As the deafening bang reverberated through the room, time seemed to stretch and warp for Alan, as though the world had been plunged into a surreal, slow-motion nightmare. The chaos around him blurred into a disjointed moment, each detail crystallizing in his mind with horrifying clarity. The sound of shattering glass, the glint of sunlight reflecting off the shards, the faint smell of gunpowder lingering in the air—it all felt distant, muffled, as if he were trapped underwater, watching the scene unfold before him.
A bullet had pierced the large window of the private study, shattering the glass into a cascade of glittering shards that rained down like deadly confetti. Alan’s gaze followed the bullet as it sliced through the air, a harbinger of violence that moved with cruel, inevitable precision. It struck Jafar in the side, the impact sending him reeling backward, his body twisting unnaturally as the force of the shot knocked him off balance.
Alan’s heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing like a drum in his ears. He felt paralyzed, his limbs heavy and unresponsive, as though his body refused to acknowledge what was happening before him. Jafar’s expression shifted from confusion to agony in an instant, his face contorting as he staggered forward, his hand instinctively clutching the wound where the bullet had entered. Blood seeped through his fingers, staining his shirt a deep, spreading crimson.
Alan: “Jafar!” his voice tore through the chaos, raw and desperate, the name escaping his lips like a plea to some unseen force.
The sound of his own voice seemed to jolt him back into motion, the paralysis of shock giving way to a surge of adrenaline. He rushed forward, his mind racing with fragmented thoughts—How bad is it? Can I stop the bleeding? Where’s the shooter?—but the scene was too chaotic.
Jafar’s knees buckled, and he crumpled to the ground, his breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. The look in his eyes was one of disbelief, as though he couldn’t comprehend the sudden betrayal of his own body. His free hand clawed weakly at the floor, leaving smears of blood in its wake, while his other hand pressed desperately against the wound, as if he could somehow hold himself together.
Alan: “Stay with me, Jafar!” he urged, his voice trembling as he dropped to his knees beside his friend.
He fumbled with his hands, trying to remember the first aid magic he had learned—focus, focus—but panic clawed at his chest, threatening to overwhelm him. He could feel the warmth of Jafar’s blood pooling beneath his fingers, sticky and relentless, as he placed his hands over the wound and summoned his magic.
A faint glow emanated from Alan’s palms, the soft light of healing magic struggling to take hold. But the wound was deep, the damage severe, and Alan’s magic felt woefully inadequate. He could feel Jafar’s life slipping away with every labored breath, every shuddering gasp.
Lou sensed the imminent danger before anyone else, his instincts honed by years of experience and countless battles. The air around him seemed to shift, charged with an electric tension that set his nerves on edge. Without a moment’s hesitation, he sprang into action. He raised his hands, summoning aetheric bolts of water that crackled with raw energy, their surfaces shimmering like liquid lightning. With a swift, practiced motion, he launched them toward Cid, the projectiles cutting through the air with a low, menacing hum.
Cid reacted in a split second, his reflexes sharpened by adrenaline and survival instinct. He ducked beneath the desk where he had been seated, his mind racing as he flipped the table forward with a grunt of effort. The heavy wooden desk became a makeshift barrier, its surface splintering as the aether bolts collided with a deafening crack. Shards of wood and debris exploded in all directions, the force of the impact sending a shockwave through the room. Cid’s heart pounded in his chest as he crouched behind the ruined desk, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. He clenched his fists, steeling himself for what was to come.
He could feel the power granted by the book—a power he had yet to fully master but knew he couldn’t afford to hesitate with now. The energy pulsed through his veins, hot and alive, urging him to act. Gathering his focus, Cid stood up, his eyes locking onto Lou. In his hand, he gripped a simple pencil, its unassuming form belying the potential it held.
With a flick of his wrist, Cid hurled the pencil at Lou. At first glance, it seemed harmless—a mundane office supply soaring through the air with little more than the force of his throw. But as it traveled, a surge of aether coursed through it, twisting and reshaping it in midair. The pencil began to expand, its form elongating and thickening at an alarming rate. In the blink of an eye, it transformed into a colossal object, growing to the size of a towering oak tree while maintaining its original momentum. The air around it seemed to warp, as if reality itself struggled to accommodate its sudden, impossible growth.
