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The shadow recoiled, a visceral, unnatural flinching of pure darkness, its form pulling back like thick, oily smoke retreating from a sudden and brilliant fire. Adam's grip tightened on his wand, the polished wood biting into his palm, a familiar, grounding pressure against the surreal nightmare unfolding before him. His breath was heavy, a ragged sound that seemed obscenely loud in the profound, suffocating emptiness of the Zona Morta, a silence so complete it felt like a physical weight upon his eardrums. His own pulse was a frantic, hammering drum against the void, a frantic rhythm of life in a place that rejected it. He knew, with a cold, sinking certainty that settled in his bones, that he had only moments, a handful of desperate heartbeats, before the thing regathered its stolen strength.
He raised his wand slowly, every minute gesture deliberate, each movement a painful exercise in control against the tremor of exhaustion and adrenaline that threatened to seize his muscles. His lips moved, shaping the ancient, powerful words, the syllables feeling like lead on his tongue, almost trembling with the effort of their invocation. But his voice, when it came, was carried by sheer, unyielding will, a low, steady force that cut through the dead air, unwavering:
"Revelare Anima: Exile."
The tip of his wand erupted not with a blaze, but with a concentrated, pale white light, thin and intense, a trembling, incandescent thread that lashed out with precision toward the writhing, living ink clinging with vile tenacity to Cho's chest. It was a light that spoke of truth, of banishment, of unmaking. The entity shrieked without sound—an impossible, gut-wrenching distortion of reality itself, a vibration that grated against the silence rather than broke it, a frequency of pure malice that he felt in his teeth and in the marrow of his spine. The shadow contorted, its form unraveling at the seams, threads of profound darkness scattering like cursed ash caught in a sudden, cleansing wind, dissipating into the nothingness from which they came.
For one glorious, fleeting heartbeat, a surge of pure, unadulterated triumph flooded Adam's system, warming the cold dread that had taken root in his gut. He thought he had done it. He had won.
The darkness vanished.
But the silence that followed wasn't peace. It was a void, an emptiness more profound than before. It was hollow. It was imperfect. It was the silence of a job half-done, of a victory stolen at the last possible second. It was the quiet of a tomb, and he was standing inside it.
And then, as if summoned by his failure, the cold, impersonal blue glow of the System screen materialized in the air before him, its lines of text stark and damning.
---
[ SYSTEM – QUEST FAILURE ]
Special Quest: Hunter of Shadows Objective:Eliminate the parasitic entity. Status:Failed Reason:Target dispersed, not destroyed.
Penalty Applied: –Assigned Punishment Dungeon: The Hollow Chamber –Duration: 24 hours –Restriction: All System functions locked until punishment completed. –Time to Report: Before next moonrise.
---
Adam stared at the screen, the luminescent letters searing themselves into his retinas. His mind, reeling from the exertion and the sudden turn, struggled to process the words. Dispersed, not destroyed. The thing was still out there. Somewhere. It had escaped final judgment. And now, he was the one being sentenced. His lips, dry and cracked, curled into a bitter, humorless grin that felt like a crack in the mask of his composure. A short, sharp laugh escaped him, devoid of any mirth.
"Oh my fucking luck."
It was less a statement and more a condemnation of the entire universe and its twisted, cruel sense of irony. He turned his head upward, his neck aching with the movement, staring with burning eyes at the vast, indifferent silver-lit sky above the black mirror of the lake, the moon a cold, watchful eye.
"Fuck you, angels. You will pay for this."
The words were a vow, whispered with a venom that surprised even him, a promise etched in spite and aimed at the heavens themselves. They were the architects of this game; they would bear the cost of its playing.
And then—he froze.
A faint rustle, softer than the fall of a leaf. A soft, shuddering breath. Not his. It was too shallow, too weak.
Cho.
He spun back on his heel, the world narrowing to the pale form on the damp, cold ground. She was lying where she had fallen, her skin pale as moonlight against the dark stone, her body trembling with a fine, constant vibration, like a plucked string about to snap. He rushed to her side, his knees crashing onto the unforgiving stone, a jolt of pain shooting up his thighs that he barely registered. His hands, suddenly clumsy, moved across her arms and face, feeling the terrifying coolness of her skin, the faint, fluttering pulse at her throat.
"Cho? Hey—look at me. Do you hear me?"
His voice was low, urgent, cutting through the stillness. Her eyelids, delicate and veined with blue, flickered half-open. She was conscious, but only just—a dim awareness swimming in the depths of her pain and shock. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, each one a struggle that was painful to witness.
