This Is Just Another Pond

Two weeks have passed.

Within a dimly lit office, two figures sit in contemplation. At the forefront of the room, a sense of detachment hangs around the bored countenance of Loid. Leaning against the desk positioned further within the office, Sable releases an exasperated sigh. "So, when we arrived to capture the Union members, all we found was a gruesome scene of blood and body parts."

Behind the desk, Sable's words hang heavily in the air. Loid's gaze shifts from the clock adorning the wall above Sable. "Indeed. That kid you brought along seems to have caused quite the carnage."

Sable's lips curl slightly with a sly smile. "So, did you take out your frustration on him?"

Loid's gaze flickers towards the window, an embarrassed flush touching his features. "It's just that he carried himself as if he were the strongest. I had to remind him that the world is vast."

Sable's smirk grows. "Oh, of course, your heart bleeds kindness, Red Wolf."

Loid averts his gaze, his eyes taking on a dark, sickly hue. "Golden Hawk, your audacity to mock me is quite bold."

A surge of energy resonates through the room, causing it to tremble. Sable's golden eyes blaze with intensity, his power also coursing outward. "Red Wolf, I mock you because I can see through your lies." Their collective might reverberates through the building, a tangible tension filling the air like a charged storm.

Meanwhile, within a Washington D.C weather control station, an alarmed man rushes to his console as the room shakes. Furrowing his brows, he rapidly checks the seismic readings. "A 6.1? How did our warning system miss this?"

Back within the office, the two adversaries sit locked in a tense standoff. Suddenly, a loud sneeze echoes from Loid, momentarily breaking the intensity.

Sable blinks at the unexpected sound before bursting into laughter. "Well, whatever. Anyway, why did you bring that kid back here?"

Loid rubs his nose. "He expressed a desire to become an Inquisitor."

Sable's mirthful demeanor dims. "That's not what I meant, Loid. You never recruit anyone, even when you're pestered endlessly about needing to lead a squad."

Loid sighs softly. "But he has potential."

Sable's laughter fades, replaced by an air of astonishment. "Potential? You? Acknowledge someone's potential?"

Loid's response carries a rare weight as he addresses Sable. "I brought Ryan aboard due to his potential."

Sable's playful facade gives way to genuine curiosity. "How strong do you think he could become?"

The room lapses into silence, their gazes locked in contemplation. Loid's voice breaks the quietude. "In four years, should he survive, he may reach a level comparable to yours."

Sable is taken aback by Loid's assertion. "Coming from you, that's a significant statement. I've also come across some youths who might one day rival my strength."

Loid's nonchalance prevails. "Interesting."

Sable's excitement becomes palpable. "This new generation is brimming with potential, Loid!"

Loid's attention shifts, and he rises from his seat, heading for the door. Sable's tone turns serious once more. "Hey, Loid. Could this kid surpass you?"

Loid halts briefly, partially turning towards Sable, before delivering a clear response. "No. At this moment, I can't foresee him even coming close." He exits the office, leaving silence in his wake.

Sable exhales heavily. "You say 'at this moment', don't you? If that ever changes to 'yes', the world will undergo a seismic shift. I can't fathom anyone surpassing Loid Asher, the world's unofficial strongest entity."

On the day of the exam, Ryan scans the stadium filled with applicants, his keen observation assessing those around him. "Approximately a hundred participants are here. Most of them seem unremarkable. But there are a few to keep an eye on. Those two soldiers stand out, exuding a familiar aura of killers. Their demeanor mirrors my own, a reflection of a predator. Then there's the girl with the katana. Her presence exudes warrior-like confidence. And that white-haired girl may appear innocent, but her evaluation of everyone's strength tells a different story."

Amid his contemplation, Ryan unexpectedly collides with someone. This surprise perturbs him, as he's usually acutely attuned to his surroundings. Looking down, he finds a young man with black hair and blue eyes offering his hand to help him up.

Apologetically, the young man addresses Ryan, "Sorry about that. I didn't mean to bump into you."

Ryan's senses remain on alert as he takes the proffered hand, maintaining a cautious demeanor. "No problem, man."

