ch 10: carnivore's gift

Every few seconds, the silver beam of moonlight gleaming through the glass windows was snuffed out, interrupted by the passing silhouettes of shadows.

They were nimble, predatory shapes that moved with a terrifying lack of weight, the fabric of their coats rippling against the wind with a sound like a thousand paper cuts.

In a silent agreement, the three students sprinted as fast as they could. If the royal knights, men who had spent their lives tempering their bodies for war; had been dismantled so easily, then the students were nothing more than soft, defenseless prey.

Veronica ran with her head high, lifting her dress as she went. Each heel hit the stone with a rapid, defiant beat, echoing her determination.

She wasn't just running, no, she was refusing to be hunted. Such a victimizing event would be below her, and that level of disrespect was one that she could not even bear to imagine.

Albo, by contrast, was a frantic mess. His head snapped left and right, his eyes wide, scanning every alcove and corner, preparing himself for any sort of lunge toward him or Saya.

When he glanced back at her, their gazes met. She didn’t have the eyes of a frightened or distraught girl, but instead held a quiet determination to survive. She was hunched over, her arms wrapped around the chained book as tightly as she could.

For a single second, Albo felt a sense of familiarity. Even in the middle of a slaughter, she wouldn’t let go of the book that she held. Despite all that was happening around them, Albo couldn’t help but admire her determination to pursue her goals.

But for Saya, the book wasn’t a choice that she made for herself anymore. It was a lifeline, the only physical fragment left of the man that had encouraged her to begin this journey in the first place. To her, it was a way to honor that man, to honor Professor Hector.

From the corners of the hall, the cloaked assassins emerged like ink spilling into water. They leaped, blades drawn, their movements a blur of lethal intent.

They’re too fast—!

Albo’s mind stalled. The world slowed down into a terrifying, static image of his own death. But he wasn't alone this time.

Veronica didn’t even look back. She lowered her head slightly in preparation of the spell she was about to cast. With a sharp, piercing whistle, the Birthmark on her neck flared into a violent, toxic purple.

Thorny branches erupted from the ground, but they didn't strike directly. They twisted and surged, rapidly establishing a base from the floor to the roof before extending its thorns, carefully tracking the moments of the assassins and aiming for their flesh.

The assassins caught in the thorns weren’t granted the gift of death. Their bodies thrashed in struggle as the spike injected a bubbling, emerald toxin into their veins, their skin blistering and melting beneath their cloaks.

Those who managed to evade the life seeking thorns still found no sanctuary, as the branches exhaled a thick, purple mist that clogged the air.

“—Is this... poison?” Albo gasped, the realization snapping his mind back into focus.

His brain recalled the lessons drilled into him over countless hours. Although fire and poison spells were effective on their own, combining the two forms of magic could yield powerful results, such as an explosion.

Twisting his body mid-run, Albo’s arm snapped out toward the purple fog. He didn't think nor hesitate as he poured every ounce of his terror into a single, blazing ball of heat.

The moment the fire touched the mist, a blinding orange explosion ripped through the corridor, a wall of heat searing the assassins to the bone. A violent shockwave slammed into their backs, driving them forward as the hall behind them became a roaring furnace.

“Where are we going?!” Saya cried out as they turned another corner, the heat still licking at her heels.

“Where do you think, mudbiter?!” Veronica’s voice was like a whip, steady and sharp. “We hide until the sun rises. We won’t be able to beat the shadows within their own specialty..”

Saya weighed her options quickly. The library was too unpredictable, its wooden columns and divided aisles would obstruct any reliable anticipation of enemy movement.

Leaving the academy was no safer. The open space provided endless attack routes, after all, those were the same grounds where the knights had been cut down.

A cold, stagnant breath brushed against her ear. It wasn't a sound, but rather a "presence" that made every fine hair on her body rise sharply, reacting as a tingle of pure survival instinct.

Behind me—!

Without a shred of hesitation, her body reacted before her mind could even finish the thought. She swung the chained book backward in a desperate, arc-like motion. The impact vibrated through her arms, as a black blade fell to the ground.

Upon spotting the assailant, Veronica didn’t hesitate. She flicked her fingers back, forming small, jagged shards of ice that launched backwards with the speed of arrows. But the target’s movements were inhuman, its nimbleness making its destination impossible to track.

Albo raised his arm well, unleashing a series of firebolts that lit the corridor in rhythmic flashes of orange. As expected, none of the shots struck the target, bursting harmlessly around it instead.

When none of their attacks connected, Veronica clicked her tongue sharply in annoyance. Taking the lead, she tucked her legs beneath her, ready to vault through the window to the outside.

