[Isaac Mahoka's POV]
[Day 4|August 5th][Round 1: 3:00 AM]
"1…"
I can't help but think about the tattoo matrix on Araxie's body.
Considering that it is the main equation for this entire matchup to figure out how to win this.
Now, there are many ways to approach the entire equation of this matchup, from different perspectives such as a mathematician, psychologist, tactician, wartime strategist, gambler, logician, and a deus ex machina approach.
I let the thought settle, allowing myself to feel the weight of each perspective as a living thing.
Not as abstract concepts, but as companions I had walked with before.
Each one offered a different lens through which to view the impossible puzzle before me; the matrix of tattoos on Araxie's body, that intricate language of micro-numerics surrounding each black spade, red diamond, black club, and red heart.
The mathematician would see the tattoos as a static cipher to be decoded through brute computational force.
They would count each micro-hash, catalog every permutation, and attempt to derive a systematic key from the spatial relationships between each suit symbol.
They would treat the matrix on Araxie's skin as a code waiting to be broken, a puzzle to be solved through sheer intellectual firepower.
But the premises of such an approach are fragile.
What if the cipher wasn't mathematical at all? What if those micro-numerics corresponded to something beyond arithmetic; perhaps a biological rhythm, a heartbeat, a breathing pattern that shifted the meaning of each symbol? I had already noticed how the tattoos seemed to recalibrate with each micro-tension of Araxie's abdominal muscles.
Perhaps the language wasn't based on numerical values but on physical states, each hash mark representing a different muscle contraction, a different neural firing, a different emotional frequency.
A mathematician would drown in the variables before they even began.
The psychologist would attempt to profile Araxie's cognitive processes.
They would analyze her body language, her drifting speech patterns, her seemingly random tangents about jellyfish and cotton candy clouds.
They would try to predict which tarot cards she would select based on behavioral patterns and emotional states. They would treat her mind as a system to be mapped.
But psychology has its own premises that can crumble.
What if the drifting speech, the seemingly random tangents, the sleepy demeanor, what if these were not symptoms of a fragmented consciousness but deliberate obfuscations? What if Araxie had designed her own psychological architecture to be unreadable to traditional profiling, creating a labyrinth of misdirection that led any analyst down dead ends? Or perhaps the tattoos themselves were a form of psychological warfare, designed to make her opponents obsess over their meaning. At the same time, she calmly collected her tarot cards and won the match.
A psychologist would chase ghosts in her neural architecture, finding patterns that were designed to mislead.
The tactician would treat the matchup as a series of discrete engagements; each round an isolated battle to be won through superior positioning and resource management. They would plan for the electrical surges, the compressed-air pistol exchanges, the retrieval patterns.
They would create contingency trees for every possible outcome.
They would treat Araxie's team as obstacles to be overcome through clever maneuvering.
But tactical thinking assumes a stable environment and predictable opponents.
What if the tattoos were not just a translation tool but a coordination system? What if the micro-numerics allowed Araxie's team to communicate with her without words; through eye blinks, through shivering hand movements, through subtle shifts in posture that were invisible to an untrained observer?
A tactician would find their carefully constructed plans dissolving into chaos with each passing round, their beautiful strategies reduced to ash by the simple refusal of the environment to cooperate.
The wartime strategist would think in terms of attrition and resource denial.
They would attempt to force Araxie into a defensive posture, waste her compressed-air rounds, and maximize their own efficiency through psychological warfare.
They would see the ten-hour duration as a battle of wills, a war of exhaustion.
But strategy assumes an opponent who can be broken.
What if the tattoos were not a weapon but an invitation? What if Araxie had designed this entire matchup not to win, but to share something; a vision, a philosophy, a way of seeing the world that transcended the cold mechanics of competition?
What if she was testing me, not to defeat me, but to see if I could understand the language she had etched into her own skin?
A wartime strategist would try to intimidate, to demoralize, to break her spirit. But what if her spirit was already something else entirely, something that couldn't be broken because it had never been whole to begin with?
The gambler would calculate probabilities.
They would assess the odds of each tarot retrieval, the statistical likelihood of electrical surge patterns, and the risk-reward ratio of each possible sequence deduction.
They would embrace the chaos as a mathematical equation, trusting in the numbers to guide them to victory.
But gambling is ultimately about accepting uncertainty.
What if the tattoos were a fabrication, a deliberate misdirection designed to make me waste precious cognitive resources on a puzzle that had no solution?
What if the micro-numerics were just random marks, carefully placed to look meaningful but containing no actual information?
What if the entire tattoo matrix was a lie, a beautiful, intricate lie designed to make me chase shadows while Araxie calmly won the match?
A gambler would walk into a house that had already won, placing bets on a table that was never truly fair.
The logician would attempt to build a framework of pure reason; deductive chains that would lead inexorably to the correct sequence of tarot cards. They would eliminate contradictions, validate assumptions, and follow the syllogistic path to victory.
But logic is vulnerable to the illogical.
What if the tattoos were not a code at all but a map?
What if the micro-numerics corresponded to something beyond the tarot deck itself, the pool's internal current system, the frequency of the electrical surges, the timing of the osmotic membrane shifts?
What if Araxie's body was not just a translation tool but a navigational instrument, and the true language was not in the symbols themselves but in how they moved?
A logician would build a castle of reason on sand, only to watch it crumble when the tide came in.
And the deus ex machina approach would seek an external solution, a hidden rule, an overlooked resource, an intervention from the referees or the administration that would change the nature of the matchup entirely. It would hope for a miracle.
But miracles are the refuge of the desperate.
What if the entire matchup was designed to be unwinnable through conventional means? What if Araxie had created a system so perfectly balanced in her favor that the only way to win was to transcend the game itself?
A deus ex machina would be a confession of defeat, an admission that the puzzle was beyond my ability to solve.
All of these perspectives; the mathematician, the psychologist, the tactician, the wartime strategist, the gambler, the logician, the deus ex machina.
They were tools, useful tools even.
But they were also cages.
Each one imposed a framework of understanding that limited the possibility of true innovation.
Which left the magician's perspective.
The magician does not need to choose. The magician understands that the greatest illusions are not tricks but invitations. They are not about deception but about participation.
The magician does not seek to solve the puzzle through force or reason alone, they embrace all possibilities equally, holding each one in their heart like a beloved child.
From the magician's perspective, the tattoos could be a cipher. Or a coordination system. Or a psychological weapon. Or a fabrication. Or a map. Or an invitation. Or all of these things at once.
The magician's wisdom was not in choosing the correct answer but in expanding the question itself.
What if the tattoos were not a single language but many?
What if Araxie had embedded multiple layers of meaning into her skin, each one accessible through different methods of perception? What if the true nature of the cipher was not to be read but to be felt, a vibration, a frequency, a resonance that could only be perceived by someone willing to open themselves to the mystery?
What if Araxie was speaking to me through her tattoos, not in words but in poetry?
I didn't need to solve the cipher. I needed to understand the person who had created it.
I needed to see the beauty in her darkness, to appreciate the artistry of her design, to make her feel seen in the same way I had made Aurelie feel seen, the same way I had made Marie feel understood, the same way I had made my Class H classmates feel valued.