Lou’s eyes widened in shock and confusion as he processed the surreal sight before him. His mind raced, struggling to reconcile the absurdity of a giant pencil hurtling toward him with the very real danger it posed. Instinctively, he unleashed a barrage of water-based aether bolts, the projectiles streaking through the air like glowing spears. But to his dismay, the giant pencil absorbed the impact of his attacks and continued its relentless trajectory.
Lou: “What the—?” the enforcer muttered, his voice barely audible over the roar of the approaching projectile. He raised his hands, summoning a protective ward of shimmering water aether, the barrier forming just as the pencil struck.
The collision was thunderous, the sound reverberating through the room like a clap of doom. The giant pencil slammed into Lou’s ward with the force of a freight train, the impact sending cracks spiderwebbing through the barrier. For a brief moment, the ward held, the aether flickering and straining under the immense pressure. Then, with a sound like shattering glass, it collapsed, the energy dissipating into the air in a burst of light and spray.
Lou was sent flying backward, his body crashing through the wall with the giant pencil in tow. The structure gave way with a deafening crunch, bricks and plaster exploding outward as the massive projectile carried him into the open air beyond, creating a gaping hole in the wall to the outside.
Dust and debris swirled through the air, creating a hazy veil that obscured the scene. As the particles began to settle, a grim scene emerged: a chaotic pile of rubble, jagged and uneven, with the giant pencil protruding from it. The pencil, still embedded in the wreckage, seemed almost absurd in its enormity. But before anyone could fully process the sight, the pencil suddenly shrank back down to its original size, collapsing in on itself with a faint whoosh of displaced air. In an instant, it was nothing more than an innocuous writing tool, lying amidst the ruins as if it had never been anything else.
From the edge of the debris, a small pool of blood began to seep into the dust, its crimson hue stark against the gray surroundings. The sight sent a chill through Cid, a grim acknowledgment of what he had done. Lou, who had been buried beneath the rubble, was likely in dire straits—if he was even still alive after such a devastating impact.
Cid’s jaw tightened as he stared at the blood, his mind racing with the implications. He had acted in self-defense, but the line between survival and brutality felt razor-thin. This wasn't like the situation with Sorin, and Cid felt guilt welling up inside of himself.
Before he could dwell on it further, a deafening explosion echoed from on top of the building across the field from where they were, shaking the very ground beneath his feet. The force of the blast sent a tremor through the building, dislodging more dust and debris from the ceiling. Cid clicked his tongue in annoyance, frustration bubbling to the surface as he steadied himself against the wall.
Cid: “It seems the explosive the sniper was carrying finally went off, taking him with it,” he muttered, shaking his head. His voice was calm, but there was an edge of irritation beneath it. “It should have detonated five seconds earlier, but my calculations are all out of whack now. At least I finally know what’s been throwing everything off.”
With that, Cid stood up, brushing dust from his clothes, and turned his gaze toward Alan.
Alan was still kneeling beside Jafar, his focus unwavering as he applied his magic to his critically injured friend. Blood pooled around them, dark and glistening, a stark contrast to the pale, ashen hue of Jafar’s face. Alan’s hands glowed with a warm golden light, illuminating the surroundings as he pressed them firmly against Jafar’s side. The glow pulsed rhythmically, a lifeline in the chaos, as Alan fought to stabilize the torrent of blood that threatened to spill from Jafar’s wound. His brow was furrowed in concentration, beads of sweat dripping down his face as he poured every ounce of his energy into the healing magic.
Alan
: “Hang in there, Jafar,” he whispered, his voice straineFd but resolute. The words were more for himself than for Jafar, a mantra to keep his own fear at bay.Alan could feel the weight of the situation pressing down on him, the knowledge that if he faltered, even for a second, Jafar would bleed out in mere moments. The effort was draining, and he could feel his own strength waning, but he refused to give in. His hands trembled slightly, the golden light flickering as he struggled to maintain the spell.
Cid approached slowly, his footsteps measured. His expression was unreadable, a mask of cold detachment as he stood over Alan and Jafar. The contrast between the two scenes—Alan’s desperate attempt to save a life and Cid’s calculated, almost clinical demeanor—was stark. Cid’s eyes flicked to Jafar’s wound, then to Alan’s trembling hands, before settling on Alan’s face.
Cid: “That bullet should have gone through his head, but your presence has continued to interfere with my calculation,” he said coldly. ”I didn’t want to do this,” Cid said, his voice low and heavy with regret. “But you’ve left me no choice. Remember what I promised you three that day? If you told anyone about me, I would find you and kill you. That was a promise I now have to keep.” He let out a long, weary sigh, his shoulders sagging as if the weight of his words was too much to bear. “I hate that she was right,” he mumbled to himself. “I hate that I have to be this ruthless.”