Saya’s eyes widened in confusion. Her expectations were ruined, she imagined Veronica was far more capable of deducing the risk of going outside, but she was wrong.

“Wai-” she tried to warn Veronica, but it was too late.

The Birthmark on Veronica’s neck flickered, the toxic purple transforming into a vibrant green. The air around her spiraled rapidly, launching her forward with the force of a cannonball.

Anticipating her escape, the assassin used the roof for leverage, launching himself toward the window to intercept Veronica. All he needed was for the young maiden to land on his blade, no attack required.

To him, it was all too easy. He couldn’t understand how his comrades had fallen to such a foolish, ragtag team of students. Though shrouded by his dark cloak, the man smiled, ready to feast on another victim.

But she was far smarter than the assassin had given her credit for. Her Birthmark shifted once again, from a vibrant green to a cold, heartless blue. She crossed her arms, ice blooming over her skin like a crystalline shield.

Veronica smirked as she slammed into the assassin with the force of a battering ram, sending him crashing through the window. Glass exploded around him as his body tumbled helplessly into the air.

There was no time to recover, no room to breathe, and in a split second, his body was impaled on the metallic spikes lining the academy’s fences.

Saya and Albo froze. Veronica landed before them, every breath steady, every movement controlled. Her posture alone spoke of confidence.

“Did you really think”, she began, the dominating tone that both Albo and Saya had grown familiar to, “that I was foolish enough to try and leave?”

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” Saya fired back. There was no social decorum she needed to be cautious of. After the pain Veronica had inflicted on Saya in the past, praising her tormentor felt nearly impossible.

Veronica let out a sharp, dismissive huff through her nose, "understand that our levels of intelligence are leagues apart. I never want to hear that level of disrespect ever again, especially not from a mudbiter like you.”

“Is this really the time to start a fight?!” Albo asked, his eyes darting toward the darkness, waiting for the next shadow to lunge out of the silence.

The gentle night breeze ruffled Veronica’s hair with a graceful touch. The chill on their faces felt oddly refreshing, but the stench of blood and death shattered the brief moment of peace. Saya stepped forward, casting another glance at the massacre below.

The royal knights were no longer men; they were scattered, dark stains on the earth sharing the same fate as Hector. The crates they had died to protect stood open and hollow, plundered of their secrets, leaving nothing behind but dust.

As Saya drifted in her thoughts, a tremor shook the earth beneath them. The lit lamps along the walls rattled loose and shattered on the floor as a muffled roar drew closer and closer.

In an instant, a searing gust of wind tore through the corridor they had just turned from. It burned green as it passed, ripping paint from stone and shredding everything in its path, a blender of elemental force. From within that spiral of destruction, a body was hurled forward.

The wind itself vanished almost as quickly as it had come, but the body did not. It slammed into the wall with a thunderous crack, splintering stone and shaking the structure of the building. Then came a second roar.

Rias Sol. The assassin that had proudly toyed with Hector’s corpse lay on the ground, unconscious. Before rage could even overtake Saya’s mind, she heard a second roar.

This one was faster, lighter. Saya and Albo clung to the wall to steady themselves, while Veronica remained upright, balancing effortlessly atop her heels. To her, even stumbling would have been a show of disrespect to her pride.

From the corner of her eye, Saya caught a glimpse of a shimmering white streak landing atop the fallen body. The chaos made it impossible to grasp the scene in full, but the pale figure raised its arms, as if to finish its opponent off.

The hairs along Saya’s skin stood on end as her blood ran cold. Strangely, it wasn’t the wind that caused it. The warmth in her body vanished as the shadow that had whispered to her earlier spoke again, this time commanding her to step left.

Her body obeyed before thought could catch up, before she could reason as to why she had done as it asked, a sharp sting grazed her cheek, leaving behind a small cut.

In the space of a heartbeat, she saw it, an arrow of condensed magic streaking past her face, wrapped in deep crimson and black.

She didn’t have time to understand what was happening before an explosive shockwave tore through the corridor, hurling her backward. Her body flung toward the shattered window, the very one Veronica had sent the assassin through.

At Hector’s office, just a short moment prior…

Hana’s twin blades danced in a blur of silver, deflecting the jagged, mud-caked strikes that came at her with a calm, calculated precision. Opposite of her, Rias wore an expression of such pure, unadulterated joy that it looked like his face might split open.

To the Sword Saint, this wasn't a duel of honor. There was no grace here, no efficiency, and certainly no dignity. It felt as if she were merely babysitting a screaming, murderous child throwing a tantrum.

