Five Minutes

"Rudra," Edward said, gesturing toward the imposing figure who entered the room, "meet Vaishnav. He'll be your test."

Rudra blinked.

Vaishnav's aura was sharp—like the edge of a blade freshly unsheathed. Controlled. Focused. Silent.

His long black hair flowed like a cloak down his armored back. Red ceremonial battle gear gleamed over his body, etched with faintly pulsing runes. His face was unreadable, a statue carved in pride and discipline.

Edward stepped back and folded his arms.

"Your task is simple," he said. "Survive for five minutes."

Devyani let out a low whistle. "That's your version of simple?"

"Five minutes," Edward repeated, his tone calm. "Against someone who is already a Third-Level Initiate. I think that's generous."

Rudra's mouth was dry, but a grin tugged at the corners of his lips.

Vaishnav was two full levels above him. The difference between a newly awakened Initiate and someone at Level Three was vast. By that level, Prāṇa wasn't just a spark or a stream—it was already a spring, surging naturally through the body.

But that rule didn't apply to Rudra.

His own Prāṇa was already like a stream. Wide. Stable. Full. And his body—hardened by the divine dance—was far stronger than anyone expected from a First-Level Initiate.

 His only anchors were his utter lack of combat experience and the absence of any fighting techniques – he was raw potential facing honed skill.

Let's begin."

They faced each other in the inner courtyard of the Vice Principal's tower. A circular sparring ground of polished stone surrounded by towering columns. No audience. No cheering crowd.

Just pressure.

The word hung in the air, a guillotine blade released.

They stared across the ten paces separating them. Vaishnav's expression was one of profound boredom, bordering on disdain. Beating a First-Level Awakener? It was less than child's play; it was an irritating chore. He just wanted it over. Pathetic, Vaishnav thought. Sir Edward wastes my time with fledglings. One touch. That's all it should take.

Vaishnav moved. Not with blinding Third-Level speed, but fast enough that to a normal observer, he would have seemed to blur. To Rudra's heightened senses, honed by his unique physique, it was a swift, direct lunge. Vaishnav appeared before him in the space of a breath, a disdainful, almost lazy punch aimed at Rudra's solar plexus. No prana flared, no technique employed. Just overwhelming speed and power, sufficient to fold a First-Level like paper.

Vaishnav's fist whistled through empty air.

Rudra hadn't leapt or ducked dramatically. He'd simply stepped back, a fraction of a second before impact, his movement economical and unnervingly precise. His feet slid on the gritty floor, leaving faint trails.

Vaishnav froze, his fist extended. His bored eyes snapped wide, genuine surprise replacing the indifference. He hadn't just missed; he'd missed cleanly. Against a First-Level? Impossible. A fluke. A stumble. He reassessed minutely. Fine. A flicker of instinct. Won't happen again. 

Annoyance pricked at Vaishnav. He wouldn't waste another second. This time, prana surged within him, a subtle vibration humming beneath his skin. The air around him seemed to tighten as his internal spring fed power to his muscles. He moved again, a controlled blur this time, appearing at Rudra's flank. His hand chopped downwards in a precise arc aimed at the side of Rudra's neck – a blow meant to incapacitate instantly.

CRACK!

Rudra's forearm intercepted the chop, bone meeting bone with a sound like a snapping branch. The impact jarred up Vaishnav's arm, far more than he'd anticipated. Rudra didn't crumple; he barely staggered, his eyes locked onto Vaishnav's with unnerving focus.

Frustration bloomed, cold and sharp. Blocked? With pure reflex? Vaishnav abandoned restraint. He became a whirlwind of controlled violence. Punches like piston strikes aimed at ribs and jaw. Kicks snapping out low and high. Chops targeting vulnerable joints. His movements were fluid, efficient, the product of years of disciplined training.

Rudra became a shifting shadow. He weaved, ducked, parried with his forearms and hands. He lacked grace, his blocks sometimes clumsy, his dodges occasionally late. A hard punch slammed into his ribs. A kick grazed his thigh. But each impact that landed elicited only a grunt, a slight tightening of his jaw, not the cry of pain or buckling collapse Vaishnav expected. Rudra absorbed the punishment like granite absorbing rain. His movements, initially purely reactive, began to shift. He started anticipating trajectories, not just reacting. He pushed back against Vaishnav's pressure, throwing wild, powerful punches of his own. They lacked technique – wide, telegraphed swings – but the sheer force behind them forced Vaishnav to respect the space they occupied. A clumsy haymaker whistled past Vaishnav's ear, the displaced air ruffling his hair. The power! It's… unnatural for his level!

Sixty seconds bled away. Vaishnav's breathing, previously imperceptible, became audible. Sweat beaded on his brow, not from exertion, but from rising incredulity and fury. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. A minute against a Third-Level going all out, and the First-Level rookie was adapting? Trading blows? Mocking him? 