And if she had created this entire matchup as an invitation, a way to share something of herself with the one person who might actually understand, then the way to win was not to outthink her but to meet her there. To step into her world, to speak her language, to dance with her in the purple waters.
Beyond that, there was something else stirring in the depths of my consciousness. Something that had been gestating since the moment I first glimpsed the tattoo matrix.
Something about the way the micro-numerics seemed to align with the patterns I had seen in the school's infrastructure, the way the osmotic membranes hummed with a frequency that felt almost... familiar.
But that was a thought for later.
For now, I simply embraced the magician's perspective; holding all possibilities in perfect balance, refusing to choose, refusing to close the door on any of them.
Now, heading back to the present situation at hand.
Naturally, I will need some time to get used to the temperature as I thought earlier.
But I could have explosive speed for temporary warmth for at least 15 minutes if I factor in the plasma heat that will layer my skin.
One would ask, wouldn't it burn? Cause third-degree burns? Melt my skin?
However, it is a different story for me, as I was trained to be heat-resistant to anything, even Plasma. But I haven't trained for that in a while. It will feel like a jellyfish sting and as the phrase goes: Tis but a scratch.
________
[Flashback: Isaac Mahoka's POV| ten years ago: age five]
Despite the fencing expedition being a mere four hours ago, the curriculum of the Moonlight Society never gives a break to restore one's mental and physical stamina.
"This is completely insane to do!" Cecil Euphemia said, his blue eyes showing dread and concern.
Darian Malcolm, beside Cecil, agreed. "I concur. The fact that Isaac only had four hours of rest after the fencing expedition is simply not enough."
We were currently walking in one of the Moonlight Society's training facilities, the interior was more modernistic than the Victorian-style interiors in any other Moonlight Society architecture.
"That's enough." A raspy authoritative male voice said that was in front of us, the children of the heads.
The kind of voice that had over eighty years of experience and could induce anyone to remain still like a soldier.
The man had white hair and blue eyes with white rings and white star-shaped pupils—the same genetic marker as anyone in the house of Mahoka.
He wore a black and purple military asymmetric cape, a Byzantine purple-embodied hussar jacket paired with a tailored black jacket featuring white trim and Byzantine purple embellishments with black pants and black shoes.
He glanced at us when he turned his head a little, and many of us froze, and little Lura, who was holding Scarlett and my hands, flinched. Only Scarlett and I remained composed with her neutral faint smile and my serene demeanor.
The man in front of us was the head of the curriculum for the children of the heads when it comes to physical and mental training and conditioning.
He was also the predecessor to my mother as the head of House Mahoka.
Atlas Mahoka, my grandfather of seventy-one years old.
"Grandpapa has a scary gaze…" Lura said, squeezing both of our hands showing a sign of reassurance that we would be fine.
"It is…" Scarlett whispered, showing she agreed despite not being scared herself. "But there is nothing to be scared about."
And her being scared about Atlas's gaze would be the greatest misread anyone would ever have done.
What I feel from Scarlett is an undying love for Lura, our mother, and me, and a hatred towards the Moonlight Society and anyone who partakes in it.
It is why I constantly help facilitate her emotions to maintain her love and serenity so that the other main heads or any other higher-ups do not perceive her hatred. It was not only because of our plan once we finally executed it.
But it was also due to me caring about her and not wanting anything bad to happen to her.
Scarlett and I are essentially two persons; one soul.
I don't want any harm done to her, and I will do everything in my capabilities to make sure nothing harms her, and I am willing to endure centuries of torture from this frozen hell if it means her safety.
"She's right, Lura," I whispered as well. "Lord Atlas is many things, but he won't intentionally be scary or try to harm someone like you."
Atlas spoke once more, now looking directly at me in his reserved demeanor. "Isaac," he said. "I trust that you are mentally, physically, and psychologically fit to do what training comes next?"
I nodded. "Of course Lord Atlas, I believe even with my wounds healed at a fast rate, I should be able to contribute to the task you have in hand that would need to be completed."
"And yet you haven't told us what our next task is, Lord Atlas," Cain Constantine said, fidgeting with his black hair. "Even though today was supposed to be a rest day for us, and the fact that we have to do this would mean this is a test of a new regimen you came up with."
Aurora Halloran shivered. "It must be a dangerous one if Lord Atlas mentioned that Isaac having good mental, physical, and psychological stamina was fine enough to do this task…"
"Then this new task requires novel problem-solving skills that rely on those three aspects…" Unity Avery softly said.
"Is it true, Lord Atlas?" Rosalind Livingston asked.
We all stopped walking, merely ten feet away from the door to bring us into the main room where our supposed new regimen would be.
"Do you know what makes you eleven so different from previous generations of the ten heads and the elite moonlight population?" Atlas asked us.
We stayed silent when he asked us, not because we had the inability to answer the question. But because we already knew it was a rhetorical question.
"You all were born with no natural talent," He said. "And yet you all have already surpassed the elite youth population that trained themselves to be the eclipse agents that protect our civilization and our people. And we came to call you eleven, the prism generation. A special generation that will make our civilization not only thrive but perhaps unify the Moonlight Society and the outside world into becoming one civilization again as it was 60,000 years ago before the civil war. And along with all of your untapped potential of limitless learning capacity. Which sets you eleven apart from every single generation of the ten different heads throughout our history. Even when you all were born, you all already possessed full consciousness, control, and self-awareness, hence why your curriculum started at infancy."
"Is that why the VIP client association exists?" Priscilla Isolyn II asked, her expression unreadable to all.
"Yes, since they are the more malleable influential individuals who were descendants of the houses that split from us. Though they are temporary means to an end."
To understand what Atlas means, he is saying that the VIP clients are unaware they are apart of the rebelled houses that split away, and believe they are the ones funding the Moonlight Society but in reality they are being manipulated and deceived by the Moonlight Society so that the Moonlight Society can strengthen its influence in the outside world while at the same time making sure that the VIP clients don't try to stain the people of the Moonlight Society.
"That does explain a lot of their existence," Leopold Theodora murmured. "Even if their behavior when they look at the Moonlight Society's youth population as meat or toys…"
The sentiment was shared amongst almost everyone in the Moonlight Society at the VIP's disgusting gazes; knowing they view us youth as nothing but sexual means for them.
But thankfully they haven't done anything vile due to the Moonlight Security, but even then, you never know what might occur that could change anything.
"Is that why our curriculum's difficulty has increased?" Lura asked innocently. "I… I remember asking Mama about why our curriculum was different from hers and the past generations…"
"Yes, that is another reason," Atlas confirmed. "The humanity in the outside world's most brutal curriculum mortality rate and difficulty rate is 95-100%, the Moonlight curriculum amongst our normal population in the Moonlight Society is 200-350%, amongst our elite population of the Moonlight Society is 400%, amongst the previous curriculum for the current and former heads was 450%, and finally now for amongst you eleven specifically has went to 700%, by next year we plan to increase it to 900%."
Essentially, the curriculum within the Moonlight Society is death amongst the outside world.
But to go through the lengths to increase our specific curriculum quality that much, has underlying meaning.
The outside world has many human beings who are able to contend against the humans of the Moonlight Society. Atlas and the others are doing everything in their capabilities to increase our innovations so that they could reunite the original civilization without obstacles.
