OLD-WORLD EXTRA

473  A Familiar Face

***

A Few Minutes Earlier

In another place not so far, Emir, dripping with blood of all colors, darted through the ruin, instinctively navigating the empty platforms and tunnels.

He didn't need to think about it—his mind had already mapped the fastest routes to the SOS signal.

A professor, no doubt trapped by a horde of constructs, was holed up somewhere with the last unaccounted-for student.

The situation was clear enough: if Emir didn't intervene in some way, it would be a notable loss for the Academy.

More importantly, it would be a personal loss, one that could result in penalties he had no intention of facing.

Four students had already fallen, but they had been the weakest of the class—expendable, irrelevant in the not-so-grand scheme of things.

Impure.

This one, however, was different.

They mattered.

More so did the professor.

Their deaths would be more than just a loss; it would sting the Academy, a waste of its investment and resources.

Worse still, it would spark outrage from the public, and perhaps even the Elite.

Both forces would converge, and the Academy, under fire from all sides, would have no choice but to find someone to blame.

Emir was a prime candidate. Or at least that would be the case if not for Amon's existence.

The principal had undoubtedly planned to step up and bear the burden of these losses.

It was highly unlikely he'd allow his "son" to take the heat.

Not only did he need him to stay in the Academy due to their deal, but he trusted him as well, no matter how unnatural it seemed from Emir's perspective.

Unfortunately, however, the professors under him weren't so agreeable.

They would be all too eager to let the blame shift Emir's way, citing his direct oversight of the class.

Again, he was the perfect candidate for a scapegoat—an 'unpure' man with no ties to the Elite.

To them, the Academy had made a costly mistake in hiring him.

But now, they believed they had an easy fix.

All they had to do was fire him, and everything would go back to normal.

Yet… they were gravely mistaken if they thought they could brush him aside so easily.

Emir knew the game better than anyone.

This wasn't just about saving students—it was about showing off his own value and worth.

If he put on the right display, even if the rescue failed by 'accident,' Amon could maneuver through the political aftermath more easily.

Even an Elite could be sacrificed for the right optics.

And in the ruthless hierarchy of the Academy, being indispensable was a shield stronger than any position.

Emir didn't waste any mental capacity worrying about the politics; he had already calculated every move.

If most things went according to plan, his position would not only be secure but solidified.

But even with everything seemingly under control, his mind refused to stay in the present.

No matter how alert his eyes were to the dangers in the ruin, his thoughts kept returning to the encounter with the Praying Lady.

She was playing a game he didn't fully understand.

Why had she given him such information without demanding anything in return?

What did she want?

He didn't know. But one thing was certain: nothing from her came without strings attached.

Her motives were undoubtedly self-serving, steering him toward a specific goal, pushing him to make a move that would benefit her in the end.

For someone so credit-hungry, there was no other reason she'd give anything away for free.

Emir didn't like that feeling.

Not one bit.

Being manipulated but not knowing in what way was internally killing him.

But eventually, he calmed himself and decided to go over this later.

And as soon as he did that, he reached his destination, entering a large open room, its walls stained with blood.

Tens of monsters and constructs lay dead all around and a giant one stood in the center.

It was a Metalzilla, though much larger, seemingly containing a minimum of five cores, as it was a Tyrant, its grotesque form towering over everything around it.

A female student, wide-eyed and trembling, was held in one massive claw, while a male professor, bleeding out every orifice, was in the other, his face pale with terror.

Its eyes locked onto Emir as he approached, its mouth snarling.

Seemingly feeling the pressure within the relatively small being before it, the monster tightened its grip on its hostages, causing both to cry out in pain.

Emir's expression remained unchanged, even as the two looked in his direction, pleading with him to interfere with their eyes.

He acted as if he didn't see them; his gaze never wavered from the monster.

Then, without a word, he raised his curved sword, aiming it directly at the creature's head.

The monster roared in response, recognizing the challenge, its voice a guttural anger.

Unmoved, Emir's fingers tightened on the hilt of his blade, and he burst forward, reaching it in a single step. It opened its mouth to welcome him with a stream of dark green toxic fire.

He could feel it before it even exited the Tyrant's mouth, corrupting the very air around it. The flames almost had the same potency as that Holy Relic Blanc had used.

Without his Aetheric Shield, he would undoubtedly die. But, instead of repeating what he did earlier, he decided to unveil something new. "Author's Strings." A number of thin, shimmering threads unraveled from his hand, flowing like thick strands of silk.

They snaked along the length of his blade, picking up speed as they neared the tip, before he flicked them forward.

The threads weaved through the air, nearly invisible as they shot towards the beast.

Almost instantly, they slipped into its gaping mouth, disappearing into the flames.

They had reached their mark.

A moment of stillness was the result.

Then—BOOM!

The fire exploded, the force of the blast shredding its now-rotting flesh from the inside out.

WWRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUURRRH!

It howled, a sound so loud it deafened the hostages, its grip on them loosening.

Seeing that, Emir smiled and flicked two fingers upwards.

His ability followed his command, and the monster further convulsed, the explosion rippling outward, sending chunks of molten flesh scattering across the area.

The monster was close to death; he could easily kill it now, but he did not stop there.

Emir wanted to see how long he could control the ability. n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

And, as it unfortunately turned out, it wasn't for long.

Once seven seconds passed, his control was gone.

This wasn't due to the fire extinguishing, as it was still inside the monster, wreaking havoc, nor was it because of the Aether Core interfering due to its close proximity, though it was a factor.

It was simply the maximum duration of the ability. At least the current maximum, one for a monster of this rank.

There was a high, almost certain chance, that it would last a few seconds more when used against lower-ranking monsters or Celestials.

The opposite was impossible, as higher-ranked beings were impossible to control, the most he could do was disrupt.

He could improve it the more he Pathed, so it wasn't too unfortunate. Either way, with his experiment done, he now had to deal with the monster.

It wasn't dead yet.

That wasn't the case for long, however.

Emir raised his right hand, pointing a single finger towards the ceiling.

"Fall."

In an instant, a massive spear of Aether appeared high above the struggling Metalzilla.

With a cold command already given, it plunged downward, piercing straight through its body, tearing a gaping hole from top to bottom.

The beast stiffened, its limbs locking in place, unable to even let out a final roar.

It staggered backward and collapsed to the ground with a thunderous crash. Dead.

The male professor was finally free, but Emir didn't spare him a glance.

His eyes were locked elsewhere, drawn by something far more unsettling.

It was something that sent an unexpected chill down his spine.

A familiar face.