Gilded Ashes-Chapter 33: Escalation Phase

The scoreboard never stopped moving.

Numbers climbed. Names traded places. Points flashed and refreshed like the system was trying to convince everyone this was still simple.

But the candidates weren’t watching the Nyxew anymore.

They were watching each other.

At first, it was subtle - a pause in a sprint to glance up at a screen, a sudden turn away from a Shade because someone else was nearby, a candidate choosing a longer route just to cut across another lane. Then it got worse.

A fight would break out between a candidate and a cluster of Shades, and instead of helping, someone would wait in the doorway. Not to save them. To keep whatever was left – candidate or Nyx – for himself.

A high-scorer would flash across a corridor and three people would peel off their paths to follow, not even pretending it was about Nyxes anymore.

The rule wasn’t spoken, but everyone understood it quickly.

If you take down someone ahead of you, everybody else climbs.

Up above, the host tried to keep it fun.

"Alright, alright, I’m seeing some... Creative strategy out there! Remember, folks - the exam is about survival, efficiency, and teamwork! And... Apparently a little bit of ambition!"

The crowd laughed on cue, but the laughter sounded thinner than it had earlier.

Because down here, the sound that was starting to dominate wasn’t claws on concrete.

It was metal on metal.

The left lane was still tight, still dirty. Shades still slipped through cracks and some Reavers waited behind corners, hoping to catch someone off-guard. Raizen still moved quickly, not slowing down for distractions.

He cut down a Shade that tried to take his ankle from a vent, then stepped over a fallen pillar. Another Shade crawled along the ceiling and dropped. He pivoted, split it, and didn’t even look at the golden particles drifting off his suit.

He turned through a narrow corridor and caught a glimpse of two candidates ahead, not fighting Nyxes, not fleeing, just standing in the middle of an intersection, watching the scoreboard flicker on a wall screen like gamblers watching dice.

One of them looked back over their shoulder when Raizen’s footsteps echoed.

The candidate shifted their weight like they were about to move in Raizen’s direction.

Raizen didn’t slow down. He ran past them, close enough that the air disturbed their hair, and kept going.

The host’s voice bounced faintly through the concrete again, trying to turn the tension into content.

"Ooooh, we’ve got movement on the board! Some contestants are choosing to play it safe, some are taking risks, and some are... Uh... Taking shortcuts! Remember, folks, we’re watching the future Vanguard here - don’t embarrass yourselves!"

The crowd chuckled.

But even the host’s voice didn’t have the same confidence anymore.

Raizen turned into a narrower corridor and the sound from above faded again, swallowed by concrete.

For a few seconds, it was just his breathing and the scuff of his boots.

Then the ambush came.

Not Nyx.

Human.

Something moved above him, fast and heavy, and the air shifted with it. A shadow crossed the nearest wall. An enormous weapon came down with enough force to break stone.

Raizen stepped sideways, from instinct.

The impact slammed into the floor where he’d been, cracking concrete and throwing dust up in a dirty wave.

Feris.

Her mace was still vibrating from the strike. Her stance was wide, grounded, like she’d anchored herself to the ground. Her eyes were sharp, calm, and completely unashamed.

No speech. No warning. No moral argument.

Just competitiveness.

But Feris didn’t wait. She stepped in and swung again, faster this time, stronger. She’d tried to catch him with surprise first. Now she wanted to see what happened when she forced the issue.

Her power was real.

The corridor didn’t have room for her to miss.

Raizen slid just outside the swing before it reached full speed, still close enough that the air tugged at his sleeve. The mace head passed in front of him with a violent hiss.

Feris adjusted immediately, rotating her hips to bring the weapon back across in a brutal backhand.

Raizen’s left hand snapped out. But he didn’t unsheathe his blade.

His fingers locked on the tendon line. His grip was precise, fast, and strong enough to completely stop her rotation. Just enough.

Feris’s eyes flickered.

Raizen stepped into her center and drove his shoulder lightly into her chest, a light displacement. Then he hooked his foot behind her ankle and pulled her balance out from under her.

Feris went down and hit the floor hard.

Her mace clanged against the wall.

Before she could recover, Raizen was already kneeling beside her, one hand on her forearm, the other moving in short, controlled taps.

Pressure points.

A tap at the nerve cluster near the wrist. Another at the line below her elbow.

A final one near the neck.

Feris’s body betrayed her. Her fingers opened. Her arm went numb. Her breath caught in her throat like she’d been punched from the inside.

Her suit flashed red.

Feris’s eyes widened, not in fear, but in disbelief - the sudden realization that she’d gotten what she wanted. Competition. And it had lasted seconds.

The arena’s safety system engaged. Lights along her spine pulsed once, then again. Her body stiffened as the suit locked her safely, preventing her from moving wrongly, or making it worse.

A metallical arm appeared from the wall itself, grabbing her with clinical precision.

Feris dropped out of sight.

It was over.

Somewhere above, the host was still talking, still unaware of the exact moment that had just happened in a blind spot.

