The Devil glared at them.
There was no blood. No dent in her skin. No sign of discomfort. There was not even a smear of dust where Jester's weapon had contacted her temple.
The only change was the expression in her eyes. The Devil was no longer merely annoyed. She was deeply, mortally offended.
She raised a clawed hand and lightly touched the spot where the full force of the [Thunder Blast] had struck. It was a casual, dismissive gesture.
"Cute!" Her voice was a low, dry rasp. Devoid of the previous flirty inflection. "You hit like a child in a tantrum, Little Rogue."
The realization hit Jester like a physical blow. Worse than when she had torn off his arm.
His skills were better. His energy application was enhanced. And the final assault should be powerful enough to instantly kill the Fiend. But against this creature, it was nothing more than an irritating buzzing of flies.
She definitely had much higher level than him. Initiate Transcender like him, a Tier-2 power holder, was meaningless against this level of power.
The Devil retracted her hand. And focused her gaze on Jester. Her eyes were glowing with pure, predatory intent.
"You show potential." She conceded. The compliment sounded utterly venomous. "And that little musical friend of yours is certainly… discordant. But you waste my time. The contract must be fulfilled. And I am already behind schedule."
She didn't need to block or evade anymore. She knew Jester had nothing left in his arsenal that could genuinely harm her.
She raised both her hands. The deep darkness that had been residual around her now coalesced rapidly. Taking on physical form. It wasn't an energy sphere this time. But twin scythe-like blades of pure void energy. Crackling with dark power.
"We need a new plan." Jester muttered. His smile was finally slipping into a grimace. "One that doesn't involve hitting her with things."
The Devil launched herself forward. Moving with a supernatural grace that belied her size. The twin void-scythes cut through the air. Aimed for the fundamental beheading. Targeting... Jester.
"Too late for planning, Smartass!" the Devil snarled.
The Devil launched herself forward. The twin void-scythes were crackling with dark power. They cut through the air where Jester's head had been a second before.
Jester slammed his left foot down. Activating [Sprint!]. His body became a blurry streak. Zipping backward with impossible speed. Leaving the deadly blades to carve the air in front of him.
"Smartass? Wow, you know my honorable title?" Jester's voice was a casual affront. Echoing from several meters away. His wide, unsettling grin was back. "Thanks for the praise, Little Imp. But I don't like smelly girl. Though I appreciate the effort."
The Devil spun. Her golden eyes were narrowing to slits. "Annoying Brat!" She lunged again. Covering the distance with supernatural grace.
Jester had anticipated her move. He didn't just sprint to evade this time. He threw himself into a tight roll sideways. Simultaneously activating [Shrink!].
His body was compressed. Becoming no larger than a child's toy. Allowing him to squeeze through a gap between two collapsed stone slabs. One that no normal human could hope to pass. The scythes crashed into the slabs. Sending rocky debris flying.
"Bad aim, Smelly Girl!" Jester chirped from the other side. His voice was more high pitched. But, it was still audible.
He bounced on the his feet. A tiny, agile target darting among the debris. "Are all you mutated demons this terrible at aim? Or is it just you?"
The Devil snarled. Her patience was wearing thin. This wasn't a fight. It was a maddening game of cat and mouse. And she was the predator being made a fool of.
Every precise and deadly attack was met with an impossible evasion. A cartoonish disregard for physics that grated on her demonic senses.
She shifted her weight. Preparing a wider, sweeping strike. One designed to catch the irritating pest regardless of its size.
While Jester danced on the edge of oblivion, Vale stood still on his ground. Further away. His fingers moved with a raw, desperate energy across the strings of his [Stormlord Lute].
The melodies he played this time weren't the majestic one designed to summon [Chaos Storm]. Or the discordant one to summon [Mental Storm]. This one was... different.
It began with a low, guttural thrum. A sound that seemed to vibrate in the very bones of the listener. Followed by a series of discordant, almost painful plucks. Mixed with melodic tunes and strange hollow percussion.
Notes twisted and contorted. Not forming a harmony. But rather a chaotic symphony of disjunction. Yet also hollow and melodic at the same time. It was the sound of contrastive value.
