When the angel's talons raked across her forearm, she screamed before being grabbed by the throat and pinned to the ground. By the time the examiner called for a stop, her face had turned purple from suffocation.
When they carried her out, she kept crying—not because of the pain, but because she couldn't accept it.
The third, the fourth, the fifth...
Isaac stood in the line, counting them one by one.
Fifty-three people went in. Only seven walked out on their own; the rest were carried out.
"Isaac."
The examiner called his name.
He took a deep breath and walked into the combat zone.
The door behind him slammed shut with a bang.
The combat zone was quiet. Searchlights overhead illuminated the entire area, and directly across from him stood a humanoid figure—his opponent.
Bad luck. It wasn't a puppet, but a captured angel.
The angel looked at him as though he were a sheep waiting for slaughter.
"What's your name?" the angel suddenly asked, its voice hoarse like a rusted iron door.
Isaac did not answer.
"Human," the angel suddenly said. "Do you know what you're doing? You're using the power we bestowed upon you to kill us?"
Isaac still did not answer.
He remembered that basement. He remembered his wife and child being vaporized by holy light. He remembered the family photo with only half of it left.
"Begin," the examiner's voice came from behind the observation window.
The angel moved.
Fast!
Faster than anything Isaac had ever seen. It crossed ten meters in less than a second, its hand slicing straight toward Isaac's throat.
Isaac did not retreat.
He immediately twisted aside, letting the strike tear open his left shoulder, then drove a fist into the angel's ribs.
He put all his strength into that punch, focusing