The academy grounds were a vision of horror. Smoke rose in dark, curling tendrils from the shattered spires, fires licked across fallen stone walls, and the screams of students and teachers filled the air, each one echoing across the battlefield like a chorus of despair. The anti-teleportation barriers shimmered above, keeping the Great Mages from intervening, leaving Takeru and the survivors completely trapped.
Takeru's eyes darted across the battlefield. He saw Kazuki clutching his arm, blood streaming down, his face twisted in agony but refusing to yield. Rika lay on the cracked stone, staff shattered, arm bleeding heavily. Kaelen staggered, trying to fend off the shadow constructs that relentlessly pressed forward. And then… Emiko. She was down on one knee, bloodied, her wind barriers cracked and faltering. A deep sense of déjà vu hit him, but unlike before, it didn't vanish. Instead, it surged, a vivid flash of memory that stung and gnawed at his chest.
"No… not again," Takeru whispered under his breath, feeling the sparks of his latent power flare uncontrollably. Tiny pulses of energy danced along his hands, rippling across his body, but it wasn't enough—never enough. He could feel the raw, untamed power surging within him, just beyond control, aching to break free.
Varok, the Dark Army's middle-hand man, sneered as he watched the chaos unfold. "Pathetic children," he spat. "All of this… for nothing. That boy will fall soon, and then Tenria will burn properly."
But Takeru didn't respond. His focus was elsewhere—on his friends, on Emiko, on the suffering etched into every face. The scene before him was unbearable. His chest tightened, heart hammering. He could hear their cries, their desperate attempts to fight, the screams echoing in a sickening symphony of pain.
Something inside him snapped.
---
Takeru's eyes went black, pupil-less, and his face contorted into a grimace, not of fear but of cold, calculated wrath. The sparks of energy that had danced faintly across his hands now erupted, a storm of chaotic mana spiraling outward, radiating raw, uncontrolled force. Every muscle in his body tensed, and he pressed his palms to his chest. Inside him, the fragment of his shattered Power Gem—buried deep within his body—resonated with his fury.
He shoved every ounce of his mana into it. The fragment, small and jagged, glowed violently, trembling under the assault of his power. Shadow constructs were obliterated in midair, reduced to nothing, their matter atomized as though the universe itself had rejected their existence. The sheer force of his mana made the ground quake and the air tremble, sending debris and blood spraying in every direction.
It was excruciating. A white-hot pain tore through him, raw and unregulated, because there was nothing to contain or modulate the mana now. Every nerve screamed. Every muscle tensed against the force of his own energy. He gritted his teeth, a twisted smile forming as the agony became a strange ecstasy. His body radiated a dark aura, a palpable force that made everyone around him recoil.
Even Varok froze mid-attack, eyes widening in disbelief. "W-what… is this?!" he shouted, the sneer fading into pure fear.
Before anyone could react further, Takeru moved. Faster than the eye could follow, he lunged, gripping Varok by the neck with hands glowing with blackened mana. The sheer force of his grip was overwhelming, bones cracking audibly as he lifted the middle-hand into the air.
"You… dare… hurt them?" Takeru hissed, voice low and monstrous.
Varok struggled, stabbing wildly with his blade. One strike connected, piercing Takeru's shoulder. Both were thrown back violently by the force, rolling across the scorched ground. Takeru's dark aura flared higher, an almost tangible pressure that made everyone around gasp and stumble.
Takeru rose to his knees, laughing—not a normal laugh, but a deep, chilling sound that echoed over the battlefield. "Hahaha… this… this is what happens… when you hurt them!" His voice resonated, thrumming with raw power that made the bloodied ground tremble.
---
He extended both hands, and the air itself seemed to respond. Mana twisted and hardened, forming sharp, crescent-shaped blades that spun in arcs through the air, slicing anything caught in their path. They weren't ordinary weapons—they were air blades, ethereal and precise, half-curved, slicing through constructs and shadow soldiers alike. The shards of energy cut, shredded, and vaporized, sending shockwaves across the battlefield.
Varok tried to defend, swinging his jagged blade, but it was meaningless. The first air blade sliced through his armor, severing his shoulder and sending him skidding across the ground. Another blade cut his leg, tearing through muscle and bone. He tried to rise, but Takeru's control over the chaotic mana was absolute. Every movement of his hand created more air blades, each sharper, faster, and more lethal than the last.
The sight was unlike anything anyone had ever seen. Students and teachers, though terrified, watched in disbelief as Takeru's power reshaped reality in bursts of raw, uncontained energy. Blood splashed across the scorched stones, coating the ground, walls, and remaining constructs. The battlefield was soaked in gore, yet none of the students or teachers died—miraculously—but every one of them could feel the terrifying scale of what Takeru was capable of.
---
Finally, Takeru's hands formed a sword of pure mana. Its blade shimmered with raw, violent energy, each edge a fracture in reality itself. He swung with deliberate precision, striking Varok squarely. The sword cut through armor, flesh, and bone, slicing the middle-hand into pieces, scattering him across the field in a gruesome display. Blood sprayed in all directions, some splattering over the remaining shadow constructs and the surviving students.
The dark aura surrounding Takeru grew, a storm of chaotic energy radiating outward. Sparks of his former control mingled with this new, terrifying power, creating waves that pushed back the army. Varok, though dismembered and bleeding, began regenerating due to dark enhancements, only to be shredded again by Takeru's relentless barrage of mana weapons.
The battlefield was a whirlwind of energy, destruction, and raw emotion. The screams of the Dark Army mingled with the terrified gasps of the students. Teachers struggled to maintain control, their protective spells faltering against the overwhelming power of Takeru's unleashed mana.
He laughed again, dark and unrestrained, as he shaped a new sword of mana and cleaved Varok repeatedly, reducing him to nothing more than scattered particles in the wind. The ground itself was scorched, pools of blood mixed with mana residue spreading outward.
Through the chaos, Takeru's eyes softened for a fleeting moment as he glimpsed Emiko. She was on her knees, breathing heavily, her hands trembling as she clutched a bloodied arm. His mind flashed with protective memories, and then he refocused on the destruction in front of him.
The battle continued, the Dark Army faltering under the unrelenting power of a Takeru completely unhinged, yet no one among his friends or teachers died. They were injured, bloodied, and traumatized, but alive—watching in awe and fear as Takeru became something beyond human comprehension.
As the sun sets, Takeru stands amidst the battlefield, dark aura swirling, mana sparks dancing violently across his body. Varok is no more than particles scattered across the ground. The students and teachers, battered and bleeding, look on, understanding that Takeru has changed, and that the next fight will be nothing like anything they've ever experienced.
The academy is left in ruin, blood everywhere, chaos settled into a grim silence, and Takeru, laughing, dark aura radiating, knows that the real battle is only beginning.