No one answered Brian. The corridor answered for them.
Brian stepped forward. His breathing was loud enough to hear. He swallowed once, then twice. His Adam’s apple bobbed hard against his throat. He took a step. Slowly, but determined.
He lifted his leg. For a second, it hovered over the silver field, trembling. The lights caught on the sharpened tips and flashed into his eyes. Then he brought it down.
“Tttsssiiiii.”
The sound cut through the air. Metal piercing through flesh.
His body jerked violently. He sucked in air through clenched teeth. His eyes flared red, watering instantly. His jaw tightened so hard the muscles at the sides of his face pulsed. Veins crawled up his neck like cords pulled too tight.
But he did not lift his foot. He pressed down. The spikes sank deeper. A strangled breath escaped him. He shifted his weight forward.
The second foot came down.
“Tttsssiiiii.”
A wet sound followed..Someone behind covered their mouth.
Brian’s fists curled at his sides. His fingers dug into his own palms until the knuckles turned pale. His shoulders shook. For a moment, it looked like he might collapse.
But he didn’t.
He took another step. And another. Each one was slower than the last. Each one forces the spikes deeper into his skin.
At some point his fists tightened fully, nails cutting into flesh.
At another point a broken sound tore from his throat. Then the scream came.
Raw, and uncontrolled.
It echoed down the corridor, ricocheted off the metal walls, and crashed back into them. But he didn’t stop.
He couldn’t stop. He kept moving.
Blood began to follow him. Thin at first. Then thicker. Red dotted the silver. The nails glistened.
Halfway through, his legs buckled. He caught himself with pure will.
Then another step.
His breathing turned into ragged gasps.
Then, another step.
His scream cracked and became hoarse.
Another step.
When he finally reached the other side, he did not step off. He fell.
His body rolled clear of the spikes and hit the smooth floor beyond with a dull thud.
He lay there shaking. The robots entered without sound. Their metal limbs moved with precision. Two lifted him by the arms. Another supported his legs. Blood dripped in a thin line as they carried him away.
No one spoke. The students’ fists tightened. Jaw muscles twitched.
The corridor remained.
Waiting.
One by one, they stepped forward..One by one, they placed their feet down.
“Tttsssiiiii.”
The sound became a rhythm.
Breath.
Pierce.
Shift.
Pierce.
Screams filled the corridor.
High pitched. Deep. Broken. Animal.
But they didn’t stop. They couldn’t stop. They kept moving, crying, and screaming.
A girl stumbled on her third step. The spikes tore through her sole and she collapsed onto her knees. The nails stabbed upward into her flesh. Her cry tore through the air as she forced herself upright again, dragging shredded feet forward.
Another boy bit down on his own wrist to keep from screaming. Blood from his mouth mixed with the blood beneath him.
Theo stepped in. His grin was gone. He placed his foot down without ceremony.
The sound was the same. His head snapped back, eyes squeezing shut, but he pushed forward immediately as if speed could outrun pain. His steps were quicker than the others, reckless. By the middle his breathing was erratic. By the end he was roaring, voice hoarse, but he reached the other side and dropped heavily, chest heaving.
Brandom followed. His first step almost broke him.
He swore violently, then forced the second foot down harder, as if punishing the ground. His arms flexed with every movement. Blood streamed down his ankles, dripping steadily. When he reached the end, he did not fall. He stood for a second, trembling, staring back at the corridor like it had insulted him personally.
Then his knees gave way.
Samuel’s turn. He hesitated only once. Then he stepped.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
The spikes entered. His lips parted but no sound came out. His face was drained of color. He walked like someone underwater, slow and distant, each step deliberate. Tears slid down his cheeks without him noticing. By the time he crossed, his entire lower legs were streaked red.
Newton stood at the edge. His heart pounded so violently it felt as if it was hitting the inside of his skull.
The corridor blurred for a second. His fists clenched. His throat burned from swallowing back fear. His mouth tasted bitter, metallic. He lifted his foot.
The nails looked closer now. Taller. He lowered it.
“Tttsssiiiii.”
His body convulsed.
Pain shot upward like lightning, splitting through bone, climbing into his spine, exploding behind his eyes. His vision flashed white.
He nearly pulled back.
Nearly.
His other foot came down. The second wave of pain collided with the first.
His knees threatened to fold. He forced them straight. He moved. Step by step.
The spikes pierced deeper. The pain sharpened, turned electric, raced toward his brain.
He gasped, chest hitching violently.
Step.
A sound escaped him. Not a scream. Something rougher. His skull felt too tight. His vision flickered. But he kept moving.
He could not stop. He dare not stop.
Somewhere behind him someone was wailing. Somewhere ahead a body collapsed. The corridor had become noise and blood and metal.
He focused on one thing.
Forward.
He took another step.
His hands were shaking so hard he could not feel his fingers anymore.
Then another step. His mind felt like it was splitting open. He thought he was dying.The far end was closer now. The spikes did not thin out.
