Flowing Steel
Fate blearily opened his eyes, blinking away the spots in his vision and the frosty buildup from whatever had knocked him out. He was cold, very cold, the breeze from a fan above licking his uncovered skin and causing him to shiver.
The only exception to this was his back. He could feel a piece of metal pressed firmly against his back. It radiated a slight heat that made the cold of the room all the more telling, but the heat only entered through the X-shaped scar on his back from that construction site accident all those years ago.
He stood perpendicular to the ground on a large metal slab, wrists held down by his sides by metal shackles. His legs and ankles were likewise restrained, as was his waist.
A vertical metal band held each of his shoulders in place, like the over-the-shoulder restraints on roller coasters. A leather belt wrapped around his forehead and kept his head secured.
Though he couldn't look down to check, he was sure he was shirtless. The madman had spared him his dignity and kept his pants on, at least.
There was no room for movement. The most Fate could do was wiggle his toes and waggle his fingers, but as a mere Prodigy with no offensive abilities, increased strength, or powerful Divine Reach, his chances of breaking his metal bindings were nil.
He tried the leather around his forehead, only for his Divine Reach to slip through as if it wasn't there. He didn't even bother with his Prodigy power. How would a burst of blinding Light help him in this situation?
Yntok was no fool. The Dracok had thoroughly reviewed Fate's memories before sending him into this trial to see if setting him to the Prodigy Level was viable.
The old Dragon Chicken was surprised to find that Fate had such a ridiculous ability as a mere Prodigy, so after locking away Fate's memories he fabricated the most useless Prodigy power for the situation and gave Fate false memories, while keeping his personality mostly intact.
Fate knew nothing of this, for obvious reasons, only that his Prodigy power would indeed be useless here. With no other choice, he examined the room.
The room was a twenty-by-twenty-foot cube and was coated in the same metal that bound Fate, a blueish metal he recognized as Flowing Steel. This metal was fairly common in Crexya, and was used for everything from buildings to boats and armor.
It was a special metal said to be blessed by a being of Water long ago, and was capable of dispersing the force of attacks across the entirety of its structure. On top of this property, it was quite sturdy as well, enough to take a hit or two from a Strength Embodiment even without its dispersion effect.
Since the slab Fate rested on was connected to the metal making up this entire room, any escape attempts relying on brute force would be met with failure.
Even worse, the entire room glowed faintly with Sprout-Grade Imprints, no doubt strengthening the room by at least two times and providing light to his prison cell.
The only thing that really deviated from the sea of glimmering blue was the mirror set in the wall directly in front of him.
It was five feet high and ten wide, taking up a majority of the wall. Fate could see no doors or windows leading to the outside within the reflection, although he was able to confirm that he did still have his pants.
Fate refrained from shouting out to whoever could hear him. If he could call for help, the Azure Anarchist that had kidnapped him wouldn't have been capable of keeping this up for so long.
Like it or not, Fate was in the hands of a professional.
As the minutes ticked by with no activity, he started counting the seconds in his head to keep track of time. This was how he knew that the minutes turned to hours.
After the eleven thousand, one hundred and twenty-third second he counted, the room's Imprints flickered as the mirror in front of him rippled.
A man with a smooth mask devoid of holes appeared on the mirror, replacing the reflections from before. The cloak hid his hair and ears, and the mask covered the rest of his face, exposing not a single detail of his appearance besides those he wished to reveal.
"Welcome, contestant! Say hi to the fans!" said the man in the mirror.
He sounded… not young, but not old, either. Almost like a college professor in his thirties, one who was both passionate about his work and at the same time tired of the constant questions of those who refused to wait for a couple of seconds for him to answer later in the lecture.
He used no voice-disguising technology that Fate could hear, although there were high-end models that could change voices without a hint of artificiality.
Fate just stared blankly at him. Begging would do nothing. Everyone in town knew that the Azure Anarchist was merciless. He didn't see a point in embarrassing himself on the live stream. That could come later, when whatever horrible plans this man had in store were put into action.
"Nothing? Really? Rude," scoffed the masked man.
"Just get on with it," Fate said, stifling a yawn. Being unconscious for a few hours wasn't exactly his idea of a good night's sleep.
"You're no fun," grumbled the man, as if he was a child told he couldn't have another slice of birthday cake. "Ok, then. To those of you watching who are new to my channel, I'm the Azure Anarchist, streaming live from my secret base!
"I bring the scum present in all people to light! Not everyone is a good person, no matter what they'd have you believe. It's my job to separate the good from the bad, so you don't have to!
"With us today are Fate no-last-name-given, and Seri Vedavo! Give it up for these two!"
The picture of the masked man shrunk to take up only the top left corner of the glass, revealing another room exactly like Fate's. Within, shackled much like Fate was, was a terrified woman around his age.