Humiliation, hot and acrid, flooded Vaishnav's veins. The whispers of the observers, Devyani's gasp when a particularly heavy blow landed on Rudra's shoulder (and Rudra merely shook it off with a grimace), Edward's intense, unreadable stare – it all coalesced into a white-hot point of rage. He had to end this. Now. Before the unthinkable five minutes elapsed.

He disengaged abruptly, putting five paces between them. His expression, once bored, was now a mask of cold fury. "Enough games," he spat, the words laced with venom. "You force my hand, fledgling."

Prana, no longer a subtle hum, erupted around Vaishnav. It coalesced, swirling visibly like heat haze around his fists and feet. The air crackled with contained energy. Fist of the Iron Willow, he thought, the familiar pattern snapping into place within his meridians. Energy focused, hardened, turning his limbs into conduits of devastating force. His speed redoubled, a true blur now, crossing the distance in an eyeblink.

The first technique-laden punch exploded towards Rudra's head. Rudra twisted, but not fast enough. The blow grazed his temple, snapping his head to the side. Stars exploded behind his eyes, a sharp, unfamiliar pain lancing through his skull. Stung. It was the first real hurt.

Vaishnav pressed the advantage. Whirling Branch Kick. His leg, wreathed in focused prana, whipped around in a devastating arc. Rudra blocked low, crossing his forearms. THUD! The impact drove him back a full step, the reinforced bones in his arms singing with the vibration. Pain flared, deep and bruising.

Another punch, Iron Willow Thrust, aimed at the sternum. Rudra twisted, taking it high on the shoulder. CRUNCH. A different sound – the sound of dense muscle and bone absorbing immense, focused force. Rudra gasped, staggering again, his left arm momentarily numb.

Vaishnav was relentless, a storm of amplified strikes. Rudra was forced purely onto the defensive, his earlier adaptation overwhelmed by the sheer speed and destructive power of the techniques. He blocked, parried, rolled with blows, but the hits landed more frequently now – ribs, shoulder, thigh. Each one carried the weight of Vaishnav's frustration and the amplified force of his Third-Level prana. Rudra's breath came in ragged gasps, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead, blood trickling from a split lip. He was being driven back, battered, the clock ticking mercilessly towards what seemed an inevitable, brutal finish well before the five-minute mark.

"He's done," Devyani murmured, her earlier amusement replaced by concern. She turned to Edward, her voice tight. "Edward, this is absurd. Rudra broke through barely days ago! Look what he's already done – forced a Third-Level to go all out, even use techniques! He's surviving far longer than anyone could expect. He has to pass. Call it!"

Edward wasn't listening. His gaze was riveted on the fight, his usual composure shattered. Shock radiated from him in palpable waves, his eyes wide, his jaw slightly slack. He tracked every desperate dodge, every jarring block, every blow Rudra absorbed.

Devyani was baffled. Rudra's performance was astonishing, yes, unprecedented for his apparent level. But the Academy had seen prodigies, monsters who defied norms. Why was Edward, of all people, looking like he'd seen a ghost? "Edward? What is it? He's incredible, but—"

Edward finally tore his eyes from the maelstrom, turning to Devyani. His voice, when it came, was low, strained, thick with disbelief. "You're wrong, Devyani."

Devyani blinked. "Wrong? About him being a genius? Don't be ridiculous, look at him—"

"Not a genius," Edward interrupted, his gaze snapping back to the fight as Vaishnav landed another punishing blow that drove Rudra to one knee, only for the younger man to surge back up with a guttural roar. Edward's next words dropped like stones into the tense silence. "Look carefully. Rudra… he hasn't used his prana. Not once. Since the fight began. Not a flicker. He's fighting purely with his physical body."

Devyani's breath hitched. Her eyes, sharp and experienced, darted back to Rudra. She scanned him, searching for the telltale aura, the subtle energy signature that always accompanied an Awakener in combat, the shimmer of power enhancing movement or reinforcing blocks. There was nothing. Just the sweat, the blood, the raw, animalistic determination in his eyes, and the terrifying resilience of his frame absorbing blows that should shatter stone. The blocks were bone and sinew against amplified prana. The dodges were pure, unaugmented reflex and speed. The power behind his wild swings was brute, unenhanced strength.

The realization slammed into her with the force of Vaishnav's techniques.

"Impossible," she breathed, the word barely audible over the sounds of combat. Her hand flew to her mouth. "Edward… that's… no one…"

Edward nodded slowly, his earlier shock hardening into a profound, almost fearful awe. "Exactly. He's not a genius, Devyani. He's something else entirely. A monster. A kind of monster this Academy… perhaps this world… hasn't seen before. At least, not standing on these training grounds." He watched as Rudra, battered but unbowed, braced himself for Vaishnav's next, furious onslaught, the timer relentlessly counting down the final, brutal seconds. "A monster wearing the skin of a First-Level Initiate."

"