The camp fell silent the moment Irene's head snapped toward the horizon. Her blue eyes narrowed, and a cold ripple of dread ran down her spine. That pressure—ancient, suffocating, violent—was not of this world.
"Stay back." Her voice was sharp as steel as she raised her arm to halt the students behind her. "Do not move an inch."
They didn't argue. They couldn't. Their knees were already buckling beneath a crushing weight. One by one, the students collapsed to the ground, gasping for air, their faces pale. Even the prodigies trembled. This wasn't just mana pressure—it was annihilation embodied.
Then he arrived.
The charred, winged figure stepped into the clearing, every footfall cracking the earth beneath him. His tattered wings dragged streaks of blood in the dirt, ember-glowing eyes sweeping over the camp like a predator examining cattle. Behind him, shadows split open, and from the cracks crawled horrors of flesh and fang—fourteen A-rank beasts, snarling, hissing, their forms twisted with demonic taint. They obeyed him like hounds at their master's heel.
The guards drew blades, mana flaring as they formed a wall. Fear was etched on their faces, but they did not run.
The demon's presence deepened, black miasma spreading like an oil spill, and the students collapsed fully, their hands clutching their heads, eyes wide with terror. Only Irene stood firm, short black hair whipping in the rising storm of mana, her cloak billowing like the wings of a hawk ready to strike.
Her voice cracked through the chaos.
"Form ranks! Keep them away from the children!"
The beasts lunged.
Seven guards met the charge with steel and spells, but the impact was brutal. The first clash ended with screams—fangs tearing flesh, claws ripping through armor. Blood sprayed across the dirt as three guards were shredded instantly, bodies flung aside like broken dolls.
"Hold the line!" another captain roared, rallying the survivors.
Mana blazed. The clearing became a battlefield of fire and steel as the guards clashed with the pack of fourteen A-rank beasts. The sound of bones snapping and armor crunching filled the night. Each beast was a catastrophe on its own—together, they were slaughter.
Irene did not waver. She faced the demon directly.
The demon tilted his head, studying her, amused by her defiance. His grin split wider, exposing blackened teeth. "So the little insect dares to stand."
The earth shuddered as Irene stepped forward, mana flaring around her body like a tempest. Lightning crackled in the sky above, winds screaming, the ground trembling with her aura. To the students who looked up through their fear, she wasn't human anymore—she was a force of nature itself.
Their clash shook the camp.
The demon's wing swept, and a shockwave of black flame ripped across the ground, incinerating trees and tents in an instant. Irene raised her blade, her mana surging into a shield of light and storm, splitting the inferno apart with a crack of thunder.
Steel met claw.
The air detonated. The shockwave flattened the grass, uprooted trees, and flung loose debris like shrapnel. Sparks of lightning danced across the sky as Irene's strikes rained down, each one infused with killing intent sharp enough to split stone.
The demon laughed, a hideous, guttural sound. "Yes! Show me your rage, little human! Show me your WRATH!"
Behind them, the guards fell one after another, beasts crushing them in waves of tooth and claw. Blood slicked the earth, screams echoing, until seven lay torn apart, their deaths buying precious moments for the others.
And still Irene fought, every swing of her blade carrying the weight of the camp on her shoulders.
To the students, it was like watching a storm battle the end of the world.
The sky itself seemed to howl as Irene and the demon clashed.
Each strike was like thunder, each clash like two storms colliding.
Her blade slashed upward, wreathed in lightning — it carved a gouge through the demon's chest, black ichor spraying like molten tar. The stench of burning corruption filled the air. The demon stumbled back a step, snarling, wings twitching in fury.
"You dare… scar me?" his voice rattled like bones grinding together, dripping with rage.
But Irene had no time to gloat. His counter came like a meteor. His clawed hand shot forward, and she barely raised her blade in time — the impact flung her back across the camp. Her boots skidded trenches into the dirt as she slammed against a shattered wall, blood spilling from her lips.
Her arms shook, her ribs screamed, but she rose again.
The students, crushed by the aura, could only stare wide-eyed. They saw Irene's black hair plastered to her bloodstained cheek, her shoulders heaving, her body trembling. Yet her eyes burned — not with fear, but with a furious, unbreakable resolve.
"Teacher…" one student whispered through tears, "she's still standing."
The demon roared, spreading his tattered wings, his pressure crushing the camp like a vice. "Kneel, little insect! KNEEL!"
Irene answered with action. She raised her sword high, and with a defiant shout, her aura burst outward — a cyclone of storm and steel. The very clouds above bent to her call, thunderheads forming, lightning lashing the ground like divine punishment.
She charged.
Their battle ripped through the battlefield like a hurricane. Her blade cut into his wing, severing bone and tendon in a spray of ichor. The demon screamed, black flames erupting from his wound, incinerating three guards instantly as they tried to aid her.
But Irene pressed on, blade flashing like a storm. Slash after slash tore into the demon, leaving gashes that bled smoke and ash. He staggered, but his grin never faded.
Then his retaliation came.
The demon's claw caught her across the stomach — the sound of rending flesh echoed as blood splattered across the dirt. She staggered back, clutching the wound, her blade trembling. The students cried out, but Irene did not fall. She bit down on her pain, blue eyes blazing.
"You won't touch them." Her voice was ragged, but unyielding. "Not one of them."
The demon tilted his head, ichor dripping from his wounds, laughter rasping out of him even as his body smoked and cracked from her lightning.
"Good… good… bleed more for me. Show me what a human looks like… when despair devours them."
Irene spat blood, raised her sword again, and stepped forward.
Her storm surged higher. The ground trembled under her will.
Even pushed to the brink, even torn and bleeding, Irene's next strike was enough to split the earth itself.