It wasn't a storm of elements. Nor a storm of mind. But a storm of things not belonging. The air around him began to shimmer. Not with heat or cold. Or mental oppression. But with an unsettling visual distortion. Like looking through warped glass.
His eyes were usually dreamy and distant. But, they were now focused. Intense. Sweat beaded on his brow as he poured every ounce of his last Arcane Energy into the performance.
This wasn't an improvisation. It was a terrifyingly complex composition. One he had composed as an insane idea. Guided by his Soulheart Gear. He knew it, but never tried it even once. As it was... too dangerous
The composition pushed the boundaries of what he knew about sound. About reality itself. The music amplified. Becoming an unbearable pressure in the air. Time seemed to hesitate. Uncertain of its next beat.
The final, agonizing sustained note reverberated. Then snapped. Vale tore his fingers from the strings. The sound was cut off abruptly. Leaving an echoing silence in its wake. A silence that felt heavier and more profound than any noise.
"Now, Clown! Run away!" Vale yelled. His voice was strained. Raw from the effort. "Everyone! Run away!"
Without waiting for a response, he himself spun on his heel and dashed away. His limbs were pumping. Putting as much distance between himself and the Devil as his legs could carry him. He didn't look back. He just ran.
Jester was still in his shrunken form. He had been just dodged another void-scythe that would have bisected a full-sized human. He heard Vale's shout. Saw him bolt. And a primal instinct, honed by weeks in Toonworld, screamed at him to follow suit.
He un-shrunk himself mid-stride. Reactivating [Sprint!] and pushed his legs to their absolute limit. He didn't know what Vale had cooked up. But that music had felt… wrong. Deeply, fundamentally wrong.
He had barely taken two steps when it happened. A rip. Not in the fabric of the building. But in the unseen fabric of space itself. An iridescent, swirling vortex. Pitch black at its core.
It bloomed into existence just a few meters behind the Devil. It was small at first. Perhaps half a meter in diameter. But it expanded with horrifying speed. Growing into a gaping maw that pulsed with an unholy hunger.
This was Vale's... [Spacetime Storm]. It wasn't just a storm. It was a tear. A wound in the very world. A... black hole.
The air shrieked as it was violently compressed and then sucked inward. A furious wind instantly sprang up. Spiraling around the nascent black hole. Gathering strength. Turning into a howling maelstrom.
Dust, grit, leaves, loose things, and smaller debris were the first to be snatched. Accelerating... being sucked into the abyssal maw. The sound was deafening. A monstrous gasp from the realm itself.
The Devil was caught completely off guard. She stumbled. Her aura of darkness, which had shrugged off everything else, rippled. And distorted under the bizarre spatial pressure.
She clawed at the air. Trying to anchor herself. But the sucking force was immense. Unrelenting. The black hole continued to grow. Its radius was widening. Its gravitational pull was intensifying exponentially.
Then the heavier objects started to go. Broken pieces of desks. Shattered doors. Chunks of concrete from the blasted wall... all were ripped from the ground. Soaring inward like reverse projectiles.
The charred corpse of the Fiend, Rex, which had been lying forgotten, was abruptly yanked skyward. Spinning wildly before vanishing into the darkness. The dead demons nearby followed. Their forms dissolved into nothingness the moment they touched the event horizon.
Jester felt the pull. A sudden, powerful drag on his entire body. His [Sprint!] was no match for this. His eyes darted frantically. Searching for an anchor.
His gaze landed on a massive, structural pillar. Part of the main school building. Still mostly intact despite the battle. It was covered in cracks. But held firm.
The power of his [Sprint!] was defeated. Losing against the black hole's suction. He was airborne. Being inexorably drawn towards the void.
Without hesitation, Jester extended his left arm. Focusing all his will and Glitch energy into [Stretch!]. His arm elongated. Stretching impossibly. Thin as a rubber band. But with the tensile strength of steel.
His hand clapped against the rough stone of the pillar. His fingers were locking around it with a desperate grip. The sudden jolt nearly dislocated his shoulder. But he held. He was a human slingshot. Straining against the immense suction.
Vale, however, hadn't been so lucky. He had been further from the pillar. He had gotten a good head start. But he had no speed up bonus. And his [Spacetime Storm] had expanded faster than he'd anticipated.
