Two grotesque Hollowed Spirits floated mid-air—grotesque marionettes of death and pain. Their translucent, cracked-glass skin pulsed with an otherworldly shimmer, and within them, the tortured faces of countless souls flickered in and out like dying embers. Their red amber eyes bled dull, unwavering light. They had no legs, only torsos suspended in the air like forgotten dolls, severed from their strings too late. Grey, stringy tendrils undulated around them, brushing the stone floor like seaweed in unseen waters.
Facing them stood two figures—Ronan and Mordek.
Ronan, barely standing at Adept Tier Four, was drenched in sweat. His breath was shallow, laboured. A lone sword burned in his hand with flickering fire magic. Though his mana control was faltering after using his Void Overdrive, his perception and instincts were razor-sharp. His eyes scanned every movement, calculating, adjusting.
Beside him stood Mordek, a towering figure clad in reinforced combat gear. His massive two-handed sword crackled with electricity. Master Tier Six. Though a teacher at another academy, he found himself instinctively following the lead of the younger Ronan. The thunder in his veins surged, but he held it back, knowing full well that one reckless strike could bring the entire cavern crashing down.
"Don't overdo it," Mordek warned as he struck one of the Hollowed Spirits with a thunder-coated slash. The creature wailed without a mouth, a horrid sound that reverberated through the cavern walls.
"I won't," Ronan replied through gritted teeth. "We can't risk collapsing this place."
In his mind, Mordek thought, "despite being so young, this kid's foresight... I thought I'd have to rein him in. But he's already covered everything. Even stationed his clones at the entrance to stop these monsters from escaping. No wonder Kael holds him in such high regard."
One Hollowed Spirit screeched and lunged. It's black mist followed like a curse, curling and twisting in the air. The mist didn't corrode the body like Miasma—it burrowed into the mind, warping it, maddening it. Physical weapons were useless unless infused with mana.
Ronan slashed at the mist, barely avoiding contact, his blade glowing with a faint reddish hue. He winced. "I don't have much mana left... My control is slipping…" he thought, feeling the turbulence in his body.
"Think, Ronan. Think." Then it hit him like a jolt of lightning. "The Ice Flame..." he murmured.
It was a risk. He had only just absorbed its essence a few hours ago. The flame that burned without pain and could solidify anything it touched. He hadn't tested it yet.
Still, he stepped back and extended his left hand. A bluish-white flame flickered to life, dancing weakly.
But he never saw the Spirit rushing.
A grotesque claw, obsidian and dripping black ichor, tore through his abdomen. There was no blood. No wound. But his soul screamed. Ronan collapsed to his knees, howling in agony as his mind split open in torment.
From another part of the cavern.
Vexara looked up from her guarding post. The silence was broken by the soft poof of a vanishing clone. Ronan's second clone vanished like mist.
"Something's wrong," she said sharply. "We need to go."
Lirith, with her broken speech, said, "Can't leave." Vexara looks at Kael and Gorvath.
Back in the cavern—
Black mist crept toward Ronan's collapsed body like a living wave. Mordek shouted, charging, but he was too far.
Then came the eruption.
From Ronan's body, a burst of ice flame exploded outward, rippling through the air like a divine pulse. The black mist burned away into nothing. Ronan rose slowly, his figure cloaked in the mystical Ice Flame, flickering white and blue, casting cold light across the walls.
His voice was ragged but determined. "Sir... I have a plan. Get them in one line."
Mordek didn't question it. He moved.
Thunder cracked through his sword as he harried the Hollowed Spirits, forcing them closer together. They twisted and shrieked, but his precise, mana-infused strikes left no room to escape.
Side by side, the creatures floated, hunched and twitching.
Ronan summoned multiple fireballs—Flare Burst. At first, they glowed with crimson heat, then, in a blink, turned into Ice white.
Mordek's eyes widened. "That's... the Ice Flame?"
The spheres launched, striking the spirits directly. But instead of detonating, they solidified, freezing sections of their twisted forms in crystalline ice.
"NOW, SIR!" Ronan roared.
Mordek didn't hesitate. His heavy sword cleaved through the frozen forms, smashing away limbs and cracking exposed torsos. Two glowing purple orbs pulsed inside their chests, like the hearts of nightmares.
With a thunderous cry, Mordek swung once more. The blade shattered both orbs.
The Hollowed Spirits shrieked silently, their bodies crumbling into shimmering ash. The black mist dissipated. Silence returned.
Mordek turned, relief flooding his face. "Ronan, your strategy worked, you—"
He stopped.
