Noel hung from Lereus’s grip, feet barely touching the ground. His vision swam, his lungs burning for air. Every instinct screamed to fight, but his body was already failing.
Lereus leaned in, breath calm, tone almost warm.
"Oh, it was fun," he said softly. "But now I’m more hungry, you see... all that blood I had to waste because of you."
His smile widened, eyes glowing with hunger.
"Bon appétit."
Noel barely registered the movement.
A sharp pain exploded through his upper arm—Lereus had plunged a clawed finger deep into his right bicep, twisting slowly as if savoring the sensation.
Noel gasped.
His body spasmed.
Then came the drain.
It was unlike anything he’d felt. Not just bleeding—his blood was being pulled out, thread by thread, as if every vein were unraveling.
He felt it leave him.
His warmth, his strength, his color—everything was being stripped from him.
Draining away.
He vomited blood.
It hit the floor with a sickening splatter.
Lereus moaned softly, as if tasting fine wine.
"Delicious."
And then—he let go.
Noel dropped like a puppet with its strings cut, hitting the floor hard. His arm hung useless, blood still dripping from the puncture.
He couldn’t move.
But in his eyes—there was no fear.
Only hate.
Lereus licked the blood from his fingers with a sigh of satisfaction.
Then paused.
His hand twitched.
His breath hitched.
A tremor passed through his frame as he dropped to one knee, clutching his mouth.
His smile vanished.
Something was wrong.
"Wh... what is this...?"
His eyes lifted—shaky, wide.
And there, just a few feet away, Noel was still alive. Barely.
He knelt on one knee, the other arm dangling limp at his side. Blood still dripped from his mouth, his wound, his clothes.
But in his good hand, he held a small glass vial filled with glowing green liquid.
He uncorked it slowly.
And drank it all in one motion.
Lereus stared in disbelief, coughing now, dark fluid rising to his lips.
Noel wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
His voice came out hoarse, low, and ragged.
But unmistakably clear:
"Surprise, bitch."
The old wooden doors at the far end of the third floor exploded inward with a deafening BOOM, splinters flying across the room like shrapnel.
Dozens of professors stormed in, robes swirling, wands and casting sigils glowing in their hands. Magic surged in the air—fire, wind, earth, arcane pulses—all crackling, ready.
At the center of them all stood Director Nicolas Von Aldros.
His eyes scanned the scene once—sharp, calm, merciless.
And then he saw it.
The demon, or let’s say Lereus.
His once-pristine form was failing now. His skin—blackened and veined—looked sickly and brittle. His body twitched, pulsing with unstable mana. His smile was gone. His claws trembled.
He looked... decaying.
From the ground, Noel glanced at the doorway with a bloodied smirk.
’Took you long enough. Fuck’s sake.’
Lereus let out a broken gasp as he stumbled to his feet.
His claws curled. His eyes flared with raw hatred.
"SHIT!!!" he screamed, voice cracking. "NOT AGAIN! NOT AGAIN! THIS IS YOUR FAULT!"
His body shook violently. Blood—dark and bubbling—ran from his nose, his mouth, the corners of his eyes.
"If I die—YOU’RE COMING WITH ME!"
With a final burst of rage, he charged at Noel—madness in his gaze, steps unstable, breath ragged.
But he never made it.
A searing flash of blue-white light split the air.
CRACK!
A bolt of pure energy struck Lereus clean through the chest, lifting him off the ground. The impact flared through his body like a rupturing core—blood and steam spraying from the wound.
Behind the fading trail of lightning stood Director Nicolas, hand still raised, his expression as unreadable as stone.
Lereus collapsed to his knees.
His vision blurred, his strength failing.
Then—through the haze—he saw movement.
Noel.
Still conscious.
Barely.
Lifting his good arm with effort.
He raised his middle finger.
And with a final whisper, met Lereus’s eyes:
"Fuck you."
That did it.
Lereus roared in fury—
Then spasmed.
Collapsed.
And didn’t move again.
Noel’s body gave in.
He slumped backward onto the bloodstained floor, eyes half-open, breath shallow and uneven.
Everything was distant now.
The noise. The movement. The voices shouting around him.
He couldn’t feel his arm. His chest burned. His vision had narrowed to a tunnel of gray and flickering light.
But something still worked.
The system.
A faint blue glow flickered in his mind—calm, clinical, detached from the chaos around him.
[Mission Complete: Save the students and uncover the truth]
[Act II Completed – Congratulations!]
[New rewards available]
[Claim now?]
[Good luck in the next Act.]
And then—
Darkness.
The battle was over—but the aftermath had just begun.
As Lereus’s corpse began to wither and crumble, the professors quickly spread out, checking the structural integrity of the floor and hurrying to the chained students.
Spells lit the room—Light Orbs, Barrier Wards, Purification Fields—a coordinated effort to stabilize everything.
Some of the professors conjured floating stretchers.
Others focused on cutting the bindings off the unconscious students, catching them gently before they collapsed.
Then the next wave arrived.
A group of Class S students, dressed in their winter cloaks, rushed in behind the professors. They had been called as backup in case the situation escalated.
It had.
And now, they moved without hesitation.
Marcus immediately went to help Garron, who had deep cuts on his side. Clara channeled Water Cleanse over the unconscious elven girl. Even Selene joined—casting defensive barriers in case of a secondary threat.
But Elena ran straight to Noel.
She dropped to her knees beside his limp body, hands already glowing with healing light.
"Noel... Noel, stay with me," she whispered, voice cracking.
He didn’t answer.
His skin was pale. One arm hung unnaturally. His chest rose, but barely.
She pressed her hands to his wounds, and her mana surged outward.
"Come on," she breathed. "You idiot... you weren’t supposed to do this alone."
Tears welled in her eyes, but her focus never broke. Her healing magic grew brighter.
’Just hold on a little longer.’