Its hungry maw was now encompassing a far wider radius than he had calculated. He was pulled off his feet. Flailing. He saw Jester anchor himself. Saw the impossibly long arm.
"Clown!" Vale screamed. His voice was ripped apart by the gale. He was spinning. Tumbling. His feet was already nearing the inky blackness.
Jester saw him. His body was still stretched taut. His left hand was glued to the pillar. He had to react. Fast.
He extended his other arm, the right one. The one holding his weapon. Simultaneously, he willed his [Thunder Nunchaku] to stretch as well. The arm and the nunchaku elongated further. Rubberizing.
He flung the end towards Vale, who was now very close to the blackhole. His shoes were beginning to fray at the edges. Dissolving into nothingness.
"Grab on!" Jester bellowed. His voice distorted by the wind. But it was carrying a desperate urgency.
Vale, with a look of pure terror, managed to twist his body. Reaching out with his right hand. His fingers, miraculously, closed around the impossibly stretched nunchaku. His knuckles white with strain.
The force was tremendous. Threatening to tear his arms from their sockets. He was a human kite. Caught in the eye of a cosmic storm. Held by a single thread.
The Devil, meanwhile, had been consumed. She fought, of course. A flash of black energy. A desperate lunge with void-scythes. But the black hole cared nothing for power or will. It was an absolute force. And she was swallowed whole. Disappearing without a sound.
The moment the Devil vanished, the [Spacetime Storm] began to destabilize. Vale's energy used to fuel it had been depleted. The swirling vortex began to shrink. Contracting rapidly. Faster than it had appeared.
The suction lessened. Then vanished entirely in a violent, inward popping sound. Like a compressed universe exhaling.
The calm that followed was jarring. The wind died down instantly. Dust and debris, no longer pulled, simply dropped to the ground.
Silence descended. Thick and oppressive. Broken only by the distant sounds of battle still raging further within the Academy.
Jester was released from the immense tension. He recoiled. His [Stretch!] effect ended. His arms snapped back to normal length. He landed hard on his feet. But kept his hold on the nunchaku, which was still gripped by Vale.
Vale, no longer suspended, fell to the ground with a soft thud.
Jester rushed to his friend. Vale lay on his back. His eyes were wide. Staring at the sky. His body was intact. Mostly. His torso, arms, head. But his legs… they weren't there.
Below the knees, there was nothing but mangled flesh and bone. Gushing blood onto the shattered ground. The black hole had severed them cleanly. Precisely. As if done by a surgeon's blade.
"Bard!" Jester cried. His usual jovial mask cracking. The amount of blood was horrific. It was pouring out. Painting the ground crimson. Even with his Toonworld experience, this was a savage sight. He knew how quickly a person could bleed out.
He reached into his inventory without a second thought. Pulling out a [Recovery Cabbage]. It was a bright green, unassuming vegetable. Looking utterly out of place amidst the carnage. He ripped off a large leaf. Stuffing it into Vale's mouth.
"Eat it! Now!" Jester commanded. His voice was sharp with urgency.
Vale was still in shock and pain. He choked slightly on the rough leaf but chewed it instinctively.
The effect was immediate. The arterial spray lessened. Slowed. And then stopped entirely. The mangled flesh began to knit. To close. But no new bone or tissue formed.
His legs were still gone. His amputated stumps of legs were now scarred over. Raw but no longer bleeding. The process was agonizingly quick. But also... incomplete.
Jester stared. Relieved that the bleeding had stopped. But also horrified by the gaping absence.
Vale, however, seemed to have already processed it. He sat up. Pushing himself with his arms. Looking down at his missing limbs with a strange, contemplative expression.
"Well..." Vale finally said. A faint, almost detached smile touched his lips. He lifted his hands. Flexing his fingers. Then he looked at his [Stormlord Lute] lying nearby.
"My hands are still here. My fingers are still here. I can still play music." He looked at Jester. His green eyes were still holding that familiar, daydreaming gaze. As if this was just another peculiar note in life's grand symphony.
"It's fine, Clown. It's fine."
Jester could only gape. His friend had just lost his legs. Brutally. Painfully. And his first thought was of... his music. The sheer, unyielding dedication. The casual acceptance of a life-altering injury...
They were both awe-inspiring. And deeply unsettling.