Excellia Academy
"Bang!"
"Clang....Clang...."
"BOOOOM!"
The sky above the academy fractured with every collision.
Heather's greatsword slammed against Beball's rapier, the impact sending sparks cascading like falling stars.
Each swing he made carried enough force to crush a mountain, yet Beball met them with effortless precision.
"Weak..." Heather pressed.
"I'm only performing to his lord Paimon's standards," Beball replied calmly, his rapier flicking forward.
A blur slash threatened Heather.
He twisted, barely grazing him in time.
The force still pushed him back, boots scraping against empty air.
Above-
A lance tore through the space he had just occupied.
Abalam, the other lady servant of Paimon, descended.
Her strike split the air, the shockwave alone forcing Heather further back.
Below them..
"Tch— Lucky shot!"
Zmey burst out from the rubble of a shattered wall, launching herself upward. Her gauntlets glowed, heat radiating from the metal as she drove forward.
He met Abalam head-on again.
"BOOM!"
Fist against lance.
"Round Two Bitch!"
The collision sent a shockwave rippling outward, strong enough to rattle the entire courtyard below.
Students scattered and started panicking.
Others stepped forward.
"Professors are fighting— we have to help!"
"No, wait—!"
A group of upperclassmen surged toward the battlefield, thrum already gathering in their looms.
Instructors moved to intercept, yet it was already too late.
The moment they crossed a certain boundary, the air and space twisted.
The students vanished....
Then reappeared several meters back, bodies collapsing instantly as they hit the ground.
The instructors ran towards them to get their pulse.
Alive, but they were unconscious.
Panic spread among the rest of the students.
"What just happened?!"
"Someone just died!"
High above, an Aberrant was just enjoying his tea.
Paimon.
With a casual motion, he extended his hand.
The space around the battlefield folded inward, forming an invisible boundary.
Anything that tried to enter. Was rejected and forcefully sent back.
Another student rushed forward in desperation.
It yielded the same result.
Students get teleported back and unconscious before they even hit the ground.
"STOP!"
A powerful gust tore through the area.
Instructor Medley landed between the students and the domain, wind spiraling violently around him.
"No one goes any further."
The air behind him condensed.
A wall of compressed wind wrapped around the distorted space, sealing it off completely.
"Sir, we have to help them!" one student shouted.
"It's futile," Medley cut in.
"You'll die a needless death before you even reach them."
His gaze swept across the school staff.
"Evacuate the students who got attracted by the commotion."
The professors nodded.
"Back to the dormitories. The security formations there will hold. Move!" the security team barked.
Instructors began pulling students away, some resisting, while others were shaken into silence.
"But, my friend is there!"
"The professors know what they're doing, you don't. Go!" one instructor said firmly, dragging them back.
The courtyard emptied in waves.
Back Above.....
The fight never stopped.
Heather surged forward again, greatsword cleaving through the air.
This time, Beball met it head-on but was sent flying as a result.
"CLANG!"
Zmey rejoined from the side, intercepting Abalam once more. His gauntlet locked onto her lance, halting it for a fraction of a second.
"Now!"
Heather moved instantly.
His blade came down with full force
Abalam twisted, barely avoiding a direct hit, yet the shockwave still caught her.
It carved a deep gash across her abdomen, sending her reeling back through the air, a trail of blood following in her wake.
Above them, the sky fractured once more under the strain of their clash.
"…Surely this level of interference does not constitute a breach of our contract," Paimon said, his tone calm and measured.
"Technically speaking, I am merely acting in self-defense. If anything, it is your side that treads dangerously close to violating it."
Eclair, visibly tired of his theatrics, tapped her finger against the table.
"Thump"
"Thump"
"Thump"
"You invade my nest, take two of my prized students, and still dare to claim that we are the ones on the verge of breaking the pact? "she said coldly.
Paimon offered a faint, almost amused smile.
"Do calm yourself. I assure you, I have no intention of engaging you directly. I am simply… filtering out undesirable participants. A refined performance demands a refined audience."
He turned his gaze toward the distant castle. The royal castle of Apparecio.
Then, as if recalling something trivial, he continued.
"Ah, I neglected to mention. When I employ spatial concept abilities, time itself becomes… distorted."
His eyes drifted downward.
"An instant here may translate to days, even months, for those within."
"That is why your students lose consciousness the moment they attempt to enter. Their bodies cannot reconcile the discrepancy. The influx of temporal information overwhelms them, and they collapse."
He took another sip from his cup.
"Of course, such limitations do not apply to those of sufficient rank."
"Enough," Eclair growled. "I do not care for your explanations."
Her gaze sharpened.
"Send them back. Or else."
Silence fell between them.
They stared at one another for a long moment.
.....
Paimon set his cup down.
"…Very well."
"Beball."
Below, Beball moved as if he had been waiting for that very command. He drove a kick into Zmey, sending him crashing toward Heather before landing gracefully and bowing.
"What is it you desire, my lord?"
"It may be somewhat premature, but let us draw the curtain. Our guest appears rather disinterested in the performance." Paimon said.
"As you wish."
A dark blue aura surged around Beball, his wings spreading wide.
The atmosphere shifted instantly.
Zmey and Heather felt it.
Danger.
Without hesitation, both shifted fully into defense.
Beball raised his rapier before his face and closed his eyes.
Everything went quiet.
The pressure vanished.
Zmey frowned, caught off guard by the sudden stillness.
"…What is he doing?"
Beball disappeared.
...!
In the next instant
He was already behind Zmey, blade aimed precisely at the center of her head.
