The impossibly long hallway gets shorter and shorter as I walk through it, as if my vision was dolly zooming inwards towards the two giant red doors at the end.

  Walking without the damage in my legs seemed easier than usual, like I'm using a lot less energy to move than I used to in the modern world. My limbs feel lighter, and my mind feels clearer.

  As I reach the end of the hallway I hear the voice of a very passionate shouting man, doing a speech, muffled by the doors.

  “-that is why I created the ranking system, to spread the seeds of power to those who want to grasp it, all 100 of you will be given the chance to-”

  I open the door, the room it leads to is a huge auditorium where demons are lined up like it's a school assembly. The man on the stage who is wearing a suit steps forward and off the stage with a quiet tap, landing gracefully and walking in a practiced stride towards me, the golden chandelier making his long red hair have highlights of orange.

  “101 now apparently.” He continues to walk, almost every demon is staring between me and him, people of different shapes, sizes and colours making the room feel chaotic. One of them stands at what must be 8-foot tall, dark purple skin that makes him look almost rotting.

  Another person of note is someone with green hair and green eyes, an unbelievably pale complexion that makes her look like an elf from every cliche fantasy story. Her eyes are sharp along with her ears which reach to a point rather than the usual blunt edge.

  There are multitudes of interesting looking people here, one with red warpaint over his body, one with hair that is standing up like she was shocked, one who was reading a book rather than taking in the situation.

  The man in the suit stands in front of me, inspecting everything, “Gracelia clothing, you come from noble lines, yes?”

  I nod, it's not like I can go out and just tell him I'm a human.

  “Sponsored by who?”

  “The one who clones herself.” I remember Null calling herself that, I assume the original goes by the same title.

  He leans in to speak whispers into my ear, "you just gave away the game. I smell her on you... the one who taught a human magic. Glad we could meet. Fay. Alive and kicking unlike those rumours.”

  He plucks a piece of my hair, holding it towards the light, his voice reaches everyone as he speaks, “all 101 of you will be tested, remember it is an honour to become rank 1. That is why instead of the usual 20 accepted. I will be reducing that to 5. Only 5 people will leave alive.” He giggles, “hah, 5, alive… rhyme was unintentional because I'm thinking two dimensional.”

  He looks back at me, the single hair now twisted into a small ribbon, “I expect great things.”

  With that he walks back to the stage, I stay standing by the door, not bothering to move into a line, I had already been singled out so what would be the point of conforming when nobody is asking me to.

  The 2-meter elevation of the stage does nothing to stop the man in the suit from stepping from the floor and teleporting to the top instantly like he had some sort of quick step ability.

  He swings his arms around as he does a spin, ”It is time, remember, there is nothing better than killing those to reach whatever goals you may have.”

  He stares directly at me, “especially those who were wronged.” He holds his arm up dramatically, “ready! Set! Go!”

  He snaps his fingers.

  My eyes get blasted by white light, my clothes and shoes removed, replaced by a black tracksuit and socks

  “10 seconds before the first fight begins.” A disembodied voice speaks clearly into my ears.

  This is a perfectly rectangular white room, 12 meters by 6 meters.

  “9.”

  Another countdown just like in the dinner party, on one of the long walls there is a perfectly red number, saying ‘9.’

  “8.”

  Now it says ‘8.’ In the corners of each room are grey boxes, multiple stacked on top of each other.

  “7.”

  I’m guessing one of these walls are going to fall and show me my opponent, I start conjuring up my innate magic to prepare, I wasted 3 seconds.

  “6.”

  Defensive magic. How do I do that? I don’t have enough volume conjured to make a wall.

  “5.”

  If my opponent has magic that goes faster than I can see, I’ll be screwed.

  “4.”

  I harden a small plate shield the size of my forearm using the innate material. Adding onto it as the seconds pass to hopefully protect me.

  “3.”

  I flatten it using downwards gravity, layering it like how people used to layer sheets of paper to make shields. It takes on a more silver look than the usual black.

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  “2.”

  I conjure another flat sheet of material, my eyes begin to feel pain, the beginning of a migraine happening due to using too much magic. I haven’t conjured up this much in a while.

  “1.”

  I combine the second sheet to the first, two layers of shield, I hope that’s enough to stop whatever is coming.

  “Go.”

  The wall where the text was displaying the timer pops out of existence, there’s a golden-haired boy pointing his finger directly at me in a finger gun position. His room the exact same as mine.

  “Act one: revolver.” He says like as if it was a slogan.

  He aims directly at my face, I lift the makeshift shield and hold my ground, moving my leg behind me to steady my posture, in my other hand I try to conjure more material to my head’s dismay.

  “Bang.” A yellow trail shoots from his pointer finger, reaching me before I can blink, the projectile hits directly into my shoulder, passing through and hitting the wall behind me.

  I don’t realise it until blood starts trickling down my hand. He switched from aiming for my head to my shoulder on a whim.

  I take a step back as he charges me, I have conjured enough in my other hand to shoot it towards him as a spike.

  He goes in for a choreographed kick to my side which I let happen as I fire the spike towards his stomach. Point blank.

  It hits his stomach and tears away at the tracksuit, before I can celebrate, I’m flung into the wall from the force of the kick into a few boxes, the spike only leaving a shallow cut.

