There's Only One Monster Here

The stadium, once a buzzing hive of voices and excitement, succumbed to a reverent hush as the announcement rippled through the air. With Sable's proclamation, the grand stage at the heart of the stadium responded with a resounding rumble, its machinery engaging to lift it higher. The entire structure quivered under the strain until, finally, it stood elevated at a staggering fifteen feet, casting a colossal shadow that stretched across the stadium.

In the midst of this awe-inspiring sight, Sable stood with an air of authority, his chest rising as he drew in a deep breath that seemed to infuse him with a magnetic presence. "Ladies and gentlemen," his voice resonated, cutting through the silence like a blade, "allow me to introduce you to the first trial of the Inquisitor's entrance exam – a trial that may seem simple, yet harbors its own challenges. Behold, the Trial of Velocity!"

Don's expression twisted with an evident hint of dissatisfaction, his thoughts a silent stream within his mind. "A foot race? Really? They're kidding, right? Speed is practically my middle name."

As if attuned to Don's inner thoughts, Sable's hand ascended, gesturing gracefully to a massive scoreboard that loomed above the stage. In a cascade of brilliance, the scoreboard illuminated, revealing the names of all the participants alongside the current tally of a mere zero points.

Sable's grin was both enigmatic and inviting. "The rules are simple, my friends. You shall race across this field, from one end to the other, racing against both the clock and your fellow contenders. To cross the designated finish line shall earn you a respectable fifty points. Ah, but do not be deceived by this seemingly generous time limit." His words hung like a fog of anticipation in the air.

A profound silence rippled through the stadium, a collective breath suspended as if awaiting enlightenment. Don's mind whirred into motion, each thought a cog in the intricate machinery of strategy. "Fifty points for crossing the finish line, and a ten-minute allowance for a relatively short sprint? Something's off about this setup. It's not just about completing the course within the time frame. There's a catch, a twist that's hidden beneath this seemingly straightforward task."

With Sable's words echoing in his ears, Don pieced together the puzzle, his gaze locked on the colossal scoreboard. "It's the combination of points and time that's key here. The fact that they're rewarding points for finishing the race means there's more than meets the eye. The extended time limit – it's as if they're encouraging us to explore beyond the track itself. Every second counts, and every decision could potentially lead to gaining more points."

Amid the tension that permeated the stadium, Don's vigilant gaze scanned the surroundings, noting the discerning glances of his fellow applicants. The realization that they had arrived at a similar conclusion to his own flitted across his mind – this test was deceptively straightforward, a façade obscuring the underlying challenge. Murmurs and hushed conversations buzzed through the air, affirming that many shared the sentiment that this trial was almost insultingly simple. A chorus of sentiments brushed his ears, each comment iterating the notion that the test was elementary.

In the midst of this undercurrent of skepticism, the resonant tones of Sable's voice surged from the speakers positioned high upon the stadium walls.

"On your mark...."

Don's muscles tensed in anticipation, his body subtly aligning itself with the starting position as he absorbed the imminent command.

"Get set...."

He felt his heart quicken, a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins.

"GO!!!"

In a surge of motion, half of the applicants erupted from their stances, propelling themselves forward in a fierce sprint. Don's body responded instinctively, mirroring the surrounding contenders.

However, before he could fully engage his momentum, a sudden grip clamped onto his shoulder, arresting his forward surge. Swinging around, his eyes met the gaze of the green-haired man he had conversed with earlier – Oscar. The subtle shake of Oscar's head communicated more than words ever could.

Eyes wide with confusion, Don questioned, "Ummm?"

Oscar's gaze was unwavering as he introduced himself, "Names Oscar."

Don straightened, the urgency of the situation prevailing over his curiosity. "Oscar, why'd you stop me?"

A faint, almost paternal smile curved Oscar's lips as he responded, "Cause I like ya kid and didn't want to see you die."

Before Don could voice his perplexity, a gut-wrenching sound reverberated through the air, like the nauseating collision of raw meat. The world seemed to slow as Don pivoted to face the source of the disturbing noise. Dread seeped through him as his gaze landed on a horde of grotesque creatures, black spiders drenched in blood and grotesquely shaped. Their bodies bore a nightmarish resemblance to skulls contorted in screams of agony. And, as if horror itself had taken corporeal form, a scene of carnage unfolded before him. Over ninety percent of those who had dashed forward lay sprawled, their life force abruptly extinguished.

