After the short announcement, the children were escorted to the cafeteria. Like the atrium, it was spacious and filled with rows of tables ands seats. One by one, they were given white plastic trays and directed toward the kitchen, where they chose their food. The chefs had whipped up every dish imaginable and it seemed more like a buffet. Sizzling fried chicken, spicy beef kebab coated in various spices, creamy mushroom soup - it was nearly impossible to list them all.
His tray stacked with food, Hadrian left the line and joined his siblings at a nearby table. Like everyone else, the siblings were devouring their food with great gusto. Taking a seat next to Vezulah, he ripped a chunk of meat out of his fried chicken and ate it as he savored its delicious taste.
"Better than Ma's cooking," Kabe remarked as he drank his water. Grunts and nods of approval emanated from the others as they ate their food. While eating his chicken wing, Hadrian glanced around the cafeteria. As far as he could tell, everyone in the cafeteria boys of similar age to him and his siblings. He tossed the finished chicken wing on his tray and went for his next meal, a warm creamy mushroom soup.
"So, what do you think training is going to be like?" Darren reached for a handful of French fries and stuffed them into his mouth. He shrugged off the exhausted glares and sighs as everyone knew what it would be like. For the sake of breaking up the monotony of noisy chewing, Skand answered him.
"Physical exercises at dawn, followed by breakfast and training. Then, lunch and more training. Finally, we have dinner and lights out" Skand pointed his fork at Darren, "Are you happy now?"
"I get it, I get it," Darren relented and resumed his meal. It was a simple cycle of eating, sleeping and training. A boring cycle of tiring labor, but it was necessary to drill the lessons into them.
A loud bell-like chime rung through out the cafeteria and the burly men in their leather padded armor streamed out of the entrance and dispersed themselves along the cafeteria's walls. The last one to enter the room was a dark-skinned man with amber eyes dressed in the kingdom's formal military uniform. His salt and pepper hair was covered by a white beret with with a gold olive branch.
"Greetings, cadets. I am Major Alexander and I will be training you for the duration of your stay here." he spoke and surveyed the children in front of him. He motioned to one of the men next to him, "These men are my assistant drill instructors. Follow their instructions and you will be treated right as rain."
"I will see you tomorrow," the major concluded his speech and the assistant DIs moved forward, directing the cadets to dispose of their food and trays in the appropriate spots. Afterwards, they were marched back to the barracks to change and brush their teeth's.
Hadrian climbed into his bunk and grabbed the thin cotton blanket. Nervous apprehension and excited giddiness dominated his mind and body as he settled down. Long-forgotten memories of his training resurfaced and he smiled inwardly as he relished them. They were long and miserable days, but they made him into the terrifying warrior he was before. It didn't take long for him to be lulled into sleep and darkness embraced him.
A cacophony of sounds roused him from his slumber. Loud whooping sirens, harsh expletive-laden screams from the drill instructors, and shrill howling barks filled the air. he blinked his eyes rapidly as the ceiling lights flash to life, rolled off his bunk bed and fell on the floor. Luckily, he was on the bottom bunk and the fall didn't hurt as much. From the corner of his eyes, he saw a DI approach him with an electric baton in hand, the sharp prod buzzing with electricity. Scrambling to his feet, he rushed over to the open air bathroom to brush his teeth.
Once he finished his morning routine, he jogged over to join the growing line of cadets at the barrack's entrance. Divided into two lines, a drill instructor at the front of the group yelled an order to follow him. Hadrian glanced behind him and noticed two drill instructors with panting Doberman dogs next to them. An angry retort from one of the drill instructors made him turn around and he jogged after the person in front of him.
The group jogged through a long hallway with large rectangular windows on the left side. The scenery outside was dreary. Overcast gray clouds hung over a snowy tundra with evergreen trees. In the distance, he could see thin curling trails of black smoke rising into the air.
He snapped his head back and jogged after his fellow candidate. The room they entered was an gymnasium. To the left side was an elevated platform. The candidates were lined up into rows and given limited space to perform their exercises. An instructor approached the platform and was given a clip on microphone.
