Chapter 3: The Demon Awakens

Chapter 3: The Demon Awakens

The heavy steel security door refused to budge.

Shevy stood in front of the electronic keypad, her fingers hovering just inches over the damaged metal casing. A thin, continuous stream of blue electricity cracked from her fingertips, flowing directly into the exposed wires of the lock. Sweat dripped down her forehead. Bypassing a military-grade security seal was not an easy task for a student. The minutes dragged on like hours. Every second that ticked by felt like a heavy weight pressing down on their chests.

Two full minutes passed in agonizing tension. Down the dark corridor, the faint sounds of shouting and structural collapses echoed from the gymnasium, reminding them that the wild gang was still hunting.

Finally, a loud mechanical clank echoed from the heavy steel frame. The glowing red light on the keypad flashed green.

Shevy exhaled a sharp breath and pushed the heavy push-bar. The door swung open, revealing a completely different environment. They stumbled out of the dark, rusted maintenance tunnel and into a brightly lit, pristine white room. The air instantly changed, smelling strongly of rubbing alcohol, antiseptic chemicals, and clean linen.

They had found the academy infirmary.

The room was vast, lined with rows of empty hospital beds with crisp white sheets. Glass cabinets lined the walls, packed tightly with medical supplies, healing potions, and advanced trauma kits. Large, floor-to-ceiling windows on the far side of the room overlooked the sprawling city skyline, though the glass was heavily tinted to block the morning sun.

Rivb practically dragged Chrites toward the nearest bed. He gently lowered Chrites onto the mattress, careful not to jostle his bleeding hand.

Chrono immediately ran toward the glass cabinets, shattering the lock with the butt of his sidearm. He grabbed handfuls of thick white gauze, bottles of heavy disinfectants, and rolls of medical tape. He dumped the supplies onto the bed next to Chrites.

Shevy and Rivb quickly went to work. They poured the harsh chemical disinfectant directly over the brutal knife wound on Chrites's hand. Chrites gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stay completely still while his friends tightly wrapped the heavy gauze around his palm to stop the bleeding.

They were so focused on the injury that none of them looked out the massive windows.

A quarter of a mile away, perched on the rooftop of a towering commercial skyscraper, a lone sniper lay flat against the concrete.

The sniper belonged to the wild gang currently ravaging the academy. He peered through the highly advanced, mana-infused scope of a massive, heavy-caliber rifle. The crosshairs of the weapon swept across the exterior of the academy building, scanning for any military police or escaping targets.

Then, the crosshairs locked onto the infirmary window.

The sniper's finger tightened over the trigger. He recognized the boy standing near the medical cabinets instantly. Chrono was not just an ordinary student. He was the sole heir to one of the wealthiest and most influential political families in the entire Grovics continent. Even more dangerously, Chrono's older sister was a globally recognized prodigy who held the terrifying rank of Master. Kidnapping or killing a boy with that kind of pedigree was worth millions of credits in ransom or bounty money.

The sniper adjusted his breathing. He accounted for the wind and the distance. He waited for Chrono to turn his body slightly, aiming for a clean, devastating shot.

The sniper pulled the trigger.

A silent, hyper-compressed bullet of lethal wind magic tore through the sky. It crossed the massive gap between the buildings in a fraction of a second. The heavy tinted glass of the infirmary window shattered violently inward, spraying sharp fragments across the sterile white floor.

The bullet did not hit Chrono in the head as intended. At the exact moment the glass broke, Chrono shifted his weight to grab another bandage. The lethal round missed his skull and slammed brutally into his right shoulder.

Chrono let out a choked gasp as the impact spun him around violently. Blood sprayed across the white cabinets. He collapsed hard onto the linoleum floor, his sidearm clattering away from him.

Chrites leaped up from the bed, his heart hammering in his chest. "What the hell happened?!" he shouted, his eyes darting toward the shattered window.

"Sniper! Get down!" Rivb screamed, tackling Shevy to the floor behind a heavy metal medical desk.

Chrites dove toward Chrono, grabbing the boy by his uninjured arm and dragging him forcefully behind the cover of the heavy steel cabinets, completely out of the sniper's line of sight. Chrono was breathing heavily, his face pale from the sudden shock. His shoulder uniform was entirely soaked in dark crimson blood.

They did not waste a single second. Rivb crawled over the glass-covered floor, dragging the medical supplies with him. They pressed heavy wads of clean gauze directly into Chrono's shoulder wound. Shevy used a pair of sterilized medical forceps from a dropped kit to dig into the torn muscle, quickly and desperately extracting the shattered remnants of the magical bullet. Chrono groaned in agony, biting down on his own collar to keep from screaming. They wrapped his shoulder tight with the remaining tape, applying maximum pressure to seal the wound.

"We cannot stay here," Shevy whispered frantically, her hands covered in Chrono's blood. "That sniper knows exactly where we are. We are sitting ducks."