Only one drone had caught it - a single camera hovering high and quiet, its lens adjusting as it recorded.

Raizen resumed his pace. Candidates clashed in side corridors. Not full fights yet, but jabs, shoves, weapons hastily drawn and pulled back. Someone tried to steal a kill. Someone tried to steal points. Someone yelled. Someone laughed too loud.

The host’s voice started to falter around the edges.

"Okay, okay - let’s keep it clean out there! You’re all on the same side, remember? The Nyxes are the enemy! The Nyx are -"

His voice cut out for half a second, drowned by the sound of a real clash somewhere on the main screens.

Something huge hitting metal.

A candidate screaming.

The crowd went quiet, then cheered again, confused about what they were cheering for.

Raizen didn’t stop. He moved through a narrow hall and ended two Shades in three steps.

Then a strange siren sounded.

Not the horn from earlier.

This was tuned differently. Higher. A long, rising scream that crawled through the concrete and made your bones vibrate.

Lights along the corridor ceiling flickered, then stabilized into a colder tone.

The host’s voice returned immediately. "Attention, attention! Contestants, I’m glad to announce that... Phase Two has begun."

Somewhere near the center, metal groaned. A massive lift mechanism engaged, louder than anything else.

Raizen felt the vibration through his boots.

Then the cages rose.

Class 3 Nyxes.

They were still called Reavers, but that didn’t make them less intimidating.

They came up from below on a platform like things you only saw in nightmares.

Taller. Thinner. Limbs too long. Joints too sharp. Faces too blank. Some had blade-arms that looked like fused metal and bone. Some moved with a twitchy speed that made the shadows behind them look slow.

The host didn’t joke this time.

"These are Class 3 Nyx. They’re faster, stronger, and they don’t behave like the earlier classes. Adapt or get removed."

The cage’s bars suddenly dropped.

And the Class 3s rushed into the lanes like they’d been waiting for this their whole lives.

Candidates scattered. Groups formed on instinct. Someone yelled something and three people followed it like drowning swimmers grabbing the same plank.

Raizen stayed in the left lane.

Tight corridors was still his best weapon.

But the first Class 3 that reached him didn’t care about corridors.

It moved like a blade thrown by a god.

It came out of a side passage in a blur and swung its arm - a long, curved weapon fused to its body - straight for his head.

Raizen barely ducked.

The blade-arm sliced into the wall behind him and cut the stone like it was paper. Dust exploded into the corridor, thick enough to blind.

Raizen didn’t have time to think.

He moved on instinct, cutting low, aiming for the joints, trying to sever the arm the same way he’d severed Reaver wrists.

His blade hit.

...And bounced.

Not fully, not like metal on metal, but like the Nyx’s structure had resistance built into it, a denser kind of darkness.

Raizen’s stomach dropped.

The Class 3’s head snapped toward him with terrifying speed.

Its free hand clawed for his chest.

Raizen twisted, but not fast enough.

Claws scraped across his ribs.

His suit flashed yellow so bright it almost looked white for a heartbeat.

Pain hit hard, deeper than the earlier hits, a sharp line that made his breath stutter.

The Class 3 didn’t slow.

It pressed, blade-arm ripping free from the wall in a shower of sparks and stone, swinging again with a tighter arc.

Raizen retreated two steps, heel catching on broken rubble.

His balance slipped for half a fraction.

That was all the Nyx needed.

The blade-arm changed trajectory, ready to come down for Raizen’s neck.

Raizen threw his right blade straight up.

Not at the Nyx.

Above it.

The blade spun, flashing once in the cold light, rising toward the low ceiling.

The Nyx hesitated - not like the earlier classes, not confused, but recalculating.

Raizen used that moment.

He leaped backward on one foot, almost like he wanted to do a backflip, but not quite.

As his blade fell, Raizen kicked the hilt mid-spin.

The impact turned the drop into a projectile.

The sword punched forward with violent speed, burying itself through the Class 3’s chest and pinning it to the wall behind.

The Nyx convulsed, clawing at the air.

Raizen didn’t give it a second.

He drove his other blade into its thick chest, right where the pinned weapon had opened the path, and twisted.

The Class 3 died with a horrible shriek.

Raizen stumbled back a step, chest heaving once.

His suit flashed yellow again, then settled.

He swallowed pain and forced his breathing to normalize.

Close.

That was close.

Up above, the host’s voice hit a higher pitch, genuine this time.

"And that’s Phase Two! That is Phase Two! Raizen just pinned a Class 3 to a wall with his own blade - folks, that’s not just survival, that’s style!"

The crowd’s roar came back, but it was different now.

Less laughter, more shock.

On the screen, the arena widened into glimpses again, like the system wanted the crowd to see variety, to see how the candidates handled the new cruelty.

Keahi stepped into a collapsing fight where a Class 3 was tearing through two candidates. She did a brutal shove into a wall, then one clean finishing edge that ended it, leaving flames behind.