They did not soften. He stepped off. His body folded instantly.
He hit the ground on the other side, cheek pressing against the cold surface. His ears rang loudly.
He was still conscious. Barely.
The system flashed before his eyes. Blue light. Sharp, and clear.
SYSTEM NOTIFICATION.
YOU HAVE CONCLUDED THE ENTRANCE TEST. NOW YOUR TRAINING BEGINS.
The words burned into his vision.
NAME: NEWTON HILLS
HUMANITY: 70
TOLERANCE: 50
SPEED: 10
NINJA SKILL: 0
NINJI.COIN: 100
I.Q: GREAT.
CPD POINT: 0
The blue glow pulsed once. Then faded.
Robots flooded the corridor. Metal feet stepped through blood without hesitation. They lifted bodies one after another. Some students were unconscious. Some were still screaming weakly. Some did not move at all until shaken.
Blood flowed through the corridor now in thin streams, pooling between the nails, dripping off the tips.
Newton saw it. The red spread over silver. The proof of all of them.
Then, he saw the entrance.
LEVEL ONE.
The words echoed somewhere distant as they were dragged forward.
They passed through another entrance..The environment changed..The walls widened. The air felt colder.
Newton’s head lolled slightly to the side as he was carried. He saw them; students.
Many of them..Dressed in black. Ninja black. Standing in formation.
Silent, and watching.
Among them stood Andy. Still, and unmoving..His gaze fixed on the newcomers.
There was no grin on his face..Just observation.
Newton tried to focus. His vision blurred. The lights stretched into streaks. His consciousness slipped.
Darkness swallowed him.
When he opened his eyes, the ceiling was white. Too clean. Too calm.
He inhaled sharply and tried to sit up. Pain shot through his legs. He gasped and grabbed the nearest hand.
It was warm. It was human. “Where am I?” he asked, voice cracking.
A nurse stood beside his bed. Not metal. Not mechanical. Her uniform was crisp. Her expression was composed.
“You are in the Ninja Academy,” she said with a small smile. The words did not comfort him. He shook his head slowly. “How did I get here and how do I get out of here?”
The nurse’s smile did not fade. She gently eased her hand from his grip.
She turned, and walked away without answering.
The room was filled with other beds. Other students. Bandaged feet..Wrapped legs. Machines beeping softly.
The next day, the robots entered. Their presence swallowed the room’s fragile calm. Each one carried folded black fabric..They stopped beside every bed..Metal hands extended.
“You are to put these on,” the mechanical voice sounded. The black shirts lay heavy in Newton’s lap.
He stared at it for a second. Then he obeyed..One by one, the students dressed.
Bandaged feet sliding into black trousers. Shirts pulled over bruised torsos. Wrists exposed again, coins glowing faintly.
No one asked questions..They had asked before..Answers had not come.
When they were fully dressed, the robot’s voice sounded again. “Follow me.”
And they did.
Newton noticed that there wasn't any single pain on his feet. “What happened to the injuries? What did they give to us.”
They followed the robots across a long stretch of concrete that reflected the afternoon sun like a mirror.
The air outside felt different.
Sharper.
Colder.
Open ground spread before them, wide and disciplined. Lines had been marked across the earth in straight white strokes. Students stood in rows, evenly spaced, feet apart, shoulders squared.
Each one held a wooden sword.
The sound came first.
Wood cutting through air.
Hundreds of blades slicing in unison.
And above them, on a raised metal platform, stood a robot.
“Right!” it echoed.
The voice did not sound like metal grinding through wires.
It sounded old.
Cracked.
Commanding.
The students swung left.
The motion happened instantly. No hesitation. No delay.
Newton froze mid step.
The voice coming from the robot did not match its frame. The machine’s head tilted mechanically, red lenses scanning the rows, but the command had weight. Age. Authority.
Like an old man who had spent decades shouting across battlefields.
Newton’s fingers tightened unconsciously.
He did not ask.
He did not dare.
A robot moved toward their group and dropped a stack of wooden swords at their feet.
The wood was heavier than it looked.
Smooth from repeated use.
Newton bent and picked one up. The handle fit his palm awkwardly. His bandaged feet protested as he stepped into line beside Samuel and Theo.
The rows adjusted to absorb them.
“Right!” the robot echoed again.
This time, the students swung right.
Wood sliced through air.
Newton reacted half a second too late.
His blade lagged behind the rest, cutting space where theirs had already moved past.
A few heads turned.
He corrected himself immediately, aligning his stance, tightening his grip.
The sun beat down on their backs.
Again.
“Left!”
Swing.
“Right!”
Swing.
The rhythm settled into muscle and breath.
After a while, the pain in Newton’s feet dulled into something distant. His arms burned instead. Sweat ran down his temples and into his eyes. No one wiped it away.
The robot’s red lenses glowed.
The old man’s voice never wavered.
For an hour they moved.
Strike.
Step.