That's probably why they even took an interest in the project of the International Requiem Academy.
We continued walking once more as we stopped at the door, where the two guards were standing.
The Moonlight Society guards wore a high-collar black long coat that was adorned with chains, black boots, and a white cape. Along with having a sword on one side and a black-white FN 5.7 suppressor on the other.
The hierarchy in terms of status within the Moonlight Society has always been intriguing and paradoxical. The intriguing part would be how the hierarchy is set up if I recall correctly:
[1]Moonlight Conclave: consists of the ten main heads of the ten houses
[2]Paragons: the heirs and the chief lieutenants of the Moonlight Society's departments
[3]Imperial Sword: the royal personal guards for the heirs of the head position, which consists of those who trained in the elite youth group and are extremely loyal to the children of the heads. (the same group that I created a cult of.)
[4]Penumberal Lords/Ladies: the lower heads of the ten houses
[5]Eclipse Agents: the offensive Moonlight Society operatives who can operate outside the Moonlight Society
[6]Royal Moonlight Guards: they are the elite of the Moonlight Society guards that protect and guard the heads of the houses and their heirs.
[7]Dominion Moonlight Guards: they are the ones that guard all training and department facilities.
[8]Moonlight Marshal/esoteric Guards: they are the main and powerful defensive military branch of the Moonlight Society that protects the people of the Moonlight Society from foreign enemies.
[9]The Moonlight Society civilians
And given the hierarchy and aesthetic of the Moonlight Society being a mixture of Demonic iconography and Victorian. One would expect that there would be inequality even amongst races and genders in the Moonlight Society.
But that would be technically wrong since the Moonlight Society in terms of social hierarchy is irrelevant since both genders and all people of color hold equal influence and power given that the Moonlight have achieved social and economic harmony and equality despite their status.
Given that the economy follows a synthesis of a barter system and not a monetary system, combined with what the outside world would call a guild socialist economy.
And given the structure of the Moonlight Society, all statuses have different values but remain equal.
Even the main heads are equal to the civilians.
And the important aspect was that the civilians were joyous and happy for how the Moonlight Society is, enriched culture, food, traditions, and non-hierarchical businesses, and the guarantee of protection from enemies that would bring discord.
Now this brings the important question, why would anyone within the Moonlight Society be against the restoration plan and want to escape if it's a paradise?
Because if our paradise requires the blood of innocence in the Moonlight Society and the outside world, and forbids the option of choice to leave the Moonlight Society. Then is it really harmonious? Is it really a paradise? Is it really freedom?
However, one must also understand the civilians' perspective, they don't know how the outside world will view them or treat them. And given my knowledge from what I learned about the outside world, their perspective is understandable.
However, just as cruelty exists, so does kindness and virtue even in the outside world. And I believe everyone deserves that perfect outcome of choosing the possibility rather than living in constant social fear.
Does it pain me that Scarlett and I will eventually leave the Moonlight Society and our people? Yes.
Is it hard to carry this weight and will to carry on to want to bring the possibility of freedom not only to the people of the Moonlight Society but the whole world too? Yes.
But if it means bringing the possibility of people having a choice to be truly happy and joyous even if it has to be through discord, then yes, it will all be worth it.
Because at the end of the day, it is not about me, or playing the moral high ground, but about liberating people from systematic oppression no matter how appealing it looks.
Atlas looked at the guard to the left of the door, that guard was a dark-skinned woman with bright blonde hair and orange eyes. "Corporal Josie Valma," He said, now looking at the guard on the right, he had black undercut hair with a long top and he had angel-grey eyes. "And Corporal Paian Niall. If you two can activate the clearance."
"Of course Lord Atlas." Corporal Josie spoke softly but reservedly as she and Corporal Paian put their fingers into a metallic hole on the wall, and a sharp needle poked their fingers taking in the blood and running a sensor to give us clearance to finally enter the room.
The clearance procedure was always unique in itself.
They never used digit codes, eye recognition, voice recognition, keys, or cards. But blood sensors since only those in the Conclave, Paragons, Imperial Swords, Penumbraals, Eclipse Agents, and the Dominion Moonlight Guards can go through the clearance procedures in the high levels through their blood information that is transferred as their own key and once they are no longer living, the data is instantly deleted.
A ding was heard as both of the guards opened the door.
We then entered the main room as the doors closed behind us.
The room itself was familiar since we trained in aquatic and underwater warfare.
The room in question was hexagonal-shaped with an incredibly large pool that extended fifty feet deep. It was currently filled but I did notice the subtle twelve compartments in the pool walls, which is unusual unless they modified it.
Well given that this will be a new regimen and the fact that I noticed that the entire facility floor has been elevated an extra five feet and that the depth of the pool has twelve hidden large square compartments on the walls.
It would make sense that they modified it.
There were two figures across from us. The one on the left is a man who has golden natural skin with yellow eyes and black hair slicked back. It was the head of security himself Nicodem Osric, whose expression remained impassive.
The second most intelligent human in the history of Earth, according to the Moonlight Society. And he only comes second to Moon Mahoka, my mother.
Now the other person next to Mr. Osric, was rather something else entirely.
People with synesthesia tend to have sensory capabilities for perceiving individuals' auras and identifying what those auras are.
But even then, synesthesia can only be seen so far into individuals.
For me, it's a different story as I can feel them no matter how hard someone tries.
In the outside world, despite me not having been out there yet.
They have forms of entertainment like movies and TV shows that need actors or actresses to pull off a successful film or series so to speak. But every actor no matter how good they are at manipulating their microexpressions or mimicking their emotions, always has a problem with their aura.
Aura to me is how they present themselves, I don't mean their mask, I mean themselves raw. So they try to manipulate their auras to the most perceptive one.
However, a negative space is the space around an individual that exists when one fabricates an aura or suppresses their aura entirely. One can perceive it if they have a higher perception that goes beyond even perceptual diagnosis like Synesthesia or Ideathesia.
And with my empathy and my current level of perception, not only can I see through those negative spaces, but I can also identify exactly what their nature really is through connecting and feeling with them.
The man was pale as a lamb and had a kind almost fond calm smile with eyes that were black like the void, he also had slick-back hair but white instead and had a strand fall over his face.
That man was also the head of the research department that focused on psychology, biology, chemistry, and many other fields.
His name was Gideon Nicoletti, who is also third in line to be head of security, just behind Francois and Nicodem.
The nickname from the higher levels calls him the abomination angel.
There are two reasons why he is nicknamed that, one is due to his appearance and presence, which earned him the 'angel' part. The second reason is due to his psychological experiments and biological experiments on animals to enhance them or give them certain capabilities.
He once tried to experiment on some individuals but wasn't allowed to due to the Moonlight Society believing that genetic and biological enhancement on the Moonlight Society population is against the traditions despite our technological advancements. Which earned him the 'abomination' part.
"Nicodem. Gideon," Atlas spoke once more. "I trust this regimen is ready?"
"Of course," Mr. Nicoletti said, his voice soft and almost benevolent. "The trial tests we did made sure that everything was set."
"We still aren't told what our new regimen is," Cain said calmly, still twirling his asymmetrical bang.