  I fall to a sitting position, the back of my head ringing with pain and my shoulder creating a waterfall down my arm to the ground. The makeshift shield landing by my feet.

  “Thought you’d be stronger, with a sponsor and all.” He points his finger at me “act 7: shotgun.”

  Why does he keep saying stuff like that? Does it help? Or is it just a quirk that he does?

  Act 1: Wall. I think in my head right before he says “bang.”

  The shield on the floor sprawls into a thin wall as tiny yellow projectiles fly through. The wall splits apart like glass flinging itself everywhere around the room, a projectile hitting my wrist, my jaw and my stomach. All small but noticeable.

  I lift my leg and kick at his shin like I'm a child, controlling every shard of the wall to fling towards him like he is the centre of the universe, directing them with my spare hand.

  He looks way too calm, mini blades of glass like material hit his body, sticking into his skin without him saying a word. “Act 5: railgun.”

  I kick at his shin again, trying to activate implode on him from a distance like I do with projectiles, but a deep sense of uselessness washes over me, like the spell doesn't even work against him. He takes a step back, aiming his finger gun directly at me, I try to stand up, the tiny hole in my stomach becoming a faucet after every movement.

  He is trying to tank this and wait it out, there are multiple shards stuck in his body. What I need to do is grab his skin and convert him into my innate magic, if implosion is too weak then I need to use something stronger.

  This person seems like someone who only learnt base combos in a fighting game, to win against someone like that you just need to throw them off balance.

  I reach for a box beside me, landing on my stomach as I stretch.

  Explosion, 200%.

  A flash of white blinds me as the box explodes into pure nothingness, only leaving behind the shockwave that pushes me into the other corner of the room, it also just so happened to knock him onto the ground as well.

  I stand up, holding my hand to my stomach as I sprint towards him, from the corner of the room to the middle where he lays shocked, limping my way there as quickly as I can without stumbling.

  Then my head experiences the worst pain I had felt in my life.

  I fall onto the ground like a ragdoll, feeling like someone had slammed my head against a moving train, I cough up what had to be gallons of blood onto the floor.

  He stands up, the shards dissolving into nothingness, “Interesting innate magic, it was trying to dissolve me, dissolve my spells... Ill name my next act for you, let's see...”

  He begins to pace the room all smug, while my body convulses in short spurts.

  “Act 16... grenade... in your memory.”

  I begin to drown in the puddle of my own making, barely able to lift my head before it falls back down causing a splash.

  I really should have thought this through...

  “Well, I guess this is it, when I'm rank 1, I'm going to be in the big leagues baby! Join in some missions, maybe cop a few human's aye?”

  ‘Cop a few humans.’ I lift my arm from my side, planting it in the puddle. Blood is organic material, isn't it?

  The puddle turns black, I think back to every variable I had learnt so far, implosion, downwards gravity, healing, explosion... and growing magic. Those 4 combination variables that Noah and Anne made me all too familiar with.

  I repeat the 4 variables in my mind for growing magic, not even knowing what each individual one does. 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4.

  “I've figured out how to counter your little magic, don't bother, my teacher told me all about the little tricks people will try.”

  It feels like this is a game of rock paper scissors, except right now I don't even know what hand I'm about to throw.

  The puddle sprouts into bees, black bees that crawl out of the puddle as if it was a deep pit of water. 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4. Growth... The boss mentioned the liquid did seem alive.

  He looks terrified. “Summoning...?” He quickly lets out a shout, “ACT 4: RAILG-” a bee flies into his mouth causing him to choke, another follows by stinging his neck, another follows by stinging his cheek, another, another, what had to be 20 all stinging at once, filling the room with the sound of buzzing wings.

  My head feels like it's about to burst, but I don't stop, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4. I repeat like a mantra while my head is about to pop like a balloon.

  I see him struggle, whatever poison the bees are pumping into him causing his body to turn a grotesque green, then back to pale as he begins to somehow dispel whatever was poisoning him.

  He coughs out the bee, the others trying their best to sting him without him taking notice. “Nice...” He breathes in heavily, “nice try... but poison is... not... how...”

  He stomps my head into the ground, then again, then again.

  1, 2, 3, 4, 1 ,2 ,3 ,4, 1, 2, 3, 4. Just keep trying, keep trying. He slams my head again, I feel my nose and teeth break against the puddled floor.

  I hear a thud, the sound of a body falling, the disembodied voice comes back in full swing, ringing in my sensitive ears, “well done, healing will commence.”

  My body begins to get its natural lightness, the painful burning feeling in my wounds fade away, my shirt where the projectiles hit me thread themselves back together.

  I look at the body, the bees are completely gone, becoming little puddles of liquid, his skin is painted with purple veins, mostly on his neck and eye area, apparently all he had managed to do is delay the poison, not stop it.

  “You get ‘1’ penalty for overcharging your magic reserves in a spell that would have been suicide.”

  What? Was it because they thought I was relying on the healing afterward to win? I guess that makes sense as a rule, so people don't spam their most powerful attack in a kamikaze fashion.

  A door in front of me, unconnected to any walls pops up. I step around the body, my legs feeling lighter than ever.

  If everyone in that test did a one-on-one battle, that means that 50 demons had just died. Good. I had made so many mistakes, I could have died, would have died if I wasn't healed. I put my hand on the handle, that means 50 left to get rid of.