Their brief touch sends a jolt through Ryan's senses, a signal of danger. His readiness to eliminate threats amplifies in the face of this unknown factor. Yet, he detects a hint of nervousness in the young man's demeanor, which tempers his initial response.

Don's anxious smile manages to ease the tension slightly. "My name is Don."

A flicker of recognition registers in Ryan's mind, leading him to cautiously reassess. "Ryan."

Don's palpable nervousness elicits a measure of reassessment from Ryan, prompting him to relax his guard, albeit slightly. He offers a faint smile in return. "Good luck in the exam."

Don's sweat betrays his nervousness, but he manages a response. "You too, Don."

As the exam unfolds, Ryan finds himself both startled and disinterested by the proceedings. The rules and the carnage around him fail to captivate his attention. Standing at the starting line, his expression remains a mix of alarm and ennui, contemplating the lackluster nature of the event.

"What a disappointment. Is this how I'm supposed to get stronger?"

Ryan takes hesitant steps toward a group of menacing Screaming Skulls, their attention fixed on him. A sense of disillusionment pervades his thoughts.

"Is this supposed to challenge me? Just another mundane test."

His eyes flare with a fiery red, and his right arm begins to glow with a matching intensity. Determination courses through him as he advances further, unswayed by the looming threat.

"Move, you bloated pests, or prepare to face my wrath."

The ground beneath the Skulls rumbles as countless spikes erupt from the earth, impaling them with a swift and merciless precision. Ryan exhales wearily, his frustration evident. Amidst his weariness, a sudden burst of radiant blue light captures his attention, momentarily dispelling his disillusionment.

A rapid flurry of slashes and movement catches his peripheral vision, compelling him to turn his gaze towards the finish line. There, he spots Don, gripping a blood-smeared sword. Ryan's lips curl into a smile, an unfamiliar feeling stirring within him.

"He's strong. That guy has something."

A flicker of realization ignites in Ryan's eyes as he watches Don's determined advance. His heart flutters with a newfound sense of interest, and his cynicism begins to erode.

"This might be just another pond for now, but there's a fish here. It's not as big as me, but it's growing."

Amidst the chaos, a sense of urgency settles upon Ryan as the gluttonous spiders converge on him. His position as the sole remaining applicant on the field paints him as the target of their ravenous hunger. Yet, a feeling of reassurance washes over him, a confirmation that his decision to join this world of Inquisitors was a step in the right direction. The vast expanse of possibilities and challenges that awaited him became clear, and a new spark of purpose ignited within his heart.

"Lay waste to destruction. Able's arm of creation!"

With a brilliant, blinding glow, Ryan's arm radiates an intense light, imbuing his surroundings with an ethereal luminance. The once-stationary spikes that he conjured earlier transform into a mesmerizing array of one hundred blades. What follows is a spectacle that leaves the spectators awestruck and terrified. The onlookers are later left to recount the event as a paradoxical dance of beauty and terror, as the blades descend from above, akin to avenging angels striking down malevolent forces. The stadium is bathed in a cascade of gleaming, deadly elegance, each blade claiming the life of a gluttonous spider.

Amidst this flurry of power, a fleeting emotion of joy flits across Ryan's features. But soon, the joy subsides, replaced by an unmistakable expression of boredom. With measured steps, he crosses the finish line, prompting the attention of the remaining applicants. Their gazes fall upon him, each stare carrying the weight of assessment, as if measuring him against their own ambitions.

Ryan's laughter reverberates through the stadium, a declaration that reaches every corner. "I see it in your faces. You're not here to win favor with those up on the stage. No, you're here to impress me."

The collective eyes of the applicants lock onto Ryan, their gazes intense and unwavering. Yet, his focus remains fixed on the five individuals who had previously captured his attention. His eyes fixate on them like a predator sizing up its prey, a hungry lion preparing to pounce.

Among the spectators, Don's heart races, the sheer amazement of Ryan's prowess surging through him. "Ryan is astonishing. My heart won't stop racing."

In the midst of this charged atmosphere, Ryan's gaze locks with Don's. In that moment, a shared sentiment echoes between them, a simultaneous thought that courses through their minds with electrifying intensity. "I want to fight him."