We're the Myth

CHAPTER 3: BATTLE GROUND

At the Diamond Sports Complex, where the CCS was held, the air outside buzzed with a low, tense energy.

A short line of about twenty people stretched toward the entrance, moving quickly as security scanned each student's Vital Band, a sleek black device strapped to their wrists that gave a soft chime with every successful check.

At the very back of the line, three familiar figures stood together... sort of.

Nicolas slouched in a wheelchair, half-asleep, an IV bag of faint pink fluid hooked to his arm. His head lolled slightly with each small bump in the floor.

Ethan walked beside him, casually holding the IV bag as if it were nothing more than a cup of bubble tea. Behind them, Gabriel pushed the wheelchair with one hand, his other buried in his pocket.

Gabriel looked down at Nicolas, his brow creasing.

"Just how much blood and tissue did they take from you?"

Nicolas didn't bother opening his eyes. His voice came out low and tired, barely more than a whisper. "Don't know." He sounded like he could fall asleep mid-sentence.

Gabriel exhaled, annoyed, and glanced at Ethan. "If he dies in this exam, I'm not dragging his body back."

"Okay," Ethan said simply, stepping forward as the line moved.

Gabriel followed, pushing the wheelchair. Nicolas was fully asleep now, head tilted to one side.

Gabriel arched a brow at Ethan. "I know you're always quiet, but to keep your mouth from drying out, maybe answer a question or two."

Ethan didn't look back. His eyes stayed on the path ahead. "Hmm?" was all he gave.

Gabriel snorted, then turned his gaze forward as well. "You've done this before, you're in your fourth year. So tell me, if I pass this CCS and the next semester, that's it? I can finally graduate?"

"If you pass this?" Ethan's voice was calm. "You mean the three. Pass them all, wait for the next semester, and take the three again. If you don't fail any out of all six, then yes, you're good to go."

He stepped forward, showing his right wrist to the guard, who gave a sharp beep of approval from the scanner. The guard leaned down slightly to check Nicolas's Vital Band next.

"How many fails before you're done?" Gabriel asked, eyes still on Ethan, though his right hand was raised high for the guard to scan. He nearly smacked the poor man in the face.

The guard flinched, and Gabriel quickly dipped his head, a half-grin tugging at his mouth as if to say sorry.

"Two," Ethan replied. "But not like last past years, when passing one exam per semester was enough to move forward. This time, fail two and look forward to another full year here."

Gabriel raised a brow. "What did you fail?"

"First semester, I failed the BSE," Ethan said flatly. "Second semester, I failed CCS."

Before Gabriel could respond, a sudden roar echoed down the hallway cheers, shouts, the unmistakable sound of a crowd losing their minds, like a stadium mid-game.

The noise grew louder as they stepped inside.

The Arena opened before them: a massive, multi-level coliseum of rising benches packed with spectators. At its center stood a huge stage but it wasn't just a stage.

A combat cage dominated the middle, built from thick metal bars with reinforced glass layered outside, big enough to hold a full basketball game. This was where the CCS fights would take place. But it wasn't the cage that drew the eye first.

On the towering benches surrounding it, the students they had seen earlier those who had entered in spotless uniforms and masks now sat unmasked, their true forms revealed.

Fangs glinted under the bright lights, sharp and predatory. Caps and hoods no longer hid the strange horns that curled from some of their heads. Others bore bandages, but beneath those wrappings, glimpses of scales and clawed limbs showed through.

Each stair of the massive benches had its own narrow table, where officials sat behind sleek black devices small, box-shaped scanners with faint blue lights. These were the observers, their sharp eyes tracking every student who entered. They weren't just here to watch; they were the ones assigning numbers to every participant, marking them for the match.

When it was Ethan's turn, a crisp white square about the size of a handkerchief slid smoothly across the table toward him. Printed in bold, black ink, 5048.

Ethan picked it up, feeling the smooth, cool fabric between his fingers. Without needing instructions, he pressed the square against his chest.

The moment it touched his shirt, the cloth seemed to come alive.

It clung to his uniform as if it were embracing it, the edges melting seamlessly into the fabric until it looked like it had always been part of his clothes.

No pin. No adhesive. Just... attached.

The official gave a brief nod. "Print," he said flatly.

Ethan pressed his finger onto the small glass pad of the scanner. A faint chime confirmed his print had been stored.

Gabriel stepped up next, pushing Nicolas's wheelchair closer to the table. Nicolas was still completely out, his head tilted slightly to the side.

Gabriel placed his own hand lightly on the back of Nicolas's, lowering it toward the scanner so the system could take the fingerprint for him.

The man behind the table sharp suit, perfectly combed hair, expression cool and detached slid the last two remaining squares forward.

Gabriel's eyes flicked toward the numbers. For a moment, his hand hesitated above Nicolas's wrist. He realized immediately what number Nicolas would get.

A small, crooked grin began to form on his lips.

Instead of setting Nicolas's hand down, Gabriel lowered it back into his lap. He straightened and casually placed his own hand on the glass pad instead.

The official didn't even look up, fingers tapping on the keyboard to confirm the scan.

From behind, Ethan caught the movement. His brow lifted. "What? don't want to be last? We can switch if you're that worried."

Gabriel glanced over his shoulder, smirk widening just enough to be infuriating. "Nah. I'm good."

He plucked 5049 from the table and pressed it to his chest. The fabric moved as though alive, clinging seamlessly to his jacket until it looked sewn there.

Only then did he guide Nicolas's limp hand onto the scanner. The device hummed softly, accepting the print without protest.

A moment later, the square with 5050 slid free. Gabriel took it briefly, holding it between two fingers, and pressed it to Nicolas's chest.

Like the others, it responded instantly soft edges drawing themselves into the fabric of Nicolas's shirt until it appeared as if it had always been there.

Gabriel's grin lingered as he leaned closer to Nicolas's ear, his voice low enough that only Ethan could hear. "Yeah... 5050 suits him better. "He gave a quiet chuckle and added, almost like a whisper of a joke, "Fifty-fifty. Fifty to live, fifty to die. Seems about right for him."

Ethan just raised an eyebrow, catching the dark humor in Gabriel's words.