Chapter 8

 "They wanted a hero who follows orders.

They got a misfit who insults gods."

The rain hadn't stopped in three days.

Alex stood under the fractured shadow of a half-collapsed street sign, soaked to the bone but too stubborn to move. Around him, the world looked like a dream someone gave up on—burned-out cars, flickering billboards, buildings hollowed by magic turned wild.

The Bureau's announcement hit that morning:

"The National Mage Exam has been reinstated. All Grade F Awakened must report for qualification."

Of course it had.

Perfect timing.

Lia was gone. Her betrayal still sat in his mouth like a rusted nail he couldn't spit out. The Bureau's agents watched him like vultures circling something still breathing out of habit.

Now they wanted him to step into an arena and prove he was one of them?

He let out a sharp breath, brushing wet hair from his eyes.

"Cool. Guess it's time to ruin some rich kid's dream."

The Mage Examination Zone was a stadium from another time—once filled with cheers and goals, now fortified with obsidian walls, humming rune barriers, and the floating crucible they called The Gauntlet.

Thousands of mages had gathered.

Some wore designer robes and family crests; others wore scars and stories. Each one looked like they'd already written Alex off.

He walked in wearing Lia's old hoodie, scuffed boots, and his signature "don't talk to me" face.

Whispers followed like gnats.

 "Is that the Guildless freak?"

"The one with the insult magic?"

"Dead by Round One. Watch."

Alex grinned without humor.

"Y'all better bring snacks."

The first test was simple: Survive.

A flame wyrm exploded onto the Gauntlet—a molten, serpentine monster that roared heat like a living volcano.

Most mages threw up water walls or blinked away in panic.

Alex?

He didn't even lift his hands. Just stood there. Watching. Waiting.

Then he shouted:

"HEY, HOT NOODLE! Your breath smells like burnt underwear!"

The wyrm paused—offended.

Then shrieked in fury, unleashing a wall of fire.

That was the plan.

System Prompt: [Insult Registered: Emotional Disturbance Triggered]

> Magic Amplified: +200%

Violet energy flared around Alex. His aura ignited like a wildfire of sarcasm and spite.

He extended one hand lazily.

"Let me return the favor, lizard breath."

 [Insult Spell: Verbal Detonation – "Your mother laid eggs in a garbage bin."]

The blast that followed wasn't just magic—it was emotion weaponized. A compressed storm of rage, pain, and defiance that punched a hole through the wyrm's skull.

Silence.

Blood. Smoke. Stunned silence.

Then someone in the stands screamed:

 "HE ONE-TAPPED A WYRM!"

There were no medals. No applause. Just a summons.

Alex was led to a sealed room, where a woman waited.

Velka—an SS-Rank examiner with hair like glass and eyes even colder.

She didn't sit. She didn't blink.

"You think this is a game, Guildless?"

Alex dropped into the chair like he owned it.

 "No. I think life's a game. I'm just good at breaking the rules."

She didn't react.

"You have no academy history. No guild. And your magic is… unstable. You're a liability."

 "Creative," Alex corrected.

"Untrustworthy. Dangerous. You're everything this system is designed to root out."

He leaned forward.

 "Then maybe the system needs rooting."

Velka's jaw tightened.

 "One mistake. Just one—and you'll be labeled rogue."

Alex gave her a slow, lazy grin.

"Good. I've always wanted a nickname."

Final trial: The Echo Chamber.

A psychic simulation. No spells, no rules—just you and your worst memories, waiting to eat you alive.

Alex stepped inside.

Darkness swallowed him.

Then—

He was in the alley.

That alley.

The last time he saw his mother.

 "Alex, RUN!" she had screamed, throwing herself between him and the beast.

He remembered her blood soaking his shirt. Her breath shaking. Her voice breaking.

 "Don't lose yourself."

And then—there she was again. Whole. Alive. Reaching for him through the illusion.

"Come with me," she said softly.

For one second, he wanted to.

His hand lifted—

Then he stopped.

 "You're not her."

The image cracked.

A demon emerged from the illusion, grinning wide.

 "Clever boy."

Alex's gaze darkened.

"Wrong move."

 [Insult Spell: Soul Erosion – "Your existence is a mistake even Hell regrets."]

The chamber erupted in black energy. The demon howled as it shattered into dust.

Alex stood alone. Chest heaving.

But not broken.

Not this time.

That evening, results flashed across floating crystal boards.

Top 10 Mage Candidates – National Exam Results

1. Lysara Vynthe – S-Class Healer

2. Thorn of the Crimson Blade – A-Class Swordsman

3. Velin Trusk – A-Class Elementalist

...

4. Alex Thorn – Unclassified (Ranked via Threat Level)

The crowd erupted.

"He's not even ranked!"

"He's in the Top 10?!"

"The wyrm... the Echo..."

Some cheered.

Some booed.

Alex sipped from an expired soda bottle, staring at the board.

"Tenth place. Hell yeah. I should frame this and wipe my ass with it."

Night crept in.

Alex sat near the mage barracks, turning over a cracked charm Lia once gave him. For a second—just one—he missed her.

Missed the comfort of the lie.

Then came the voice:

"Still playing broken god?"

Alex looked up.

From the shadows stepped a figure—tall, broad-shouldered, red eyes burning like coals.

Lucan Zelios.

His brother.

Alex's mouth went dry.

 "Thought you were dead."

Lucan smiled. Cold. Familiar.

"I was.

But you woke something worse."

Lucan raised his hand.

The stars blinked out.

The air turned thick. Every molecule of magic in Alex's body screamed.

Gravity bent.

Time hesitated.

Lucan had become something... monstrous.

"Don't worry, little brother," he said, stepping forward, voice crackling with power.

"You passed the exam.

Now let's see if you can survive me."