"Candidates!" the instructor roared, "We will be doing some exercises together. You will stop when I stop, you will move your limbs when I move mine. Got it?"
A ragged cry of "Yes, sir" howled at him and the instructor grinned at them. "That's the spirit! Now, follow me!"
"One!" the man executed a jumping jack. In front of him, the crowd of children mimicked his movement. It wasn't surprising when he felt his limbs burn with pain, his muscles screaming for oxygen. He had lost count of how many jumping jacks he did, but he was relieved when the instructor stopped moving and collapsed on the floor from exhaustion.
As he sat on the cold floor wheezing for air, the assistant DIs began handing out water canteens filled with cold water. He scarcely had a chance to quench his thirst when the next instructor approached the stage. Screwing the cap back on, he prepared himself for the next exercise.
After several reps of sit ups, deep squats, knee bends, and leg lifts, the boys were marched to a lecture hall near the gym. Arranged in a tiered half-circle, they choose their seats and the teacher began her class. It was rather basic - reading, writing and mathematics. Unlike some of the others, Remnant's history fascinated Hadrian. The rise of the four Kingdoms, discovery of Dust and Semblance, the plague of Grimm creatures - it felt like he was in a fairy tale.
The lessons came and went like a breeze. Soon, the children were herded to another facility - one that was brimming with rugged walls, sentry turrets, and giant searchlights. Upon entering the facility, their footfalls clattered over the metal grilled floor and he could see translucent domed pits on the ground, its interior illuminated by light within.
Like the gymnasium, the command center was spacious. An octagon-shaped holotable was lit up with blue holographic figures and diagrams. Around the edge of the room, technicians and officers sat on their seats, their eyes glued to their screens.
"You will be divided into groups of threes and sent into the pits for Semblance training," the instructor spoke. "You will not leave until we are satisfied with your results. Any attempt to escape will result in death. Let's begin."
Hadrian and the others yelled as they were grabbed by the scruff of their shirts by the assistant DIs. Electric batons sizzled as the trainees were prodded in the neck for resisting. White bibs with numbers were placed over their necks and they were hauled into elevators in group of threes.
Rubbing his shoulder, he noticed two of his 'siblings' near him: Dahren Heruk and Skand. While most of his brothers shared similar features - black hair, tanned skin and brown eyes - there were ways to differentiate between them. Birthmarks of various shapes were found over their bodies.
In the case of Dahren and Skand, it was on their left shoulder. The former was flag-shaped, while the latter was a twin-tailed comet.
"Well, this is going to be interesting," Skand remarked as he pulled Hadrian to his feet. The moment Hadrian rose to his feet, the elevator's alarm rang and the doors slid apart to reveal a small armory. Bolted to the concrete walls were racks of weapons and various armor, all of them fitted for a child. In a hallway was an open-air shower area with shampoo and soup. Above the armory's exit was a countdown timer.
"You have six minutes to arm yourselves," a dull monotone voice rang out of a rectangular speaker. "When you are ready, press the red button next to the exit and await further instructions."
The speaker buzzed with faint static and the timer began its countdown. The three boys rushed off to different directions, Skand and Dahren headed to the weapon racks and began tossing various weapons to the floor. Meanwhile, Hadrian rummaged through various armors and tossed them on the floor. He didn't know their size, but he knew which armor would be best for them.
"Oi, put on your armor already!" he shouted at the other two as he adjusted his padded gambeson. The two boys dropped their weapons and ran over to pick their armor.
"Where's the plated armor?" Skand complained as he floundered in the pile of armor on the floor. "There's none!" Dahren replied.
Cursing, Skand resigned to wearing the brigandine armor and motioned Hadrian to help him adjust it. Turning his back around, Hadrian grabbed at the belt-like straps and pulled them tightly. The straps adjusted, Hadrian turned around and grunted in annoyance as Skand did his handiwork.
