Elara's knees gave way.
She collapsed—slowly, like a puppet with its strings cut. The bladed tendril slid free from her chest with a sickening shlk, blood trailing behind like a dying petal in the wind.
"No—!"
Soren was there in an instant, catching her before her body struck the cold ground.
She felt light. Too light. As if her soul had already begun to drift away.
"Elara! Elara!"
Her eyes fluttered—just barely. Her breath came in shallow rasps.
"Soren…" she whispered, forcing a ghost of a smile. "What an entrance… Is that… khh… your power? And your eye…"
Now wasn't the time to explain. Soren knew that.
"Just hold on,—"
But she shook her head faintly, the smile still tugging at her cracked lips.
"Lyra… I protected her. She ran west… the alley…"
Her fingers twitched, barely lifting toward the direction Lyra had gone.
"Yes, yes. Thank you, Elara. Just save your breath. I'll find help—"
"Soren," she whispered, blinking slowly, "with this much... of what I did… shouldn't you marry me? After all this… I… I didn't think I'd die single."
Soren's breath caught in his throat.
From across the field, Vellian—bruised, bloody, but still conscious—watched them with fury blazing in his eyes.
"All this… all this, just to make you come out," he spat. "What a waste."
But something was off. His eyes narrowed.
Despite the missing left arm… He had something added to him, that eye.
That infernal eye—glowing red with eerie malice.
That wasn't there before.
Vellian's instincts screamed. He couldn't read the situation anymore. But he decided to act.
"Die!"
Vellian's Codex flared violently. From its pages, violet tendrils solidified into spears and launched toward them in a frenzied barrage.
But before they reached—
SHINK.
The spears were severed in a single, clean cut.
A man stood between Soren and Vellian now.
Middle-aged, relaxed posture, expression bored.
On his clothes—emblazoned openly—was the symbol of Black Vow.
Vellian froze.
That insignia…
A Black Vow member?
His mind reeled. Why is a Black Vow enforcer with Soren? Did they betray me? I hired them—why would they side with that cripple?!
The man, unfazed, glanced lazily over his shoulder.
"Interrupting a farewell between two," he said. "Rude, no matter how you look at it."
His tone was laid-back, almost mocking.
High above, through a scope—Hawking observed everything with crystal clarity.
That symbol… Black Vow.
He exhaled resignedly.
"This is above my pay grade."
He began packing up his rifle. This mission just took a turn he wasn't willing to follow.
Lancer on the ground turned his gaze upward, as if staring at his direction.
"So the rat decides to scurry off."
Chills ran down Hawking's spine.
"Black Vow…" Vellian hissed. "Why are you helping him?"
The Lancer didn't bother to answer. It was beneath him to respond to a man like Vellian.
And more importantly—he simply didn't care.
He did what he wanted. Even his Boss conceded to that.
Meanwhile, Elara's eyes began to fade—her breathing growing thinner.
Inside Soren's mind, a voice stirred.
Do you remember when you stored that dragonfire? When you released it… the momentum and power of its breath were still intact…
Greed.
Soren's inner voice cracked with fury. What are you talking about?! Don't you see she's dying?!
Brat. I'm helping you.
You want to keep her alive? There's a way.
Soren froze. There is? Please—anything!
You can store her in my devour space. It will preserve her—suspend her right at the 'current state'. It'll then give you time find a cure.
Hope flickered.
You… can store living things?
Not really. But she's on the border. Her "living" variable is almost gone. That makes her—technically—eligible. It's dangerous. But possible.
Then do it! Please!
I'll warn you: with her inside, you won't be able to use my devour power in battle. My space will be full.
Do I look like I care right now?
Soren's resolve didn't waver.
Then first—you need to empty it.
Right.
The bullet.
The sniper's devastating shot still stored within.
The air around him trembled.
Ruin pulsed once—slow, deliberate.
Then again—faster.
The mana in the air warped. Shadows bent unnaturally toward him. The air whined, pressure mounting.
Vellian stood ten paces away—confused. Uncertain. Eyes wide.
"You… bastard," Soren whispered.
The Eye of Ruin narrowed.
Its spiral deepened—crimson and black.
A soft crack echoed.