Oscar relinquished his grip on Don's shoulder. "Point Games are always like this."

Don's voice quivered as he echoed the unfamiliar term, "Point Games?"

With bow in hand, Oscar revealed the cold reality that colored this trial. "Point Games are not about completing the assigned goal." A chill threaded through his words. "It's about getting at least twenty points more than the goals point count."

As Oscar's arrow took its place on the bowstring, Don's pulse quickened. A silent invocation hung in the air as Oscar's emerald eyes ignited, glowing with a supernatural brilliance. His fingers flexed, and the arrow was drawn back with seamless precision. Ethereal power whispered through the stadium as he muttered an incantation, invoking the guidance of Sagittarius.

The arrow was released, a streak of blinding velocity that jarred Don's senses and those of the applicants nearby. It cleaved through space with an almost palpable intensity, its force creating an invisible shockwave that knocked them back. The arrow found its mark, penetrating two of the macabre spiders.

Yet, disbelief gripped Don as he beheld the creatures seemingly unaffected. His eyes sought Oscar's, bafflement coloring his expression. "Did you miss?"

Oscar's glow persisted, unyielding. "I never miss."

A flicker of realization flitted across Don's features as Oscar's fingers snapped with a sharp sound, like the crackling of energy. In a catastrophic crescendo, the two spiders struck by the arrow detonated, a shower of grotesque fragments splattering the field.

Amidst the shifting dynamics of the scoreboard, next to Oscar's name emerged a tally of twenty points, etching his triumphant display of skill into the illuminated digits. The satisfaction that danced across his features betrayed his unmistakable confidence. A self-assured smile graced his lips as he announced, "And with that, I can cross the finish line."

With a poised jog, Oscar embarked upon the path leading to the goal, each stride a testament to his calculated mastery of the challenge.

As the pieces of the intricate puzzle clicked into place within Don's mind, a smile of realization tugged at his lips. "So I only need to kill two of these bugs? Game on." His eyes blazed with an intense azure radiance, his determination kindling into action. A fervent roar erupted from his lungs, the very essence of his power reverberating through the air as he cried out, "RAT KING!" In an incandescent flash, his worn trench coat materialized around him, a signature emblem of his resolve.

Don's gaze swept across the tumultuous tableau, his calculations poised to seize the opportune moment. His focus narrowed to a single spider, the gluttonous creature feasting upon the flesh of another hapless applicant. Don seized the instance, a burst of vigor propelling him into a swift dash. The sudden acceleration caught not only the audience of contenders but the grotesque creatures themselves off-guard, a testament to the extraordinary swiftness he commanded.

Perched atop the grand stage, the white-clad figure with lengthy chestnut hair exchanged an astute glance with Sable. "That kid is crazy fast."

Sable maintained his enigmatic demeanor, his expression revealing nothing. "Yeah, he's fast, but speed isn't gonna help against those."

A faint smile curved the white-clad man's lips as he shrugged in acknowledgment. "True, those are Screaming Skulls, offspring of Gluttony. They boast formidable durability and resilient exoskeletons – speed alone won't ensure victory."

Don's triumphant grin painted his face as he bore down upon the selected target, his momentum and resolve inextricably intertwined. The collision that ensued between his might and the Screaming Skull's form resonated through the air like a thunderclap. "How do you like that?" his voice carried the confidence of imminent triumph.

But jubilation swiftly surrendered to grim realization as Don witnessed his assailant emerge unscathed from the devastating blow, its grotesque form unyielding. In an instant, the spider's sinewy leg retaliated with merciless precision, a brutal swipe sending Don hurtling through the air. His body ricocheted off the field's surface, rebounding twice before finally coming to a jarring halt against the lifeless frame of an applicant.

Barely clinging to consciousness, Don's gasps were punctuated by painful coughs that sputtered forth crimson droplets. His body lay bowed, the tormenting ache seeping through his every fiber. A pang of desperation gripped him as the abhorrent spider advanced, its malevolent intent palpable.

