Zeke turned, eyes sharp, toward the five students still standing in a loose defensive formation. Their faces were pale, eyes wide, clearly running on fumes.
"Back off."
"Catch your breath. If I need you, I'll call."
None of them moved, stunned by the confidence in his voice. The girl, wand still glowing faintly, opened her mouth—then shut it again, simply nodding.
Zeke turned back to the Hollow.
The creature growled, brushing off shattered branches from its shoulders with unnatural, jagged movements. Its skin shimmered like obsidian glass, cracked in places where bark had cut deep.
Zeke tilted his head slightly. "I've had a pretty shoddy day so far. How 'bout you?"
The Hollow snarled, crouching low.
He added, with a wounded tone. "I came all this way just to meet you, and you're not even gonna greet me?"
Behind him, one of the boys whispered, "Is he serious?"
Another murmured, "What is this guy doing?"
Zeke's expression changed in an instant. The grin faded. His eyes sharpened, his brows lowering into a focused glare. His whole demeanor shifted.
He sighed. "Guess I have to come over there and teach you the importance of greetings."
The air changed.
A pulse of something cold and violent expanded from his core, not visible magic—but something deeper. The killing intent rolled outward like fog, thick and suffocating.
The five students gasped, the breath caught in their lungs, instinctively taking a step back. Even the Hollow recoiled slightly, growling in confusion and challenge.
Up above, the professors stiffened.
"That aura…" one whispered.
Professor Lira's lips parted slightly, a flicker of worry in her eyes. "He's still just a student…why is it so intense?"
The Hollow roared.
The tension peaked—every breath of the forest held still.
SSSSSSSHHNK.
The sound of a blade sliding free from its sheath echoed unnaturally loud in the stillness. Zeke unslung the sword from his back. It glinted faintly in the scattered light.
Shit.
He held the sword in both hands, trying not to let his shoulders tense. I've never used one of these in a real fight. I only grabbed it because it looked cool.
His grip was too tight. His stance, too wide.
Okay. Just remember what Ethan showed you. Basics. Just the basics…
The Hollow lunged.
Zeke swung wildly, steel scraping the armour like skin with a screech. The Hollow pivoted, claws leaving trails of blood down his ribs. He tumbled sideways and rolled to his feet in a spray of dust.
Crude. Sloppy. But he was still standing.
The creature spun, charging again.
Zeke stabbed out instinctively, blade grazing the Hollow's flank.
It howled in pain, but retaliated with a backhand swipe. The claws caught his shoulder, ripping through fabric and skin. Blood sprayed. He hissed in pain, stumbling back, clothes in tatters.
Fabric tore down his side, dangling off one arm before falling entirely, revealing a lean, muscled frame. The boys watching grimaced, muttering under their breath. The girls looked away, ears red.
But it wasn't the muscles that caught the professors' eyes.
From their high perch, Lira's eyes narrowed as she saw the scars etched across his back and ribs.
"Wait…" she whispered. "His file said he grew up in the suburbs. far from gang violence. Where did those scars come from?"
No answer came.
Below, Zeke rolled his shoulder, blade still in hand, unaware of the scrutiny.
"C'mon…" he muttered. "Eighteen years with legs and you're still tripping? Pathetic."
The Hollow charged once more—faster this time.
Zeke sidestepped, swinging down. The sword bit deep into the monster's front leg. It screeched and collapsed to one knee. Before it could recover, Zeke gritted his teeth and swung again, this time at the arm. The blades edge rang against bone, and the limb was severed in a brutal, splintering crunch.
The creature howled, staggering. Dark ichor splattered the ground evaporating before Zeke could get a look.
Zeke staggered too. He could feel every breath now—his ribs screaming, arms burning, legs shaky. Blood dripped steadily from the gash on his side, soaking his pants.
But his eyes…
Still clear.
Still burning.
The blade began to move cleaner now—cutting through the air with a sharp whistle. His stabs grew tighter, more directed. He flowed instead of stumbled. Still crude, but improving fast.
Each swing, a lesson. Each dodge, his instinct sharpened
I'm getting it.
The Hollow, panting, eyes gleaming, reared up for one last charge.
Zeke stared it down, chest heaving.
They rushed each other.
Zeke swung. The sword buried deep—but it got stuck, caught between bone and tendon.
"Shit." His hands locked on the hilt, trying to yank it free.
The Hollow raised its head, mouth open ready to devour—and froze.
A glint of silver flashed.
A dagger burst from beneath its jaw, straight through its skull.
The creature twitched once, then collapsed on Zeke like a puppet with its strings cut.
The five students, having moved closer cautiously, stopped dead. They had only walked a few steps before witnessing the dagger protruding from the Hollow's head… and Zeke, crouched beneath the beast, arm raised in the follow-through of the killing blow.
A moment of silence.
Zeke shoved the creature off him and stood slowly, swaying slightly.
Then just for good measure he stabbed it a few more times, grumbling, childish fury in every movement. "Yeah? Still not gonna greet me?" He spat out a mouthfull of blood.
He gave the corpse a lazy kick, then dropped to the ground beside a nearby splintered tree, breath ragged.
"Asshole…" he mumbled under his breath—soft, but cutting through the silence.
"You should've just said hi."
Silence again.
Then a strangled sound from one of the students.
Laughter. Short and shocked.
Above, the teachers stared.
"He's… a bit crazy," one whispered.
"No," the man who'd given the orientation speech said, watching closely. "He's a genius. Look at the growth. The aura. The technique shift mid-battle."
Lira stared down, frowning. "He's reckless."
"But he is good," the man finished. "Very good."
Below, Zeke sat quietly, bloodied, gear torn to shreds—but his eyes were razor sharp as he glanced at the group approaching him.
His smile was faint.
Tired.
But unmistakably smug.