Alan's fingers hovered above the tray of instruments — scalpels polished to a mirror's gleam, serrated pliers that caught the lamplight like hungry teeth, a long needle still wet with the sedative. His voice was a low hum, dripping with mock comfort.
"Don't worry… it will only hurt forever."
The boy lay strapped down, sedative dulling even the instinct to shiver. His eyelids fluttered, but he was trapped somewhere between waking and oblivion.
Nex's gaze swept the room. His upgraded Vector Manipulation when he was still in the infirmary it had upgraded to 20m, flared faintly — a ripple of invisible force dancing along the air, threads only he could see. Twenty meters of reach, precision down to the millimeter. Everything in this chamber was a potential weapon.
A hook dangled near the ceiling, swaying gently over a half-flayed corpse. Nex's hand twitched. The hook snapped free without a sound, streaking down like a predator in freefall.
It punched through Alan's shoulder.
The scream was immediate and raw — high, animal, panicked. Alan staggered, clutching at the wound, but Nex was already moving. Scalpel racks flew off the shelves, spinning in the air like thrown daggers. Alan ducked the first, but the second carved a deep line along his cheek, spilling blood down to his jaw.
"You—!" Alan snarled, his calm veneer gone. He lunged for the tray, grabbing a cleaver and swinging it wide. Nex slid aside, vectors shoving a rolling table into Alan's knees. Bone met steel with a crack.
Alan collapsed, but his desperation turned feral. With a snarl, he flung the cleaver. Nex caught it mid-air — not with his hand, but by halting its flight in a shuddering stop with vector force — then sent it hurtling back. Alan barely twisted away, but it tore a strip from his side, painting the wall behind him in a fan of red.
Hooks, pliers, and rusted chains ripped themselves from their mounts, circling Alan in a storm of steel. He tried to retreat toward the hidden passage, but Nex pinned the door shut with a barbed hook through the handle.
Then Nex appeared in front of him — a blur from the shadows. His katana slid into his hand from the spatial pocket in one fluid motion, steel whispering against its sheath.
Alan swung wildly with a scalpel, but Nex slapped it aside, stepping in close. One cut — shallow, but deliberate — across Alan's thigh to slow him. Then another across the back of the knee. Alan buckled, snarling, bleeding heavily now.
Nex's gaze didn't flicker. He reached into his spatial pocket and pulled out the small, obsidian-black shard — the Demonic Essence from the parcel. Its presence was foul, like a pressure that made the air heavier, taste of iron stronger.
Alan's eyes widened. "W–What are you—"
Nex forced the shard between his teeth, one hand clamping his jaw shut. The moment it touched Alan's tongue, a sickly black vapor coiled from his mouth and nose, his veins darkening under his skin. He convulsed — a grotesque, thrashing shudder — as the essence clawed its way into his core.
Nex waited just long enough for it to begin circulating. Just enough for Alan's screams to become wet, guttural wails.
Then the katana rose.
A single, decisive stroke — from collarbone to hip — split Alan open. The body crumpled, spilling onto the blood-stained floor, the demonic taint already eating what was left from the inside out.
Nex turned immediately to the boy, slicing through the straps. The kid was pale, his pulse faint. Nex fished a small crystal vial from his spatial pocket — Mana Potion, High Grade — and tipped it carefully between the boy's lips.
The boy's breathing steadied within seconds, color faintly returning to his cheeks.
____________________________________
Nex crouched, wiping the katana on Alan's torn coat, and reached into the dying man's jacket. His fingers closed around the cold metal of the Aetherpad—still smeared with flecks of gore. Without hesitation, he dragged Alan's limp hand, forcing a bloody finger over the biometric lock until the device beeped open.
The screen lit up, showing Alan's personal files. Nex navigated swiftly, his Void Trance guiding him through muscle memory and deduction. In the notes, he began to type—channeling Alan's tone, his arrogance, his twisted satisfaction.