Amid the unfolding chaos, the white-clad man's exhalation carried a sense of inevitability. "Well, too bad I wanted that kid's speed for my squad. He would've been a great Inquisitor with a miracle like that. Too bad because he's scared shitless he'll die."

Sable's laughter echoed, laced with an uncanny understanding. "I wouldn't be so sure of that."

Desperation carved into Don's features as his fingers scraped against the soil, each inch backward a fervent plea for survival. His thoughts raced, a cacophony of fear and uncertainty threatening to drown him. "How do I get out of this? How do I survive this?"

In his vulnerable moment, Don's hand brushed against an unexpected object, its grip solidifying around his trembling fingers. Pulling it forth, he revealed a short sword, its obsidian blade carrying scars and nicks, a testament to its history of battle.

Sable's gaze remained fixed on the unfolding drama below, his voice carrying a tone of revelation. "Caleb, as you know, we screen all participants thoroughly before the exam. As it so happens, that kid Donaldo Espinosa..."

The sword's form held a silent promise as Don's gaze fixed upon it, transcending his surroundings. Images flashed before his mind's eye, a vivid recollection of a recurring dream that had persisted within the depths of his subconscious. It became evident, his connection to this blade, the memory of the man on a mound of corpses, his voice an enigma. "Donaldo, this is how you kill."

A resolute clarity unfurled within him, a determination as unyielding as the blade he held. In a blaze of determination, Don surged forward, his velocity echoing the tempest of his resolve. In an instant, he wielded the blade, cleaving through the spider's monstrous form. The beast's lifeless halves plummeted to the ground, echoes of its demise resonating across the arena.

Even before the body hit the ground, Don had already lunged toward another spider, his purpose undeterred. In a flurry of motion, he carved a path of swift destruction, his blade severing through the grotesque creatures with meticulous precision. And as swiftly as his assault had begun, it culminated – Don crossing the finish line, a trail of mangled arachnid forms marking his resolute path.

Sable's eyes glinted with a knowing smile, a semblance of pride etched into his features. "Don comes from a family of the worst humans to ever walk this earth."

Oscar's hearty pat upon Don's back served as both a congratulation and a supportive gesture as Don found himself descending to the ground, a wave of exhaustion threatening to engulf him. "Don, that was great. You got second place." Don's gaze lifted, his astonishment mirrored in his widened eyes. His vision spanned the arena, revealing a startling truth – a mere forty applicants had persevered through the grueling ordeal, each one crossing the finish line ahead of him. The realization that his achievement, though impressive, didn't secure the pinnacle of success tugged at him. A sense of longing mingled with his surprise as he registered the indifference of those around him.

In the wake of the ordeal, Don's thoughts whirled, a symphony of conflicting emotions echoing within. 'I know I faltered a bit, but I thought that what I did was impressive... well, at least I got second.' The conviction in his accomplishment was overshadowed by the relentless pursuit of excellence that his journey thus far had cultivated.

Yet, like a thunderclap, his mind's eye shifted. Amidst the crowd's murmurs and the remnants of the spectacle, realization dawned like an electric shock. His heart raced, a pulsating rhythm of dread reverberating through his very being. If he had secured second place, the haunting question loomed – who could have claimed first? With bated breath, he averted his gaze toward the scoreboard, the sight before him a sledgehammer blow to his expectations.

The digits on the board were a stark testament to his revelation, a truth that cast a pall over his burgeoning hopes. Beside his name, a figure that dwarfed his own accomplishments taunted him – eighty points.

Sable's enigmatic smile remained, a harbinger of wisdom and foresight. "Don and the other applicants may have potential, but none of them are monsters."

Amongst the assembly of white-clad figures, a shiver coursed through their ranks, a collective shudder that transcended their valiant façades. On the field, a solitary figure strode through a graveyard of spider corpses, an embodiment of cold detachment and unyielding focus.

The gleam of Sable's smile grew, an expanse of satisfaction that stretched from ear to ear. "There's only one monster here!"

In bold contrast to the scoreboard's unassuming font, the revelation of the true victor radiated with undeniable brilliance – the name Ryan, inscribed with the monumental tally of five hundred points.