The Bloodbath Odyssey; I reincarnated to become the cursed

Zolomon adjusted his posture, crossed one leg over the other, and then, with the composure of a man about to unravel a riddle, replied..

"For someone at your level,"

Zolomon began, his voice smooth but carrying a razor's edge of condescension,

"well, I'd call you weak. Or perhaps a creche. But then again, you haven't even reached the dignity of being a creche. And you should understand, 'creche' is simply another name for Fluxborn, meaning your energies are still frail, embryonic. Your SOS hasn't even upgraded yet."

Now that was the problem, what the hell was SOS supposed to mean? Instead of taking care of his question, he rather added to the itch in his curiosity.

Well, The old Zolomon, ever perceptive, noticed the furrow in Simma's brow and elaborated.

"You are weak due to the fact that you exceeded the normal power and energy threshold, together with the size of your beast. Now, if I am to be frank, is a flaw. It tells me you haven't mastered your Azrax."

Simma winced. He was totally correct, for he couldn't even remember the full detail of what happened at the arena.

Zolomon continued,

"For someone at your level, your Azrax shouldn't be as huge as it came. If you saw Bragga's cheetah, it wasn't more than the size of a bulldog. Why? Because he was containing his energy, rationing it wisely. Only those who have ascended higher in rank can afford to summon a beast of enormous size and still retain their own strength."

Sitting up now, Simma tried to digest what Zolomon had said, trying to link them to other loose threads, but to no avail. The threads tangled further. Yet again, he asked:

"If I had a flaw and you didn't judge, perhaps there might be a reason for that?"

Zolomon's smile curved slightly, as though amused by Simma's perceptiveness.

"There might have been a reason for that, and the reason being that I had something to do with it, which means, what is the need of judging, whereas I myself had also gone wrong?"

Simma kept staring at him nonstop. Well, the look in his eyes was very clear that even Zolomon didn't dare misread it, it was a look that said well, elaborate. Maybe because Simma didn't understand or perhaps because that was not the answer he wanted to hear.

"You see, Simma, I was once like you. I found it so hard to connect with my Within Beast that I caused disaster whenever I stepped on that stage. You must understand this: your Within Beast is not something you summon in anger. That path will consume you. and you might die, or worse, become a Nexer."

Simma stiffened, maybe Sarah was right, this man did have the creeps, for those last words caused shivers down his spine.

"How… how then did you... hang on." Simma's voice wavered as realization hit him. "It was you. You were the one who drew me into that trance. You were the one who severed me from my Within Beast."

Zolomon nodded, the faintest glint of a smile ghosting across his face.

Yes indeed, He had muttered some thing in the arena, during Simma's fight, that had helped calm simma down in the arena.

"If you kill someone with your Within Beast, summoned in wrath and anger, you will burn inside out. Your soul will rip apart. And then… the Umbrax will take full control of you, and you might die or worse become a Nexer. And that was what I couldn't risk for it to happen."

The words weighed like iron. The thought hit Simma with brutal clarity: If Zolomon hadn't pulled me out, I would've become a Soulnexer.

Cinzel had warned him that it was something dangerous, letting yourself into your anger, that it was a poison, a snare that would devour him whole, that it would rather consume him, but he just wanted to win, and he had made that choice.

Realizing now that the decision he had made didn't worth the risk, it tolled on him, he should try to be smarter next time.

But then it hit him, was that what the suited guy wanted? Because when he asked him what he wanted him to do, he wanted to say kill but didn't have the chance to finish his statement.

He wanted to tell Zolomon about it, but then, what was the sense in it? telling him that he saw a man in his dream, and that he told him to kill, it sounded crazy.

Instead, he untied another knot in his brain and tossed out a different question, though this one came out more like an accusation than curiosity.

"You mentioned something like SOS, what does that mean?"

Zolomon cleared his throat. The way he hesitated made Simma think maybe he had made that up to sound so smart, who knows.

"Ah." He exhaled slowly. "SOS… that is something you must discover for yourself. No... I shouldn't tell you. Patience, Simma. After the Wood Hint Tournament, you'll know exactly what it means."

Simma had many more questions, but right now he could only think of one, which, if he had remembered earlier, he would have asked:

"Sarah... they haven't visited. Why? What is going on?"

Zolomon understood his worry, for now Sarah was the person he knew very well, and if it was him, he would also be worried.

"Well, unfortunately, Sarah and all those that passed the arena battles all have gone to collect their chip."

"What is that? I mean, this chip you said?" Simma asked.

Zolomon's tone became almost lecturing, but with a certain ceremonial weight.

"Well, it is what helps one determine his rank. The rules changed a bit, it was normally given after one had passed all the tournaments and became an Azren, but now they have decided to give it after the arena battles so that one would at least know what he is made of at the time."

He leaned forward slightly, voice lowering.

"Once you fail the Wood Hint Tournament, the chip dies inside of you. But once you pass, then it becomes a part of you. Whenever you evolve a kernel, it assimilates into you through the chip, but then it is no longer called the chip, it is called a core sigil or an echelon seal"

At those words, he stood up to leave. He believed he had other people that he would like to meet before the day ran out.

But this stirred something in Simma's mind the voice he had heard earlier. The one that had narrated things to him about his rank, his aspect and all.

"Zolomon," Simma said quickly, "I heard something. And it was as if I could see the words as they spoke, about my rank. It said things that weren't clear."

At those words, Zolomon stopped. What he just heard sounded off, a strange look lit up on his face, but he turned to Simma with a rather smiling, pretentious face, as he answered,

"Yes, I believe it is a normal process. Sarah will tell you the same thing as well. Hold on, let me see your neck."

Simma got confused, what for?

But Zolomon replied by...

Turning his neck, and at that instant, with a silver glint, three marks shone on his neck.

Etched upon it was a mark that looked too perfect to be made by mortal hands. At first glance, it was a thin, inverted triangle, its edges so fine they seemed cut from light itself. Inside the triangle rested a six-pointed star, each point razor-sharp and glowing faintly as though lit from beneath the skin. 

Beneath it was another mark which resembled a perfect, flat circle, its edges so sharp they looked pressed into his skin by some celestial hand.

From the rim of the circle, eight slender lines radiated outward like compass points, each one etched so thinly they seemed almost to shimmer rather than sit on his flesh.

At the very center, a tiny flame-shaped sigil shown with a glow, as if the fire were alive but trapped in ink and light.

And the last, he didn't allow Simma to see it clearly. Well, he had it in him to do that.

Simma raised down the infirmary clothes that normally reached the neck as a single mark was there, but it was just a mark that looked like a ship's anchor, normal for everyone that had passed the arena tournament.

Zolomon strode over and touched it, for a brief moment, a flush passed through him, but when Simma asked, he denied.

And rather changed the topic quickly.

"Now that reminds me, here, these are your gifts. Your friends did step by before going to get their chip, and maybe they gave you your chip here," he lied. Since they don't give chips anywhere else except in the echelon chamber.

At those words, he bid Simma goodbye and left, contemplating. cloak trailing like a shadow down the hall.

And as he walked away, his thoughts tangled.

Impossible, he told himself. No one hears their rank before receiving their chip.

But Simma had. But well…

That now answered his question. He was right all along, Simma was not all he seemed to be. Indeed, he was something else, or besides, someone else.