The door to the principal's office clicked shut behind him. Zaviel stepped into the hallway with an expression that couldn't be considered a smile, yet it stayed on his face like he'd just won a game no one else knew was being played. The polished floor reflected the faint glint in his eyes. The briefcase in his right hand felt heavier than its actual weight, not because of the contents, but because of what it represented...
"Ah, Zaviel." The principal's voice called after him. The man's forehead was still faintly damp from the earlier conversation with Clove. "How… how did the interview go?"
Zaviel slowed his steps but didn't turn immediately. He kept walking until they were side-by-side in the corridor. His answer came without hesitation, tone dry as cracked earth.
"Loud."
The principal blinked. "Loud? What the hell does that..."
The man's eyes drifted downward, and only then did he notice the briefcase. His brow furrowed. "And… what's in that?"
Zaviel stopped. Turned his head just enough to look at him.
"A bomb."
The principal's eyes went wide. His face drained of color. "A what?!"
But before the man could sputter anything else, Zaviel resumed walking, each step unhurried. He didn't look back.
Inside, his mind was already somewhere else.
Ever since the office… I've felt it.
It was faint, almost imperceptible but not to him. A microscopic shift in the air, a warmth on the skin of his back that didn't belong to the sunlight coming in through the windows.
The sniper's dot.
"She came prepared", he thought, picturing Clove's unwavering stare. "Insurance....perhaps.... in case I got... unpredictable.
But even as the thought settled, something inside him disagreed. He replayed the earlier conversation in his head, remembering how Clove had stood, posture unyielding… and how, for just an instant, a second red dot had danced across her shoulder.
No. It wasn't hers.
There were two snipers.
Which meant two possibilities..... either someone wanted them dead… or someone wanted to watch them very closely.
He shifted the briefcase in his grip and kept moving. The dot on his back never wavered.
His senses seemed to spread wider, expanding outside the school compound and even further.
First sniper.....rooftop, four stories up, southwest wing. His mind mapped it out in seconds. Line of sight through the open glass above the east corridor. Sloppy camouflage, but skilled enough to wait for an opening.
For a moment, he considered it.
I could end him now. Just one second… and there'd be one less set of eyes on me.
His gaze drifted toward the far window at the end of the hall. Students walked past him, chatting, laughing, oblivious. It would be simple....one blur of movement, one flicker of steel, and no one would even see what happened.
He almost stepped toward it.
But something stopped him.
Not hesitation. Calculation.
If I move now, I lose the other sniper. And the other one… is the real question.
The tension in his jaw eased, just a fraction. Let them think I don't know. Let them think I'm walking blind.....besides.....the other one just seemed to change it's focus.....to Clove perhaps
He took another step forward
And then it hit.
A sudden, violent ache tore through his chest, sharp enough to steal the breath from his lungs. The world tilted, the floor seeming to rise toward him. Heat spread through his veins like molten lead.
Zaviel staggered, his vision warping at the edges.
"—nnngh—"
It wasn't just pain, it was invasive, clawing at his skin like it was alive. His knees buckled, the briefcase nearly slipping from his grip.
He crashed down in the middle of the hall. The noise cut through the chatter like a blade. Heads turned.
"What the hell..."
"Is he?"
The voices blurred. The pain in his chest spiraled upward, flooding his skull until it felt like something inside him was pressing outward, trying to split him apart.
And then he heard it.
A voice. No....voices. Layered, jagged, snarling.
KILL.
It echoed once. Twice. Then it multiplied.
KILL!! KILL THEM ALL!!!
The sound wasn't just in his ears, it was inside his bones, his blood, the space between his thoughts.
"No!" The word tore from him as a guttural rasp. His fingers dug into the tile floor. His body convulsed. "No… not… again…"
The last time he'd let it out… he'd seen the aftermath. Blood. Screams. The stench of death that clung to his hands no matter how hard he'd tried to wash it away.
Students had stopped now, forming a loose circle around him. Some whispered, their voices tinged with fear.
"Has he… finally lost it?"
"I told you he was a freak....."
The laughter from somewhere in the back only made the voices in his head scream louder.
KILL THEM ALL. TEAR THEM APART. LET ME OUT.
His hands pressed to his temples, nails digging into skin. His scream ripped through the hallway. Not a human cry, but something wild like the roar of an ancient dragon
The sound made even the laughing ones go silent.
Shadows seemed to pool unnaturally beneath him, flickering at the edges of the light. His vision pulsed with every heartbeat, the world reduced to shapes and outlines, each one glowing faintly in his perception like prey in the dark.
"Shut up!" His voice was hoarse, trembling under the strain. "Shut up, shut up—"
But the voices only grew louder.
KILL!! KILL!! KILL!!
It was all-consuming now, drowning out everything else. His breaths came ragged, his teeth clenched so tightly it hurt. The pressure built in his skull until it felt like it might crack.
And then.....
Silence.
Like someone had yanked the plug out of the world.
His body slumped forward, the last of his strength bleeding out of him. His cheek met the cold tile. His vision swam.
Through the haze, he caught the faint shape of the sniper's dot on the floor near him, as if it were taunting him.
Then even that faded, swallowed by the black.