Adam clenched his jaw, the muscles bunching tight, and snapped his head toward the still-glowing, accusatory screen, his mind screaming for a solution, for a tool, for anything in this damned, bureaucratic system that could help.
"Can I use healing magic on her? Or something, damn it—anything to save her?"
The System shimmered, the text dissolving and reforming with infuriating calm.
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[ SYSTEM – NOTIFICATION ] Healing protocols not unlocked. Alternative:Access Inventory Storage. Recent items collected through daily quests may contain basic healing consumables. Proceed to Inventory Access Point→ [Left Palm Seal].
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Adam frowned, his brow furrowing in concentration and frustration. He lifted his left hand, turning it over. There, in the center of his palm, a faint mark he had always considered a simple scar or birthmark began to shimmer, glowing with a soft, internal light like ink under moonlight. Tentatively, he pressed it.
The air beside him tore open with a silent, subtle ripple—a pocket of nothingness, a small, vertical tear in reality that wavered like a heat haze. Through it, he could see a void, and within that void, his items floated in a state of weightless, perfect preservation. It was a small door made of starlight and impossibility.
Adam blinked, leaning forward to peer inside. His old rewards—dusty parchment scrolls tied with fraying ribbon, heavy iron training bands meant to restrict magical flow, a set of extra robes folded neatly, even a half-crushed quill from a long-forgotten essay—drifted lazily in the contained space. And then… other things. Clothes he didn't even know were saved, a pair of boots, a book with a cracked leather spine. A museum of his insignificant history within this world.
He let out a dry, incredulous laugh, the sound strange in the tense air.
"Cool. There's even clothes. I didn't know. Pretty impressive."
The sheer mundane nature of it all was almost laughable. But he shook his head quickly, the momentary distraction fading as the urgency returned, muttering to himself as his eyes scanned the floating detritus.
"Anyway… where's the healing shit?"
He reached into the void, his hand feeling a peculiar coolness, like dipping it into a stream of static. He pushed aside the robes, batted away the floating quill, his fingers searching, grasping. Then, his hand closed around a small, cool glass vial. He pulled it out. It was filled with a pale-green liquid that glowed with a faint, reassuring luminescence from within.
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[ ITEM: Minor Healing Draught ] Uses Remaining:3 Warning:Fragile. Use sparingly.
---
Adam smirked, a real one this time, a brief flash of relief in the storm.
"Ha. Got it. But only three… I need to be careful when to use it."
He understood the value of such a limited resource instantly. This was not something to be wasted. He pulled out the single vial carefully, the cool glass pressing against his fingers, a tiny vessel of hope. Kneeling back beside Cho, he slipped one arm under her neck, tilting her head slightly upward. With his other hand, he brushed the damp, tangled strands of hair from her clammy forehead, his touch as gentle as he could make it.
"Come on, swallow this," he muttered, his voice a low, coaxing murmur meant for her alone.
He uncorked the vial with his teeth, the faint herbal scent of the potion filling the air around them. He pressed the cool lip of the vial gently against her parted lips, tilting it with painstaking care, allowing only a few precious drops to fall onto her tongue. The liquid shimmered, a tiny cascade of emerald light, as it slid down her throat.
Her body twitched—a sudden, involuntary spasm—then slowly, gradually, relaxed. The terrible tension that had held her rigid seemed to seep out into the ground. Color, faint but undeniable, began to seep back into her cheeks, replacing the deathly pallor. Her eyelids fluttered open, no longer blank with shock, but hazy, clouded with confusion and pain, wet with tears that spilled over and traced lines through the grime on her face.
"I… I just saw it," she whispered weakly, her voice trembling, thin as gossamer. Each word was a struggle. "It was there… all day… behind my eyes…"
Adam felt a pang of something sharp and uncomfortable—pity, guilt, responsibility. He pressed his finger gently, firmly, against her lips, silencing the terrifying recollection.
"Shhh. Calm. I'm here. Nothing will happen."
Her eyes widened, the glistening tears welling anew, and she tried to form another word, to give voice to the horror she had endured—before his wand lifted silently from his side, its movement swift and decisive. There was no malice in the act, only a grim, necessary mercy.
"Obliviate."
The spell left his wand not as a flash, but as a gentle, shimmering wave that washed over her features. Her pupils flickered, dilated, then softened into blank, peaceful confusion. The fear and pain drained from her expression, leaving behind only the vulnerability of deep, magic-induced slumber. She slumped into unconsciousness again, her breathing now deeper, more regular.
