Nathan's knees hit the stone.
Everything else blurred.
His chest rose and fell in shallow jerks, like his lungs weren't convinced they were needed anymore.
The portal had vanished.
No trace. No trail. No backlash of failed magic or scent of burnt mana. Just a hollow wound in the air, sealed shut like he'd never been there at all.
The battlefield around him was still dripping in blood and fear, but none of it mattered now. Not the broken tiles. Not the students catching their breath. Not the way Liliana's voice cracked into sobs beside him.
He just stared at the spot where Merlin had disappeared.
And waited for time to start moving again.
Not until they arrived.
Wind curled across the ruined courtyard, carrying with it a pulse of mana so thick Nathan's skin prickled.
Vivienne landed first. She didn't make a sound, a long cloak flowing like woven dusk behind her. Her steps were gentle. Quiet. Like she didn't want to disturb the silence.
Reinhardt hit the stone like a hammer. Dust jumped under his boots, his broad frame tensed as his gaze swept the area with military sharpness.
His sword was strapped to his back, but his aura spoke enough—he was ready to cut down whatever did this.
Neither of them said anything at first.
They looked at the battlefield.
Then at the students.
Vivienne's eyes narrowed.
Nathan blinked. "…What?"
"Merlin," she said, stepping forward, voice lined with something soft. Frantic under the surface. "Where's Merlin?"
Nathan didn't answer.
"He—he went in. The rift—he went in and sealed it and—"
The tears choked her words out like broken glass.
Reinhardt didn't react. Not outwardly. He stared at the cracked flagstones like he was trying to see through them.
Vivienne inhaled once, softly.
Nathan's eyes snapped to her.
"You knew he'd do something ?"
Vivienne didn't meet his gaze. "No. But I knew he could."
She stepped to the center of the field—where Merlin had vanished—and crouched. Her fingers brushed the scorched stone.
"…Too clean. He reversed the polarity of the surge. Absorbed the rupture instead of disrupting it." Her voice trembled at the edge. "He didn't just stop it. He closed it."
Reinhardt folded his arms tightly across his chest.
"Taught him better than that."
"Did you?" Nathan asked sharply. "Because it looks is exactly what you trained him for."
Reinhardt's jaw twitched.
He didn't answer right away.
"He said… he had a plan," Nathan said, his voice cracking as he stood. "And then he went. And none of us could stop him."
Vivienne looked at him now. Fully. And in her eyes—there was nothing but grief. The kind she didn't know how to wear.
"I taught him restraint," she whispered.
"And I taught him to finish the job," Reinhardt said darkly. "Damn him, I didn't expect him to make a sacrifice ."
Nathan stepped forward. "So what now?"
"What now?" Reinhardt turned toward him. "You want to throw yourself in after him?"
Nathan's fists clenched. "If I could, I would."
Vivienne reached out, touching Nathan's shoulder. Her hand was warm. Steady.
"Don't," she said gently. "You'd only be wasting what he just gave you."
Nathan's voice dropped. "I didn't want it."
Vivienne's smile was brittle.
The silence stretched.
Reinhardt finally exhaled, slow and deep. "We'll sweep the battlefield. Secure the perimeter. No more creatures are coming through."
"No," Nathan said. "They're not. He made sure of that."
Vivienne's hand dropped to her side.
She looked older, suddenly.
Not physically. Just…tired.
Nathan looked up at the sky, still dark with smoke and fading mana.
'If Merlin's alive, he's alone. If he's not…'
His fingers dug into his palms.
'I won't believe that. Not until I see it.'
He turned to the others—the bloodied students, the rattled crowd, the professors, the smoldering battlefield.
And then back to the empty space in the center of it all.
"Merlin Everhart is not dead," Nathan said softly.
Liliana sniffled beside him.
Adrian looked down at his axe, then nodded once.
Even Dorian, silent as ever, said nothing to disagree.
Nathan stared ahead, into nothing.
'You better be alive, you bastard. You're not allowed to leave me with these people. You hear me? I'm going to save you!'
Darkness pressed against his eyelids like wet cloth.
Then pain. Not sharp. Not fresh. Deep. Threaded into the bones, like something had chewed through the marrow and left the rest behind to rot.
Merlin opened his eyes.
The sky above him bled red. Not sunset. Not flame. Just red—raw, unfiltered, and unnatural. Like the world had been flipped inside out and this was the bleeding underside.
The first breath burned.
Too much ambient mana. Too much corruption.
He rolled to his side and dry-heaved into the black dirt.
'Not dead.Not… too alive, either.'