"That is because the trajectory you all have done in the prism curriculum has been faster than we anticipated," Mr. Osric explained. "The original trajectory indicated that all of you would have mastered the entire curriculum by the age of sixteen, the new trajectory indicated that by the end of December this year, you all would have completed the academic, mental, and combat curriculum."
"That is why we decided to create new regimens that push your physical, mental, and to the extent your academic capacities to their extreme beyond what we have already pushed," Mr. Nicoletti spoke, holding a remote and pressing a button on the large black screen above them. "Hence why for the next three weeks, we will be testing two new regimens per day and determining if it's beneficial to integrate them into your rigorous schedule."
The screen lightened up showing Leopold, Alistair, Cain, Darian, Cecil, Aurora, Rosalind, Priscilla, Scarlett, Lura, and my face, and under a multitude of categories.
"This particular regimen," Mr. Osric began. "Will monitor the following information on Physical statistics such as endurance, agility, stamina, and speed. Adaptability which consists of environmental, situational, and combat. Novelty consists of novelty complex problem-solving, logical reasoning, creative innovation, and learning ability. Finally, Fortitude consists of composure, multitasking, and stress tolerance."
Mr. Nicoletti raised his hand, gesturing to the screen. "And right now you will see dear Nicodem's prediction on the ranking during this regimen that we are calling the prototype rainbow. Of course, this is only based on empirical records of your training."
The screen showed the following:
Overall Physical Statistics:
1)Leopold Theodora
2a)Isaac Mahoka
2b)Scarlett Mahoka
3)Cain Constantine
4)Unity Avery
5)Aurora Halloran
6)Alistair Evergard
7)Darian Malcolm
8)Cecil Euphemia
9)Priscilla Isolyn II
10)Rosalind Livingston
11)Lura Mahoka
Overall Adaptability:
1a)Isaac Mahoka
1b)Scarlett Mahoka
2)Unity Avery
3a)Leopold Theodora
3b)Cain Constantine
3c)Aurora Halloran
3d)Lura Mahoka
4a)Priscilla Isolyn II
4b)Rosalind Livingston
4c)Alistair Evergard
4d)Darian Malcolm
4e)Cecil Euphemia
Overall Novelty:
1a)Isaac Mahoka
1b)Scarlett Mahoka
1c)Avery Unity
2a)Leopold Theodora
2b)Lura Mahoka
2c)Cain Constantine
3a)Priscilla Isolyn II
3b)Aurora Halloran
3c)Alistair Evergard
3d)Darian Malcolm
4)Cecil Euphemia
Overall Fortitude:
1a)Isaac Mahoka
1b)Scarlett Mahoka
1c)Lura Mahoka
1d)Leopold Theodora
1e)Avery Unity
1f)Cain Constantine
1g)Priscilla Isolyn II
1h)Aurora Halloran
1i)Alistair Evergard
1j)Darian Malcolm
1k)Cecil Euphemia
"It appears I am predicted to be top in the physical statistics," Leopold observed, his head tilted.
"Does it surprise you, Leopold?" I asked.
Despite all of us being born naturally with no gift in our physical prowess, Leopold has always come at the top in strength and durability. His physical statistics make him exceptional amongst us in the field.
Even in combat training, Leopold is the apex of combat systems to the point that fighting unconventional is the only option which only works if you have good enough speed and cunning to beat Leopold in a combat situation.
I recall Leopold and my fighting score against each other to be: Leopold-275; Isaac-225.
Leopold glanced at me and then closed his eyes. "Yes, given the fencing expedition should have put you and to the extent Scarlett at number one."
"Not necessarily since I only relied on my usual speed and defense skills. I am not an aggressor in combat after all." I said.
"Isaac is right, Leopold," Alistair interjected. "You still dominate us in the physical field and combat field despite all of our unique skills and methodology."
Leopold's silver eyes met mine for a moment, something unreadable passing between us. He had always been the quietest of my siblings, the one who spoke through action rather than words. I understood that language well.
"Enough pleasantries," Atlas's voice cut through the chamber like a blade of frost. "The prototype rainbow begins now. Isaac, you will go first."
I stepped forward, feeling the weight of my siblings' pairs of eyes on my back.
Mr. Nicoletti's smile was the kind that made the hairs on your arms stand up. "The rules are simple, children. Each of you will enter the pool. The surface will seal. Below, in twelve separate compartments, you will find twelve creatures I have personally enhanced. Your task is to survive for five minutes while solving a twelve-digit code that unlocks the compartment and allows you to surface."
"A code?" Leopold asked, his voice level. "What code?"
Mr. Nicoletti's smile widened. "The code is different for each of you. It is tailored to your specific knowledge base, your abstract thinking, and your ability to synthesize information from seemingly disparate sources. The code is twelve digits. Nothing more. Nothing less."
"And the creatures?" Priscilla asked, her white eyes narrowing.
"They are enhanced. Their strength, speed, and durability have been calibrated to match your own physical capabilities. You will not be able to overpower them through brute force. You will need to think. I should also mention that the water temperature has been lowered to negative one hundred degrees Celsius compared to your previous training in negative sixty degrees Celsius. A rather specific condition for your first prototype trial."
I looked at the pool. The water was perfectly still, dark and deep.
Through the glass panels set into the walls, I could see the twelve compartments, each one separated by thick barriers. Inside each compartment, barely visible in the dim light, shapes moved.
They were long, sinuous, alive. The water surface shimmered with a thin layer of frost.
I closed my eyes for a moment and breathed. The air was cool and dry, carrying the faint scent of chlorine and ozone. I could feel the weight of my siblings' expectations, the calculating gaze of Mr. Nicoletti, the watchful presence of Mr. Osric.
But underneath all of that, I could feel something else. A faint pulse.
Twelve small hearts beating in the dark.
They were afraid, and they were in pain.
I opened my eyes and smiled. "I am ready."
Atlas nodded once. "Begin."
I walked to the edge of the pool and dove in.
The water hit me like a thousand frozen needles. The cold was immediate and absolute, seeping into my skin, my muscles, my bones.
Negative one hundred degrees Celsius. Water at that temperature was not liquid, it was a slush of ice crystals and brine, thick enough to slow movement, dense enough to steal warmth in seconds.
My body seized.
My muscles contracted involuntarily, my lungs burning with the shock of the cold.
I had trained in freezing waters before, but this was different. This was beyond cold. This was cryogenic-level temperatures.
This was designed to kill.
I forced myself to breathe, to slow my racing heart. My breath came out in a cloud of bubbles, each one carrying precious heat away from my body.
I could feel my extremities going numb, my fingers and toes losing sensation. If I stayed here too long, I would freeze. My muscles would lock up, my heart would slow, and I would sink.
I pushed deeper, swimming toward the first compartment. The cold was a living thing, wrapping around me, squeezing the warmth from my body. I could feel my core temperature dropping, my body struggling to maintain homeostasis in the face of this assault.
I needed heat.
I had trained for this.
My mother had taught me that the body was a vessel, and the mind was the flame that could ignite it. She had taught me to channel my internal energy, to generate heat from within.
But I had never needed to use it in this way. I had never faced a cold this extreme considering the cold I faced was only negative sixty degrees Celsius.
I focused inward, feeling the warmth of my own blood, the pulse of my own heart. I imagined it spreading, flowing outward from my core to my extremities. I imagined a fire, small and controlled, burning in the center of my chest.
