ACT 6 : THE RESCUE
I couldn’t move.
Every limb felt heavy, my chest tight with every ragged breath. Blood soaked the stone beneath , pooling from wounds I hadn’t even registered until now. Monica lay just a few feet away, her body twitching faintly—alive, but barely.
And in the middle of the shattered chamber stood her.
The Radiata One.
Arms folded behind her back, wings of blood and bone coiled like serpents at rest. Her eyes—those twisted mismatched eyes—glead with unholy satisfaction.
She didn’t look like a victor.
She looked like a judge.
"I expected more," she sighed, glancing between and Monica. "Honestly, you two were supposed to be special. So many cycles. So many wasted chances."
She walked forward, the dungeon stone itself cracking faintly beneath each step. The mist curled tighter with every breath, and for a mont, I thought I saw it—faces. Shifting, screaming faces within the fog, clawing to escape.
"I once thought you’d change things," she said, tilting her head. "But instead, you cling to your little roles. The dood noble. The silent rebel. Tragic little lambs, walking the sa slaughter path."
She turned to Monica.
"Though I’ll admit—your fla still sings."
The mockery was effective, cause, Monica flinched at her words, and showed a face of disgust for the first ti.
It was now clear from her words, that she is a regressor too.
And she is a first year student just like us.
I have read the novel till a fair amount of events, but not even once, such an entity like her was ntioned.
So, naturally, I don’t have any idea who she might be.
But there are so definite facts.
She can use blood manipulation mana techniques, a feature of the so called vampires.
She hold grudge against Monica, and probably myself included, and knows that, we are regressors too, like her.
The next and most important thing right now is, she doesn’t intend to kill us.
If she wanted, she could have killed us mid fight too.
Yet, she is toying around like this, as if taking revenge.
Well, if it’s revenge, then she would definitely kill us.
But, there was one miscalculation on my part.
When she entered, the first one she targeted was Monica, only because, Monica attacked her first.
Moreover, she didn’t try to attack , until I ddled in their fight.
So, basically, it seems like self defense, but it’s not.
Well, it doesn’t matter right now.
We have been utterly defeated by her.
Was this how it ended?
I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly in my mind. After all the plotting, the observation, the calculated interference... it ca down to this. Beaten into the floor by soone who wasn’t even supposed to exist in the script. The Radiata One. A regressor like us—but from which story? Which tiline? She spoke like she’d lived lifetis. As if fate itself had grown stale in her eyes.
I didn’t understand. I should’ve understood. I had knowledge of the novel, of Dorian’s life, of the entire academy arc. There had been no ntion of her—no whispers of a bloodborne horror wrapped in human skin, prowling among first-years.
Unless...
Unless she ca from a version of the story even I had never read. A dead-end draft. A discarded world.
Maybe that’s what this place really was—so graveyard of failed tilines, with us trapped inside like mice in a burning maze.
And her?
She was the fla.
I glanced sideways at Monica again. Her body was still, but sothing about it looked... off.
No. Not off. Changing.
My mind spun.
Had I stepped in to save her because I wanted to?
No... that couldn’t be right.
Dorian—I—had no affection for Monica. She was a pawn. A political asset. Even in the original story, he only attacked Aster out of wounded pride, not love.
So why had I moved? Why had I flung myself into that fight?
...Was it instinct?
Or sothing else?
But before the thought could finish—
BOOM!
A pulse of golden light erupted beside , slamming into the Radiata One with such force that she skidded backwards across the stone, wings folding inward like broken fans.
The air vibrated. The mist parted.
And from that radiant burst, Monica Croft rose.
No—sothing wearing Monica’s fury rose.
Her hair had grown wild, streaked with molten gold and crimson. Her arms rippled with feline muscle, veins glowing. Her eyes—bright, primal—locked onto mine. Her lower half had transford entirely, the legs of a great lioness, etched with runes of ancient mana. A beastly tail, tipped with shimring fire, flicked in rhythm behind her. Her presence shook the dungeon.
"...Dorian," she said, voice deeper, layered with sothing ancient. "Get up."
I stared, stunned.
"We need to finish this. Together."
Sothing in her tone—resolute, commanding—ignited a fire in . It was not affection. It was resolve.
I clenched my jaw, pushed myself off the cold floor, and reached for the short sword I’d clung to throughout the dungeon. Its hilt trembled in my grip. Blood-soaked, chipped—yet now it burned bright red with seething villain mana.