Ronan lay motionless, his body limp on the stone floor, faint wisps of blue fire still flickering around him.
"Ronan...?" He rushed to him, heart pounding.
The cavern, though victorious, suddenly felt colder than ice.
Mordek panicked, his boots skidding across the stone floor of the cavern. "Ronan! Ronan!" he shouted, his voice echoing in desperation. He dropped to his knees beside the fallen figure, his heart pounding as he gently turned Ronan onto his back.
Ronan was not unconscious, but his breathing was ragged and shallow. Sweat clung to his brow, and his body trembled with exhaustion. "Let me check," Mordek muttered, pressing two fingers against Ronan's pulse before closing his eyes and sending his mana into Ronan's body.
His expression darkened.
"His mana is almost depleted... but that's not what troubles me." Mordek's thoughts raced. "Why is his mana core so unstable? Ronan has always had fine control. This kind of volatility—it's not sudden. It feels like it's been festering for some time."
He pushed deeper, searching. Then his expression shifted again. "His soul... It's damaged, but not in critical danger. Still... this isn't something that heals quickly."
Mordek pulled a mana recovery potion from his satchel, uncorked it, and gently supported Ronan's head. "Drink this," he urged softly. Ronan gave the faintest nod and, with effort, swallowed the potion.
Ronan's eyes flickered with determination, even as his voice cracked. "Sir... help me gather those bones... please."
Mordek looked around the dim cavern. Scattered across the floor were bones—both human and demon—silent remnants of a long-forgotten battle. With a wave of his hand and a murmur of incantation, he summoned magic. The bones stirred, floated, and gathered into a solemn pile.
He turned back to Ronan. "What do you want to do with them?"
Ronan slowly stood, swaying on his feet, but resolved. He extended his hand. A flicker of Ice Flame appeared on his palm, dancing with life, cold and reverent.
He stepped forward and placed the flame on the pile of bones. It caught slowly, quietly, not with the roar of destruction, but the soft whisper of release.
"They died long ago," Ronan said, his voice steady but heavy. "Not in peace. No proper burial. No final rites. Just pain... and silence."
He folded his hands in prayer, his eyes lowered. "Their souls have likely moved on, but their remains still carry the agony of their deaths. We can't understand it... But we can show them respect. They deserve that much."
He glanced at Mordek. "I can't give them a proper burial. But I won't let their bones be dissected, experimented on... disrespected. Not while I still breathe."
Mordek stood in silence, watching the fire consume the bones, turning them to ash. A quiet nod of respect formed on his face.
Minutes passed. When only dust remained, Ronan turned. "Let's head back."
He took a few shaky steps before his legs buckled. Mordek rushed forward, catching him before he hit the ground. Without a word, he hoisted Ronan onto his back.
As they began the slow trek back through the cavern, Ronan's weary voice spoke again. "Sir... when we're young, we're taught magic is for protecting the innocent, punishing evil. But after a certain point... why does it feel like those teachings get twisted? So many use power to exploit instead. What happened to that purpose?"
Mordek gave a quiet sigh, his eyes shadowed with history. "You're still too young to understand the depth of it all, Ronan. But I'll give you this—not a straightforward answer, but it's something to think about."
He adjusted Ronan slightly on his back. "Do you think the Academy, the Guild, and the Luminal Covenant exist to maintain order in this kingdom? If your answer is yes, then you're wrong. They possess power capable of shaking the foundations of this realm. But with power comes darkness. Each one is riddled with it."
He laughed bitterly. "Most of those in authority come from the great families. You have no idea of the horrors they commit daily. And no one dares question them. Not even us."
There was a pause, a silence heavy with unspoken pain.
"This is our fate," he said, almost to himself. "No matter how hard we try, we can't escape it. My people—the demon race—we tried. And we failed."
He glanced back at Ronan, his voice softer now. "You're kind. That's rare. Kindness is good... but you have to be careful. If you show your heart too easily, someone will use it to hurt you. I just hope you grow strong enough to protect that kindness."
Ronan murmured sleepily, his eyes slipping shut. "Again with this 'fate'... is it really set in stone? If I'm not in control of my fate... then who is...?"
Fatigue overtook him, and his body went limp.
Mordek adjusted his grip and sighed. "Rest now. We'll regroup first... then I'll find out just how deep your wounds go. That soul of yours... it'll take time. And we'll need you strong for what's to come."
He walked on, carrying the burden of a fading ideal—and the hope that maybe, just maybe.