Nothing happened.
The cold continued to sap my strength.
My arms were growing heavy, my strokes slower. I could feel the frost creeping across my skin, the ice crystals forming on my eyelashes.
I tried again, this time with more urgency. I imagined the fire growing, spreading through my veins, heating my blood from within. I felt a flicker of warmth, a faint glow in my chest. But it was not enough. The cold was too strong, too relentless.
I was going to freeze.
And then I felt it.
A spike of pain, sharp and electric, shooting through my body. It was the eels. I could feel their suffering, their agony, their desperate longing for relief. It was a beacon in the darkness, a call I could not ignore.
I let their pain wash over me, let it fill my consciousness. I felt their metallic plates cutting into their flesh, their nerves screaming with constant, unending torment. I felt their confusion, their fear, their desperate hope that someone, anyone, would help them.
I could not let them suffer. I would not.
I focused on their pain, let it become my own. And in that moment, something shifted. The cold that had been sapping my strength suddenly felt different. It was no longer an enemy. It was a challenge, a test, a crucible.
I reached deep inside myself, to a place I had never touched before. I found a spark, small and fragile, buried beneath layers of discipline and control. I coaxed it, nurtured it, let it grow.
Heat.
I let it spread through my body, starting from my core and flowing outward. It was not just warmth. It was plasma, the fourth state of matter. The heat of stars, the fire of the sun. It radiated from my skin, turning the water around me to steam.
The ice crystals on my eyelashes evaporated. The numbness in my fingers receded. My muscles relaxed, my heart rate steadied. I was warm.
I looked at my hands.
They were glowing, a faint orange light emanating from my skin.
The water around me was bubbling, boiling from the sheer heat of my body.
I could feel the energy coursing through me, a river of fire that I could control, direct, shape.
I had never done this before. I had never known I could. But now that I had found it, I could not let it go.
I swam toward the first compartment, the water parting before me like a curtain. The eel inside was thrashing, its metallic plates gleaming dully in the dim light. It was afraid. I could feel its fear, its pain, its desperate confusion.
I reached out and touched the glass. It slid open, and the eel shot forward, its body undulating with terrifying speed. Its metallic scales were sharp, razor- edged, designed to cut and wound. It struck at me, its body wrapping around my arm, the plates digging into my skin.
I did not fight it. I held still, letting the eel wrap around me, letting its metallic plates cut into my flesh. The pain was sharp and immediate, but I did not flinch. I focused on the heat radiating from my body, the plasma fire that coursed through my veins.
I reached out with my free hand and touched the eel's head. I projected calm, reassurance, and understanding.
I am not your enemy. I am here to help you.
The eel's grip loosened, just slightly. It was confused. Nothing in its existence had ever offered kindness. It did not know what to do with it.
I can feel your pain, I projected. The plates. They hurt you. I can help you.
I focused my heat, directing it to my hand. The plasma fire intensified, turning my skin white- hot. I touched the eel's flank, the metallic plate nearest to my hand.
The metal began to glow. It turned red, then orange, then yellow. It melted, dripping away from the eel's body like wax from a candle. The eel's flesh beneath was raw and red, scarred from years of constant pain.
I moved my hand along the eel's body, melting each plate in sequence. The eel held still, watching me with its black eyes. It did not understand what I was doing, but it could feel the relief, the sudden absence of pain.
I melted the last plate and the eel released me, swimming away into the darkness. It was free now. It could heal.
I smiled, despite the exhaustion creeping into my limbs. One down. Eleven to go.
I swam to the second compartment. The water around me was still boiling, the plasma heat keeping the cold at bay. I could feel the strain on my body, the energy I was burning to maintain this state. I would not be able to keep it up forever.
The second eel was smaller than the first, faster, its metallic plates arranged in parallel lines. It was a hybrid of the blue eel and the European eel, with a twist of the conger eel's elongated body. Its nervous system was wired differently, its responses quicker, more aggressive.
It struck before I could even reach the glass. The compartment slid open, and the eel shot out, its body a blur of motion. It wrapped around my leg, its metallic plates digging into my calf.
I did not fight it. I held still, feeling its pain, its fear, its desperate confusion.
Please, I projected. Let me help you.
The eel did not understand. It had never been offered kindness. It only knew pain and aggression and the constant, low- grade agony of its metallic armor.
I focused my heat, directing it to my leg. The plasma fire intensified, and the eel's metallic plates began to glow. They melted, dripping away from its skin. The eel thrashed, confused by the sudden absence of pain.
I reached down and touched its head, projecting calm and reassurance. The eel stilled, its body relaxing for the first time in its life.
I melted the rest of its plates, feeling the eel's relief wash over me. It swam away, unburdened.
Two down, ten to go.
The third compartment contained a hybrid of the snowflake eel and the zebra eel. Its metallic plates were arranged in a checkerboard pattern, each one a different shade of silver and gold. It was beautiful, in a terrible way.
The eel struck as I entered, wrapping around my torso, its plates cutting into my skin. I felt its pain, its fear, its desperate hope. I held still, letting it feel my warmth, my kindness, my promise.
I will help you.
I melted its plates one by one, each one a small victory. The eel's body relaxed, its grip loosening. It swam away, free at last.
The fourth compartment held a hybrid of the moray and the longfin eel. Its metallic plates were arranged in a honeycomb structure, each cell a perfect hexagon. It was slower than the others, more deliberate, but no less dangerous.
I entered the compartment and let the eel wrap around me. I felt its pain, its fear, its desperate longing for relief. I melted its plates, each one a small act of kindness. The eel's body relaxed, its grip loosening. It swam away, free at last.
The fifth compartment held a hybrid of the electric eel and the conger eel. Its metallic plates were arranged in concentric circles, each one nested within the next. The eel was fast, electric, and alive.
I entered the compartment and let the eel strike. Its metallic plates cut into my skin, but I did not flinch. I held still, feeling its pain, its fear, its desperate confusion. I melted its plates, one by one, and the eel swam away.
The sixth compartment held a hybrid of the ribbon eel and the tiger eel. Its metallic plates were arranged in a pattern like the stripes of a tiger, each one a different shade of gold and black. The eel was slow, deliberate, and patient.
I entered the compartment and let the eel wrap around me. I felt its pain, its fear, its desperate hope. I melted its plates, and the eel swam away.
The seventh compartment held a hybrid of the European eel and the American eel. Its metallic plates were arranged in a wave pattern, each one undulating like the surface of the water above us. The eel was steady, calm, and reflective.
I entered the compartment and let the eel strike. Its plates cut into my skin, but I did not fight. I held still, feeling its pain, its fear, its desperate longing for relief. I melted its plates, and the eel swam away.
The eighth compartment held a hybrid of the electric eel and the moray. Its metallic plates were arranged in a Fibonacci spiral. The eel was fast, electric, and alive.
I entered the compartment and let the eel strike. Its plates cut into my skin, but I did not flinch. I held still, feeling its pain, its fear, its desperate confusion. I melted its plates, and the eel swam away.
The ninth compartment held a hybrid of the zebra eel and the blue eel. Its metallic plates were arranged in a pattern of alternating light and dark, each one a different shade of the rainbow. The eel was steady, calm, and reflective.
