The transit field dissolved, leaving Rhys standing on hot, black rock. The air was thick with the smell of sulfur and burning stone, and the heat was a physical wave that hit him even through his robes. He took a quick, assessing look around.

He was on a small, jagged island made of dark, volcanic rock. A river of glowing, orange lava flowed sluggishly nearby, casting an ominous, flickering light on the surroundings. In the distance, across narrow, precarious bridges of cooled lava rock, other islands rose from a sea of molten fire. High above, the simulated sky was a perpetual, angry twilight, choked with thick clouds of black ash. This was Sector Delta, the arena for the second round.

Around him, ninety-nine other combatants materialized, scattered across the island and the nearby bridges. The brief moment of disorientation was even shorter this time. The survivors of the first round were veterans now.

Chaos erupted instantly, but it was a more calculated chaos than the jungle free-for-all. Some combatants immediately formed pre-arranged groups, their matching insignia flashing as they moved to secure strategic positions. Others, like Rhys, melted into the shadows of the jagged rocks, seeking cover to observe. A few lone powerhouses simply charged, eager to rack up early points by eliminating the weak.

Rhys moved quickly, his form a grey blur against the black rock. He found a high vantage point, a jagged spire overlooking the central part of their starting island and the bridges connecting to the others. From here, he could see the layout and observe the initial movements.

Five glowing beacons pulsed in the distance, one on each of the major islands. These were the Control Points. The largest, most central island held the primary point, already contested by several powerful groups. The other four were scattered on smaller, surrounding islands.

He scanned the combatants, looking for his primary targets. He spotted Korvak almost immediately. The Kr'yll berserker was impossible to miss. He was a mountain of muscle and grey, rock-like hide, wading into the thickest fighting near the central bridge, his massive fists shattering rock and opponents with equal, brutal force. His roars of rage echoed even over the low rumble of the lava flows. Rhys made a mental note to avoid that area entirely for now.

He then searched for Jaxon. He found him easily. The Azure Sky Palace disciple stood near the edge of their starting island, surrounded by a group of about ten other combatants who were clearly deferring to him. Jaxon looked disdainfully at the chaotic fighting, making no move to join in. He was waiting, likely planning to make a decisive move for the central Control Point once the initial wave of weaklings had been cleared out. Rhys noted Jaxon's position but kept his distance. Confronting him now, especially with his followers, would be foolish.

Finally, he searched for Lyra'th, the Aethelian Mind-Weaver. He found her moving away from the main group, heading towards a smaller, more isolated island connected by a single, narrow rock bridge. She moved with a strange, gliding grace, her slender form almost ethereal in the dim, volcanic light. She was clearly following the same strategy as Rhys: avoid the initial chaos, secure an isolated point. She was his first target.

Rhys descended from his spire and began to follow her, keeping to the shadows, his movements silent and unseen. He crossed the narrow rock bridge, the heat rising from the lava sea below making the air shimmer. Lyra'th was already on the small island, near the glowing beacon of the Control Point. She wasn't trying to capture it yet. She was setting up her territory.

He watched as she moved her hands in intricate patterns. Faint, almost invisible waves of psychic energy pulsed outwards from her. The landscape around the beacon began to shimmer and distort. Illusions. She was creating a psychic maze, a trap for anyone who tried to approach the Control Point.

Rhys knew he had to act quickly, before her defenses were fully established. He couldn't risk a direct mental confrontation; revealing his own psychic defenses was too dangerous. He needed a physical approach, something fast and decisive.

He looked around. The small island was unstable. Small geysers of steam hissed from cracks in the rock, and pools of bubbling mud dotted the landscape. He saw his opportunity.

He circled around, keeping low, until he was positioned near a large, bubbling mud pool between Lyra'th and the Control Point beacon. He waited, perfectly still, his aura completely suppressed.

Lyra'th finished weaving her illusions. She turned towards the beacon, ready to claim it. As she walked, her path took her close to the edge of the mud pool.

Rhys acted. He focused his will, not on an attack, but on the ground itself. He used a tiny, focused pulse of his Earthshaker ability, aimed directly at the unstable edge of the mud pool near her feet.

The ground gave way with a soft squelch. Lyra'th let out a small cry of surprise as her foot slipped, her balance momentarily lost.

In that single moment of distraction, Rhys moved. He didn't use Low-distance Jump. He just pushed off with his legs, his speed a blur. He crossed the distance between them in an instant.

He didn't draw his sword. He didn't form a Twilight Edge. He used his newly modified skill: Radiant Pulse.

He slammed his open palm onto her back. A controlled, focused pulse of pure white light erupted from his hand. It looked like a simple, if powerful, Light-based Qi strike. But the impact carried the full, devastating kinetic force of his original Spark Fist.

Lyra'th's body arched, a silent scream on her lips as the force shattered her spine and overloaded her energy channels. Her psychic illusions flickered and died. She collapsed to the ground, unconscious or dead, her identification chip automatically ejecting beside her.

