Noob Beating (Rewritten March 25)

The score updated immediately, followed by cries from the audience.

"Easy, Amelia, give him a chance!"

"Why did he just stand there like an idiot?"

"Come on, Ghost! Show us a real fight!"

"HE CAN'T!" Amelia roared, making the whole place fall silent. "Take a good look at him! His level? A complete farce! It might show danger to us, but it's a lie! Jason, why don't you give the microphone to one of the NPCs so they can tell us the truth?!"

Jason Foreman grinned and obeyed, gesturing to an NPC servant to approach. Alan squinted and recognized the male NPC from the dorms.

<> the NPC said loudly. <>

Jason snatched the microphone back. <> His voice rose above the chaos, as the audience reacted with a mix of shock and disdain.

"He's a fraud!"

"What are you playing at, Ghost?!"

Amelia smiled after hearing the complaints. With a sudden, chilling motion, she pierced Alan's chest and drove her fingers through his heart. The scoreboard updated as she spoke, her voice booming, "Do all of you see this? While we were working our asses off to make this guild a top contender, what was this loser doing, huh?! Nothing!" Her words echoed, not waiting for Alan to reform, as she casually burned him once again. "And what does he do when he finally decides to show up? Steal Marco's position? Did you think you'd get away with this, Ghost?!"

Once revived, Alan gazed up at the redhead, his voice breaking. "I never…"

Before he could finish, Amelia swiftly decapitated him with a single, decisive motion. Alan's head separated from his body with a sickening snap, turning into pixels the instant it hit the floor, censored by the system. When he respawned, the phantom pain from the decapitation clung to him like a heavy, invisible wound.

The crowd, which had been cheering for Amelia as both judge and executioner, began to quiet. The scoreboard ticked up—eight… nine… ten. 

Then, a powerful voice rang out from beyond the arena. "That's enough, Amelia!"

<> Jason shouted, excited. <>

"Cut it, Jason," Marco Souza interjected, his voice stern as he approached. "This isn't a spectacle."

Jason's enthusiasm deflated as he shut off the microphone.

Amelia bowed slightly as Marco entered the ring, her right hand still stained with Alan's blood. "Marco."

"Were you punishing him on my behalf? How cute," Marco remarked, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Amelia blushed, her voice soft. "I could keep going all night if you ordered me to."

"No, sweetheart, it's my turn to deal with this… guy."

Alan, still covered in pixels, locked eyes with Marco, now standing before him. Look who just makes his entrance.

"It seems your little stunt has come to an end, Level Five," Marco said, addressing Alan while the guild members in the stands clamored for more blood.

"Yeah! Show him, Lord Marco!"

"Make him pay!"

A sweaty, ragged Alan managed a tired snicker. "Hey, Marco, what's up? Tell me, why is this gal telling everyone I stole your job?"

Marco raised his hand, silencing the crowd. The giant screen overhead zoomed in on Marco's calm expression. "Playing dumb? I stopped being First Officer the moment you showed up."

Alan's lips barely curled into a sneer. "Are you saying I did it?"

"That's what opportunists do when they get the chance," Marco said coolly. "They usurp, lie, steal… Did you think you could waltz in here and everyone would just bow to you? That you'd take command like it was nothing, when all these people here have worked to rise through the ranks, paying in blood and sweat?"

Alan squinted, returning to his fighting stance. "Pal… I don't know what you're talking about."

Marco studied him for a moment, then smirked. "Explain this then."

The screen flickered and a new scene appeared: Alan, sitting arrogantly in a red faux-leather chair, a smug smile on his face.

<> The voice on the screen chuckled darkly. <>

Alan's mouth went dry. He recognized the room—it was the Trophy Room. Was that recorded from last night?! But I never said those things!

The crowd's reactions were immediate and harsh.

"How dare he talk to Marco like that?"

"So, that's how he really is? What a joke!"

Alan's heart raced as he returned his attention to the recording, where Marco responded, his voice soft but firm, <>

The other Alan sneered. <>

The crowd's anger was palpable.

"He's been gone for three years, and this is what he comes back with?"

"What the hell! Marco's earned his place, unlike him!"

"Astrid knows about this?! Disgusting!"

Alan's blood boiled. Seething, he lunged at Marco, fists raised. "MARCO! I NEVER--!"

