I Alone Devour To Level Up

The air grew thick as Malik stepped forward, a slight tremor in his hands, his eyes locked on the Overseer's tablet. The courtyard was still, as though holding its breath.

The Overseer's voice cut through the silence. "Malik Graves."

Benson swallowed hard, standing on the edge of his seat, his heart hammering in his chest. He barely noticed his own tension as he focused on Malik, wondering if his friend would make it through this terrifying ordeal.

Malik's eyes flickered to the tablet, then to the crowd. A deep breath. His pulse raced.

When he placed his hand on the screen, there was a quiet hum, a shift in the air. The crowd around them stilled, watching intently. Benson could feel his own pulse in his throat, the heat rising in his chest. What was happening?

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then tablet's screen flashed white—bright, blinding, like a lightning strike. Time seemed to slow. Benson's breath felt stretched out as Malik stood there, his hand still on the tablet. A glowing thread of energy spread across his skin, twisting up from his fingers like light weaving through the air.

The ground shook.

Time. It was Greed that spoke.

Benson's heart raced as he watched. The air around Malik bent, warping like a reflection in a broken mirror. His body flickered—older, younger, shifting between ages. The crowd gasped, watching in awe as Malik moved in strange bursts.

Benson felt something else.

Greed.

A gnawing hunger stirred within him. It wasn't just his body wanting food. It was deeper, like something strong, hungry for power. The power of Time tugged at him, something cold and strong, and Greed's reaction was immediate.

Consume.

Benson flinched, his chest tightening, his vision blurring with the force of it. The desire to devour, to take, to consume—everything.

He tried to focus, to fight it back, but then something else happened.

The air around Malik twisted more violently. For a moment, a wraith-like figure appeared, rising from the glowing threads of energy. 

It was an ethereal shape, shrouded in all colors, and yet its form was barely visible, flickering like a distorted reflection of the past and future.

Benson froze, staring at it. The wraith stretched out a hand as if reaching toward him, its eyes glowing with the void of infinite ages.

But then, Greed's voice was loud, cutting through the silence.

Cover your eyes.

Benson didn't question it. His hands moved instinctively to shield his vision, but the hunger inside him only grew stronger, more insistent. 

His mind screamed, torn between the overwhelming urge to consume and the fear of what he was seeing.

The wraith, dissolved into the air with a soft whisper, leaving behind nothing but the faintest echo of its presence. The moment it vanished, the tablet's glow flickered, dimming as Malik's power waned.

"White," she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. "Impossible."

Benson felt his heart skip. White?

The class level flickered again. The light dimmed. The energy didn't just stop—it crumbled, fractured, as if time itself was rejecting the power. Malik's form seemed to freeze for a split second, his face a grimace of strain, but the glow died down.

The final reading on the tablet flashed: Gold. Class A.

The crowd exhaled collectively, a ripple of shock running through them. The Overseer blinked in disbelief. Even she, who had seen countless players come and go, was taken aback.

"Malik Graves, Chronomancy," the Overseer said, her voice flat despite the surprise in her eyes. "You are a rarity."

She paused, as if measuring her words. Then, she stepped back, allowing Malik to breathe again.

Malik, still visibly shaken, staggered slightly as he moved back into the crowd, but he didn't collapse. His face remained unreadable as the other recruits shifted to make room.

Benson's heart raced, his mind spinning. A Gold-Class power… A and Chronomancy, Benson wasn't exactly sure what that entailed but he had seen it, whatever that was it was beyond anything Benson could have imagined.

Time. It definitely has something to do with time!

His gaze shot to Malik, his … he guide?—who had been just as uncertain as the rest of them when they were thrown into this hell. A Gold-Class ability.

Benson swallowed the lump in his throat. What was he supposed to do? Was it even possible for someone like him to survive in a world where people like Malik could apparently do things that could shock the overseer?

And what did this mean for him?

Before Benson could form another thought, the Overseer turned her gaze to him. Her smile returned, cold and calculating, as she addressed the remaining recruits.

"Benson Lovejoy," she said. "Step forward."

The sound of his name felt like a dagger to his chest.

Benson froze, his pulse roaring in his ears. The moment was like an eternity as he slowly moved toward the front. 

The other recruits shifted, their gazes lingering on him. He couldn't feel their eyes. All he could feel was the pressure of the Overseer's presence, pressing down on him.

He reached the tablet, standing before it. A strange, tingling sensation ran through his fingers as he placed them on the cool surface. The crowd around him went silent.

The Overseer's gaze was unwavering, her eyes fixed on him, searching for something—anything—within him.

And then… nothing.