The courtyard was already loud when Balik stepped in, but the moment Limia saw him, the noise sharpened.
Limia stood in the Tier-2 circle, already holding the training baton. He was older—fifteen maybe—long limbs, short hair. His eyes were a muddy green that always twitched with something unstable. He was newly awakened, but their strength barely changed at first, so he is still in tier-2.
Balik was smaller, thinner, and quiet.
Perfect target.
A few trainees whispered.
"He'll pick Balik again."
"Always does. Likes watching him crack."
Mira sat on the higher platform. Ishan beside her. Both silent, both watching.
Balik stepped into the circle because he had no choice.
Limia smiled wide, teeth showing.
"There you are," he said. "Little empty corpse."
Balik kept his eyes down. Shoulders straight. Breathe steadily.
"Don't react," he told himself. Just take it. End it.
Tejas's voice flickered faintly in his mind—thin, as if speaking from underwater, but it was not a voice; it was a memory of something that he had said in the past.
"Balik… don't… don't let them shape you… please…"
His chest tightened.
Limia tapped the baton on his own palm.
"You look tired. Crying last night? Want your mother?" he mocked.
Balik didn't move.
"Come on," Limia said, stepping closer, "make a face at least. You're boring when you're dead."
The first hit came fast—a crack across Balik's ribs.
The impact punched air from him, but he stood still.
Second hit—upper arm. Third—shoulder. Fourth—thigh.
Each one is sharp. Each one harder than needed.
Limia grinned wider.
"Oh, you're holding it in again. Still pretending you're calm? Still pretending you don't feel things?"
Balik's jaw clenched.
Limia leaned close, breath hot on Balik's cheek.
"You know what I hear? They say you still talk to yourself. Crazy little empty rat. No core. No power. Not even a voice left in your head."
Balik's nails dug into his palms.
Don't react.
Limia hit him again—across the stomach. Balik bent forward from the blow.
"Look at you," Limia laughed. "Do you even know what they'll do when you fail awakening? Forced ignition. You'll die screaming. I can't wait."
Balik swallowed. Hard.
Limia's grin sharpened.
Balik's breathing hitched.
Balik's shoulders stiffened.
Limia stepped even closer, face almost touching his.
"You want to know something? If you die, no one will even notice. Not even Mira. Not even Ishan. Varun will replace you in a day."
Balik's hands shook.
His throat tightened.
He remembers again.
Tejas's voice, barely a whisper, cracked:
"Balik… please… stay… you… don't… have to—"
The baton slammed into Balik's back. Hard. Too hard.
Something broke—inside his skull, not his body.
A tight thread snapped.
His head lifted slowly.
Limia saw Balik's eyes.
Golden-brown, cold, empty… and suddenly not empty.
Limia's grin faltered.
"W-what—"
Balik moved.
He grabbed Limia's wrist. Not fast. Not loud. Just… final.
Limia sucked in a breath. "H-hey—"
Balik twisted.
The baton clattered to the ground.
Limia stumbled, shock flashing through his face.
"What the— Let go—!"
Balik didn't let go.
He stepped in close and hit Limia once.
A straight punch to the nose.
Bone cracked.
Blood sprayed.
Limia screamed.
No one intervened.
Tier-2 allowed it.
Instructors watched.
Beating was part of the system.
Balik hit him again.
And again.
Limia fell.
Balik followed, knees pinning his arms.
He hit until Limia's screams turned to choked sobs.
Balik didn't stop.
He kept hitting—jaw, cheek, throat, chest—every piece of Limia he could reach. His breath came in sharp bursts. His hands hurt. His arms shook.
Blood splattered his shirt.
Limia begged now.
"St-stop—stop—Balik—please—"
Balik struck him again.
His mind buzzed.
A single thought drowned everything else:
Make him stop talking.
Limia's head hit the stone with a dull thud.
Silence fell.
Balik's fist hovered, trembling, ready to swing again.
A hand landed on his shoulder.
Mira.
Her voice was soft, almost pleased.
"That's enough," she said. "If you kill him, they'll have to clean the floor."
Balik looks at her, and then she asks, "Is it beautiful?"
Balik froze.
His breath shuddered out of him.
Ishan stood behind her, eyes sharp, muscles tense—not to stop Balik, but in case someone else tried to intervene.
The instructors didn't move.
One of them muttered to another, "First time, but before we estimated. He's cracking faster."
"Good," the other said. "Makes him easier to shape."
Balik sat back slowly.
His hands were shaking.
Limia lay unconscious, face swollen, nose broken, breath wheezing.
Balik wiped blood from his own cheek.
A cold stab of fear slid through Balik's ribs.
But he didn't look away from Limia's broken face.
He didn't apologize.
He didn't speak.
He just breathed.
Empty.
Heavier.
A little more twisted than yesterday.
Mira crouched beside him, her eyes gleaming with quiet madness.
"You're changing," she whispered. "Finally."
Balik didn't answer.
His knuckles throbbed.
His heart beat hollow.
His mind felt stretched—too tight, too thin.
Inside him, Tejas struggled to stay alive.
Outside him, the organization watched and smiled.
And Balik…
Balik realized something terrifying:
He didn't feel guilty anymore.
Only tired.
Only numb.
Only… quieter.
Like the shadow inside him grew bigger with every hit he delivered.
Like soon, there would be no voice left to stop at all.