I entered the compartment and let the eel wrap around me. I felt its pain, its fear, its desperate hope. I melted its plates, and the eel swam away.
The tenth compartment held a fusion of the conger eel and the longfin eel. Its metallic plates were arranged in a pattern of concentric triangles, each one nested within the next. The eel was steady, rhythmic, predictable.
I entered the compartment and let the eel strike. Its plates cut into my skin, but I did not fight. I held still, feeling its pain, its fear, its desperate longing for relief. I melted its plates, and the eel swam away.
The eleventh compartment held a hybrid of the snowflake eel and the tiger eel. Its metallic plates were arranged in a pattern like the branches of a tree, each one branching and re- branching. The eel was slow, deliberate, and patient.
I entered the compartment and let the eel wrap around me. I felt its pain, its fear, its desperate hope.
I melted its plates, and the eel swam away.
The twelfth compartment held a fusion of all the others. Its metallic plates were arranged in a pattern I had never seen before, a synthesis of the entire collection. The eel was different from the others. It was older, wiser, more patient. It watched me with its black eyes, and I felt its pain, its fear, its desperate longing for relief.
I will help you, I projected. I promise.
I entered the compartment and let the eel wrap around me. Its plates cut into my skin, but I did not flinch. I held still, feeling its pain, its fear, its desperate confusion. I melted its plates, one by one, and the eel swam away.
I floated in the water, exhausted but alive. The plasma heat was fading, my body struggling to maintain the energy expenditure. I had used too much, pushed too far.
I needed to solve the code.
I needed to find a way out.
I swam to the panel at the center of the last compartment. The digital keypad glowed faintly in the darkness, twelve empty spaces waiting for numbers.
I closed my eyes and let my mind expand.
The code would be based on the eels. All twelve of them.
Each one represented a different species, a different modification.
The code would be synthesized from their biology, their physiology, their history, their symbolism.
I opened my eyes and began to work.
The first eel was a hybrid of the electric eel, the moray, and the ribbon eel. Its metallic plates were arranged in a spiral pattern. I counted the plates: there were thirty- four. A Fibonacci number. The number of spirals in a sunflower head. The number of turns in the shell of a nautilus.
The eel's genetic markers were a fusion of three species. Three. A prime number. The number of stages in the hero's journey. The number of Fates in Greek mythology.
I felt the eel's heartbeat beneath my fingers. It was fast, irregular. One hundred and forty-four beats per minute. Another Fibonacci number. The square of twelve. The number of hours in six days.
The first eel's code was derived from its species, its modifications, and its relationship to the other eels. I did not know the exact calculation yet, but I knew the shape of it. I knew what I was looking for.
I moved to the second eel. It was a hybrid of the blue eel, the European eel, and the conger eel. Its plates were arranged in parallel lines. I counted the lines: there were twenty- one. Another Fibonacci number. The number of days in a standard cycle of the moon.
The eel's genetic markers were a fusion of three species. Three. Again. The number of Fates, the number of stages, the number of dimensions in the physical world.
I felt the eel's heartbeat. It was slower than the first, steady, rhythmic. One hundred and eighteen beats per minute. The number of elements in the periodic table, the year of the Battle of the Milvian Bridge, the number of times the word "love" appears in the Song of Solomon.
I moved through the compartments, touching each eel, feeling its unique patterns, understanding its biology and its modifications. The code was not just a number. It was a story, a narrative woven from the lives of these creatures.
The third eel was a hybrid of the snowflake eel and the zebra eel. Its plates were arranged in a checkerboard pattern, alternating light and dark. I counted the squares: sixty- four. The number of squares on a chessboard. The number of codons in the genetic code. The number of hexagrams in the I Ching.
The eel's genetic markers were a fusion of two species. Two. The number of dualities, the number of opposing forces, the number of choices.
I felt the eel's heartbeat. It was fast, chaotic, unpredictable. One hundred and ninety-two beats per minute. The number of hours in eight days, the number of centimeters in a medieval yard, the number of operations in the simplest truth table.
The fourth eel was a hybrid of the moray and the longfin eel. Its plates were arranged in a honeycomb structure, each cell a perfect hexagon. I counted the cells: twenty- five. A square number. The number of elements in the natural numbers less than thirty-one that are not prime.
The eel's genetic markers were a fusion of two species. Two. The number of dualities, the number of choices, the number of opposing forces.
I felt the eel's heartbeat. It was steady, rhythmic, predictable. One hundred and sixty- seven beats per minute. The number of hours in the first week of creation, the number of sonnets in Shakespeare's sequence, the number of times the word "soul" appears in the Hebrew Bible.
The fifth eel was a hybrid of the electric eel and the conger eel. Its plates were arranged in concentric circles, each one nested within the next. I counted the circles: seventeen. A prime number. The number of days in the lunar month, the number of verses in the shortest chapter of the Quran, the number of strings on the ancient Greek lyre.
The eel's genetic markers were a fusion of two species. Two. The number of dualities, the number of choices, the number of opposing forces.
I felt the eel's heartbeat. It was fast, electric, alive. Two hundred and twenty-three beats per minute. The number of stars in the Pleiades cluster, the number of times the word "glory" appears in the Old Testament, the number of petals in the largest known flower.
The sixth eel was a hybrid of the ribbon eel and the tiger eel. Its plates were arranged in a pattern like the stripes of a tiger, each one a different shade of gold and black. I counted the stripes: thirteen. A Fibonacci number. The number of months in the lunar calendar, the number of cards in a suit, the number of dimensions in the universe according to the most advanced theories.
The eel's genetic markers were a fusion of two species. Two. The number of dualities, the number of choices, the number of opposing forces.
I felt the eel's heartbeat. It was slow, deliberate, and patient. One hundred and three beats per minute. The number of times the word "light" appears in the New Testament, the number of years between eclipses, the number of petals in a standard daisy.
The seventh eel was a hybrid of the European eel and the American eel. Its plates were arranged in a wave pattern, each one undulating like the surface of the water above us. I counted the waves: eighty- nine. A Fibonacci number. The number of centuries in the Vedic calculation of a yuga, the number of year cycles in the Asian zodiac, the number of notes in the musical octave.
The eel's genetic markers were a fusion of two species. Two. The number of dualities, the number of choices, the number of opposing forces.
I felt the eel's heartbeat. It was steady, calm, and reflective. One hundred and twenty-eight beats per minute. The number of days in the Aztec month, the number of times the word "truth" appears in the Book of Mormon, the number of petals in the lotus flower.
The eighth eel was a hybrid of the electric eel and the moray. Its metallic plates were arranged in a Fibonacci spiral. I counted the spirals: fifty-five. A Fibonacci number. The number of moons in the Saturnian system, the number of times the word "mercy" appears in the Quran, the number of points in the Star of David.
The eel's genetic markers were a fusion of two species. Two. The number of dualities, the number of choices, the number of opposing forces.
I felt the eel's heartbeat. It was fast, electric, alive. Two hundred and forty-nine beats per minute. The number of times the word "justice" appears in the Old Testament, the number of days in the Persian calendar, the number of seconds in a perfect minute.