By the time Dahren's armor was adjusted, Hadrian moved onto placing and adjusting the next pieces: leather gauntlets and greaves. With two minutes left, he walked over to the haphazard pile of weapons and plucked out a backsword and a studded leather shield. Dahren hefted a heavy broadsword in both hands, testing its weight. Skand chose a warhammer and grinned savagely at it.
Nodding his head to his brothers, Hadrian pressed the button. The timer buzzed once and the lights dimmed. He and the others could hear high-pitched whines behind the exit's doors. The speakers crackled white noise and the voice spoke.
"The game is simple. You will find and kill the combatants in the arena unless you complete two objectives. You either awaken your semblance or you kill everything we hurl at you. The game stops when the buzzer rings three times. Good luck and good hunting."
The exit's doors slid apart to reveal a landscape of rocky towers and cliffs illuminated by giant circular spotlights. Wooden platforms and ramps clung to the side of the towers. At certain points on the ramps were small gates that could be activated by a nearby switch. Pools of crystal clear water revealed its deep depths. Several meters away from the boys was an iron grilled gate. The gate slowly rose up and out of the darkness came a tide of men dressed in tattered orange loincloths wrapped around studded leather armor and rusted weapons.
Forty one enemies. Forty one ill-equipped men that stood between them and the day's end.
"Let the games begin!" a voice rang out and a buzzer rang loudly in the arena.
Behind thick reinforced concrete walls, an elderly man with curly white hair, a short muzzled goatee and brass-rimmed spectacles watched the bloody spectacle with morbid curiosity. Any ordinary person would have decried the odds of three young boys beating up a ragged band of POWs, the mentally insane and death-row prisoners. But these prisoners were fighting for their freedom, a chance to escape their hellish nightmare.
Through his binoculars, he focused on the first melee match he saw. Three prisoners ran straight toward a boy armed with a backsword and shield. Raising the sword high above his head, Candidate 32 roared at the charging enemies. He gasped when he saw veins of purple light sparkle around his elbow and travel up into the blade through the hilt. The steel blade coated in dark violet light was swung down at the first prisoner. Their blades clashed briefly and he saw the prisoner's sword dissolve into ashes. The prisoner backpedaled away from the boy, but he lunged at his opponent with terrifying glee and stabbed him in the throat. Like the sword, the man swiftly dissolved into nothingness - everything on him was devoured by that purple light.
Grabbing his pencil near his notepad, he scribbled down his observations and pressed a button on his radio console. The speaker sizzled until someone answered him, "Observer 15 here."
"This is Observer 10. I wanted to double-check something on Candidate 32," the old man spoke. He quickly relayed his notes to his contact and Observer 15 grunted.
"Yeah, that's what I saw too. Fucking monsters."
Silently, he agreed with 15's statement. Here they were, evaluating would-be child terrors that would be forged into demigods. Demigods that would smash through men and Grimm like sand castles. That was the intent of the Cataegis Project: creating the ultimate warrior from the dregs of humanity.
His tired green eyes roamed over to the next candidate, who was wielding a broadsword. Despite its heavy weight, Candidate 77 was a master at work. Every parry was followed up with punch, thrust or slash to an exposed area. Blood splattered across his arms and chest as he finished his opponents.
Like 77, Candidate 58 fought with finesse and reckless abandon. Knocking their legs underneath them, his enemies slipped on the floor and he cracked their skulls with his warhammer. He ducked under a swing and jabbed the end of his hammer into the enemy's leg. As expected, he fell to the ground kneeling before tumbling over from a blow on his thigh.
The alarm buzzed and the gate rose again. This time was different as a deluge of Grimm roared into the arena. Beringels and Beowolves rampaged the battlefield as the humans ran away from them. The gates clattered shut as the Grimm overtook the arena. Those who were closest to the ramps ran up them and flicked the switches on the gates to buy themselves time. Others were unlucky as they torn apart by the creatures, their screams drowned out by the screeching howls.