["It's always so easy. A smile, a promise of extra credit, a harmless project… and they walk right into my hands. The girls are the most eager, the boys the most desperate. None of them realize that the workshop after dark is where their little dreams end. I've refined the sedatives now—faster, cleaner. Soon, I'll see how many I can take in one night…"]
Nex made sure the timestamp matched today's date, attaching a list of fabricated "potential targets," including the boy and the girls. He glanced once more at the corpses on the wall, letting the fabricated narrative sink in his mind—Alan, the predator, undone by his own greed.
Sliding the Aetherpad into the dead man's pocket, Nex took one last measure. He adjusted the wounds—deep slashes across the chest, defensive cuts on the arms, and charred skin to suggest the violent internal reaction of a D-rank body trying—and failing—to contain a B-rank demonic essence. When Vice Principal Orien or the academy technicians saw this, they would connect the dots: Alan's greed drove him to consume something far beyond his ability, triggering his grotesque death in the middle of his own lair.Seeing this the academy would surely increase their surveillance in the mission but also in future events, This was Nex's aim all along.
By the time the girls arrived at 7: 50 they'd find the scene ready for discovery—horrifying, yes, but tied neatly to Alan and Alan alone. Nex's name, his involvement, would vanish into the noise.
He sheathed the katana, the metallic click echoing in the blood-soaked chamber. The bodies around him were silent witnesses—mute, dismembered, and hanging like grotesque trophies in the dim light.
Fifteen minutes. That's all he had. And that was all he needed.
_______________________
Nex stepped out of the narrow, foul-scented passage, boots clicking softly on the stone floor. The dim light from the torches flickered against his face, shadows crawling over the cold focus in his eyes.
Before leaving completely, he crouched down and tugged at the panel concealing the entrance. With a slow, deliberate motion, he yanked it open wider—far wider than Alan ever would—exposing the darkness beyond. The metallic scent of dried blood and the grotesque remnants inside would now be impossible to miss. Anyone who stumbled upon this place would feel the weight of something far older, far more monstrous than just a single man's depravity. A seed of fear, planted deep.
He didn't linger. His mind was already racing ahead.
With measured steps, Nex moved through the service corridors, tracing the blind spots he'd memorized from the novel. Every camera's gaze, every guard's patrol—he slipped past them like smoke, never more than a shadow at the edge of vision.
By the time he reached the dormitory wing, his uniform was already switched. The new academy clothes were crisp and clean, taken from his spatial pocket with the same efficiency as a soldier swapping magazines mid-battle. His katana was nestled back inside as well, leaving no trace of the earlier carnage except for the faint scent of blood still lingering in his memory.
Crossing into the Rankers' Dorm, Nex's breathing was steady, controlled. On the outside, he looked like just another student walking back after class, but inside… inside he still felt the faint echo of adrenaline burning in his veins. Every move tonight had been precise. Calculated.
Nex rounded the final corner to the Rankers' Dorm wing, his pace unhurried now. The air here felt cleaner, quieter… until a chorus of voices broke it.
Up ahead, nine figures moved together—seven girls and two well-built boys. They were laughing, tossing remarks at each other with the casual arrogance of people who thought the world bent around them. Their uniforms were immaculate, badges gleaming, every step brimming with the kind of confidence only privilege and talent could breed.
"Please, like Alan would ever need to send someone to call us," one of the girls scoffed, flipping her hair as if the very idea offended her.
"I'm telling you," a tall boy with broad shoulders said, smirking, "that runt was trying to play us. Probably thought he could get us to run around like idiots."
Another girl chimed in, voice sharp with pride. "If Alan did send something, it's probably for an elite-level project. Not something a random nobody could just hand-deliver."
They all chuckled, the sound tinged with self-assurance and a faint trace of mockery for anyone beneath them.
"Still," one of the boys added, "let's hear it from the man himself. I want to see the look on that messenger's face when we tell him we caught his lie."
Their boots tapped against the polished floor, their laughter carrying ahead as they made for Alan's cabin without the faintest suspicion.
From where he stood at the corner, half-shrouded in shadow, Nex watched them go. His gaze was calm, almost disinterested to anyone looking—but inside, he felt the cold flicker of satisfaction.
Every step they took was walking straight into the aftermath he had engineered.
Exactly as planned.