Jay was already shaking his head at him when Vikram stepped into the hall. His hand moved subtly, a frantic gesture meant to warn him off.
Vikram ignored it.
Without breaking stride, he grabbed Jay by the collar and dragged him forward. The murmur of conversation dulled. Eyes turned. Jay resisted weakly, his face pale, his lips mouthing silent pleas.
He thought Vikram was like the rest. Just another jackal drawn by the scent of weakness.
Vikram didn't bother explaining.
He stopped before a group of six, boys lounging arrogantly across two rows of front chairs like they owned the hall. The one in the center sat with an air of quiet command. His posture was relaxed, but there was weight behind his gaze.
Vikram didn't return the look.
Instead, he reached into his pocket, flicked out a cigarette, and pointed it at the guy sitting farthest from the leader. Then he tossed over his lighter.
The message was clear.
Light it for me.
A challenge. A slap in the face dressed as casual disrespect. In their circles, this wasn't just attitude, it was declaration of war.
Vikram had done this for a reason. He wanted to provoke them. Let them explode, give him a reason to bring down the hammer. He needed a stage, and this was it.
But instead, the guy caught the lighter, stood up, and lit Vikram's cigarette with a servile smile, almost too eager, almost rehearsed.
'What the...'
Vikram's eyes narrowed. He inhaled deeply, letting the smoke linger in his lungs before exhaling in silent frustration. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
He turned to the group leader, the one in the middle, and with a flick of his head, motioned toward the door.
"Leave."
The room tensed. That did it.
The leader's mask finally cracked. A ripple of shame passed through his face, his teeth clenched behind a practiced smile. But even then, he didn't lash out. Instead, he leaned forward and said politely,
"Would you prefer to sit? I can offer you my seat if you'd like."
That stopped Vikram cold.
'Why is he not lashing out at me?'
He took a slow puff, then blew the smoke right into the leader's face. The hall held its breath.
That was spitting in his face without the spit.
Still, no response. The guy swallowed his pride like it was routine. Like he'd done this before.
Don't make me the villain, you bastard... Vikram cursed silently.
He wanted to escalate this into a greater scale, and only then can he release his Trump Card. But now, he had no choice.
He had to put forth his card prematurely.
Without warning, a crushing aura exploded from him.
Vikram's cigarette burned low between his fingers. One last drag, then silence.
Then came the drop.
His cultivation aura unfurled, not gently, not slowly, but like a dam being torn open by ancient rage.
The floorboards creaked. Dust stirred from corners. Windows trembled in their frames.
The change was immediate.
It wasn't just pressure. It was presence. An all-consuming sense that something far beyond human had stepped into the room. Something that shouldn't exist here, among students, among the living.
It came in waves.
The first wave hit like a blunt weapon: a raw, physical force that pressed down on every chest, every ribcage. Students gasped for air as if they'd been suddenly dragged underwater. Their knees wobbled. Some slumped into chairs. A few collapsed outright.
The second wave followed seconds later, sharper, colder. It slid under the skin like invisible blades, digging into nerves and joints. It made even trained combatants wince, their muscles twitching involuntarily. This wasn't pain exactly.
It was threat.
The kind of threat the body reacts to before the mind even understands what's happening. Like standing too close to a wild animal with blood still dripping from its teeth.
And the third wave...
That was the worst.
The spiritual pressure.
It was quiet, but suffocating. Like drowning in silence. Their thoughts slowed. Their souls recoiled. Those with weak spirit roots found their vision darkening at the edges. Students who had always thought they'd one day be heroes now clutched their heads, struggling to remember their own names. Some began weeping without knowing why.
Even those with advanced training felt as though a great hand had reached into their minds, squeezed gently—and reminded them: You are nothing yet.
Vikram stood still.
His posture wasn't combative. He didn't even seem trying to do anything. That made it worse. This wasn't a temper tantrum or an emotional outburst. This was deliberate. Controlled.
Like he was simply bullying a bunch of kids.
The Elites of the class were in no better positions. Their spine bended a little, and their looked as though they had mountains on their shoulders.
This pressure... it wasn't just higher than theirs.
It was not meant for rookies.
Somewhere near the back, a sharp gasp escaped a girl's lips. A few others stumbled back, bumping into chairs as they tried to put more distance between themselves and Vikram.
Who the hell is this guy?
How does a student have an aura like this?
Someone whispered, "Is he even human?"
Among those who sensed it best, Serena and Vold turned their heads sharply from their respective corners. Students gathered around them noticed their sudden silence. Serena's eyes were focused, narrowed, calculating.
Her lips moved. "This... isn't an aura you get from basic cultivation."
Vold stood still, a muscle twitching along his jaw. "It's like a fractured beast and a half-awakened god sharing the same body..."
And still, Vikram didn't speak.
He took one last puff from his cigarette and let the smoke rise above him in lazy spirals. It mixed with the haze of his aura, casting dancing shadows along the ceiling.
Then finally, in a voice cold and indifferent:
"Get out. Or I'll make sure you won't be able to."
It wasn't a threat.
It was a statement.
And somehow, that was far more terrifying.
The group leader lowered his head, not in shame, but in terror. He grabbed his blazer, gestured to the others, and they left, not even daring to look back.
"No... That's not possible. There should not be another Great Power present inside here..."
Once they were gone, the pressure lifted.
Slowly. Like storm clouds fading after a lightning strike.
Vikram's eyes dimmed. The glow of ferocity within them receded like tidewater returning to the ocean. He rubbed his face with a groan.
"Where the fuck are you going, Jay!?" He barked at the boy who had tried to sneak away during the chaos.