Yet, she could not in her right consciousness take the battle much less seriously. Just because she had superior skill, did not mean she wouldn’t be able to be taken off guard. More than that, she felt a responsibility to avenge her fellow knights.

Every time she closed her eyes for a heartbeat, the faces of the knights who had followed her into battle haunted her.

If I hadn’t left the tent…

She had planned to leave the meeting as quickly as possible, but her sudden appearance sparked an equally sudden surge of work, pulling her away from where she needed to be.

Even so, she did not blame those who sought her out. The fault lay with herself, for not acting as efficiently as she should have. It wasn’t unreasonable to assume the cult wouldn’t strike so fiercely, but what was done was done.

Snapping Hana away from her thoughts, Rias launched a barrage of blades forged from hardened, blackened mud. She used her body, the peak of human athletic perfection, to twist and flip through the projectiles.

But just as she had anticipated, this was not a fair fight.

The mud-blades she dodged didn't just hit the wall; they etched themselves into it. As Hana landed, the blades behind her suddenly sprouted long, needle-like spikes, lunging for her spine.

In a movement that defied the weight of her armor, Hana stabbed her right blade into the floorboards and hoisted her entire body vertically, balancing on the hilt like a spire of steel.

Her legs extended outward to stabilize her form, preventing even the slightest sway, a technique she alone had mastered during her time at the Atrila Academy.

Rias let out a low, revolting moan of excitement, his waist rocking in an unsettling rhythm.

“YOU’RE SO MUCH BETTER THAN I EXPECTED!”

He exclaimed, licking his lips as thick, black saliva dripped down his chin.

“COME CLOSER, I WANT TO GNAW AT YOUR HANDS, YOUR FEET. MY JAW CAN’T TAKE ANY MORE WAITING!”

Hana didn't have time to hear the “praise” of a parasite. She countered his attack by launching herself forward, aiming for his heart.

But as he had done dozens of times before, Rias tore his body apart, disintegrating into a swarm of wet clods. Her blade passed through empty air, only for him to reassemble behind her with a slimy, squelching sound.

“Aww, the Sword Saint can’t hit me? How sad, I feel so bad for you.”

The battle was at a constant stalemate. Hana had infinite stamina thanks to her “Gift of Wind”, but Rias had the immortality of the earth. They could clash and strike each other for all eternity, but neither understood how to truly kill the other.

Hana clenched her jaw in frustration. Her “Gift” was certainly a blessing that pushed wind magic far beyond its natural limits, yet it came with a cruel constraint. She possessed overwhelming power, but no flexibility, and no access to different elements to fall back on. In short, she was wind locked.

Still, retreat was not an option. She had to avenge her fallen comrades, and protect the people of the city.

She had already issued an emergency evacuation order before rushing to the academy, but it was unlikely that all of Kala had reached safety. Especially not when half its knights now lay dead.

Suddenly, the mud scattered around the room began to glow with a dark, wine-red light. It bloated, pulsing like a heartbeat before the room erupted.

Splinters of oak and shards of glass became shrapnel. Smoke choked the air, but with a sharp flick of her wrist, Hana summoned a vortex that swept the debris away. As soon as her vision cleared, long, stretching tendrils of mud fired at her at blinding speed, attempting to pin her down just as it had done to Albo moments earlier.

Despite Rias’ attempts, not a single drop of mud grazed her armor. As Hana dodged into the air, her eyes caught a flicker beneath Rias’ skin, his Birthmark frantically cycling between a deep sea blue and a muddy, dark brown.

Whether he had allowed her to notice, or if arrogance had let the seams of his technique leak, did not matter. No matter how much he claimed to defy the natural laws of magic, he was still bound by the logic of existence. Power did not spring from an empty void; it required a source—a root.

Hana landed behind him, her blade positioned horizontally, cutting an arc intended to take his neck. This time however, Rias didn't disassemble. He panicked, bending his entire upper backward to avoid her sharp steel.

“I get it now,” Hana said, a light, cold chuckle escaping her lips.

Rias fixated his eyes on her, his smugness flickering for the first time.

“Hm? Whatever could you mean, I wonder?”

With intentions to brag, Hana took a step forward, but her boot landed on something soft. Something wet.

She looked down. Beneath her heel lay Hector’s desecrated body lying amidst the debris, scarred by the violence of the battle.

A wave of suffocating sadness hit her, a realization of how much she was disrespecting the dead by laughing in their presence. She pulled her foot back, as her eyes hardened back into focus.

“How boring that you can’t ev-”

“Silence.”