But Amelia, moving faster than Alan could track, intercepted him and knocked him aside effortlessly, sending him crashing to the floor.

She then armlocked him and whispered in his ear, "Why don't we hear what your beloved Astrid has to say first, hmm?"

"It is prohibited to record our peers inside the facilities," Marco began in a deep, measured voice. "But from the moment this man entered our boundaries, I knew something was off. So, I ask for your forgiveness in advance for what I'm about to show you. But believe me, it was necessary."

The screen flickered again, revealing a tidy office with a desk at the center. Marco sat behind it, looking uncharacteristically nervous. <> he asked.

A recorded Astrid stood up and answered in a deep tone, <> There was a brief but notorious pause before she continued, <>

<> Marco pressed softly, and the tension in the room was palpable. Astrid fell silent.

Everyone in the room could feel it. That was a private matter, something that was not meant to reach the general guild, but it mattered for the future of Shooting Stars.

<> Astrid declared sharply before storming out. <>

When the recording ended, Alan realized it must have taken place before Astrid had flown off on her winged lion.

Conflicted, he clenched his teeth, still trapped by Amelia's hold. That last recording felt off in a completely different way, as if it had been deliberately edited to favor Marco. And yet, he did not doubt those words really came out of Astrid's mouth.

Did she really mean what she said? About me being the new second-in-command? That's not the issue right now, though. All of this is a farce—Amelia bringing me here, the fake me talking nonsense, and then this… Why is this happening?

Alan focused on the man he suspected had orchestrated it all. "Marco…" he groaned, his voice low. "Why are you doing this?"

"Let him go, Amelia," Marco said, loosening his tie. Alan seized the opportunity, quickly equipping his Beginner's Sword. Marco smirked at the sight. "Are you seriously doing this?"

"I know I can't win," Alan said through clenched teeth, "but if I can at least cut your stupid face..."

Marco chuckled. "All right, I'll entertain you. Sadly, I don't have proficiency in elemental magic, like my colleague here. I can only cast the most basic fire spells, like this one... Lesser Fire Crafting, Blaze." Alan's body was consumed by fire in an instant, despite his efforts to dodge. Then, as the system began rendering Alan's new body, Marco turned to Amelia. "What's the name of the most basic ice spell?"

"It's 'Chill.'"

"Oh, right. Let me help you fight that heat, Alan," Marco said, amused. "Lesser Ice Crafting, Chill. And now something that'll really shock you. Lesser Lightning Crafting, Zap."

Alan's body was scorched once more, collapsing before being reborn. The guild members stood silent, no longer bloodthirsty but watching, as if it was their duty.

"That son of a…" Amelia whispered, watching Alan rise again for the thirtieth time.

Marco laughed, raising his hand as a dark aura enveloped him. "As I was saying," he boomed, "I'm not an elemental mage. I specialize in dark magic. I'm a warlock, you see. We like to mess with our opponents' minds and inflict pain that even the best armor can't stop. Allow me to demonstrate…" Marco began channeling mana.

That looks like it'll take him forever to finish!

Lifting his sword, Alan lunged forward, but Marco vanished from his sight. The next thing Alan saw was Marco's palm.

"Mayor Dark Conjure…"

"Stop it!"

"Slumbermare…"

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A scene unraveled in Alan's mind—a picture of something he desperately wanted to avoid.

Please don't!

The Santa Maria's pristine white corridors, now stained with blood...

I don't want to see it!

Small drone units mopping the floors, erasing every visible trace of ruin. But the stench lingered…

I refuse to believe it!

Automatons carrying bodies…

Please, just stop!

And tossing them into the cold, endless void of space.

Don't show me this! You think I haven't thought about it?! Of course, I have! I'm not stupid! But I refuse to believe it happened like this!

Another vision—an automaton, engulfed in shadows, its red electronic eyes glowing as it entered the cryo-chambers.

No, no, no, no, no!

It stepped in front of a sleeping pod, where a blonde teenager rested. Was that… Astrid's pod?

Then, the automaton stepped into the light, revealing a knife in its grasp.

It was wearing Ashley's face.

Marco, are you seeing this?! I hope you're enjoying the show, asshole! This is what I've been dealing with for the last eight real-life months! While you sat here playing mafia boss, I was out there making sure your asses stayed attached to your backs, you prick!