Charles 2

Upon racing Charles back to the administrators' camp, they quickly regrew his arm. Luckily they found him fairly soon after he lost it, so it was plausible to regrow. Almost any later and he wouldn't get to keep his arm. The doctors called him lucky. He sure didn't think so when he woke up.

When Charles awoke in a hospital bed, he freaked. Thrashing everywhere, he ripped out his iv and trashed several pieces of equipment before a doctor strapped him down. He was rabid. He had no thoughts and his eyes were bloodshot. The decision to sedate him was made quickly, and the doctors rushed to diagnose the problem.

While that went on, the camp had a funeral for all of the fallen group. They burned flags for every death, the flag of Charles' group, as a sign of respect for their sacrifice. It was a somber day, and almost no one could be found joking or lazing around. These people had been with the group for ten years, and the bonds they formed were tighter than a noose. Even rivalries were pushed aside in the wake of this test. Overall, it was a complete failure.

The purpose of the test, besides graduation, was to please the VIP serviceman who had come to the school. It was all for naught. The VIP, James, was expectant when he had heard of the location, and for some matters he was slightly impressed, but he flipped when he heard of the final incident. He had been critical of the group the entire time, and when he heard that the split group led a horde over, he was already in a terrible mood, muttering about how terrible this group ended up. Then he overheard why the exam was in this location.

While he was taking a walk outside the command tent, he overheard two officers having a fervent conversation.

"Hey, did you hear about officer Jones?"

"Yeah, Jones was booted into cleanup for this idea. Who knew he would end up like that. No one expected this failure, we had our top class out here."

"It's terrible, but I don't feel bad for Jones. He threw himself into this by suggesting we impress the VIP. Why would he ever suggest throwing a rookie group into the third layer? They didn't even have in-field training yet!"

"Yeah, he went too far."

James had heard enough, and he threw a fit. Many items were broken in his hunt for the officer who had the idea and the committee who approved it. When the medical group got to them, blood was everywhere. Officer Jones did not survive. He was certainly dead on arrival, made into a paste by an obvious weapon.

By the time James finally calmed down, a quarter of the camp was demolished. Tents were torn, furniture smashed, clothes ripped and tossed aside, and anyone who got in his way was truly made to reget it. Whether they were directly involved or not, James didn't care. He only stopped when he got into the medical tent, where he met Charles.

Charles had just woken up for the third time. It was obvious that the sedatives weren't working very well, and every time Charles woke up he was even more animalistic than before, quickly devolving into something less than human. When James stormed in, he was greeted with a snarl, which, for all of its cons, forced him out of his raging stupor. After all, it wasn't every day a cadet snarled at a superior, and definitely not someone as high as James.

To his credit, James knew what must've happened. The lesser-known thing about the crabs in every third layer was the venom that secret out of their claws. This venom turned virtually anything sentient into an animal, and it was incredibly deadly. If not properly treated within a week, the affected patient would kill itself after identifying its own body as an enemy. Truly, if the venom was more potent it would be a problem, that was the caveat. Perhaps the only reason Charles was affected was the sheer amount of crabs he must've faced.

It was convenient that James knew a way to overcome the venom. Of course, his way was the most forceful as well. Can't synthetically extract the venom? Just beat it out of them. The thing is, Charles' immune system was already fighting it, it was just losing due to how wide-spread the venom had gotten. The solution? Beat the lights out of the victim until they went into overdrive, and their immune system gained the upper hand.

So, James beat the shit out of Charles. He started with a simple right hook, hitting Charles straight in the jaw, before launching straight into a flurry of attacks. Punching, kicking, slapping, anything went as long as James didn't kill the young cadet. James relished it. It wasn't often you could toy with someone like that, and it did let out a lot of stress.

Several hours later the beating stopped. James wanted to continue, but the onlookers' faces were just horrified. Not to mention Charles had regained clarity. Well, he had done that half an hour earlier, but James was disappointed in the boy, and the only thing he knew how to do was hurt. That's right, James though Charles could've done better. If he hadn't let the group split, held tighter control over his teammates' actions, or invoked stronger punishments for dereliction of duty, none of what occurred would've actually happened. Barring the water incident, though a case could be made.

After the incident with James and Charles, the exam was brought to an end. Everyone packed up and loaded into the transports that would take them to the surface. Charles was keeping a twenty-foot or more distance from James, though no one could blame him, and James was trying to chat with Charles. Eventually, Charles couldn't deny his superior any longer and went into James's private transport. There they had a couple of talks and James broke the bad news to Charles. Due to Charles being the leader in the exam, and more than ten people dying or being grievously injured, Charles had achieved a low rank in the exam, and no one could change that. The only reason he wasn't directly booted or sentenced to death was his sacrifice at the end. That being said, he was rock bottom in terms of score, and therefore was sentenced to the lowest ranks of the military corps. He would've been a janitor, but James felt guilty about the beating and pulled some strings, allowing Charles to be a footman. That being said, he was the lowest of footman, cannon fodder in all but name. He would have to climb up, all the way from the bottom.