Adam exhaled sharply, a long breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He slid his wand back into his sleeve, the weight of it a familiar comfort against his forearm.
"Sleep. You won't remember."
The words were for himself as much as for her. He bent his knees, getting a firm purchase on the ground, and hoisted her carefully into his arms. Her weight was a solid, real pressure against his chest, a reminder of the life he had, however imperfectly, preserved. Step by measured step, he carried her back toward the castle, his movements steady, calculated, each footfall deliberate on the path away from the Zona Morta, leaving the scene of his failure behind them.
---
Inside the castle, the familiar stone walls loomed taller and more imposing than ever, their shadows stretching long and twisted in the flickering torchlight. The corridors were dark and profoundly empty, the usual nocturnal hum of the castle stilled into an eerie watchfulness. Only the faint, dancing glow of guttered torches guided his steps, their light painting shifting patterns on the tapestries and suits of armor that lined the halls. He moved silently, a ghost carrying another ghost, his senses hyper-aware, listening for any sign of a prefect, a teacher, Mrs. Norris's telltale purr. The weight of Cho in his arms was a constant, pulling focus, but he adjusted his grip, his arms burning with the strain, and pressed on, until finally he shouldered open the heavy oak door to the hospital wing.
The air inside was warm and smelled strongly of antiseptic, potions, and dried herbs. Only one nurse was there, a middle-aged witch with short, practical grey-streaked hair and tired eyes that had seen too many late-night emergencies. She was bent over a ledger at her desk, quill scratching softly, and she looked up at the sound of the door—and gasped, her chair scraping back abruptly.
"Oh my god! What's wrong with the poor girl? And why are you out of bed at this hour?"
Her voice was a mixture of professional concern and sharp authority. Adam blinked, his mind, already fatigued, scrambling for a plausible story. Then he sighed, deliberately slouching his shoulders, making his voice rough and thick with feigned exhaustion and worry.
"She… she was outside. Said she couldn't sleep. I was going back to my dorm after… after reviewing some star charts in the library," he lied smoothly, layering the tale with a believable detail. "I saw her collapse near the grand staircase. I just… I didn't know what else to do. So I brought her here."
The nurse frowned, her sharp eyes studying him, taking in his own disheveled appearance, the dampness on his robes from the lake shore. He could feel her scrutiny, the weight of her suspicion.
He quickly added, layering on a dose of contrite humility:
"I know I wasn't supposed to be out either. Detention for a week, I deserve it. But leaving her there alone on the cold stone… what kind of idiot would I be then?"
The woman's face softened, the suspicion melting into a look of grudging admiration and compassion. She rushed over, her own wand appearing in her hand. With a few efficient flicks, she lifted Cho gently from his arms, the magical support making her seem to weigh nothing, and placed her onto the nearest pristine white hospital bed with precise, practiced care.
"You did the right thing, boy," she said firmly, already turning to her tray of bottles and instruments. "You may have saved her life. Foolish to be out, but brave to stay. Now—sit. Catch your breath. I'll need to check her thoroughly."
Adam nodded, wordlessly, and dropped heavily into the stiff wooden chair beside Cho's bed, the adrenaline finally receding and leaving a deep, aching weariness in its wake.
And he stayed there.
His eyes did not leave her once, not even as the nurse busied herself with diagnostic charms, tipping various colored potions between glasses, and muttering under her breath. He watched the slow, steady rise and fall of Cho's chest, a rhythm that soothed his own frayed nerves. He watched the way the faint torchlight played on her peaceful, blank face, so different from the mask of terror it had been. But beneath his vigil, his mind churned. The memory of the shadow lingered in his head—its unnatural hunger, its intelligent retreat, its silent, malevolent promise of return. His fingers curled tightly against his knees, his knuckles white with the pressure of his grip.
And then— The System screen flashed again,its blue light intrusive and unwelcome in the healing space.
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[ SYSTEM – URGENT NOTICE ] Punishment Dungeon Assignment begins in 12 hours. Prepare accordingly. Escape not permitted.
---
Adam exhaled slowly through his teeth, a long, controlled hiss of air. His jaw tightened until it ached. The Hollow Chamber. The name itself was a threat. Twenty-four hours. All functions locked. He was being sent into the deep, dark, and cut off from the very system that defined his existence here.
The night stretched on in silence, deep and heavy around him, but within Adam, a storm of cold resolution began to brew, quiet and deadly.
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[ End of Chapter. ]
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IF YOU WANT TO READ MORE ABOUT MY WORKS OR JUST TO SUPPORT ME THEN HERE IS MY PATREON:
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