Arashi held a narrow bridge in another section, gunfire snapping in controlled bursts. He didn’t waste ammo, and his face didn’t look panicked at all. He removed threats piece by piece, turning a choke point into a killing line no Nyx could cross.

Esen hit a cluster of Class 3s and the hallway exploded into chaos. Shockwaves ripped through rubble. Nyx bodies slammed into each other. Debris flew like shrapnel.

The host narrated, but his jokes were gone now. He sounded like a man trying to keep his voice steady over something he couldn’t fully control.

Raizen stayed where the corridors were tight.

Class 3s were longer-limbed. Built for reach. Built for open space.

In cramped hallways, their reach became a problem.

He baited swings into walls and floors. He forced blade-arms to stick. He used rubble to steal footing. He learned quickly which angles worked and which didn’t, because if he didn’t... He was cooked.

But somewhere in the middle of all the swings, dodges and strikes, the quiet realization surfaced without words.

Raizen had expected the monsters to be terrifying.

They were.

But now the arena had something else moving through it - something disciplined, something relentless, something that kept adapting.

Him.

He rounded a corner and saw two candidates in the middle of a corridor, weapons up - facing each other.

Not Nyxes.

Each other.

Their suits were scuffed. Their breathing was frantic. Their eyes were on the scoreboard screen mounted on the wall behind them, like they were fighting their reflections.

One shoved into the other.

The other swung.

And then a Class 3 stepped out of a side passage like it had been summoned by their stupidity.

It attacked both at once.

One candidate froze. The other tried to run, tripped over rubble, and hit the ground hard enough to make their suit flash warning orange.

The Class 3 raised its blade-arm.

Raizen hit the Nyx from the side, barely managing to cut the tendon line behind its knee. The Class 3 staggered. Raizen drove a blade into its neck and twisted hard.

The corridor went quiet except for the candidates’ breathing.

Raizen grabbed the one on the ground by the shoulder and yanked them upright.

"Next time, try not to do something to stupid" he said.

The other candidate stared, shame and fear mixing in their eyes.

Raizen’s gaze snapped to them.

"Nyxes first. Anything else later"

Both candidates nodded too fast, suddenly remembering where they were.

The host’s voice returned faintly, strained into humor he didn’t fully have.

"And there it is again, folks - Raizen with another double assist. Somebody get this guy a medal for parenting!"

The crowd laughed, but it sounded nervous.

Because the board was changing quickly now.

Names surged, then vanished. Points spiked, then froze – That usually meant extraction, suit lock, removal.

The count dropped.

Eighty.

Then sixty.

Then around the forties.

Then the thirties.

The exam was thinning the class like a blade shaving wood.

Raizen climbed steadily.

Fifth.

Fourth.

Briefly fifth again.

He didn’t look up often, but the screens were everywhere. Sometimes you saw your own name without wanting to.

Two names began rising fast.

Lynea.

Ichiro.

No camera feed. No big moments on the screens. No highlight clips.

Just numbers climbing like ghosts.

The host sounded unsettled.

"I - uh - we’ve got two climbers on the board. Lynea and Ichiro. No cameras yet, but those scores are real, I can assure you!"

The crowd murmured.

Raizen felt a small chill and didn’t know why.

He kept moving, cutting down Class 2s and shades in corridors that were too tight for their bodies to work properly.

At one point, he glanced at a screen and found the one thing he cared about.

Hikari.

Her name was still there.

Her score was higher than his. First – then second.

He didn’t smile, but his shoulders loosened by a fraction.

Then the center lift rose again.

Raizen felt it before he saw it, the vibration in the concrete, the metallic groan. He turned toward a corridor opening that gave him a partial view of the central area.

The lift emerged.

Empty.

No new cages.

No new Class 3 Nyxes.

The host hesitated. Actually hesitated.

"Well... Uhm... That’s... That’s interesting."

Too many candidates remained. Not enough monsters.

The host tried to stall with a laugh that sounded worse than a donkey dying.

"Looks like we’ve got... Uhm... A supply issue! Don’t worry. The Academy is very creative. The Academy is -" He stopped mid-sentence.

Silence fell through the speakers for a few moments.

When the host spoke again, his voice was different.

Quieter, and completely serious. Like someone had just walked into his booth and told him to cut the show.

"Contestants" he started. "We’ve received authorization."

The screens flickered. Every screen.

Text appeared in sharp, visible letters.

[ESCALATION OVERRIDE - APPROVED]

The crowd went dead silent.

Even the people who didn’t understand the words felt what they meant.

The host swallowed audibly, then continued.

"Permission has been granted by the Ruler himself. Solomon."

The people gasped when they heard that name. "Must be someone important" Raizen thought.

A second siren screamed, just like the Phase Two one, but harsher, worse now.

The host’s next word sounded like he didn’t want to say it.

"Class 4."

Raizen tightened his grip on his blades.

He knew Shades.

He knew Reavers.

He barely survived Class 3 by being smarter than the things trying to kill him.

But Class 4 was a blank page. He knew nothing about them.

Finally, something worth of fear.