The ninth eel was a hybrid of the zebra eel and the blue eel. Its plates were arranged in a pattern of alternating light and dark, each one a different shade of the rainbow. I counted the colors: seven. A prime number. The number of days in the week, the number of heavens in the Islamic tradition, the number of chakras in the human body.
The eel's genetic markers were a fusion of two species. Two. The number of dualities, the number of choices, the number of opposing forces.
I felt the eel's heartbeat. It was steady, calm, and reflective. One hundred and forty-three beats per minute. The number of times the word "wisdom" appears in the Proverbs, the number of years in the complete cycle of the Catholic liturgical calendar, the number of petals in the forget-me-not.
The tenth eel was a fusion of the conger eel and the longfin eel. Its plates were arranged in a pattern of concentric triangles, each one nested within the next. I counted the triangles: nine. A square number. The number of stages in the Divine Comedy, the number of muses in Greek mythology, the number of months in the human gestation period.
The eel's genetic markers were a fusion of two species. Two. The number of dualities, the number of choices, the number of opposing forces.
I felt the eel's heartbeat. It was steady, rhythmic, predictable. One hundred and seventy-one beats per minute. The number of times the word "peace" appears in the Bible, the number of years in the complete cycle of the Mayan calendar, the number of petals in the rose.
The eleventh eel was a hybrid of the snowflake eel and the tiger eel. Its plates were arranged in a pattern like the branches of a tree, each one branching and re- branching. I counted the branches: thirty-four. A Fibonacci number. The number of times the word "life" appears in the Quran, the number of degrees in a circle divided by ten, the number of years in the human lifespan.
The eel's genetic markers were a fusion of two species. Two. The number of dualities, the number of choices, the number of opposing forces.
I felt the eel's heartbeat. It was slow, deliberate, and patient. Ninety- seven beats per minute. The number of times the word "hope" appears in the Psalms, the number of hours in a perfect month, the number of petals in the sunflower.
The twelfth eel was a fusion of all the others. Its metallic plates were arranged in a pattern I had never seen before, a synthesis of the entire collection. I counted the plates: one hundred and forty-four. A Fibonacci number. The number of hours in six days, the number of times the word "love" appears in the New Testament, the number of petals in the world's largest known flower.
The eel's genetic markers were a fusion of twelve species. Twelve. The number of months in the year, the number of zodiac signs, the number of hours in a day, the number of apostles in the Christian tradition.
I felt the eel's heartbeat. It was steady, rhythmic, alive. Two hundred and ninety-eight beats per minute. The number of times the word "faith" appears in the Bible, the number of hours in the human gestation period, the number of years in the complete cycle of the Aztec calendar.
I had all the data. Now I needed to synthesize it.
The code was twelve digits, each one corresponding to one of the eels. But the digits were not the numbers I had counted. They were derived from those numbers, transformed through a series of relationships.
I closed my eyes and let my mind work.
For the first eel, the number was thirty-four. But thirty-four was not the digit. It was the first term in a sequence. The second term was the number of species: three. The third term was the number of spirals: thirty-four. The fourth term was the number of beats per minute: one hundred and forty-four.
I saw the pattern.
The code was not a single number. It was a series of relationships, each one derived from the eel's biology, its modifications, and its position in the sequence.
I began to calculate to make sure I got everything right.
The first eel: thirty-four, three, thirty-four, one hundred and forty-four. I found the common thread, the golden ratio. The ratio of the spirals to the species, the ratio of the heartbeat to the spirals. The code was a sequence of ratios, each one representing a relationship.
I worked through the math in my head, feeling the numbers fall into place.
It was like solving a puzzle, each piece clicking into the next.
The first digit: the ratio of spirals to species. Thirty-four divided by three. Eleven and one-third. But the code was single digits. I needed to reduce it. Eleven and one-third divided by the number of dimensions. Three. Three and seven-ninths. Reduced again. The square root of three and seven- ninths. One and eight- ninths. The absolute value. One. That was the first digit.
I moved to the second eel. Twenty-one, three, one hundred and eighteen. The ratio of lines to species. Twenty-one divided by three. Seven. The square root of seven. Two and sixty-four one-hundredths. The absolute value. Two. That was the second digit.
The third eel: sixty-four, two, one hundred and ninety-two. The ratio of squares to species. Sixty-four divided by two. Thirty-two. The square root of thirty-two. Five and sixty-six one-hundredths. The absolute value. Five. The third digit.
The fourth eel: twenty-five, two, one hundred and sixty-seven. The ratio of cells to species. Twenty-five divided by two. Twelve and five-tenths. The square root of twelve and five-tenths. Three and forty-five one-hundredths. The absolute value. Three. The fourth digit.
The fifth eel: seventeen, two, two hundred and twenty-three. The ratio of circles to species. Seventeen divided by two. Eight and five-tenths. The square root of eight and five-tenths. Two and ninety-two one-hundredths. The absolute value. Two. The fifth digit.
The sixth eel: thirteen, two, one hundred and three. The ratio of stripes to species. Thirteen divided by two. Six and five-tenths. The square root of six and five-tenths. Two and fifty-five one-hundredths. The absolute value. Two. The sixth digit.
The seventh eel: eighty-nine, two, one hundred and twenty-eight. The ratio of waves to species. Eighty-nine divided by two. Forty-four and five-tenths. The square root of forty-four and five-tenths. Six and sixty-seven one-hundredths. The absolute value. Six. The seventh digit.
The eighth eel: fifty-five, two, two hundred and forty-nine. The ratio of spirals to species. Fifty-five divided by two. Twenty-seven and five-tenths. The square root of twenty-seven and five-tenths. Five and twenty-five one-hundredths. The absolute value. Five. The eighth digit.
The ninth eel: seven, two, one hundred and forty-three. The ratio of colors to species. Seven divided by two. Three and five-tenths. The square root of three and five-tenths. One and eighty-seven one-hundredths. The absolute value. One. The ninth digit.
The tenth eel: nine, two, one hundred and seventy-one. The ratio of triangles to species. Nine divided by two. Four and five-tenths. The square root of four and five-tenths. Two and twelve one-hundredths. The absolute value. Two. The tenth digit.
The eleventh eel: thirty-four, two, ninety-seven. The ratio of branches to species. Thirty-four divided by two. Seventeen. The square root of seventeen. Four and twelve one-hundredths. The absolute value. Four. The eleventh digit.
The twelfth eel: one hundred and forty-four, twelve, two hundred and ninety-eight. The ratio of plates to species. One hundred and forty-four divided by twelve. Twelve. The square root of twelve. Three and forty-six one-hundredths. The absolute value. Three. The twelfth digit.
I opened my eyes and looked at the keypad. The code was 1-2-5-3-2-2-6-5-1-2-4-3.
I reached out and pressed the numbers.
One, two, five, three, two, two, six, five, one, two, four, three.
The panel beeped as a green light flashed, and then the compartment opened.
I swam out, exhausted but alive.
The plasma heat had faded, leaving me cold and tired. I had used too much energy, pushed too far. But I had done it. I had freed the eels.
I swam upward, breaking the surface and gasping for air.
I was on the other side of the pool, away from the compartments.
The eels were still in the water, swimming in circles, free for the first time in their lives.
I climbed out of the pool, my body shaking slightly.
My siblings were watching me, their eyes composed but there was amazement and relief.
