."
He paused, letting the recruits absorb his words.
"We begin weapon training today. You will learn to handle the guns and rifles used by Shooting Stars in battle."
A radiant grin spread across Sylar's face. This was what he had been waiting for. Not just training—weapon training. The chance to wield the weapons that could outmatch even the fighter jets of Arcade.
Sylar was incredibly mature for his young age, and he had seen all sorts of wonders, but he was still a man, and the weapons of Shooting Stars were goddamn awesome.