Chapter 9: The Beast Unleashed
Elvas sat through the school day in a haze, the weight of Kalia's death pressing down on him like heavy chains. Every deliberate tick of the clock dragged, every casual whisper in the classroom scraped painfully at his ears. He couldn't shake the guilt-ridden thought:
If I had chosen differently—if I had gone after Auran, if I had slept with Liora—would Kalia still be alive?
The chilling words from the System pulsed in his head, a cruel, inescapable rhythm:
[Player terminated. Removed from existence.]
His throat tightened painfully. Did I truly cause it? Did I orchestrate her death?
Her face, frozen in that stark black-and-white sketch inside the book, haunted him. The memorial poster, showing her smiling innocently, felt like a cruel mockery of his choice.
He gripped his desk, muttering under his breath, his voice shaky. "It cannot be my fault. I didn't know the cost. I didn't mean—"
The bell cut him off, its shrill cry snapping him out of the haze. Chairs scraped, footsteps thundered, laughter mixed awkwardly with the underlying current of grief. He couldn't stand the noise. He shoved his books into his bag and bolted, his chest pounding with the need to escape.
He needed space. He needed silence. A place where the noise in his head couldn't follow.
The bathroom door creaked as he pushed it open. The sharp, cold smell of bleach clung to the air. He moved to the sink and braced himself on the porcelain, staring at his reflection.
The face that stared back was pallid and haunted. His eyes looked hollow, dark shadows sinking deep beneath them. He barely recognized the pathetic boy staring back.
"Why does this keep happening?" he whispered, his grip tightening until his knuckles turned bloodless white. "Why does everything terrible follow me?"
The door banged open. Slam!
Elvas's stomach dropped into a pit of despair.
Marcus.
The vampire's eyes gleamed in the harsh light, a familiar, cruel amusement curling his lips.
"Not you," Elvas muttered, spinning quickly, desperate to leave before the inevitable confrontation began. He simply didn't have the emotional capacity today.
But Marcus swiftly stepped into his path, shoving him back against the sink with one heavy, controlling hand. "Where are you running to, demon boy? We are far from finished."
Elvas's jaw locked. "If you want a fight, take it to the practice field. I'm not in the mood."
Marcus laughed, the sound sharp and entirely mocking. "In the mood? You truly believe you get to decide when I come for you?"
Two shadows slipped in behind him—Mark and Luke. His lackeys immediately grabbed Elvas's arms, pinning him brutally against the cold wall.
Marcus leaned in close, his fangs catching the light menacingly. "Last time, you got incredibly lucky. Moving all fast, dodging me. What was that, huh? Your precious demon blood finally waking up?"
Elvas growled low, twisting against the painful grip, but the wall dug into his back. "I don't know what you're rambling about. I want no trouble. Just let me go."
Marcus's grin widened, his eyes narrowing with intent. "Oh, I want trouble."
The fist came fast, slamming into Elvas's gut. Pain exploded through him, sharp and suffocating, knocking the air clean out of his lungs.
He gasped, doubled over, only for another sickening blow to crash against his ribs. Then another.
Marcus laughed, cruel and loud, while his cronies held Elvas immobile. "You're nothing. A weakling hiding behind his pathetic demon name. Next time you won't escape so easily."
He shoved him down, letting Elvas crumple onto the cold, damp floor. Their cruel laughter echoed off the tiles as they swaggered out, the door swinging shut behind them.
Elvas groaned, clutching his side as he forced himself to stand. Every movement burned. His hands trembled, his jaw clenched tight. "Damn vampire," he spat under his breath.
He staggered out of the restroom, trying to ignore the looks of passing students. Whispers followed him, a low, judgmental murmur he couldn't bring himself to decipher. He kept moving, each step heavier than the last.
By the time he reached the corridor near the cafeteria, the intense physical ache in his body merged with the chaotic storm in his mind. Kalia's dead face. The sinister book. Marcus's brutal blows. It all swirled together, a relentless weight he simply couldn't carry.
Then the speakers crackled loudly to life.
"Attention, all students, report to the main hall immediately."
The voice was sharp, urgent, leaving no room for argument or questions.
Elvas frowned, his heart sinking with a terrible certainty. "What now?"
He joined the growing stream of bodies flowing toward the main assembly hall, the air thick with nervous whispers. Everyone was visibly on edge.
And when he stepped inside, his breath caught with disbelief.
On the raised platform stood the absolute rulers of Avalon—the seven clan heads.
All of them. Together.
The Vampire King, tall and cold, his gaze like sharpened glass. The Werewolf Lord, scarred and hulking, his presence an imposing wall of raw power. The Siren Queen, whose low hum vibrated deep in the bones, her beauty as sharp as a knife blade. The Witches' and Wizards' Ruler, clutching a staff, her eyes glowing with barely restrained fury.
Beside them stood the Nephilim (Elira), her black wings folded tight and silent, her expression utterly unreadable, and the Fae Queen, shimmering with a cold, cruel elegance. At the end of the line, the Revenant loomed, his dead eyes hollow pits, his very presence a shadow that seemed to swallow the light.
Elvas's chest tightened, suffocating. "All seven...? Together? This isn't just bad—it's catastrophic."
Beside him, a boy whispered, his voice shaky with terror. "They only gather like this for war. Or worse."
Elvas shook his head, his eyes fixed on the powerful figures on the platform. "Whatever this is, it's bigger than any war."
The Vampire King stepped forward slowly. His voice thundered, effortlessly filling the vast hall, demanding absolute silence.
"The Beast has been set free."
Murmurs of confusion and fear rippled through the students.
"After years of being sealed, it is loose again in our world. No one is safe."
Elvas's pulse quickened into a frantic tempo. Beast?
The King's powerful gaze swept the room, pausing slightly, though Elvas couldn't be sure where he was looking. "Whoever holds the Book, whoever is its Host, plays a dangerous and fatal game. For every task completed, for every wish granted, a life must be exchanged."
The words sliced through Elvas, sharp and merciless. His stomach plummeted to his feet. His hands shook uncontrollably.
Kalia.
The System's voice.
[Player terminated.]
His breath hitched, turning into a silent, desperate wheeze. "No…" he whispered. "He's talking about me. The System is the Beast."
The Fae Queen glided forward, her voice smooth but cutting like polished obsidian. "The Demon System is free. It spreads death and chaos with every step its Host takes. If you see this Book, if you identify the Host—report it immediately."
Her gaze swept the crowd again, and Elvas swore for one agonizing second her eyes paused and lingered directly on him.
"The Book must be destroyed," she finished, her words a cold decree, her tone absolutely final. "Or we all will be destroyed instead."