The shockwave slammed into the turbine housing with the force of a derailment.

Vane felt his ribs groan under the pressure. He kept his head down and shielded Isole with his body as the air above them turned into a chaotic blender of mana. Metal shrapnel pinged off the titanium casing like hail, and the heat was blistering. The sound was a physical assault that rattled his teeth in his skull.

Then silence returned.

It was not a peaceful silence. It was the heavy, suffocating quiet of a structure that was holding its breath before collapsing.

Vane peeked over the edge of the turbine.

The center of the hall was a crater. The steel grating had been peeled back like the skin of an orange. Steam hissed from ruptured cooling pipes and filled the air with a thick, white fog.

"They are still standing," Isole whispered. She sounded horrified. "How are they still standing?"

Through the steam, the three silhouettes remained.

Valerica stood in a circle of crushed metal. The gravity field around her had acted as a perfect repulsor, grinding the debris into dust before it could touch her skin. She looked annoyed as she brushed a speck of dust from her shoulder.

Ashe was crouched on a twisted support beam five meters in the air. Her uniform was scorched and she had a cut on her cheek, but she was grinning. Her sword glowed a dull, angry red from the heat of the friction.

Anastasia stood untouched. Her white barrier flickered and died, but her uniform was pristine. She looked bored.

"That was messy," Anastasia said. Her voice carried clearly through the ruined hall. "You lack refinement."

"Refinement does not win wars," Ashe laughed. She hopped down from the beam, landing lightly despite the heavy atmosphere. "Power does. And you are running out of battery, Princess."

"I have more mana than you have blood," Anastasia replied coldly.

She raised her sword again.

Vane grit his teeth. They were not stopping. The first clash had just been a test, a way to gauge the weight of their opponents. Now they knew. And now they were going to get serious.

The air in the room began to vibrate.

It started low and rose to a deafening hum. The ambient mana in the sector was being forcibly dragged toward the three girls.

"They are going for a second round," Vane realized, his stomach dropping.

Valerica clapped her hands together. The air pressure dropped instantly. The steam in the room was sucked toward her, swirling into a tight, black sphere between her palms. The metal floor groaned. Rivets popped and shot across the room like bullets as the steel was pulled toward the singularity.

"Event Horizon," Valerica whispered.

Ashe lowered her stance. She sheathed her sword and then crouched low. The red aura of her Killing Intent flooded the room, turning the atmosphere heavy and thick. It smelled of copper and blood. The sound of her sword vibrating in the sheath rose to a scream.

"Flash Arts. Execution," Ashe hissed.

Anastasia raised her sword high above her head. The white light intensified, condensing from a wave into a solid shape. A massive, fifty foot blade of pure mana formed above her. It hummed with enough energy to split the Spire in half.

"Imperial Judgment," Anastasia announced.

Vane grabbed Isole.

"We have to move," Vane hissed. "The floor cannot take this. When they clash, the entire sector is going to drop into the foundry."

"Where do we go?" Isole asked. Panic made her voice shrill.

"The shaft," Vane said. He pointed to the dark hole they had climbed out of. "We jump. Now."

He braced his legs to run.

"Disappear," Anastasia commanded.

"Crush," Valerica roared.

"Die," Ashe whispered.

The three attacks launched.

The mountain of mana descended. The singularity expanded. The invisible slash tore through the air.

Vane lunged forward.

But he never finished the step.

The blast doors to the exterior were kicked open.

The sound was sharp. It was distinct. It cut through the magical roar like a gunshot.

A gust of wind from the summit blew into the hall. It carried snow. White, pristine flakes swirled into the superheated atmosphere.

And then the temperature dropped.

It did not just get cold. The heat was physically ripped from the air.

In a microsecond, the steam filling the room flash frozen into diamond dust. It hung suspended in the air. The condensation on the walls turned to jagged ice. The puddles of water on the floor solidified with loud cracking sounds.

But it was not just the water.

The attacks froze.

Anastasia's massive blade of mana did not vanish, but it stopped humming. It turned brittle. Its edges frayed into flakes of white light that drifted lazily to the floor like snow.

Valerica's gravity sphere lost its rotation. The debris trapped inside it simply fell to the ground with a clatter, the attractive force nullified by the sheer apathy of the cold.

Ashe's invisible slash dissipated. The Killing Intent shattered like glass under the weight of a far heavier presence.

The room went dead silent. The only sound was the howling of the wind from the open door.

Valerica stood frozen in her throwing stance.

Ashe remained in her draw posture.

Anastasia held her sword aloft, staring blankly at the fading sparks of her judgment.

Slowly, instinctively, the three strongest women in the first year lowered their arms. They turned their heads toward the door. They moved with the jerky, terrified synchronization of prey animals that had just sensed a predator.

A boy walked in.

He was wearing the standard Academy uniform. It was perfectly pressed, without a single wrinkle or speck of dust. His white hair was short and neatly combed. He had his hands in his pockets. His posture was relaxed. He looked almost bored.

He did not look like a warrior. He did not look like a mage. He looked like a student who had taken a wrong turn on his way to the cafeteria.

Isaac Glacium.

He walked onto the metal floor.

Crunch.

The sound of his boot stepping on the frost was deafening in the silence.

With every step he took, the ice spread. It was not an attack. It was not a spell. It was just the environment surrendering to him. The frost crept over the scorched metal. It crept over the debris. It covered the scars of the battle in a blanket of absolute, pristine white.

He did not speak. He did not flare his aura. He did not attack.

He just walked into the center of the room and stopped.

He looked at the three elites. Then, his pale blue eyes drifted past them. He scanned the shadows of the room until they locked directly onto the turbine housing.

Onto Vane.

Vane felt his blood turn to slush. He had faced Gareth. He had faced the horrors of the slums. He had just watched three elite students tear the world apart.

But this was different.

Valerica felt like weight. Ashe felt like a blade. Anastasia felt like a laser.

Isaac felt like the End.

The Rank 2 stared at Vane. There was no malice in his gaze. There was no anger. There was only a profound and terrifying boredom.

Vane stopped breathing.

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