The clearing in the secret plane was a battlefield of shattered earth and smoldering remnants, the air thick with the acrid scent of scorched vines and the faint ozone tang of spent lightning.
Leylin stood concealed in the shadows, his black robe blending seamlessly with the dense foliage, his gaze fixed on the crumpled form of Jayden unconscious, charred, but alive near the edge of the fray.
Before him, Torash raged, his black hair wild, his silver chain glinting as blue sparks crackled between his fingers.
The ground bore the scars of their clash craters, singed patches, and scattered vine fragments—a testament to the violence that had unfolded.
Leylin's lips moved in a low chant, his voice a whisper against the rustling leaves: "Serpent's Shadow!"
Spiritual force surged from his mind runes completing the spell model, threading through the air like invisible tendrils.
From the pool of Torash's own shadow, four—no, five—serpentine forms erupted, their bodies forged of writhing darkness, scales glinting faintly as if carved from obsidian. (Image)
They lunged with vicious intent, fangs bared, their hisses a chilling chorus that sliced through the silence.
Torash, caught off guard, spun with a snarl, his voice booming, "Who dares!?"
Blue current flared across his body, a thin layer that thickened in an instant to a shimmering cloak a centimeter deep. It crackled with raw power, enveloping him in a storm of electricity.
Sssii! The lightning lashed out, meeting the shadow serpents head-on. Where it struck, the dark forms evaporated, tendrils of smoke curling upward as the energy devoured them. Torash's smug grin flashed briefly, his chest heaving with exertion, but it faltered almost as quickly as it appeared. (Image)
From the heart of his shadow, more serpents surged—five, then ten, then twenty—each birthing from the darkness with palpable energy fluctuations, their numbers overwhelming.
Torash countered with his own creation, his electric snake—a coiling, sparking chain—slithering forth to meet them. The clash was a symphony of chaos: shadow and lightning intertwined, hissing and popping as they tore at one another.
The electric serpent overpowered the first wave, shredding them into wisps, but the sheer volume of Leylin's Serpent Shadows pressed the advantage, their relentless assault chipping away at Torash's defenses.
"No!" he roared, his gaze darting toward Leylin's direction—a hooded figure with yellow hair, unrecognizable yet unmistakably the source of his torment. Panic flickered in his eyes, and he broke into a desperate run, boots pounding the dirt.
Leylin's arms swung forward, a green explosive potion arcing from his hand. The vial shattered midair, unleashing a verdant inferno that enveloped Torash in a deafening Boom! (Image)
The blast hurled him backward, his body tumbling through the air like a ragdoll, unable to muster a defense.
"Aahhh!" he screamed as the shadow serpents descended, their fangs sinking into his flesh, coiling around his limbs with merciless precision. Their bites tore through cloth and skin, drawing rivulets of blood that glistened darkly against the scorched ground.
Boom! Torash's defiance flared, a final defensive spell igniting around him. Lightning and thunder erupted in a cacophony, the air trembling with the force of his counterattack.
Blue arcs lashed outward, striking the serpents and scorching the earth, but the spell's recoil ravaged him as much as it protected—his cries of anguish mingled with the crackling storm.
Leylin's smile was cold, a faint curve beneath his hood. 'Serpent's Shadow isn't so easily shaken,' he thought, watching the acolyte's futile struggle. 'Even with defenses, he'll emerge a wreck.'
A dozen seconds later, Torash burst from the fading lightning, charging Leylin with a guttural roar "Argh! I'm going to kill you!"
His appearance was a grotesque ruin—half-naked, his robe dissolved into tatters, his body a canvas of gaping wounds.
Snake bites had carved deep furrows, some exposing bone beneath shredded muscle. One hand dangled uselessly, chewed to a bloody stump held by mere threads of tissue.
His eyes—once sharp with arrogance—were gone, ripped away by the serpents, leaving hollow sockets that wept crimson. Missing flesh marred his face, rendering him a zombie-like specter, yet his vitality pulsed with unnatural tenacity, a mark of his talent as an acolyte.
Leylin stretched his hands, his voice steady: "Shadow Spikes!" The ground rumbled as four jagged spikes of solidified shadow erupted, streaking skyward like dark lances. (Image)
They pierced Torash's three remaining limbs with surgical precision arm, leg, nailing him to the earth with a wet thud.
"Urgh! Urgh!" he gurgled, struggling against the impalement, flesh sloughing off in clumps as his voice faltered into a choked rasp, his throat too damaged to form words.
A hooded figure emerged from the shadows, dagger glinting in hand—Level 3 Acolyte summon, it's body obscured in a coarse large robe.
"Die, motherfucker!" Torash's laugh was a distorted, maniacal wheeze, his ruined face twisting into a grin.
Boom! Lightning surged from his core, violent and uncontrolled, spreading through his body in a blinding cascade.
The energy converged inward, collapsing into a single, radiant point—then exploded. The blast roared outward, uprooting plants, hurling pebbles, and shredding the summon into fragments of cloth and ash. (Image)
Torash perished with a flicker of satisfaction, believing he'd claimed his killer, unaware it was a mere puppet.
From a safe distance, Leylin observed, shaking his head at the cratered pit now marking Torash's grave—charred flesh and fabric scraps littering the edges.
"Crazy guy," he muttered, stepping forward. A round badge clattered near his foot, its once-bright surface dulled by dust and gore.
He nudged it with his boot, a faint smile playing on his lips. "This badge on Jayden will force Dorotte's hand to buy Flourishing Flower for his apprentice, courtesy of being at an Official Magus's hit list."
Jayden lay at the battlefield's fringe, a battered heap but alive, his chest rising faintly with each labored breath.
Leylin's glance confirmed it—no fatal wounds, just misery. 'Still, there are witnesses,' he mused, his gaze shifting to the shrubbery where two figures had watched Torash's demise.
'They've seen my summons, my hand in this. Can't risk them talking—Jayden must be the sole credited killer, or my exit from the academy gets messy.' Exposure as a powerhouse could tether him to Abyssal Bone Forest's scrutiny, thwarting his Rank 1 Warlock plans.
'Plus, this summon is too valuable to waste.'
Torash's essence lingered, a fading wisp above the pit.
Leylin channeled his soulbound power, "Soulbound"—binding the acolyte's spirit to his soul space with a pulse of dark energy.
Then without wasting a second, he unleashed his arsenal, Great Withering Mankestre, Black Horrall Snake, two Level 3 acolytes, and the newly bound Torash, their dark spectral forms shimmering into existence.
Xiu Xiu! The summons surged toward the shrubbery, a relentless tide of death. Two figures burst forth—Silver-Claw Saurun and a blonde acolyte—landing on open ground, their faces grim with realization.
Saurun's silver hand gleamed, his eyes wild with a mix of fear and fury as he faced Leylin. 'Torash a monster rivaling me dead by this acolyte's hand? What power is this?' Regret gnawed at him. "If I'd known, I'd never have tracked him!" he growled to the blonde.
"I'll stall prepare your spell!" His right hand shimmered, scales rippling across the skin, nails curving into wicked claws. A bloodthirsty glint lit his gaze as he stepped forward, shielding her. (Image)
The blonde acolyte fumbled with reagents crushed herbs, a vial of shimmering dust—her dagger slicing her arm to drip blood onto the mix. Her chants rose, a low hum building into a crescendo, magical waves pulsing around her.
Leylin shook his head, unfazed. 'Black Horrall Snake alone could crush most Level 3s. With this lineup—and me, even a whole group of Level 3 acolytes stands no chance.' His summons advanced, without any remorse for the two opposing acolytes.