Chapter 42: Student Council War 8

Chapter 42: Student Council War 8 Smoke curled from the broken hills as if the world itself was exhaling after holding its breath too long. The field was scorched, pocked with collapsed trenches, shattered spells, and the bodies of the fallen. Here and there, flickers of unstable magic danced across the debris like dying stars. But the war wasn’t over. Far from it. The survivors of both Crimson Dawn and Galat stood on opposite ends of the valley, bloodied but unyielding, the aftermath of the Phoenix’s havoc weighing on every soul. The ground trembled not with flame this time, but with anticipation. Ashen Crimson stepped forward from his side, wrapped in new shadows laced with faint embers. His very presence rippled across the field like a storm ready to break. "I’ve given you all enough time to breathe," he said, voice clear and cutting through the air like a blade. "But breath doesn’t win battles. Precision does. Loyalty does. Formation does." Crimson Dawn tightened, ready. "This ends today." He raised one hand. The shadows behind him shifted, stretching outward like wings. The mark of the Phoenix glowed faintly beneath his collarbone. "One target per warrior. One-on-one. No chaos. No interference. This will not be a mob. It will be a purge." He looked straight across the field. "Let the chosen rise." With those words, they moved. Layla stepped forward, her frost blade humming in her grasp. Her armor still bore scorch marks from the Phoenix’s descent, but her eyes were ice—sharp and merciless. Across from her, Rayne answered the call. His windsteel cloak whipped in the dry wind, his glaive shimmering. They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to. They clashed. Rayne moved first, his glaive spinning in wide arcs, summoning miniature cyclones around the battlefield to throw off footing. Layla responded with her classic glacial stance—low, stable, unshakable. She let the wind cut past her and countered with precision, her frost forming into lances that shot toward Rayne’s knees. He dodged, barely, but his smile faded. This wasn’t the Layla who faltered in the Gloomroot ambush. This was the Layla who survived the Phoenix. To the left, Sasha surged forward, flame licking from her gauntlets, her bloodfire already boiling through her skin. Her opponent waited with eerie stillness—Kali, mistress of toxins and corrupted waters. Sasha launched first, her punch sending a wave of molten air toward Kali. The water mage responded with a spiraling whip of blackened liquid, colliding midair. Steam erupted around them in thick curtains. "I’ve wanted to burn you for a long time," Sasha growled. Kali’s smile was venom. "You’ll drown in yourself before that ever happens." Across the valley, Rin and Aurelia met. It wasn’t rage that drove them—it was purpose. Aurelia, robed in shifting gold, summoned ethereal blades that orbited her like twin moons. Rin answered with illusion magic, multiplying his presence into seven forms that blurred and weaved. Aurelia struck without hesitation, cutting through three clones. Rin darted around her defenses, his real self barely skimming past a golden blade. "You’re fast," she admitted. "Not fast enough yet," Rin replied, breath steady. To the right, Lucielle faced her mirror. Cecilia. Both swordswomen. Both prideful. Both scarred from years of dancing with death. Lucielle’s blades were shadowsteel, forged with soul-honed mana. Cecilia’s rapier and dagger shimmered with cold wind enchantments. When they crossed steel, it was not just a fight—it was poetry sharpened into murder. Their movements were blurs. Their blades sang. Each feint, counter, and pivot left trails of mana against the air. Lucielle grinned. "Still dancing with elegance instead of violence?" Cecilia narrowed her eyes. "I dance with precision. You swing like a drunk thunderstorm." "I like to shake the sky." Not far behind them, Noora and Eric moved in tandem—water and lightning. Noora’s icy control blanketed the ground beneath them while Eric crackled with live current, his hands sparking. Their opponents: Nyx and two Galat disciples. Nyx raised her hand, darkness swirling. From her fingers, void tendrils lashed outward, seeking mana signatures to drain. Eric slammed one palm to the earth. Bolts of electric charge carved trenches through the field, intercepting the void strikes and scattering the lesser disciples. Noora focused on Nyx, crafting thin javelins of pressurized frost. "Don’t blink," she said. Nyx caught the first one midair and shattered it with a pulse of anti-magic. "I never do." Everywhere across the field, pairings had formed. Old rivalries and new vendettas ignited with every clash. Above them all, Ashen stood watching, arms folded. He was not going to interfere. Not yet. Seraphina stood beside him, bow drawn but not fired. "Why not strike now? We have the numbers. The phoenix. You." Ashen’s eyes flickered with fire. "Because we don’t just kill them. We show them they’ve already lost." In the center, Layla and Rayne’s fight grew more vicious. Rayne’s wind stepped him above her strike, but she anticipated it—redirecting her thrust into a frost burst that coated the air with freezing mist. Rayne coughed, slowed. She closed in, spinning under his guard and slamming her shoulder into his gut. Rayne countered with a blast of compressed air that threw her backward, tumbling. They both rose, battered. "You fight like you’re already dead," Rayne said. Layla smirked. "Better than living like a coward." Sasha and Kali circled, both bleeding now. Fire met toxin, steam hissing between them. "Still standing?" Kali asked, wiping a burn from her cheek. "I’ll stand till I see your poison dry," Sasha replied, charging. Lucielle ducked under