Charles rushed down to the lower floor. With every step, the screams grew louder and closer. Terror was rising from the depths of the basement.
He knew… the corruption had started there, and whoever got closer would surrender to it faster.
And Misha was in the last classroom of the first floor…
* Charles Reaches the First Floor – The Beginning of Hell *
The spiral stone stairs to the first floor trembled beneath Charles's hurried steps. His breathing had turned ragged, his heart pounding so violently he could hear it in his ears. With each step he took, the magical energy around him grew heavier, like breathing in a poisonous fog.
The moment he stepped onto the first floor, a sight unfolded before his eyes that would forever be etched into his soul.
The long hall that had once been filled with the laughter of students and the hum of daily life was now drowned in chaos and blood. The walls were no longer white; bloodstains, torn flesh, and smeared trails of dried crimson covered everything. Screams, sobs, and mad laughter intertwined into one grotesque symphony. A living nightmare.
The students—those once innocent and eager—now bore twisted faces. Their eyes glowed red, their lips stretched into sickly grins, and their skin was mottled and dark. Some had ripped chains from the walls and doors to attack others with; others clutched knives, forks—or even bit with their teeth.
One girl dragged the bloody body of her friend while muttering something under her breath. Ancient words… words of a demonic tongue.
Charles froze. For a heartbeat, time itself seemed to stop. Even from here, the whispers of the book echoed inside his mind. He had to find Misha.
"Now…"
The Headmaster's Office – Another Beginning of Corruption
At the far end of the floor, behind a wooden door with a golden plate reading "Academy Headmaster", the screams outside were still muffled, distant.
The headmaster—a middle-aged man with a short beard and the academy's blue uniform—sat behind his desk. In front of him lay an old book about "Magical Defensive Seals." His brows were furrowed, the cries outside gnawing at his mind.
He rose hesitantly and moved toward the door. His hand reached for the handle, when suddenly—
The door burst open.
Before he could react, one of the professors stepped inside—but not with a familiar face. His skin was pale, his eyes blackened. Blood smeared his lips, and his nails were long, sharp, and dark, like little knives.
"Sir… today is the day of salvation… the day of awakening…"
Without another word, the corrupted professor lunged at the headmaster. His hands wrapped around the man's throat, clawing and squeezing. The headmaster's eyes bulged, his breath cut off. He was dying.
But years of surviving magical wars had left the headmaster strong. With a single motion, he hurled the professor toward the bookshelf. The shelf collapsed in a crash of splintered wood and dust. The headmaster's kick landed squarely on the professor's chest, sending him to the ground with an inhuman screech.
Panting, the headmaster braced himself against the wall, scanning the room with wild eyes. The sounds of battle outside pounded in his ears. He made his decision.
He opened the door.
* The Blood-Stained Hall – The Final Order *
As soon as he stepped into the main hall, he saw how the guards were fighting back waves of corrupted professors and students. Burning spells, icy explosions, traps of light, and blood… everything collided into one monstrous battleground. The academy had turned into a savage warzone.
The clock on the wall was spinning counterclockwise, and across every wall of the academy, blood spelled out the words:
"Beg for Death"
One of the guards—a young man in a silver helmet and armor now scratched and bloodied—rushed to the headmaster's side, gasping for breath.
"Sir… what do we do?!"
The headmaster, still in shock, stared at the scenes around him. One professor was smashing his own head against a wall. A student gnawed at his teacher's legs. Blood dripped from the ceiling.
The guard asked again:
"Sir? ... Sir?"
No answer.
Louder now, eyes wide with terror, he shouted:
"Sir, what do we do?!"
Finally, the headmaster drew a deep breath, as though surfacing from a nightmare. His eyes closed, fists clenched, and he spoke with a cold, merciless voice:
"Kill them all."
The guard froze.
The headmaster locked eyes with him and repeated:
"All of them. Students, professors… if their minds are corrupted—"
He hesitated. The decision weighed heavily on him. His fists trembled. He'd realized the enormity of what he was ordering, but it was already too late. He pressed on:
"Anyone whose mind is corrupted cannot be allowed to live. Even if I'm corrupted—kill me. This is an official order."
A moment of silence.
Then, with grim resolve, the headmaster continued:
"Tell the other guards. Every entrance and exit must be sealed. No one goes in or out. This chaos ends here. Even if we all die."
The guard nodded sharply and hurried away.
The headmaster stood amidst the ruins. His heart was heavy, but his eyes were determined. He knew… this was only the beginning of the catastrophe.
The guards began their brutal purge of the academy. Step by step, classroom by classroom, every professor and student whose mind had been overtaken was cut down without hesitation. The sound of swords sliding from scabbards echoed through the academy's eerie silence, broken only by short, strangled cries.
At that very moment, Charles—panting, his clothes soaked in blood and dust—reached the end of the first-floor hallway. His eyes wide, his mouth dry, his heart hammering like a war drum in his chest. The hall was drowned in blood, the walls smeared with trails of crimson and faint, illegible writings. Bloody fingers had drawn demonic smiles on the walls, as if madness itself were grinning back.
The screams had faded. Silence now ruled where the cries had been; a heavy, hollow silence that was more terrifying than any sound.
Charles could barely breathe. Each step closer to Misha's classroom made his body tremble harder. Anxiety slithered through his chest like a snake. He pressed his back to the wall, a hand clutching at his chest, whispering in a voice that trembled with pain that pierced to his very bones:
"Why is my heart pounding like this? Why can't I move? I'm… breaking… but I have to reach her… Misha…"
He pushed the classroom door open slowly…