Alan didn’t respond. His entire focus was on Jafar, his hands glowing with a faint golden light as he poured every ounce of his energy into the healing magic. Blood still seeped from Jafar’s wound, staining Alan’s hands and very slowly pooled on the floor beneath them. Alan’s face was pale, his brow furrowed in concentration, his breathing shallow and uneven. He couldn’t stop now—if he did, Jafar would die. The thought of losing another friend was unbearable, and it left him completely defenseless, vulnerable to whatever Cid had planned.
Cid raised his hand, aether swirling around his fingertips as he prepared to launch an attack. His expression was grim, almost apologetic, but there was a cold determination in his eyes. He hesitated for a moment, as if giving Alan one last chance to speak, to explain, to beg for mercy. But Alan remained silent, his eyes closed, his lips moving in a silent prayer for someone—anyone—to help him.
Before Cid could fully gather his aether, a sudden blast of ice slammed into him with great force. The icy shards exploded on impact, sending him flying backward. He crashed into the nearby wall, the sound of cracking plaster and splintering wood echoing through the room. The force of the attack left him momentarily stunned, his body slumped against the wall as frost began to creep across his clothes and skin.
Alan’s head snapped up, his heart leaping in his chest as he turned toward the source of the attack. Standing in the doorway was a familiar figure, his presence commanding and his expression fierce. It was Johannes, a senior Arcane Eye student and the older brother of Edward Scefer. He strode into the room with a blade in hand, the weapon gleaming with an icy sheen. His movements were almost gallant, as if he were stepping onto a battlefield rather than into a crumbling, blood-stained room.
Johannes’s gaze fell upon Alan, who was desperately trying to stabilize Jafar. Their eyes met, and in that brief moment, Johannes offered a firm, confirming nod—a silent acknowledgment. Alan felt a surge of hope at the sight of his ally, even though Johannes was someone he didn’t initially trust.
Johannes: “Stay down,” the senior Arcane eye student said, his voice calm but laced with authority as he glanced at Cid. His eyes then shifted to Alan, and for a brief moment, his expression softened. “Focus on Jafar, help is on the way. I’ll handle this.”
Alan nodded, relief flooding through him as he turned back to Jafar. His hands trembled slightly, but the golden glow of his healing magic remained steady.
Alan: “Hang on, Jafar,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Just hang on.”
With renewed determination, Alan returned his focus to Jafar, ready to do whatever it took to save his friend, even as the chaos around them threatened to spiral further out of control.
Cid groaned, pushing himself up from the wall with visible effort. Frost still clung to his clothes, and his movements were sluggish, but his eyes burned with defiance. Despite getting hit by that attack he had created a barrier around him in time to block most of the damage. He glared at Johannes, aether beginning to swirl around him once more.
Cid: “You… You’re interfering in something you don’t understand,” he said, his voice strained but sharp. “This doesn’t concern you.”
Johannes raised his blade, the icy edge catching the light as he leveled it at Cid.
Johannes: “You’re wrong,” he replied, his tone icy to match his weapon. “You’ve made it my concern. And if you think I’m going to stand by while you hurt my juniors, you’re delusional.”
The room seemed to grow colder as the two men faced off, the tension between them crackling like static in the air. Cid’s colorless aether flared to life, swirling around him in a chaotic vortex of energy that contrasted sharply with the icy aura emanating from Johannes’ blade. For a brief moment, time stood still; neither of them moved, the silence heavy with anticipation, as if the very air was holding its breath.
Then, with a fierce roar, Cid launched himself forward, aether surging around him, creating a tempest of wind. Johannes met him head-on, his blade slicing through the air with deadly precision, a shimmering trail of frost following in its wake. The clash of their powers erupted in a violent explosion, sending shockwaves rippling through the room. The force of their collision rattled the walls, dislodging debris from the ceiling and sending it crashing to the ground.
In the midst of the chaos, Cid seized the opportunity to escape. He darted through the gaping hole he had created in the wall, desperate to put distance between himself and Johannes. But Johannes was relentless; he followed closely, his icy blade glinting ominously as he pursued Cid into the unknown.
The two men raced through the crumbling wall, leaving both Alan and Jafar behind.