Chapter 48 - Shock and Awe
Right after the match, Myrrh and I rushed to the arena to check on our friend. The air was thick with tension, the faint scent of smoke and antiseptic lingering from the aftermath of the battle. As we arrived, the sight before us sent a chill down my spine. Neil lay on a stretcher, his body limp and pale, being wheeled away by medics clad in hazmat suits. Their hurried movements spoke volumes. Fei stood nearby, her tear-streaked face crumpled in despair, her voice hoarse from crying Neil’s name over and over, as if sheer willpower could wake him.
Neil was unconscious, but the sight of him was deeply unsettling. Glowing crimson veins had crept over half his body, their eerie luminescence casting an otherworldly glow against his pallid skin. His entire left side was engulfed in this terrifying affliction, the veins pulsating faintly like living things. Even in his unconscious state, his face betrayed sheer agony, his features contorted as though locked in an eternal grimace of pain.
“What happened?” Myrrh’s voice cracked as she broke the silence.
“I-It’s his sickness!” Fei sobbed, her voice trembling with despair. “He’s ill!”
Before we could process her words, Cindy and Remuel appeared, their expressions painted with alarm. They had arrived too late. The medics had already secured Neil in the space ambulance. The vehicle’s sirens pierced the air, flashing red and blue lights illuminating the somber scene. It was a dire emergency, and none of us dared to hold them back. Time was Neil’s enemy now.
“What happened to Neil?” Cindy’s voice wavered, her worry palpable.
Myrrh turned to Cindy, her gaze heavy with uncertainty and sorrow. She shook her head slowly. “Fei said it’s some kind of sickness. Neil must have been hiding it for a long time.”
The weight of her words settled on us like a suffocating fog. Our faces mirrored the same worry, the same helplessness. Neil—always so vibrant, so full of energy and that goofy, infectious smile—was now a fragile, broken figure. It was hard to reconcile the image of the cheerful friend we knew with the person lying on that stretcher.
Yet, deep down, a bitter truth gnawed at me. I’d read somewhere that people often mask their struggles with laughter, using joy as a shield. Perhaps Neil’s carefree demeanor had been his way of coping all along. And now, that shield had shattered, leaving him vulnerable and exposed.
Soon, we heard rushing footsteps. When we turned toward the arena entrance, we saw Dianca, the examination’s host, running as if her life depended on it. She clutched the end of her skirt in one hand to keep it from slowing her down, her urgency palpable.
“Myrrh! Cindy! Where’s Mister Orbeus?” Dianca’s voice was breathless as she skidded to a halt, her chest heaving.
“The space ambulance has already departed,” Myrrh replied, her tone edged with worry. “Fei is with him, but we’re still quite anxious.”
“I was shocked to see him convulsing earlier,” Dianca said, her voice trembling. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “Is he going to be okay?”
“We don’t know for sure,” I answered, unable to hide the uncertainty in my tone.
Remuel stepped forward and gently held Cindy’s hand. “We’ll go to the hospital and check on Neil’s condition.”
“I’ll come with you!” Dianca exclaimed, placing a hand over her heart. “Mister Miles Oberyn will take over announcer duties for this afternoon, so I’m completely free. Besides, I’m so worried about Mister Orbeus.”
“Okay then,” Cindy nodded in approval. Just before Myrrh and I could utter a word, Cindy turned her sharp gaze on us, her expression firm. “You two, stay here. Your second match for this tournament will start shortly.”
“But we’re quite worried as well,” I protested.
“I’m pretty sure Neil would hate it if you two lost by default for not attending your matches,” Remuel said with a reassuring smile, patting my shoulder. “Go win that license. You two are the only ones we can count on since we all lost our matches.”
Myrrh and I fell silent, exchanging a glance. In that moment, no words were needed. A single nod between us served as silent confirmation, even though neither of us truly knew what the other was thinking.
Myrrh placed her hands on her hips and straightened her posture. “Got it. After our match, we’ll be right behind you.”
“Make sure you win that fight, Myrrh, Zaft!” Cindy said, waving as she and Remuel disappeared down the corridor at a brisk pace.
“Good luck, Myrrh! Good luck, Mister Zaft!” Dianca chimed in, blowing a playful kiss as she hurried after them.
And then, they were gone. Myrrh and I stood alone in the quiet corridor. The lingering tension hung in the air, but as I turned to her and smiled, she returned the gesture, her expression softening. In that brief moment, our shared determination felt like an unspoken promise.
There were only three matches before ours, each a whirlwind of intensity. Though most bouts were over in less than four minutes, every passing second felt like an eternity, keeping Myrrh and me on edge. I paced relentlessly around the waiting room, the rhythm of my boots echoing against the sterile walls. Myrrh sat on a metal bench, her hands clasped tightly in her lap as she tried to steady her breathing, her gaze distant yet sharp, as if she were battling an invisible foe within her mind.
When our examinee number crackled over the intercom, we exchanged a brief glance and moved toward the battlefield entrance without a word. The silence between us felt heavier with every step, but I couldn’t let it linger.
“Say,” I began, my voice low but deliberate, “do you want to catch up with them already? We could end this quickly with your Ultimate.”
She slowed her stride, her eyebrows knitting together in thought. “Are you sure? Wouldn’t that be reckless?” she asked, her voice tinged with hesitation. “Revealing my Ultimate so early in the tournament… it feels rash.”
“You’ve got a point,” I admitted, exhaling in resignation. “Okay, how about that skill I picked up from your mother—”
But before I could finish, her expression shifted. Determination flared in her eyes, and the corner of her mouth curved into a confident smile.