Scratching his chin, he watched the carnage unfold.
"So that was how they were going to play, eh?" Dahren though as he hacked at a dead man's hand clutching his ankle. When the Grimm came, he kicked away his opponent and ran for the nearest ramp. His knee jerked for a second and he looked back to see the man grabbing his ankles, his eyes filled with fear.
"Please, help -," the man pleaded and screamed when Dahren stabbed his wrist in quick succession. That and a Beowulf gnawing away at his feet sent the man into shock and passed into the beyond. At last, Dahren hacked through the man's wrist and ran up the ramp, the man's hand falling off his leg.
Sliding underneath a gate, he quickly slashed at a man's arm with a vertical slice and deflected an overhead slash with a parry. No sooner had he parried the attack when the gate fell to the onslaught. Cursing his luck, he ran up to the top of the tower. His feet skidded to stop as he briefly surveyed the battlefield.
Hadrian was on the ground, slashing and hacking his way out of the monstrous crowd. His blade flickered with violet light each time he fought against the black beasts. Across from him on his own tower was Skand, who had traded his warhammer for a one-handed axe and round shield. Somehow, he managed to make a makeshift barrier out of the pile of dead bodies near him. That barrier wasn't going to last as the Grimm ate them.
The growling and snarling noises reminded he wasn't out of the woods yet. Before was a pack of wolves and gorillas, all of them were plated in thin bone-like armor and sharp claws. Their hungry red eyes reminded him of ancient battle machines he had fought the war for Unity long ago. He tightened his grip on his broadsword and charged at the black mass.
A Beowulf's head flew into the air as he sliced it off. A wide sweep of his broadsword toward the ground made the GRimm leap backwards as their claws bled black ichor. One of the Beringels tilted forward in its fall toward Dahren, its massive fist aimed for his head.
Dahren coated his arm with his aura and it shimmered in a translucent golden light. Knocking the gorilla hand aside. he drove his sword through the Beringel's eye and pushed it forward with all his strength. He felt sword give way and shar vibrations ran up his arms. Yanking the sword (which was missing half its blade) out of the soon dissolving beast, he swung his broken broadsword around him in a wild arc as he walked backward.
Their numbers had thinned somewhat, but the ravenous mob was still there in front of him. He spat saliva from his mouth and growled at them. He was disappointed at himself for not killing them fast enough. More importantly, he was furious at how he was going to die.
He had no desire to die at the hands of a beast. There was no honor in that. Even in this new world, he desired the honored death. A death that would be remembered by his brothers, an unforgettable deed that surpassed time itself. He wanted to die fighting a powerful and worthy foe.
In his old life, he would recite a hymn before each mercy kill, before delivering the death blow himself. It was a prayer, a wish for a good life lived for unity and honor. He would not squander this second chance and spoke the hymn that reflected his new wish.
As he spoke, a ball of light emanating from his clenched fists, growling brighter and hotter every second.
"We are the thunder, we are the lightning," Dahren intoned slowly. "We were His last, but now amongst the reborn. We died too weary, and now we wish to live."
The pack of Grimm came closer and he shouted the last verse of his prayer, "The only life that matters is the noble life!"
He leaped forward toward the beasts, his veins pumping full of adrenaline and mind feverish of zeal.
The light burst into flames and a fiery banner materialized out of thin air. It was strapped on his back and above his head, the raptor and lightning bolts proudly displayed on the aethereal amber cloth.
"For Unity!" he shouted and slashed his sword at the beasts. The moment he landed on the ground, a shockwave of Aura rippled through the pack, crushing those in front of the pack while flinging aside the others.
The exhaustion and wheezing disappeared the moment the banner appeared. The broadsword's handle burned lightly and he watched in disbelief and amazement as the broken blade repaired itself. He twirled the sword around experimentally, still shocked to see that such a thing had happened.
Despite the brief miracle, the battle wasn't over and he ran down the tower, his awakened Semblance fluttering in the air.