Turn.
Strike.
No breaks.
No water.
No mistakes tolerated.
When the voice finally echoed again, it carried finality.
“Dismissed.”
The rows dissolved instantly.
Students lowered their wooden swords in perfect synchronization and began filing out of the ground in silent groups.
Newton exhaled slowly.
His arms felt like lead.
He turned and caught the sleeve of a boy passing beside him.
“Please,” he said quietly. “Where is the restaurant here?”
The boy did not look at him.
He simply lifted his hand and pointed toward a low building at the far end of the compound.
Then he walked away.
Newton turned to the others who had come with him.
“Let’s go and eat.”
No one argued.
They moved together.
The restaurant building looked newer than the one they had known before. The doors were wider. The windows darker. The sign above it displayed no words.
Inside, it was quieter.
Students stood in a single file line. No pushing. No raised voices.
Behind the counter stood a woman.
Not a robot.
Her hair was tied back neatly. Her face showed no expression beyond neutrality.
Above the serving counter, the board glowed.
Five Ninja Points per meal.
Newton’s jaw tightened slightly.
Five.
The previous place had taken two.
He watched as a student ahead pointed at a tray of rice and meat. He stretched out his wrist. The number flickered.
Five points deducted.
The woman placed the food on his tray without a word.
Routine.
Point.
Stretch hand.
Deduction.
Food.
When it was Newton’s turn, he pointed.
He felt the deduction pulse against his skin before he saw it.
He stepped aside and joined the others at a long metal table.
He ate slowly.
But his eyes moved.
The students did not sit randomly.
They sat in clusters.
Tight clusters.
Each group distinct from the next.
No one crossed tables.
No one mixed.
Newton chewed and watched the patterns.
“I guess this is according to the order through which they came,” he murmured to himself.
Samuel followed his gaze.
Theo kept eating.
The door opened.
The shift in the room was immediate.
Chairs scraped.
Feet moved.
A boy walked in.
He was not large in the exaggerated way Brian was. Not overly muscular. Not loud.
He walked with measured steps.
He did not smile.
He did not wave.
He did not acknowledge anyone.
Yet the moment he entered, the entire restaurant stood.
Chairs slid back in near perfect unison.
Heads bowed.
Every single one.
Newton’s eyes narrowed.
He did not rise.
Neither did Brian.
Nor Theo.
Nor Stella.
Newton leaned slightly toward Stella.
“Who is he and why do they bow at the sight of him?”
Stella’s shoulders lifted faintly.
“I do not know.”
Her eyes remained fixed ahead.
Andy, seated at another table in black like the rest, glanced sharply toward them.
He gestured subtly.
“Stand up.”
Brian leaned closer to Andy.
“Who is he?”
Andy’s jaw flexed.
“That is Maxwell. The king of this level. If you want to survive here, you will bow.”
Newton did not move.
Brian did not move.
Theo wiped his mouth slowly and leaned back in his seat.
The room remained standing.
Maxwell paused mid step.
He had noticed.
He turned.
His gaze settled on their table.
Slow.
Measured.
He walked toward them.
Each step echoed louder than it should have.
When he stopped in front of them, the rest of the room remained bowed.
“How dare you?” Maxwell asked quietly. “You saw me and refused to bow?”
Brian stood then.
Not in submission.
He stepped forward.
“How are you,” he said evenly, “and why should I bow to you?”
A faint smile touched Maxwell’s lips.
It did not reach his eyes.
“I guess you are the big mouth among them.”
He lifted his hand lazily.
From behind him, movement erupted.
Boys stepped forward.
Rows of them.
Not ten. Not twenty. But dozens.
They formed a semi circle behind Maxwell..Wooden swords still in some hands. Black shirts uniform and sharp.
Newton counted quickly. Too many. About a hundred.
Maxwell’s smile widened slightly. “Tie thes bastards up.”
Brian did not wait. He lunged forward, fist aimed straight at Maxwell’s jaw.
Two boys intercepted him instantly. One caught his arm. Another slammed a shoulder into his ribs. Brian staggered but drove his elbow backward, catching someone in the throat.
Theo leapt in beside him. Chairs overturned. Tables shifted.
Samuel grabbed a wooden sword from a nearby rack.
The first blow landed on Brian’s back. Wood against muscle. A dull crack. He grunted but swung again, connecting with a boy’s face.
Newton stepped forward, pulse hammering. The hundred closed in..Wooden swords rose..Students who had been seated moments ago now stood frozen, watching.
Then a voice cut through..“You will do well to leave them alone.” Stella stepped forward from another table.
Her eyes burned. She did not bow. Maxwell’s gaze shifted to her.
Silence pressed down for a heartbeat..Then he nodded slowly. “I can see you want war.”
He turned slightly, facing his men fully..“Soldiers,” he called. “Yes, your highness,” the boys responded in one voice.
The sound rolled across the room like thunder.
Maxwell’s lips curved. “Give them war.”