"Fine," I growled, exhaling.
The Radiata One recovered from the blow, cracks lining her skin where golden mana had struck. Her smile remained, but it twitched—like she was... surprised.
"Ah," she whispered. "The lambs bite back."
And then we charged.
Monica leapt like a beast, golden fire trailing behind her claws. I flanked right, my sword slashing low. The Radiata One parried Monica’s strike with a summoned bloodshield, but I managed to catch her off guard from the side, my blade slicing across her wing.
Blood sprayed—but not red. Black.
She spun, lashing a tendril at . I ducked, sliding under it, then kicked upward, propelling Monica even higher.
Monica roared—an inhuman sound—and ca down like a cot, crashing into Radiata with enough force to crater the ground.
She didn’t stop.
Claws tore at the Radiata’s shoulder, flas scorching her skin. Blood surged up around her in defense, forming spears. I jumped forward, cleaving two mid-air, and Monica vaporized the others with a golden burst.
We were syncing.
Despite the chaos, the pain, and the sheer mismatch in power—we were cornering her.
"Impressive," Radiata One hissed, licking her own wound with an unnatural tongue. "You’re finally starting to crawl."
She thrust both palms forward.
A crimson storm erupted.
Spears, blades, and serpents made of blood mana shot from every direction.
"Dorian—!"
"I know!"
I raised my sword, forcing dark mana to its peak.
A do of red energy ford around us, cracking instantly—but it held long enough for Monica to channel a blinding solar burst from her core, punching straight through the oncoming barrage.
The Radiata One scread—not in pain, but joy.
"YESSS! That’s the spirit!"
Her wings expanded once more, and the ground split beneath her.
But for the first ti... she looked cautious.
And that gave hope.
This wasn’t over.
Not yet.
***
Outside the dungeon, where chaos once reigned, there was only silence now.
The magic detectors had shorted out hours ago. The warding stones cracked and turned to ash. Even the reinforced checkpoint manned by the City Guard—constructed from enchanted granite and blessed silver—stood deserted, scorched into nothingness.
And yet, in that desolation, one figure remained.
He stood atop the last unbroken piece of foundation, his silhouette stark against the churning red horizon. The wind did not touch him. The ash did not cling to him. His coat—a long obsidian garnt with intricate threads of violet running through the seams—fluttered gently, untouched by natural law.
A pair of silver-rimd spectacles rested neatly on his face.
Sharp eyes peered down at the dungeon’s surface, no emotion visible in them.
"The Wheel is moving too fast this ti."
He stepped forward. His boots made no sound against the stone.
Then he smiled—thin, precise, like soone watching the final piece fall into place.
"I suppose Alicia was right to be afraid."
He closed his eyes briefly and began to chant—not in the tongue of this world, but one lost to even the immortals. His voice was low and lodic, vibrating the very air:
"Tamasi jalat samriddhi vilinam, dvara ekam udghataya."
(In the sea of darkness where power was drowned, open the singular gate.)
Light fled the sky.
Blackness—true, cosmic blackness—descended like a curtain over the region.
The dungeon, which had pulsed like a living wound until now, stilled.
The crimson mist shrieked, evaporated into glittering red motes, and with it, the chaos ceased.
And in its place, only one path remained.
A staircase of black stone, spiraling downward like a spine fractured open, glowing faintly with ethereal silver light—an ancient entrance hidden by the dungeon itself, now revealed by force.
He exhaled through his nose, satisfied.
"There it is."
He reached into his coat and pulled out a small wooden pendant—an ordinary trinket by appearance, except it bore the insignia of the Rowan bloodline: a crescent moon pierced by a single feathered arrow.
He looked at it fondly.
"Don’t worry, little sister," he said, slipping it back into his coat. "I’ll clean up what your council failed to control."
He turned to the path.
Then—just before stepping into the void—he paused, as if sensing sothing far, far away.
A grin crept across his face.
"An ancient blood technique, huh? Seems interesting."
And with that, he descended into the dark, without a trace of fear—like a man stepping back into the ho he built in another lifeti.
And with his descent, the dungeon breathed again—this ti in anticipation.
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Author’s Note :
Please comnt your thoughts bellow.
Next - ACT 7:THE ALMIGHTY ONE
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