He blinked, slowly. The ground beneath him shimmered faintly. Not stone, not soil—something in between. Dark, porous, like volcanic ash fused with bone. It pulsed occasionally. Faint. Like a heartbeat.
He coughed once. Then twice.
His left arm didn't respond.
Dislocated shoulder. Torn sleeve. Blood dried into his skin like paint.
'Still whole. Barely.'
He pushed himself upright, knees sinking slightly into the strange earth. Around him, the terrain stretched wide—cracked ridges, jagged cliffs. Massive twisted trees in the distance, their leaves glowing faintly green like they drank poison.
No trace. No tear in the air. No shimmer of returning mana.
Just a dead silence stretching to the horizon.
'No reinforcement here, I'm on my own.'
The thought landed heavier than expected.
No time for weakness.
First—he needed to know how his core was looking so he tried channeling his mana..which was a bad idea.
Pain took over his entire body.
'Corruption…of course.'
After that he tried analyzing his injuries.
'Left shoulder dislocated, internal bruising, blood loss…my shoulder should be back in place soon.'
He already knew where he was currently based on the surroundings and his knowledge.
The demonic continent. It could be nowhere else. A pocket plane born from negative mana overflow. The worst-case scenario. The only place a rift like that could connect to.
His fingers twitched.
"Priorities," he muttered. "Secure shelter. Stop bleeding. Evaluate local threats."
A soft screech echoed in the distance.
Something was hunting.
'No food. No allies. No plan.'
'Just like always, I'm alone again.'
Remembering his past life was always a bad battle in his mind, so he tried his best to avoid it at all costs.
He stood—slowly, painfully—resetting his shoulder with a ragged gasp. The pop echoed louder than expected.
"Come on, Everhart," he whispered. "You're not done yet."
Then he turned toward the sound.
Step by step, into the unknown.
Not like wind, or rain. Not like nature.
Low and deep and wrong. Pulsing like a stomach digesting something still alive.
Merlin pressed his hand against the side of his ribs, fingers slick with blood. The shoulder throbbed from the reset—he couldn't lift his arm yet.
His legs were moving. Sort of. One foot dragging more than stepping. Still, he didn't stop.
'Don't stop now Merlin..If you stop, it smells you.'
The thought wasn't metaphorical.
There were things here. He hadn't seen them. But they'd seen him.
The sky above shifted like skin, and in its folds, a flicker moved.
'Thirty seconds before they send a scout. I need to find cover.'
He scanned the landscape.
Charred gullies. Twisted trees. A slope up ahead—half-collapsed rock face with a shadow beneath.
He pushed forward, heart hammering in rhythm with his steps. Every movement sent pain through his ribs.
Each breath scraped. The corrupted mana here wasn't just thick—it had texture, like ash dissolved in ink. Breathing it in felt like drowning sideways.
A screech echoed behind him.
High-pitched. Curious.
Merlin didn't look back.
He stumbled into the mouth of the cave, nearly hitting the jagged arch above. The temperature dropped instantly, like the cave was chewing him into its throat. He paused—then ducked further in.
Bones lined the walls. Not arranged. Just pressed. Half-embedded in the rock like something had slept so long its victims fossilized around it. The air inside was even worse than outside—dead, still, and heavy. But—
'Stillness is good, it means nothing is living here.'
He collapsed to one knee near the wall.
Mana still dripping out of him like he'd been punctured.
He reached into his coat—found the folded cloth-wrapped charm buried in the inside lining. Nathan had forced it on him.
"It's a handkerchief," Nathan had said at the time, bright-eyed. "For when you get dramatic and bleed all over the courtyard again."
He unwrapped it. Tied the least-bloody corner around his upper arm to slow the mana leak. He didn't have healing spells—never bothered to learn. But he had control. And control meant survival.
The screech came again—closer now.
He pressed his back to the curved wall of the burrow, letting the shadows swallow him whole.
The red light from the sky didn't reach here.
A soft skitter at the entrance.
Thin legs. Multi-jointed. Just one.
It crept past the threshold. Paused. Sniffed.
Merlin didn't breathe.
The creature let out a wet clicking sound, limbs scraping the stone.
Merlin's fingers curled around the base of his rapier—still sheathed.
Drawing would be way too loud.
But if it moved any closer—
It backed away, limbs clicking. Out of the burrow.
Merlin waited five more minutes before exhaling.
'Too close, far too close.'
He tilted his head back against the wall.
Red light barely reached this far. Just enough to catch the glint of something above him—scratched into the rock. Not natural.
Then smiled, thin and humorless.