Strength Test

Asim led Zrahel to another section of the second building. They walked in silence for a few minutes, Agathe following closely behind.

They arrived in front of a large steel double door, adorned with the symbol of the Universal Guardians. Asim pressed a sensor, and the doors slowly opened with a faint hiss.

The room was immense, wide enough to hold a medium-sized warship. It was divided into two main parts.

The first part was designed for physical ability tests: rows of weightlifting equipment, training mats, speed and reflex sensors, artificial water basins, and cabins simulating extreme environments like high pressure or the vacuum of space.

The second part was intended for combat tests. It featured several reinforced training dummies, duel simulators, and a large circular ring in the center.

A reinforced glass window, infused with neon, separated the room from an observation chamber. That's where Agathe took her seat, arms crossed, already looking at Zrahel with an air of amusement and fascination. Given what she had already seen of Zrahel, she knew what to expect.

Asim spoke, placing a tablet on a stand:

"Alright. The tests will be done in two parts. First, physical abilities. Then, combat skills. Nothing too complicated, but don't hold back."

Zrahel nodded, hands in his pockets. He seemed almost disappointed to have to go through all this fuss.

The physical test began with weightlifting. First, loads of 200, 500, then 1,000 kilos.

Each time, Zrahel lifted the weights as if he were handling sandbags. He didn't even bother to pretend to strain. He lifted, set down, yawned.

Asim increased the loads. 2 tons. 5. 10. Then came the ultimate test: an ancient, deactivated small military vessel, weighing nearly 60 tons, specifically designed to exceed human limits.

Zrahel approached, glanced at the vessel's hull, placed his hands underneath, and, without a word, slowly lifted it until his feet left the ground. He held it there for a few seconds.

Then, with a sigh:

"Is that all you've got?"

Agathe laughed in her booth. Asim, however, said nothing. He scribbled some notes on his tablet, visibly annoyed by Zrahel's tone.

Next came the endurance tests. He ran at full speed on a treadmill that adjusted difficulty in real-time for an hour. No sign of fatigue.

Then the reflex tests. Projectiles were fired randomly from various angles. Zrahel dodged them all, often without even looking.

Finally, the resistance tests. He was submerged in a basin to measure his resistance to drowning. He stayed underwater for 15 minutes without moving.

Then, he was placed in a chamber simulating the vacuum of space on a small scale with reduced effects. Nothing. Not a drop of sweat. He breathed normally, using his neon to adjust his body's vital functions.

Throughout these trials, his attitude remained the same: relaxed, almost lazy, not even cracking a smile. He was clearly bored.

When he finished, Asim approached, visibly irritated. His pride as a trainer had taken a hit. He declared:

"Moving on to the combat aptitude test. Since you seem so above everyone else, we'll proceed with a duel, and I'll be your opponent."

Zrahel simply shrugged.

Before the duel, Asim granted him a few minutes' break. During this time, Agathe connected to her communicator:

"Hey. Listen, I know you don't like being told what to do, but you don't have to go too hard. I'd like to avoid another scene like the one with the guy you killed in the bar last time."

Zrahel stared at her through the glass, emotionless.

"If you want… He's not worth it, anyway," he replied calmly.

The break ended, and other recruits were present to take their tests. They waited their turn and sat behind the glass to watch.

Some knew Asim by reputation. A good fighter, they said.

The two men stepped onto the ring. Asim activated his neon. Around him, the air charged with energy.

He formed a rock armor around his arms, and jets of fire burst from his feet.

"You'll see what a real Guardian is," he said, with an arrogant smile.

Zrahel calmly entered the ring, without activating anything visible. He merely reinforced his body with neon, just enough to avoid injury. He stood with a simple posture, fists loose.

When the fight began, Asim charged at him like a cannonball, his arms covered in stone and his fists ablaze.

He aimed for Zrahel's head with surprising speed, but Zrahel simply raised his arm and blocked the attack. No recoil, no apparent effort, just a cold stare from Zrahel.

"If you're so strong... what are you doing here administering tests like a loser?"

Asim grimaced at that. He jumped back, then concentrated his neon.

A wave of fire surged from the ground, attempting to trap Zrahel in a circle of flames. But he walked through the flames without slowing down.

"You call that a serious attack?" he said nonchalantly.

He kicked Asim's legs, causing him to briefly lose his balance. But Asim quickly recovered, furious.

Around him, the ground began to tremble. He made stone columns erupt from the ring, trying to block Zrahel, then launched a compressed water sphere directly at his chest.

Zrahel extended his hand and stopped the jet, simply dissipating it by closing his fingers around it.

Asim continued to unleash attacks faster and faster: slicing wind gusts, lightning bolts, localized explosions.

He ran, jumped, slid on the water he created, launching his assaults relentlessly.

But Zrahel dodged them all, without breaking a sweat. Sometimes he barely moved his head or raised an arm to deflect a projectile.

He hardly counterattacked, content to dodge, as if to prolong the humiliation.

The recruits watched in silence. Even the most confident ones remained frozen.

Asim let out a cry of rage, planted his hands on the ground, and made a wave of molten rock blades surge. They sliced through the air, whistling, heading toward Zrahel like a storm.

For the first time, Zrahel really moved. He leaped over the attack, spun in the air, and landed right in front of Asim.

Asim tried to strike him with a lightning-charged hook. But Zrahel caught his wrist mid-swing.

He threw Asim against a ring pillar. Asim got up limping, gasping. His uniform shirt was partially burned. He gritted his teeth and concentrated his neon once more.

"I'm a renowned fighter! A Guardian from the Northern Front! I've fought on three war-torn planets and defeated dangerous criminals!"

Zrahel slowly approached.

"Tsk… pathetic."

He struck him with a simple backhand, but Asim flew halfway across the ring, hitting the ropes before collapsing heavily. He tried to get up, but his legs trembled.

"Alright, we've played enough," Zrahel sighed.

He closed his eyes for a moment. Around him, the air seemed to contract, as if space itself hesitated.

*Spatial alteration.*

The world wobbled at those words.

Up became down, right became left. Reference points blurred. Asim felt like he was falling even though he wasn't moving. He tried to run forward but went backward. He attempted an attack but struck thin air.

His perception was intact, but the environment no longer responded to his movements. All his training, reflexes, combat instincts—became useless.

Zrahel appeared and disappeared around him. A blow to the leg. One to the back of the neck. One to the stomach. Each impact disoriented him further.

"You can't fight a world you don't understand," Zrahel said calmly.

Desperate, Asim sent a final fireball. But it shot toward the ceiling.

Zrahel caught it mid-air, spun it around, and slammed Asim to the ground with a sharp blow.

When the spatial distortion ceased, Asim lay on the ground, defeated, unable to move.

Zrahel stepped off the ring, looking down at him with a haughty air.

Agathe, behind the glass, nodded with a discreet smile.

"Welcome to the Spade Guardians," she whispered.

*****