Rhys calmly picked up the chip, securing his first points. He glanced around. No one had seen. The chaotic battles raging on the other islands had provided perfect cover. He had eliminated a major threat quickly, cleanly, and without revealing anything beyond his carefully constructed cover identity.

He didn't linger. He didn't capture the Control Point. Holding it alone would make him a target. Instead, he quickly crossed back over the rock bridge and disappeared into the network of volcanic tunnels that riddled the main island.

For the next few hours, Rhys played a game of cat and mouse. He moved through the tunnels, using his acute senses to avoid larger groups and patrols. He would emerge occasionally to observe the battles for the Control Points. The central point was a constantly shifting warzone, changing hands every few minutes between Jaxon's group, Korvak (who seemed to be fighting alone, simply smashing anyone who came near), and a well-organized team from a guild Rhys didn't recognize.

Rhys focused on the secondary points. He found one on a high plateau that was being contested by two smaller groups. He waited patiently until they had weakened each other. Then, using stealth and his Radiant Pulse, he quickly disabled the exhausted survivors from both sides, captured the beacon just long enough for the points to register, and then vanished back into the tunnels before reinforcements could arrive.

He repeated this pattern twice more, capturing isolated points for brief periods, accumulating a steady, if unremarkable, score. He prioritized survival and stealth above all else. He took calculated risks, always ensuring he had an escape route.

The simulation threw hazards at them. Sudden lava surges would flood lower tunnels, forcing combatants into the open. Minor eruptions would rain down burning ash and rock, making certain areas temporarily impassable. Simulated Lava Hounds, beasts made of molten rock and fire, would periodically emerge from the lava sea to attack anyone near the shores.

Rhys navigated these dangers with ease. He used the lava surges to cut off pursuers. He used the cover of ash falls to move unseen. He even managed to lure a particularly persistent group of hunters into the path of a Lava Hound pack, letting the simulated beasts do his dirty work for him.

He had a brief, unavoidable encounter with Korvak. He stumbled into the Kr'yll berserker in a narrow tunnel. Korvak, recognizing him from the clearing earlier, roared and charged, his fists like battering rams. Rhys didn't try to fight him head-on. He used his agility, dodging the furious blows, leading the berserker on a chase through the twisting tunnels. He deliberately collapsed a section of the tunnel behind him using a focused Radiant Pulse, trapping Korvak in a dead end, and then slipped away. He had confirmed Korvak's overwhelming strength, but also his predictable, easily manipulated rage.

As the twelfth hour approached, the final announcement came: the safe zone would shrink to the central island in fifteen minutes. All other islands would be consumed by rising lava.

Rhys checked his score on his data chip. He was in the top twenty, but probably not the top ten. His hit-and-run tactics had kept him alive, but hadn't earned him enough points. He needed one final push.

He headed towards the central island. The fighting here was intense. Jaxon's group still held the main Control Point, a fortified position atop a small volcano cone. They were under siege from the remnants of the mercenary guild and a few desperate, powerful individuals. Korvak was rampaging through the lower slopes, seemingly attacking everyone indiscriminately.

Rhys didn't go for the main point. That was suicide. He observed the battle from a distance, looking for an opportunity. He saw that Jaxon had established a smaller, secondary defensive position near one of the bridges leading off the central island, likely to guard their flank. It was held by only three of Jaxon's followers.

That was his target.

He waited until a massive explosion from the main battle drew everyone's attention. Under the cover of the distraction, he used Shadowed Dive, his form a black blur that crossed the open ground in an instant.

He appeared behind the three defenders. Before they could react, he struck. Three quick, precise chops to the back of their necks. They collapsed, unconscious.

He stepped up to the secondary beacon and placed his hand on it. The light shifted from Jaxon's faction color to neutral, then to his own. Points began to tick rapidly onto his score.

He didn't stay. He knew reinforcements would arrive any second. He grabbed the three identification chips from the unconscious disciples and used Low-distance Jump, teleporting away just as a furious Jaxon, his golden robes scorched, appeared on the rise, his eyes blazing with anger. Jaxon saw the captured beacon, saw his fallen followers, but Rhys was already gone, vanished back into the chaos.

Rhys found a deep, hidden lava tube on the edge of the shrinking safe zone and waited. He watched his score update on his chip. The points from the final capture, combined with the elimination points from Jaxon's followers, had pushed him into eighth place.

The final timer counted down. Zero.

"Trial complete," the synthesized voice echoed across the now-silent volcanic island. "Calculating final scores. Top ten combatants confirmed. Prepare for extraction."

A shimmering portal opened in the center of the island. Rhys walked towards it, allowing himself a small, weary sigh. He kept the pained expression on his face, favoring his "injured" shoulder. He had done it again. He had survived. He had advanced. And most importantly, he had kept his true power hidden. He stepped through the portal, leaving the simulated inferno behind him.

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