Cecilia’s blade, slashing upward in a cross-counter that finally tore fabric. Cecilia hissed and retaliated, spinning a gust into Lucielle’s legs, tripping her. "You talk too much," she said. "Because your silence is boring," Lucielle spat, flipping back to her feet. Rin’s illusions shimmered again. Aurelia cut two more but caught a phantom knife to her side. "You’ve improved," she admitted, winded. "Not enough," Rin replied. They clashed again, light and deception dancing. Noora and Eric pressed Nyx hard. She defended with grace but fatigue showed. Her disciples faltered, knocked unconscious or bound in frost. "Yield," Noora offered. Nyx’s eyes glowed black. "Never." From afar, Ashen watched. His mind cataloged every movement, every wound, every shift of momentum. This wasn’t chaos. This was symphony. A war made art. Lucielle’s boots slid across the gravel as she disengaged, her shadowsteel blades humming in her hands. Across from her, Cecilia flicked blood from her rapier, her expression calm despite the gash on her shoulder. The battlefield around them pulsed with distant magic, but in this clearing, there was only silence. "I forgot how fast you were," Cecilia said, circling. Lucielle smirked. "And I forgot how much you like to talk with your eyes." They closed the gap again, steel clashing with steel. Cecilia’s rapier danced in calculated arcs, aiming for joints and arteries. Lucielle countered with erratic motion—half-spin, twist, slash—her dual blades working in harmony to deflect and disorient. Sparks flew in every direction. Cecilia ducked a high feint and countered with a thrust toward Lucielle’s ribs, but Lucielle dropped, sliding beneath the attack and coming up behind her. Her blade grazed Cecilia’s thigh before being kicked away. The two separated again, breathing harder. "You’ve refined your movement," Cecilia admitted. "More disciplined." "Guess getting burned by a Phoenix will do that," Lucielle replied, twirling one blade backhand. Cecilia lunged first this time, channeling wind through her weapon. Lucielle dodged left, but the gust carried the rapier’s momentum, slicing her across the upper arm. She grimaced but stayed close, absorbing the blow to get inside Cecilia’s guard. Her blade came up and smashed the hilt of Cecilia’s weapon, sending it spinning from her hand. Cecilia immediately summoned a dagger from her thigh sheath and slashed, carving into Lucielle’s left side. Lucielle grunted but responded with a sweeping kick that sent Cecilia staggering. Blood now stained both their clothes. Neither showed signs of backing down. Lucielle pressed forward, blades dancing like black fire. She launched into a flurry—right blade to the shoulder, left blade to the hip, spin into a wide arc—forcing Cecilia to retreat, blocking with only her dagger. Then came the opening. Cecilia tried to dodge right, but Lucielle anticipated it. Her backhand blade slammed against Cecilia’s ribs, knocking her flat. Cecilia looked up, dagger still in hand, but Lucielle placed her blade gently at the other girl’s throat. "Yield," Lucielle said, chest heaving. Cecilia hesitated. Then nodded. A pulse of light surrounded her, and she vanished in a shimmer—teleported out by the forest’s fail-safe. Lucielle collapsed to one knee, breathing hard. "One down," she muttered, before slowly rising to rejoin her team. Nearby, Nyx stood motionless, eyes closed as tendrils of void magic spiraled around her like a living cloak. Noora and Eric faced her side by side, their synergy unshaken even under pressure. Eric stepped forward first, lightning dancing between his fingers. "She’s charged up," he said. "We can’t let her gather any more." Noora nodded. "I’ll freeze the ground. Anchor her movement." With a flick of her wrist, she summoned a sheet of ice beneath Nyx’s feet, then followed with three quick spears of frost. Nyx’s eyes snapped open. The void pulsed. The frost shattered before it reached her, and the ice on the ground curled upward into a jagged spiral, redirected. "Too slow," Nyx said, her voice low and almost bored. Eric launched a barrage of electric bolts from multiple angles, hoping to collapse her field. One struck her shoulder. But the others bent around her, absorbed by a swirling glyph she conjured mid-air. Noora dropped into a crouch and fired a barrage of water blades—ten in rapid succession—each aimed at a separate nerve point. Nyx twisted her body with unnatural precision, only one striking true—her thigh. She winced. Her void magic responded. With a sweeping motion, she released a pulse of pure darkness. It surged out like a crashing tide, engulfing Noora and Eric. They split instinctively—Noora upward into a misty escape, Eric downward beneath a mana-plate of stone—but the edge of the blast still caught them. Eric staggered, blood trickling from his forehead. "She’s not getting tired." "I am," Noora admitted, steadying herself. "Together?" "Together." They launched a dual assault—Eric surging in with a blade of solid lightning, Noora flanking left with frost-fused chains. For a moment, it worked. Nyx backed away, genuinely on the defensive. Her shield flickered, her cloak disrupted. Then she vanished. A blink step. She reappeared behind Eric and struck his spine with a pulse of compressed void. He collapsed instantly, the forest triggering his teleportation sequence. Noora spun, fury in her eyes, and fired her last spell—a frozen spear infused with healing magic. It was meant to numb, not kill. Nyx caught it. And shattered it with a smile. The void rose behind her. And swallowed Noora. She disappeared in a shimmer. Nyx stood alone, bloodied, breathing hard, her eyes now glowing a deep obsidian. Two more removed. She turned to look toward the next battle lines. And waited.