𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐙𝐄 | ʰˣʰ

chapter i.

TW: slight gore

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SCREAMS OF agony ring out in the cold tunnel, echoes bouncing off the walls like the looming underground is shouting back at the armless man. The new stumps of his shoulders spurt blood onto the severed arms at his feet.

Your eyes linger, for a moment, on the bone at his shoulder, cut straight through, level even with the flesh, with no resistance. Quick strike, less than the blink of an eye.

You must commend this... what is he? A circus performer? What a clean cut. You make note of his applicant number, 44, for later, but you intend to keep your distance. Nen users are people you don't particularly want to associate with here.

Association during the Exam will lead to eventual conflict, and your own nen abilities aren't suited for combat. There are more important things, nor is combat particularly enjoyable if you can't strike with your own limbs.

You weave through the crowd to the back, using small, disgraceful spheres of En to ensure you don't step on others' feet. Lord knows some of these people have tempers more volatile than an active volcano.

Zetsu is the only other aspect of nen you are employing, to mute your presence as you move away from the nen clown—And you don't sense it until you back right into someone else's En.

Shit. Damn. Fuck, hell no.

It takes a split second for your mind to react—Do you erase your presence completely, or let out a burst of Ren imbued with warning?

Before you settle on either, the third action takes control of your limbs. You dart between two people, back the way you came, judging escaping the En entirely the best course of action. You take a different route back to linger by the elevator, putting the wall to your back.

Gyo tells you quickly that the En user you almost encountered is a man(?) with light-purplish skin and needles stuck into his face, and in his ears—You want to cringe imagining the feeling.

But your attention is torn from those two creatures to a third, short man with neat brown hair and a blue shirt who approaches you with a sheepish expression. A brown bag hangs around his neck, swinging as he walks, and as the strap moves, you see the pin on his chest says Number 16.

"Hey, is this your first time taking the Exam?" he starts. Not a name, or anything? Straight to it, then.

You nod. "And you?" This man is not the only one who prioritizes information.

"This is my thirty-fifth time." You can almost see his nose form a point in cartoonish pride.

"Ah." You pause. "And this is... a feat? It warrants pride?"

You suppose it takes some level of skill to at least find the Exam sites this many times, but that counts thirty-four fails regardless.

He laughs, sound resonating from within his chest and belly. "What can I say, I'm a bit of an adrenaline junkie. The dangers of the exam are so unique I have to try them all out."

Oh? Clues to help me pass? "Dangers? Like what?"

The question is so vague it pains you to ask, crushes your pride and stomps it down deep inside you. You could inquire about the different types of magical beasts that have shown up, or the highest grade of beast that the examiners use, or what challenges each phase of the Exam entails, but you won't get answers if it's made obvious you're using this man's experience for your own gain. Oh, the sacrifices made on the altar of subtlety.