The hospital corridor was drowned in darkness. The lights had long gone out; the city's power grid was dead—everywhere except the Academy.
A lone figure walked through the pitch-black hallway filled with fog and a biting chill. The moonlight bleeding in from the windows cast a ghostly, distorted glow over everything.The stranger wore a white T-shirt, blue jeans, his face smeared with dirt. His long ears and slender frame made it clear he was an Elf.
He slammed a jammed door with his crowbar—clearly not someone trained in self-defense.
CLANG!
The door gave way, revealing a scene of pure horror.
A person—no, a human whose body had been parasitized by something demonic. The face was nothing but blood, tentacles, and falling chunks of flesh.In its arms was a newborn infant, its tiny body stained with blood to the point no one could tell whether it was alive or dead. The umbilical cord still hung from its belly.Yet the demon—this twisted parasite—held the baby as though it were its own child.
"Ha… ha…"
The man at the door trembled uncontrollably. His face twisted like he was about to cry. He had lived a long life, done countless filthy things—but he had always feared one thing: suffering children.
He froze like a statue. He couldn't even move a finger. The crowbar slipped from his hand and clattered onto the floor.
A sudden pounding noise echoed. Both him and the creature snapped back to awareness.
He tried to turn and run but tripped after two steps, landing hard. His crotch soaked through, making his pathetic fear even more obvious.The demon didn't move, but its tongue slithered out—long, thin, covered in red nodules and blood.
Before it could react, something struck its head—so hard the grotesque skull snapped backward.The thing that hit it was wrapped in cloth, and as the cloth unraveled, a pure white light spilled out.
The demon screamed—though the sound was mangled, since its throat no longer functioned.The white light swallowed it whole.
Yet even in its final moments, it curled its body around the child, as if shielding its "baby."
The man lying on the floor had no idea what was happening. Relief and fear tangled inside his chest. Whoever had just attacked the demon was absurdly powerful—and wielding holy light at that.He could only pray they wouldn't notice him.
The last thing he ever saw… was a sword plunging down toward him before he could form a single word.
"So all these terrorists… are this pitiful, huh?"
Rack pulled his sword free and turned toward where the light had faded.He quickly reached out, lifting the blood-soaked infant into his arms.With a silent glance at the white ash that remained of the demon, he turned to leave.
…
It was the fourth day of the Inter-Academy Tournament Week.
Everyone carried an air of grief. Many had traveled to the city with their families to enjoy the festival, only to be torn apart forever.
What does it feel like to lose someone precious? Hard to describe—but the people here were drowning in it. Students, civilians, teachers… no one was spared.
Seeing a stranger die might leave one troubled.Seeing many die might stir guilt and fear.But losing family?
That was something else entirely.
In the central district, inside Gate Academy—now the final stronghold of the city—riots broke out. Part grief, part incitement.Teachers, guards, soldiers, and high nobles could only give speeches, promise a hopeful future, and push people to stand against terrorism.Beyond that… they could do nothing.
Watching people try to help one another, offering kindness, giving the grieving even a shred of hope—Rack couldn't help but sigh.
Seventeen years old—a boy still considered far from grown—and yet he felt something stir within him.Not exactly idealism, but seeing people weep, refuse to eat, scream in despair… he still had reason. He still had empathy.
"When I heard about the terrorist attack, I never thought I'd see over ten thousand bodies burned like this."
Jax sat down beside Rack, chewing a potato cake—tasteless, but to him, food was food.
Rack followed his gaze. In the distance, bodies were stacked high, some unrecognizable, some torn apart, some missing entirely, their remains pulled out from inside monsters' stomachs.
They would be cremated together when the chaos settled. Days of mourning ceremonies would follow.
Rack stared expressionlessly. Not because he felt nothing—but because he felt too much to let it show.
"Want some?"
Jax offered him the potato cake. Rack glanced at it and gently pushed it away.
"No, thank you."
"…It's been two days since you ate anything."
"I'm not hungry. Thanks."
"Suit yourself."
Rack stood and walked away. He still felt awkward around Jax—for no real reason except the embarrassment he carried from the last practical exam.
He entered a building full of locked rooms, though many people wandered the hallways. Freedom was all they had left.
Seeing the expressions that had become all too familiar—blank grief, swollen eyes—Rack felt his own eyelids grow heavy.
Ping!
He looked down at his arm as something caught his attention.Leaning against the wall, he stared at the hospital room before him.
…
Meanwhile, at a corner of the battlefield—once chaotic, now grotesquely ruined.
Blood and flesh littered every surface.Within a street, silhouettes clashed violently.
BOOM!
Ten hands—five black, five white—thrust outward toward the surroundings.
It was a terrorist's Gift.The man was panicking, overwhelmed by the razor-sharp slashes tearing through the air toward him.
Clinging to buildings, the white hands merged into metal fixtures, turning them into hardened white weapons.Meanwhile, the black hands coated the terrorist—sticky, burning, like solidified acid.
But none of it mattered.
A fragment of mirror under his feet gleamed faintly, and pale, translucent hands of glass shot upward, gripping his legs.
At the same time, nearby metal rapidly melted and gathered into a single point, forging hundreds of nails—launched straight into him.
Elsewhere, dozens of lightning beams converged. Two small orbs formed, hovering over the area.Static filled the air—heat, pressure, control.
Promet, Emma, and the teachers led the fight, cutting down terrorists, retaking district after district, pushing steadily toward the city's outer edges.But the road ahead was still long.