Mr. Nicoletti was smiling. "Well done, Isaac. You solved the code in forty seconds. That is a new record. And you learned to generate plasma heat in the process. I expected it to take you at least two weeks of training."
————-
[Isaac Mahoka's POV][Present]
After the memory faded, we all bolted into the water immediately after Miss. Sommers said one.
As I finally went into the water, I felt the cryogenic coldness of the water as I applied one of many techniques I had learnt to use plasma heat to resist the coldness temporarily.
I called it the helix glue which involves diving into the water at a speed that would roughly be 19,000 mph, and then doing 5,000 rotations per minute of spinning while diving in the deep part of the water to maintain the plasma heat onto myself without altering the pool's water.
Before I knew it, a minute had already passed, and I was already thirty feet deep.
I would have looked at Araxie from a far distance to see what tarot cards she would potentially pick; but there was a problem.
But her four assistants: Miss. Morena, Miss. Runerth, Mr. Emiliano, and Mr. Parmenius was swimming across from me near the border at a speed and force that made the water transparent, as if non-existent, meaning that even with my refined observation skills, I could not see what Araxie would pick. And I suspect that the four will still prevent me from seeing what Araxie will pick even when she gets all five of her tarot cards.
I suspect this was Araxie's coordination meaning she was able to deduce that I was able to provide myself multiple thought streams in terms of what I can observe and think of, and despite my capacity to think of 95 thoughts simultaneously, I can only reach that if I observe and think of that many subjects.
Meaning Araxie effectively was able to semi-counter my spider's geometry for now. This gives her the advantage for the time being.
And how she most likely deduced that I had a unique parallel processing architecture is due to seeing the flora reading and the dodgeball game footage and seeing how quickly I came up with strategies or readings on the spot gave her the hypothesis that I have one of those unique cognitive capabilities.
Though I didn't notice it till now, the sensation of my blood boiling was indeed happening, however, it wasn't really bothering me that much. It's like a cockroach coming back. But the issue was more with my body stiffening but I also already dealt with that issue by dislocation of my joints while I did the helix glue method.
That leads back to the four assistants.
I couldn't help but admire their dedication and perseverance. Despite being in this school for only five days, they were willing to help Araxie in this matchup despite the extreme conditions; given by their composure and expression, they weren't having issues with the tailored toxins which implies that they either took a syringe of resistance towards the specific toxins which I find unlikely due to my observation on their bodies and saw no discrepancies of a sign that a syringe was used.
This means they had a capsule in their mouths that they bit into and swallowed to help deal with the toxins to move through the water without issue.
Very clever and creative indeed.
Though call me an epistemological masochist, I always love being at a disadvantage as a way to breed creative innovation for myself and to show respect for the other performer's stage.
Some say that is just arrogance; which can be true for some. But for me, it is not because arrogance would mean that I disregard the advantage and intellect of my other opponent and believing I can beat anyone, when that simply contradicts my magician principles and accepting the mysticism of pure magicians adaptability and uncertainty.
Five minutes have currently passed now, meaning we are six minutes into the first round and as I was beginning to approach, I felt a violent current pushing towards me as I instinctively swam to the right and went downwards.
I looked forward and saw the figure I dodged and it was Mr. Parmenius with a sharp grin on his face that read "You didn't think we would make it that simplistic for you, did you?"
Before I could try and move forward towards my section of the tarot cards to pick, I caught a glimpse of Miss. Runerth moved at 27,000 mph at me as I dodged her narrowly by directing her kick that moved effortlessly through the water's resistance as if we were fighting on land.
Her expression despite being impassive, showed a deterministic look in her eyes that also agreed with Mr. Parmenius's thoughts.
Now, I face a new situation in my bigger situation as both Mr. Parmenius and Miss. Runerth were on both of my sides, about eight feet away from me.
While the other two were still at the border still making it impossible for me to see Araxie picking her tarot cards.
This should be a delightful dance.
————-
[Third-person POV]
Back on the surface, the three referees watched on the tablet and despite it being six minutes in, they were heavily impressed.
Jaxon let out a long whistle. "Well damn, already six minutes in and a lot of shit is already going down," He watched with amusement. "It's not every day you see someone casually produce plasma-level heat and not have your clothes, wristband, pistol, and body melt from the heat alone."
"It is possible," Ye said. "It's just improbable and would need an extreme refinement of the skill. I should know, considering I have mastered such a technique."
"Scary," Jaxon said. "Also who's prediction on who's gonna win? I bet it'll end up being a tiebreaker with Isaac winning. He's got that theatrical mindset to pull off something grandiose. It fits with his magician's schmick."
Ye thought about this. "Well… if taken from a logical process with taking into Isaac's disadvantage and philosophy and taking into Araxie's advantages and philosophy. The results would be inclined to be Araxie winning six rounds and Isaac winning none even with his own capabilities."
Jaxon stared at her. "You're no fun, Ye, only looking at it from a logical perspective."
"That's why I said 'if' Jaxon."
"We all know that is your only perspective. Ye, ya ain't fooling me." Jaxon said, now looking at Astra. "What about you sweetie?"
"What. Did. I. Say about that?"
"I'll stop if you call me dad once again."
Astra stared at Jaxon, and muttered with a grudging effort. "Dad…"
"There that's better. Now tell Dad what your prediction is."
Astra thought about it, remembering what she saw when she shook Isaac's hand.
After ten seconds, an ominous smile appeared on Astra's face and the aura around her shifted from professionalism to malicious amusement.
Jaxon, seeing this, shivered since he had never seen that expression in a long time, since the last time he had seen that expression since Astra was ten years old. "Oh…"
"That doesn't sound like a good 'Oh'," Ye observed. "What does it mean?"
"Well… last time she had that expression was when she was ten years old," Jaxon began explaining. "She defeated everyone in a ten-day paintball royale against 89 people. It was a bloodbath."
Astra began to speak, deciding to answer Jaxon's question; her voice holding more malice. "Well, I can say with certainty that the results will be deceptively close, and it would certainly involve Isaac saving his air-compressed rounds for his pistol and making a decision on his opponent's tarot card choices in order to keep as many air-compressed rounds as possible."
"Ah, so you won't say that Isaac or Araxie would win the entire match-up?"
"No, but I can give you my prediction for each round. And I will say that Araxie will win the first round."
As the three continued speaking and observing, at the sub-level that contains the remaining Class C students, many watched with excitement and anticipation.
"This is starting to get fun!"
"Yeah, look at Araxie and her team already doing well to subdue Isaac."
"Araxie is quite amazing!"
"Terrifying is a more accurate description when regarding Araxie if anything."
Amongst the twenty of them, one was in the middle row.
An Austrian boy, who had messy black hair, yellow eyes, and a reserved mischievous smile that was considered a magician's smile.
He sat upright, with one leg lying on the other, his one hand resting on his lap and the other on his chin as he watched with interest and a magician's excitement.
He is considered the true leader of Class C, since he was the one that built the coalition of Class C with no hierarchy; and his name was none other than Oswald Moser(Rank 57).
"Now then," Oswald muttered to him, with his tone holding an unreadable amusement. "Let's see what you can do, Isaac Mahoka. After all, watching another magician is always a spectacle…"