“I’ve changed my mind,” she declared, her voice resolute. “I’ll finish this quickly. We’ll overwhelm them with shock and awe.”
“Will you need my support?” I asked, meeting her gaze as we reached the threshold of the arena.
“Just activate the Ultimate the moment you hear the whistle,” she said, her tone calm yet commanding. “Do it as fast as you can.”
We finally stepped into the arena, the air charged with energy as the crowd buzzed in anticipation. Across from us stood our opponents, easily identifiable by their red armbands—third years. They were an imposing sight, a barrier that none of our friends had managed to overcome. Now, it was our turn to face the challenge, a wall we couldn’t afford to falter against.
The opposing WAIFU was a strikingly tall woman with hair split into a stark streak of white and black, each color contrasting like day and night. Beside her stood her partner, a thin Asian man with sharp features, his wire-rimmed glasses glinting under the bright arena lights. Their calm, unwavering stance only amplified the tension.
The support units, including myself, moved to our levitating platforms, floating high above the battlefield. From this vantage point, we had the best view of the unfolding fight—and the most responsibility.
“Examinee Number 11 versus Examinee Number 71,” the emcee, Miles Oberyn, announced in his booming voice. His words echoed through the coliseum, sending a ripple of excitement through the spectators. “Let the battle begin, baby!”
The whistle pierced the air, sharp and commanding, and I wasted no time. My fingers darted across my hologram interface, activating the WEEB System. A soft hum of energy enveloped me as I synchronized with Myrrh’s Frame Unit.
Down below, the battlefield erupted with light. Both WAIFUs raised their morphers in unison, and two towering pillars of brilliance shot into the sky. The air quivered with power as their Frame Units emerged.
“Frame Unit, Awaken!”
Our opponent’s mech materialized first, a towering white colossus clad in jagged black armor. Crimson lights flared to life in its eyes, glowing like malevolent embers. The sinister design sent a chill down my spine, but I forced myself to focus. New ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄhapters are published on NovᴇlFɪre.ɴet
This was a do-or-die situation. There was no room for hesitation. My hologram displayed the [Ultimate] option, and I didn’t hesitate. Pressing it, I felt the surge of energy ripple through my left arm as circuits flared with an otherworldly blue glow.
“Blade Wing, Equip!” I shouted, extending my arm toward Myrrh’s Frame Unit. The glow intensified, casting sharp shadows on the arena floor as the system began its work. This was the moment our strategy would be tested.
In an instant, Myrrh shot into the air, her frame unit lifting her gracefully as jagged white steel wings erupted from her back. The wings crackled with power, glowing with a fierce yellow-green flame that licked the air around her. With a swift, fluid motion, Myrrh pulled two of the wings from her back, each transforming into blazing, sword-like blades. The flames dancing along the edges of her swords cast a fierce, almost ethereal glow across the arena, painting her figure in a brilliant inferno.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Myrrh charged forward, propelled by the raw power of her Blade Wing boost. She cut through the air with a roar, her flaming swords raised high, prepared to slice through anything in her path.
“I’ll finish this in one attack! Get ready!” she shouted, her voice a defiant promise.
The opponent’s support unit reacted quickly, his fingers flying over his Bios as he scrambled to counter. “Tiger Claws, Equip!” he called, his voice tight with urgency.
The enemy Frame Unit’s morphers flared to life, and from the white-and-black mech’s fists erupted golden claws, gleaming with deadly precision. With a feral, almost animalistic movement, the opposing WAIFU charged forward, her claws outstretched and ready to meet Myrrh’s assault head-on.
“Close-range, fast-paced combat is my specialty!” the enemy Frame Unit laughed, its voice carrying a dangerous edge.
In a flash, they collided—steel clashing against steel with a deafening, shrill scream. The sound of metal tearing through the air was almost surreal, like butter under a hot knife. For a moment, everything seemed to slow, the fire in Myrrh’s swords and the golden glow of the enemy’s claws the only visible traces of movement.
Then, as quickly as it had begun, the clash was over. Both Frame Units stood facing away from each other, the weight of the battle settling in the air like a thick fog. The arena was eerily silent, the spectators holding their breath as they processed what had just occurred.
Myrrh’s Frame Unit hovered momentarily, a sharp metallic screech slicing through the air as a massive scratch marred the once pristine surface of her mech’s face. The left camera-eye, now cracked and flickering, struggled to focus, casting a dim, disorienting light across her visor. The damage was clear, but she held her position, unwavering despite the hit.
Then, without warning, the enemy’s golden tiger claws began to shudder, their gleaming surfaces cracking and falling apart. One by one, the massive claws detached from the Frame Unit, clattering to the ground with a deafening clang.
The enemy mech staggered, its shoulders crumbling under the strain, sending more pieces of shattered armor tumbling to the dirt. The knees buckled, and with a final, agonizing screech of tortured metal, the head of the opponent Frame Unit detached, rolling across the arena floor. It came to a stop with a hollow, metallic thud, its lifeless eyes staring at the sky.
The opponent’s support unit stood frozen, eyes wide in disbelief. “W-what the hell… That was so fast…” he muttered, his voice cracking with shock.
In the stands, the tension broke like a wave. The crowd erupted in thunderous cheers, their applause filling the air as the outcome of the battle became undeniable.
“The winner of this match is Examinee Number 11, who will advance tomorrow to the next round, baby!” the emcee, Miles Oberyn, announced with a triumphant flourish, his voice carrying over the roaring audience.