Unaware that eyes were tracking his every move from the darkness of the stacks, Aren continued to swipe through the digital pages. The text described a time of absolute despair.
When the Great Demon War erupted, the Earth did not just tremble; it bled. The entities humans now call "Demons" emerged from unstable dimensional rifts known as wormholes. They brought with them an army that defied logic, slaughtering the unprepared human population like ants under a boot. In a matter of months, the global population plummeted to a staggering one billion.
Aren's finger froze on the screen. His eyes widened in horror. One billion? Was the devastation really that absolute? I don't remember any of this. He realized with a heavy heart that he had been a mere toddler during the height of the chaos. The world he grew up in was a graveyard rebuilt into a fortress, and he had been too young to see the fire.
He read on. The human counter-attacks had been pathetic. Modern ballistics and missiles were toys compared to the mythical, soul-tearing weapons of the demon generals. Humanity was on the brink of extinction when the first Vessels appeared. These mysterious individuals possessed powers that could shift tectonic plates and tear the sky asunder.
Faced with these new "Gods" among men, the demon tide was finally halted. Seeing their losses mount, the Demon Kings offered a Proposal a treaty to end the bloodshed. The Vessels accepted, and the long night of war finally ended. To ensure the survival of the species and the regulation of these new powers, the Vessels formed a governing body that controlled the world from the shadows: THE ORDER.
Aren let out a long, frustrated breath. He leaned back against the stone pillar, the tablet dimming in his hand. The information I actually need anything about Varkas or the nature of "Forgotten" powers isn't here. This is just a sanitized history lesson.
"This just leaves me with more questions," he muttered. He returned the tablet to the librarian bot and stepped out of the library, his mind racing. What was the Proposal? Why was it left out of the digital records?
As he walked through the quiet corridor, a prickle of unease ran down his spine. He stopped abruptly and spun around. The hallway was empty, save for the flickering overhead lights. He narrowed his eyes at a dark corner near a ventilation duct.
"Look... whoever you are, just come out," Aren said, his voice trembling slightly.
A shadow detached itself from the wall. Archer stepped into the light, his face twisted in a mask of pure, unadulterated hatred. "Well, well. Look who's all alone," Archer sneered, his voice trembling with rage. "Let's see who saves you today, Aren."
He didn't wait for a response. Archer lunged forward and threw a lightning-fast punch toward Aren's jaw. The blow landed squarely on Aren's cheek but to Archer's horror, Aren didn't budge. It was like punching a mountain.
Aren blinked, surprised that he hadn't been sent sprawling. Archer, shaking with frustration, let out a roar as his fist transformed into jagged, heavy grey stone. He swung again, pouring every ounce of his Vessel energy into the strike.
This time, Aren was knocked back a few steps. A sharp sting flared across his forehead where the stone knuckles had grazed him. A small trickle of blood began to seep from the scratch.
The moment the blood touched the air, Aren's presence changed. His eyes flared into a deep, murderous crimson. The same oppressive, ancient aura that had terrified Archer in the classroom began to leak into the hallway.
Archer flinched, his heart hammering in his chest. But his pride wouldn't let him run. He pulled back for a third strike, but as he swung, his arm froze mid-air. It wasn't that he had stopped; it was as if an invisible wall had clamped down on his wrist.
Aren looked over his shoulder. Behind him stood Manu, the Class President of Group B. Manu's hand was raised, his fingers twitching as if pulling invisible strings. With a sharp flick of his wrist, an invisible force slammed into Archer's chest, sending him flying backward into the wall with a heavy thud.
The crimson glow faded from Aren's eyes as the immediate threat vanished. Manu stepped forward, offering a clean silk handkerchief to Aren. "Your forehead is bleeding," Manu said, his voice calm and soothing.
Aren hesitated for a second before taking the cloth and pressing it to the wound. "Thank you... again."
Manu turned his gaze toward Archer, who was groaning on the floor. The mysterious smile was gone, replaced by a look of profound disappointment. "I truly hoped you would have learned your lesson by now, Archer. Some people simply refuse to grow."
Manu looked back at Aren. "Go to the infirmary, Aren. Get that looked at. And Archer? You're coming with me to the Student President's office. Right now."
Aren didn't stay to argue. He pressed the cloth to his head, felt it soak through with his blood, and then tossed the "ruined" handkerchief into a nearby bin before walking away as fast as he could.
As soon as Aren's footsteps faded, the atmosphere in the hallway shifted. Manu's disappointed expression vanished, replaced by that same enigmatic, chilling smile. He raised his hand toward the trash bin.
The blood-stained handkerchief slowly rose into the air, levitating toward Manu's palm. Telekinesis.
Archer scrambled to his feet, panting. He looked at Manu and the levitating cloth, a realization dawning on him. "If... if all you wanted was his blood, you could have just told me. Why the theatrics?"
Manu's eyes snapped to Archer. The smile remained, but his voice turned into a razor-sharp blade. "Archer... your life is far too insignificant for you to be asking me questions. Know your place."
Archer immediately bowed his head, a cold shiver running down his spine. He knew that beneath Manu's polite exterior was something far more dangerous than any demon.
Manu tucked the blood-soaked cloth into a small, sterile container and slid it into his pocket. "Your job isn't finished," Manu said, turning his back on Archer. "I want blood samples from every Null on the list. All of them."
He paused, glancing back with a gaze that promised a slow death. "And if anyone catches you... if anyone even suspects what you're doing... I will make sure the world forgets you ever existed."
Manu walked away, leaving Archer standing in the cold silence of the corridor. What does he want with the blood of the powerless? Archer wondered, but he was too terrified to ask.