'Some kind of torture awaits or something even worse?' The thought flared through Azrael's mind the moment he heard Seyra announce that this had been the easiest part.
He doubted she was the type to joke around, which left him with only one choice: prepare for the worst.
Azrael, along with the others still standing, was escorted to a dimly lit white corridor and instructed to wait.
He observed the ones who had completed the laps. Some were tall, others short, but one thing united them: their eyes. Cold. Emotionless. A few moments ago, those same people had pushed their bodies beyond reason, leaving crimson trails in their wake. Their clothes were soaked in blood, some of it dried, some still fresh. The iron scent filled the space around them, yet no one offered spare clothes or even acknowledged the mess.
'Is it because we don't deserve them?'
His eyes darkened preparing for the worst.
'Or is it because what awaits us will bloody us again anyway, so changing would be pointless?'
Azrael could only wonder.
Eventually, the door opened. Seyra stepped out, calling one of the waiting candidates.
It didn't take her long to return—ten minutes at most—but the one she had taken was nowhere in sight.
One by one, they were called. Azrael was the last.
When his time came, he entered.
The room was dark, just like the waiting room. The air was heavier here, the metallic scent of blood even more intense. He sat across from Seyra, a single table between them, the only light source was the flickering light bulb above them.
"Azrael, huh?" she spoke, typing at her tablet, no doubt reading the information the officer had written before about him.
"Oh? You have recently been Chosen yet managed to last up until the end? Not bad," a half-smile appeared on her lips, disappearing a second later.
"Um… what is the second phase of the Evaluation Test?" he asked, unsure what he was expected to do next.
Seyra blinked, then looked up. With a faint grin, she slid the tablet aside and leaned back in her chair. Her crimson eyes fixed on him, unwavering.
'Is this some kind of tactic to intimidate me?' Azrael wondered.
He had seen monsters during his scavenging days—dead ones—but the unease he felt now was something different.
Guessing he was supposed to show her that he wasn't willing to back down, he met her stare, eyes not moving from one another.
A few seconds passed in silence. Then, something about her clicked in his mind. She wasn't just intense—she was beautiful. Not in the conventional, model-like way. No, hers was a cold, dangerous beauty, the kind that made your skin crawl and heart race.
Meeting her gaze became difficult. The feeling of inferiority washed over him like a crushing wave. His body tensed involuntarily.
There was no doubt: the woman before him had ascended to a level far beyond his own. And judging by her flawless, breathtaking face, her Purity Rank had to be at least equal to her Ascension Level, if not higher.
'She's a true powerhouse,' he realized.
The aura radiating from her was intense, suffocating. It pressed against him like a physical force.
But he didn't back down.
Not even for a second.
Seeing that Azrael didn't break her gaze, Seyra nodded. "Good," she spoke, tone growing a tad bit more gentle. Her suffocating aura dispersed.
"About the second phase, it's simple. I will ask you questions; your answers would determine if you truly have what it takes to advance," she explained.
Azrael nodded, prompting her to begin.
"Have you killed a person?"
"Yes," he answered immediately. The idea of lying did cross his mind, but something deep inside warned him against it. She wasn't someone you lied to.
"How many?" She didn't seem phased by his answer.
"Four," he answered flatly.
"What did you feel when you killed them?"
He paused. It wasn't something he had ever really dwelled on. Definitely not grief. Why would he feel grief? With each kill, he had gotten closer to his goal.
After a few seconds of consideration, he answered honestly, "Relief."
Seyra raised an eyebrow. "Not grief, but relief? Don't you think that's wrong?"
He shook his head. "If I have something to gain, why should it bother me?"
Something flickered across her crimson eyes. Azrael wasn't sure what, though—it was too brief to study carefully, and he wasn't one that was good at picking up social cues. Not like her.
"What about monsters?" she asked. "Killed any?"
"Can't say I have."
She hummed, her gaze drifting to the flickering bulb above.
"Alright. Last question." She leaned forward slightly.
"You ran for nearly a hundred kilometers with a weighted strap digging into your body. Your tendons were torn. Your blood poured out like a fountain, leaving a crimson trail behind you. Your bones ached with every step. And yet… you managed to keep going. Why? And how?"
Azrael didn't even blink. "I ignored it. Simple as that."
Her eyes narrowed. "So you don't fear pain? You're saying you can just ignore it and keep going?"
It was obvious she was testing him—probing for any sign of weakness she could use to deem him unfit to be considered a worthy Chosen of the higher tier.
'Mind games, no doubt.' Azrael wasn't experienced in manipulating people—not like the woman before him clearly was.
In the end, he had only one thing to rely on: his beliefs and values. And he was going to stick to them.
So when he finally spoke, his voice was steady devoid of any hesitation or emotion.
"Pain… I fear it, like anyone else. Everyone tries to avoid it as best they can. But the truth is, no matter what you do, it always finds its way back to you. There are only two kinds of pain: the one you choose for yourself, and the one you suffer because of the choices you were too scared to make. That's why I'll always choose it — before it chooses me. Because the pain of regret, stagnation and weakness… is far worse than any pain I can take on willingly."
A faint smile tugged at Seyra's lips. "That's a good mindset to have. Who taught you that?"
Azrael stared into the corner of the room for several seconds, lost in thought as memories flickered through his mind. The Skinwalker who raised him—why had it done so? It defied everything he believed about humans and monsters. Yet one thing remained true: it was his family, his one and only. Despite their differences, it had cared for him and raised him.
Making up his mind, he slowly met her gaze.
"My guardian," he answered emotionlessly.
She could have pressed on, but she didn't. The last question had been answered.
And judging by the mischievous smile on her face and the dark glint in her eyes, it was obvious: her choice had already been made.
Her eyes lowered, slowly tracing over his form. White hair matted with blood and dirt. Black pupils staring back at her with unwavering confidence. A muscular build that, by all logic, shouldn't have belonged to someone who had only recently been Chosen.
"Nice job," she praised, tilting her head to the side. "You've passed the second phase."
Azrael let out a quiet sigh of relief.
He didn't particularly care what the woman thought of him—as long as he passed, that was enough.
But the brief sense of calm shattered with her next words.
"Now all that's left… is the final phase."
'Of course it wouldn't be that easy,' he thought bitterly, staring into the face of the still-smiling woman.
Something began to fell off. Her smile—once mildly amused—was growing wider… more twisted.
His body twitched as if warning him about a danger ahead.
He even considered using his skill, [Inspect] just to make sure she wasn't a Skinwalker or some similar creature pretending to be human, but he wasn't sure if using the skill was considered offensive, or if it might somehow get him in trouble.
"What is the last phase?" he asked, voice tight with caution.
"Showing your devotion," she leaned in and murmured, pulling a dagger from her side and placing it on the table between them.
'Crap.'
A sudden chill swept over him.
This… might be the hardest test of them all.