Rivb nodded, helping Chrono to his feet. "There is a staff exit at the back of the infirmary. It leads straight to the rear parking lot. Let's move."

Leaving the bloody bandages and shattered glass behind, the four teenagers slipped through the rear doors of the infirmary. They navigated a short, narrow hallway that opened up into the open air of the academy's back alleys. The sounds of the gang attack were louder out here, but the rear lot was completely abandoned.

Sitting near the chain-link fence was a standard, ordinary civilian car. It looked like it belonged to a janitor or a junior teacher who had fled in absolute panic. The driver's side door was left wide open, and the keys were still dangling in the ignition.

"Get in!" Rivb ordered, rushing to the driver's seat.

Chrites and Shevy practically threw Chrono into the back seat, piling in right after him. Rivb turned the key, slammed the gearshift into drive, and stomped heavily on the gas pedal. The car tires screeched violently against the asphalt. They burst through the rear academy gates, leaving the warzone behind them, and merged recklessly into the chaotic city traffic.

Rivb drove like a madman, weaving through the crowded streets of the Grovics continent. He ignored every red light and traffic signal, his hands gripping the steering wheel tight. Ten minutes later, he slammed the brakes in front of the emergency room doors of a large, civilian hospital in the inner city.

Medical staff rushed out immediately. They placed Chrono onto a rolling stretcher, shouting orders to each other as they wheeled him into the trauma ward. Another group of nurses guided Chrites inside to properly treat and stitch the brutal knife wound on his hand. Rivb and Shevy stayed in the waiting room, finally allowing themselves to collapse into the plastic chairs, completely exhausted.

Meanwhile, back at the academy gymnasium, the chaos was finally beginning to settle.

Thick black smoke poured into the morning sky. The emergency alarms were still blaring their strobing red lights. Standing in the center of the ruined arena, surrounded by terrified hostages and shattered concrete, the gang leader checked his mechanical breathing mask.

His radio crackled with static. The military police were only minutes away from breaching the perimeter.

The gang leader raised his heavy weapon and signaled to his crew. "Our work is done. If we don't get out of here right now, the military will come and get us. Let us move."

The gang members did not hesitate. They dropped whatever supplies they were holding and prepared to retreat. In the corner of the room, several of the gang's designated healers were working quickly. They used crude, raw healing magic to patch up the thugs who had been injured during the raid, stopping bleeding and forcing broken bones back into place just enough so the men could run.

Within moments, the entire squad of Scrappers vanished into the subterranean maintenance tunnels, escaping through the city's underground network long before the Grovics magical army ever arrived.

Hours passed. The sun set over the city, casting the hospital into deep, quiet shadows.

Inside a private room on the fourth floor, the rhythmic, steady beeping of a heart monitor filled the silence. Chrites Lunode lay in a narrow hospital bed, staring blankly at the white ceiling. The city outside was quiet now. His right hand was professionally stitched and wrapped in thick, clean bandages. The doctors had given him pain medication, assuming he was just a terrified, average student who had barely survived a massacre.

The disguise had worked flawlessly. Chrono was safe in the room next door. No one suspected a thing.

But Chrites was not going to let this go.

He quietly threw the thin white blanket off his legs and slipped out of the bed. His bare feet made no sound against the cold linoleum floor. He checked the hallway. The nurses' station was empty, the staff busy attending to the influx of patients from the academy attack.

Moving like a shadow, Chrites navigated the quiet hospital corridors. He bypassed the elevators and took the emergency stairwell all the way down to the hospital basement. The basement was a dark, forgotten storage area filled with humming boiler machines and stacks of unused medical equipment.

Chrites walked over to a dark corner behind the heavy water pipes. He had completely anticipated a situation like this. Long before the entrance exams, he had stashed emergency supplies across the city. He reached behind a stack of wooden pallets and pulled out a heavy black duffel bag.

He unzipped the bag and began to change.

He stripped off the bloodstained, torn remnants of his academy uniform. He replaced it with a sharp, tailored black formal coat and matching dark trousers. The clothing was sleek, designed for maximum mobility while completely obscuring his identity. He reached into the bag again and pulled out his weapon. The simple, black-hilted sword slid perfectly onto his belt, its heavy steel resting comfortably against his hip.

Finally, he reached into the very bottom of the bag and pulled out his mask.

It was a terrifying, masterfully crafted piece of armor. The mask was shaped like the face of a grinning demon, painted in deep crimson and pitch black. It covered his entire face, leaving only narrow slits for his cold blue eyes to look through. It was a face meant to strike absolute fear into anyone who saw it.

Chrites lifted the demon mask and strapped it tightly over his face.

The average, lazy high school student was gone. In his place stood a silent, lethal force of nature. He turned his back on the hospital basement, pushed open the heavy service doors, and walked out into the cold night air.

The gang thought they had escaped the military. They had no idea they were about to be hunted by something much, much worse.

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