Reality twisted.
"You did this to her."
His left foot shifted forward.
His hand dropped.
Release. Let go. Unbind!
A sphere of compressed distortion unraveled—
And then—
"Eat this."
The stored sniper shot—unleashed.
A sound like a thunderclap cracked the air.
SKRREEEEECHHH-BOOOM!
The spiraling bullet tore through space, streaking straight toward Vellian like divine punishment.
Even the Lancer raised an eyebrow.
This guy…He really can absorb and release attacks back. He did it againts Faux. What a conveniently overpowered skill.
But Soren didn't watch the aftermath.
His focus had already turned back to Elara.
"Now," he whispered. "Do it."
"Contain."
The air around Elara twisted—gently, like a black shroud unfolding. Her figure blurred, edges distorting. The aura wasn't violent. It was quiet. Somber.
A cloak of darkness enveloped her…
And swallowed her whole.
Gone.
Lancer's eyes narrowed. What kind of sorcery… is this?
Meanwhile—
The bullet raced toward Vellian.
He couldn't move. Couldn't dodge. Couldn't even scream.
All he could do was watch.
But then—Something shifted.
The air bent inward. Space warped—like a sphere of invisible force collapsed around the shot.
The bullet slowed.
And slowed—
Until it was floating midair, like a fly trapped in syrup. A glint of chrome shimmered from its polished shell, no longer violent, no longer deadly. It hovered, harmless. Silent.
Two figures dropped from the sky, cloaked in a brief ripple of golden distortion.
An elder man with flowing robes and silver-streaked hair.
Beside him—a poised woman in glasses, her dark hair tied neatly, a mantle fluttering behind her shoulders like wings of judgment.
She stepped forward, calm and composed.
And with just two fingers—index and thumb—she plucked the floating bullet out of the air.
The deadly shot had become no more threatening than a paperweight.
She studied it briefly, turning it in her grasp.
"Chrome-alloy," she remarked with mild interest. "No wonder. Even when Father compressed time, it still moved a little."
Soren stared, stunned.
He knew them.
Everyone in Astralis did.
Headmaster Eryndor. And his daughter—Mirelle.
Two of the strongest figures in the entire Academy.
"Lady Mirelle…? Headmaster?"
His voice cracked with disbelief. Then anger surged back.
"Why—why are you protecting him?" Soren's voice rose, raw. "That man tried to kill my sister! He nearly killed Elara!"
Mirelle's eyes narrowed behind her glasses. She folded her arms.
"Instructor Soren. Is that how you address your Headmaster?"
Her tone was crisp. Disapproving.
Eryndor's expression remained unreadable. His eyes, calm as the surface of a deep lake, settled on Soren.
"What happened in our absence is subject to investigation," the Headmaster said. "But now that I am here… regardless of what Vellian has done, he will face trial. Not execution."
"That's outrageous!" Soren snapped. "You weren't here! You didn't see—!"
He clenched his fists. "He hired assassins! He hunted my sister! He nearly killed the one person I trusted to protect her!"
"Instructor Soren, watch your manners." seeing Soren snap at his own father, of course Mirelle feels disapprove about it.
Her eyes flicked toward his glowing crimson eye.
"That eye…"
Eryndor's gaze sharpened as well. He took a step closer.
"Soren Noctis… You possess an active Eye? When did this happen? And where did that eye come from?"
But Eryndor could not sense the demonic essence behind it.
The crimson necklace at Soren's throat—looted from the Crimson Apostle—was a high-grade relic that cloaked all traces of infernal magic.
Mirelle noticed the eye too… but for now, the topic was something else.
Behind two of newly arrived—
Vellian gasped for air, stunned beyond reason. Salvation had fallen from the sky. He couldn't believe it.
He was still alive.
And not just alive—rescued by them.
His mind whirred.
An opportunity.
"Headmaster!" he shouted, staggering to his feet. "You came just in time. Soren—he's the one who's succumb to darkness. Can't you see who's standing beside him?! That man… he's from Black Vow!"
Soren's jaw clenched.
Lancer tilted his head lazily.
Mirelle turned.
Eryndor's brows furrowed.
Silence fell for a heartbeat—just enough to snap like dry tinder.