An intense, screaming spiral of wind erupted from Hana’s feet. It expanded in a heartbeat, encasing the entire office in a localized hurricane. Furniture was reduced to sawdust. The mud particles Rias had painstakingly hidden were caught in the centrifugal force, spinning helplessly in the outer ring of the storm.

Rias’ body had begun to tear itself apart due to the force, at this rate, he wouldn’t be able to control his own body. In a state of panic, his body solidified, but this was the opportunity that Hana had been banking on.

He was a man made out of mud, but his mud wasn’t infinite. He still needed a Birthmark to produce the state that he was constantly in.

“I knew it.”

Hana stated as she redirected the wind at Rias. Before another thought could form, Rias was caught in the gale like a leaf in a storm. His body was flung out of the room at a terrifying speed, crashing through the thick stone walls of the end of the corridor.

Not willing to give him an opportunity to recover, Hana put her right leg back, using the magical energy she had accumulated to propel herself forward.

She dashed after him, her hair flapping violently as her presence broke down the very structure of the academy as she passed. A true force of nature, a white streak of vengeance.

As she sped past the broken-down academy dorms, her eyes caught glimpses of the rooms the assassins had quietly infiltrated. There, on the beds where students should have been dreaming of their futures, lay the dead.

Daggers were embedded in their throats, hearts, and skulls. Her knights and the students shared the same fate, none were spared a single drop of mercy.

But her despair was short-lived. As Hana flew past the final room, she landed on top of the momentarily unconscious Rias.

Beneath her, his body felt undeniably real. His body was solid with bones and flesh, and with that confirmation, she knew she could finally end this monstrosity of a “person.”

Hana raised her blade, its steel swirling with the same rage and hatred she harbored toward her opponent. She would show no mercy, just as the cult did with the students and knights of Kala.

Before she could force her blade down on Rias, something else drew her attention.

From the corner of her eye, three figures snapped into her line of sight; Albo, Saya, and Veronica as they were momentarily distracted by the tremor she had unleashed with her overwhelming force.

But rather than the students, Hana focused instead on what lay beyond them. Past the shattered glass window from where they stood, a glint of black and red light tore through the beauty of the night sky, racing straight toward them.

The dark energy swirled as it closed the distance with terrifying speed. Hana’s mind was already moving at breakneck velocity, yet there was still barely time to think, let alone react.

Perhaps it was her “Gift” that allowed her to sense the projectile in that infinitesimal moment, but sensing it wasn’t enough, and there was no time for a plan. There was only the desperate, clawing need for her body to transcend its own limits.

In that moment, Hana drove every drop of magical energy she possessed into a single, frantic wall of defense.

The strange energy tore across the rooftops, shattering windows in its wake as a sonic boom ripped through the city. The energy bolt hissed through the air, a silent missile of death passing inches from Veronica, Saya, and Albo. It was too fast for their inexperienced eyes to register, but Hana saw it.

There was only one thought looping in her mind.

If I don’t dodge this… No, if I don’t block this.

I’ll die!

Precision had never mattered more. She raised the steel of her blade at the exact, agonizing moment of contact.

The Birthmarks etched into her steel reacted violently to the dark, cursed bolt, bursting with power in a desperate attempt to repel it. Hana’s magical gears snapped into a new alignment, drawing the energy from her blades back into her body.

If the swords failed to stop it, then her body would become the shield. The two magical forces detonated against one another, protection clashing with annihilation. In that infinitesimal instant, superiority was decided in a battle even Hana could not perceive.

Then, the three students watched as a violent explosion hurled the Sword Saint in the opposite direction, barely blocking the shot. Her body slammed into the wall, vanishing beneath a cloud of dust and shattered stone.

Albo, Saya, and Veronica spun toward the source of the attack, only to be greeted by a man outlined by the stars.

Standing amid the shattered window frame was a man dressed in an elegant black suit, as though woven from shadow itself. A slick top hat obscured his face. His skin was unnervingly pale, a stark contrast to the dark hair that fell to his shoulders.

A golden necklace embraced his chest, its centerpiece shaped like a crow’s feather. Though he carried a wooden cane in his right hand, he didn’t use it for support, it was merely a fashion choice.

Or perhaps a weapon.

He was the very definition of dark elegance, as even his polished shoes reflected the stunned silhouettes of the students staring back at him.

A gentle, terrifyingly hollow smile formed on his face. Saya met his gaze, his amber-colored eyes piercing straight through her soul.

“Good evening.” His voice was deep, smooth, and almost comforting. Had any of them met him under different circumstances, one might have mistaken him for a high-ranking noble, or something far deeper.

"I am Sulva Vera," the man continued. He removed his hat, sweeping it across his chest in a graceful bow, “A ‘Feather’ of Celica.”