Descendants of Gibbous
Chapter 39: Rules

Chapter 39: Rules

"A game of tag? What’s he talking about Principal Twiller?" Ahara asked the old man sitting beside her, gesturing at the commentator’s back.

They were in a secluded room placed right below the serpent, which was filled with Gibbous’s most intimidating personas. Sitting close to the windows was the announcer, surrounded by the four rulers of Gibbous who made up the quartet—the Wizard lord, the Vampire Queen, the Wolf king, and the Dragonlord, respectively. Next to each was their partner.

The eight X-ranks of Gibbous were sitting right behind them, with Ahara sandwiched between Kingston and Principal Twiller after the wolf dragged her to the room, although, now she was grateful Kingston hadn’t given up on her despite her rejecting his offer. He had to carry her to the room. Literally.

"It’s exactly that; a game of tag, so please watch in silence," Twiller hushed her, leaning in to get a good view of the oblong situated above the royal’s heads.

"How can I watch in silence when Damien is in there?

"Shhh!" Came the unified hushes from the heroes surrounding them and Ahara immediately shut her mouth.

Twiller chuckled, leaning in to whisper into her ear.

"Remember when I said he needs a trigger for his aura to awaken? This battle might be a good start."

Ahara’s eyes widened. "Battle?!"

"Shhh!"

"Sorry," she whispered, tugging the old man’s armor. "Do you plan on getting my brother killed? He’s eleven years behind in training. All these kids have lived here long enough to be able to kill a rogue or two."

"But they can’t and that’s why they’re here at Gibforge—to train. The children don’t have any weapons on them, so relax and watch your brother grow before your eyes for once, okay? If he can’t make it through this test then I was wrong about him and everything else," Twiller retorted.

"Wrong about w—" Ahara was cut by a tug to her chiffon dress from Kingston, who was pointing at the large oblong.

"Look. They’re forming teams."

True to his word, when Ahara glanced at the screen, she noticed the kids in the stadium separating and making groups—four students in each. She had been too preoccupied with old man Twiller to hear what the commentator was saying despite his voice being loud enough to fill the room.

"What’s going on?"

"They’ve been asked to form teams," Kingston replied just when the view on the screens shifted focus from the entire stadium to the group secluded in the middle of it.

"Ah, look, it’s Henry’s son."

"He looks just like his father."

"No, he looks more like his mother, Cora."

"A fusion of both!"

The royals remarked, battling amongst themselves whilst Ahara clenched her chest tightly, her motherly instincts kicking in. She wondered if Damien would be alright; if he would pass whatever test Gibforge had laid out this year; if he would leave the battle arena unscathed; if he’d—

A soft brush on her hands made her snap back to reality as Kingston squeezed her hands a little.

"Stop worrying, he’s going to be fine. I mean, look at him, he looks like he has already won the game," the wolf soothed, gesturing his head at the oblong screen.

Ahara focused on it too, and for the first time since her brother’s face popped on screen, she studied his face closely. Just like Kingston said, Damien looked ready for whatever challenges lay ahead, the most focused expression Ahara had never seen on him before set on his face.

Kingston was right, there was nothing to worry about. The students didn’t have any weapons yet; only their aura and tribal abilities, and she had trained Damien about the basics of using aura. Besides, he used to do martial arts in his P.E. classes—the only subject he was good at.

"I’m rooting for my brother," she suddenly blurted out, making all heads turn to face her.

After a momentary silence, someone cleared their throat.

"Well, since they’re on the same team, I’m rooting for my brother as well," Song Kim grinned at her from Kingston’s side.

Just like that, the whole room turned into a loud house of royals and heroes announcing who they were rooting for until the only person left to choose was old man Twiller.

He sat up straight and stroked his beard, smiling. "I’m rooting for all of them. But only the strong get a place in my Academy."

*****

Contrary to the joyous event happening in the small room above, the students filling the stadium were a nervous wreck. They had formed teams of four just like the loud voice had commanded and were now being given black shirts by the senior students. Alicia was the one who gave Damien and his group theirs.

"Good luck," she whispered, heading for another group before passing them a shirt.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" Damien mumbled questionably at his peers who were now surrounding him, their eyes on the shirt.

"Wear it of course," Ambrose replied, on the verge of rolling her eyes.

Damien glanced at his surroundings, observing the other teams.

"I don’t see anyone putting theirs on."

He didn’t want to be careless. Gibbous was a strange world full of surprises and he was still a newbie to it all—from the beings to their way of life.

"Give it here," Yong snatched the black shirt from Damien’s hands, putting it on him in an instant.

The moment he did, other students immediately started wearing their shirts too.

"See, all they needed was a trigger," Yong added, just when the announcer’s voice came back again.

"Good. It seems every team has their shirt now. Thank you senior students for your assistance, please exit the battlegrounds so the game can start."

The sound of papers being ruffled filled the stadium from the speaker, mixed along with the excited voices of the parents and students now filling the seats. Damien glanced around each side but couldn’t see his sister or Kingston. He soon gave up when the announcer cleared his throat.

"Like most custom tests that happen every year at Gibforge, this too is going to be an elimination process."