Skand grimaced at the situation in front of him. Trapped and cornered on a rocky tower by a pack of wild beasts. The sudden flash of light temporarily stunned the Grimm and he quickly hacked away at them before it vanished. Their numbers had thinned down, but he was certain that reinforcements was on the way. He peered over his shoulder, doublechecking the pool was still there. Edging his way to the cliff, he turned and leaped off the cliff. He curled up into a ball and felt his body shake as he hit the water.
His head popped out of the surface and he looked up to see several Grimm falling off the cliff and scrambled to get out of the pool.
He leapt aside, narrowly dodging a Beowulf lunging at him and stabbed it in its black hide. The creature yowled as he ripped it out of its hide and whimpered when Skand drove his sword through its skull. Even as he slayed the beast, he could feel the ground tremble underneath his boots.
Even from this distance, he could see Hadrian swing his sword with reckless abandon. A gleeful, snarling roar and brown eyes full of rage - two of many symptoms that made the affliction called 'battle haze'.
It was common throughout the Thunder Legion for a warrior to keep fighting, unaware of his surroundings or situation. They would fight endlessly until they were killed, suffered a grievous internal organ injury, or brought back to reality by a friend.
He considered joining his brother in killing the circle of monsters that surrounded him, but that would exposed his back. Maybe another time. He looked back at the pool, which was partially turned black due to the Grimm falling to their deaths. The survivors climbed out, their fur wet.
He beated the front of his shield with his sword and ran to the ramp, drawing the Grimm's attention. While he wasn't surrounded, he didn't mind doing this all day.
It was tiring to swing a sword multiple times. Especially, if you were surrounded and hallucinating about long-past battles of another world. The gray rocky floor flickered with green fields of untamed grass. Hadrian remembered this scene nostalgically. He was in the countryside of Franc, standing at the bottom of a hill. He watched the mass of poorly trained soldiers run downhill and heard their war cries.
He and the others waited until the order was given. Their bulky bolters thundered a deafening roar and the vanguard crumpled like paper, the defiant charge in vain. Like a car pileup, the men crashed into each other, unaware of the atrocity and their defeat. Then, they ran for their lives and the Thunder Warriors were set loose.
In an hour, the country was conquered and absorbed into the fledging Imperium.
He ran after them, screaming guttural curses as he chased and hacked them to pieces. Their faces blurred between a human and wolf. Their voices distorted with slurred sobbing wails and bestial howls.
"Face me, worthless curs!" he shouted hoarsely at the retreating soldiers. The soldiers/beasts replied back in a mixed howling cry and he laughed loudly and hacked away at them.
Although he was reminiscing the old times, the outside world saw him differently. To the observers, they saw an unhinged and possibly insane child cackling as he destroyed the Grimm horde around him.
As much as the observers wanted to stop the test, they were forbidden. That act belonged to the warden and as fars athey knew, he or she was satisfied and saw no danger posed against the candidates.
Time passed and the Grimm horde whittled down until there were no more. The minute the last Grimm was slain, the alarm rang three times and the boys were instructed to enter the armoury, discard their armor and shower. They did so with exhausted slowness as they shucked off their torn, damaged armor. The warm pulsing stream of water melted away their tiredness. Fresh clothing was placed on a rolling tray near the door.
Dinner was refreshing and hearty as the boys ate to their content. Delicious hot food and cool drinks were devoured as they conversed with one another. While most of the boys mingled with another and retold their experience, a few noted that there were fewer boys from before. Whatever happened to the missing was not spoken of.
With a grunt, Hadrian climbed into his bed, his thoughts wandering. All in all, it wasn't too bad. It was much comfortable than the training he endured in his previous life. Here, he felt coddled by the instructors due their inclination for safety. But there was also a barbaric aspect, especially in the arena. Killing and fighting other beings was essential in forging a soldier. Without it, he couldn't be called a soldier at all.
The real question he and the others wondered was how long this phase would continue they gained their augments. For now, it was tiring, grueling activities until that destined day they became a superior kind of soldier.