Heather reacted.
She shoved Zmey aside.
"Slash."
A clean, effortless cut.
"…Huh?"
That was all Zmey managed to utter.
Heather's right arm fell.
Severed cleanly.
Blood poured from the wound like a broken faucet.
"Heather!" Zmey shouted.
"Shut up," Heather snapped through gritted teeth. "I'm fine. I'm the least of your concerns."
His gaze shifted.
"The other one… she's going after the students."
Zmey turned.
Abalam was already moving, descending rapidly toward the barrier at the center.
She landed lightly and looked up toward Paimon.
"With your permission, my lord."
"Granted."
The moment her hand touched the barrier, the space folded, and she was pulled inside instantly.
She was pulled inside instantly.
"NO—!"
Zmey lunged forward.
"BOOOOM!"
Her punch slammed into the ground, carving a deep crater where Abalam had stood.
She immediately turned to the barrier, pressing against it.
Nothing, no response.
"BANG! BANG! BANG!"
Her fists struck again and again, each impact stronger than the last.
Her hands began to bleed.
It did not even ripple the surface.
She looked up, eyes locking onto the table in the sky.
"HEY! Let me in before I turn you into mush!"
Above, Paimon released a soft sigh.
"…You would do well to keep your subordinates on a tighter leash," he said, tone still composed. "Particularly when they exhibit such… rabid tendencies."
Eclair said nothing.
Her gaze still remained fixed on him.
Paimon felt it.
A faint chill ran down his spine.
He stood up and called back to his servant, Berball.
It was good seeing you after a long time. You should really fix your temper.
He covered his mouth, trying to hide his sneer.
"…Otherwise, you will never be like her."
Eclair's hand slammed onto the table.
It turned to ash instantly.
Her pupils vanished, swallowed by blinding light, and her hair crackled violently with lightning.
"You scum…" her voice dropped, cold and sharp, "do not have the right to mention Helle."
Crackle. Crackle.
The sky responded.
Thunder roared as if the heavens themselves were enraged. Bolts of lightning rained down relentlessly toward the academy.
"Headmaster is moving!" Medley shouted.
"Construct a joint barrier above the academy, now! If we fail, everyone dies!"
He barely needed to give the order.
The staff was already moving.
Years of experience with Eclair's violent tendencies kicked in as instructors raised their hands in unison, thrum flaring as they formed a massive, layered barrier over the entire academy.
Lightning struck.
Again.
And again.
Each impact shook the barrier violently, like an impending collapse.
Some instructors coughed up blood, collapsing under the backlash of the strain.
"Hold it!" Medley barked, reinforcing the structure.
"Professor Heather is up there. She'll bring her back!"
Another strike slammed into the barrier.
It flickered.
But held.
Above, Paimon watched, smiling faintly.
"Are you truly willing to break the pact over a mere slip of the tongue?"
"I have eradicated many for far less," Eclair replied, her voice eerily calm.
Paimon's smile deepened.
"Good. Then I trust you will hold unto that grudge until the Great Cataclysm arrives."
He turned slightly, gaze drifting.
"Until then, I shall borrow one of your… treasured pieces."
Thunder roared.
The sky turned white.
For a single moment, night became day.
Eclair unleashed a strike so overwhelming it tore through the heavens themselves—
Yet-
Paimon remained untouched.
Instead, a figure stood before him, wreathed in searing smoke.
A dry cough broke through the silence.
Then-
A weapon fell.
A greatsword, blackened and burning, plunged into the ground below.
Heather.
Barely standing.
His body was charred, skin blackened from the impact. The wound where his arm had been was seared shut, cauterized by the sheer intensity of the strike.
Above, Paimon calmly lowered his hood.
He stepped forward slightly and gave Eclair a refined, elegant bow.
"I am certain that we shall meet again in the near future."
__________________________________________
Back on the Island
Cwal POV
It had already been five days.
The sun rose and fell. The tides came and went.
And I was still here, besides countless empty vials.
Still failing.
The space around me diffused faintly as I extended my thrum outward, attempting once more to stabilize the existence erasure domain.
"…Again."
I exhaled, steadying my breathing before trying once more.
The principle was simple.
Execution was not.
Unlike presence erasure, which only required perfect alignment with myself, the existence erasure domain demanded synchronization with everything within the field.
Every grain of sand.
Every shift of wind.
Every movement, no matter how small.
One mistake and the entire structure unravels.
Behind me, I could hear movement.
Tasora and Waffel.
They had woken up two days ago.
Recovered, at least physically.
Psychologically? Not so much.
Their condition had stabilized after the treatment, though the lingering effects still showed in subtle ways like slower reactions and occasional lapses.
Matt, however, was still unconscious.
He was given the cure on the same day as Tasora and Waffel, and they both managed to wake up by the third day.
He, on the other hand, is still unconscious
I glanced back briefly.
He lay where we had placed him above ground to give him some fresh air.
He was breathing steadily, yet unresponsive.
"…You better wake up soon," I muttered.
I turned back to my work.
....
I stepped toward the shore, eyes narrowing slightly.
The tide was shifting.
The water pulled back further than it should have, exposing more of the shoreline than I had seen in the past five days.
I stopped at the edge.
...
This wasn't normal.
I had been stationed along this shore since the moment we arrived.
Every cycle. Every pattern. I even managed to memorize the rhythm of the waves, the timing of the tides, the way the water advanced and receded like a steady breath.
Because of Matt's impossible training menu, I was forced to observe everything in detail, breaking it down to replicate it for my domain.
This only means one thing.
"…They are coming."