’Elimination?!’

"Among the thousand students filling the stadium, only two hundred will be chosen this year. Which means from the two-hundred and fifty teams formed amongst you, only fifty will be enrolled. Gibforge only takes soon-to-be sixteen-year-olds for hero training, so make sure you grab onto this chance since it’s your last."

Yong clicked his tongue dismissively. "I’d rather be a weather forecast reporter," he mumbled to himself, but Damien heard it either way.

"The rules of the game are as follows—ahem—rule number one: Only one student per team is supposed to wear the black shirt. As for the rest, please place your palms on the shirt that’s supposed to belong to your team."

Damien, Eden, and Ambrose immediately placed their palms on Yong’s back, much to the delight of the boy after the girls placed their hands on his front. He wriggled his brows at Damien, earning him an eye-roll from Ambrose and a disapproving grunt from Eden, all whilst Damien’s trust in him faltered.

He was the one who suggested they form the team since they were now acquainted, and Damien and the girls just went along with him. But after his lazy remark about being a reporter, Damien didn’t know if they were going to pass the test with him on the team.

Just then, the area where he was resting his palm on the black shirt glowed a neon red that vanished almost immediately with the blink of an eye.

"What the?"

"Good. That spell is going to help the shirt recognize team members’ hand prints and ignore their tags once they touch it, and it’s going to help the system recognize each teams prints for point allocation. The game is simple—make sure to stop the other teams from tagging your team’s shirt. If the other teams touch your shirt five times, then your team will be disqualified."

Damien’s heart thudded loudly in his chest. He and the girls immediately circled Yong at the same time the other teams did with the students wearing their shirts.

"Hmm, an active bunch of students this year aren’t you? On to rule number two!—The ground is the arena. Jump, fly, sprint, do whatever you want but don’t leave the platform and land somewhere in the seats. If you do, your team will immediately be disqualified."

"Fucking hell!" Someone else yelled into the speaker.

"Language! You’re ruining my swag," the voice hissed, the person behind it clearing his throat and continuing his speech after a wave of laughter echoed in the stadium.

"Rule number three: For each team one of your members disqualifies, your team will receive forty points. Make them a hundred points and you can exchange them for an extra tag; meaning, if your team has two tags left but reaches a hundred points, you’ll get another free tag and make them three. And, if your team manages to get many points without getting tagged at all, Gibforge will grant the students in that team a wish each."

A loud unified sound of "Oooooh’s," filled the stadium, but it was only the parents and the senior students.

As for the ones in the heat of the rule-dumping, they were beginning to glare at each other, sizing up their opponents. Damien noticed how most eyes were on him and his team. He couldn’t blame them, they looked like the weakest team amongst the rest. As if to make them the prime target of the game, the commentator added:

"Oh, and please note that the ten teams in that red circle—the recommended students—are special. If one of your team members manages to disqualify their teams, you’ll get—drumroll please!"

The sound of people slapping their thighs filled the stadium at the commentator’s request before he yelled:

"Two hundred points and an extra tag!"

"Is he trying to get us killed?" Ambrose whisper-shouted at the others, outstretching her hands and covering Yong, her worry-filled eyes darting around at the enemy.

"Looks like it to me," Eden replied, matching her friend’s pose.

Damien followed suit, glancing around at the students gawking at them. Now they weren’t just glaring at them. Their gazes had changed into that of predators, ready to pounce on the recommended students. Damien and his team got the worst of it.

’Everyone’s the enemy, except for these three.’

He glanced at Yong, who looked the least nervous among their team. His eyes were resting on Eden, a rather strange look in them.

"I think it’d be better if we got disqualified first. This hero shit is only meant for a chosen few you know?" He remarked, shrugging nonchalantly.

Three heads turned to face him and his face faltered a little.

"What?!"

"If you do anything to get us disqualified, I’m going to make sure you regret the day we ever met," Eden hissed at Yong through gritted teeth.

Damien watched the boy’s expression shift from nonchalant to serious.

"You know you’re not made for this Eden, nature has favorites!" He whispered angrily at her.

"That’s for me to decide, Yong. Only the chosen become heroes? Well fuck you and mother nature. I’m going to defy the odds and become one either way and if you do anything to get in my way, I’ll fuck you up."

The expression on Yong’s face hardened, making Damien want to ask what was going on between the two of them. But he was with Eden. He too wanted to become a hero—not because he wanted to defy mother nature, but because he wanted to protect Ahara, and most importantly, to find the rogue who killed his parents.

However, for that to happen, he had to become strong first.

"Me too, if you do anything to mess this up, I’ll kill you," Damien warned in a chilly tone, his amber eyes hovering over Yong and making the boy go pale in an instant.

"I won’t just kill you, I’ll incinerate your ass. Don’t give me a reason to have bad blood with the dragon lord and your X-rank brother," Ambrose was the last to warn him, and by the time she was done, Yong was whiter than the robes he was wearing.

’Good. Seems like he finally gets it.’

"The game ends once there are fifty groups left displayed on the oblong. Now that you know the rules, let the game begin!"