Chapter 27 — When the Strong Began to Bleed
The White Rift roared like a living thing. The moment the squads stepped inside, the world shifted violently. The valley walls seemed to lean inward, bending light into fractured spectra that fractured vision and disoriented the mind. Stone platforms drifted in erratic patterns, twisted, collided, and shattered under pressure that no blessing could fully stabilize. The very air hummed with tension, vibrating through bones, as though reality itself were bleeding. Cadets stumbled immediately, their boots scraping uneven stone, weapons clattering as they tried to maintain balance. Screams pierced the distorted air. Panic spread like wildfire. Even the high-tier students struggled to stabilize floating slabs with elemental blessings, their powers faltering under the Rift's chaotic influence. Fire flared too hot and melted edges, lightning arced into empty air, ice shields cracked and splintered, and earth slabs trembled before crumbling. Every spell misaligned. Every blessing betrayed them. Death loomed closer with every heartbeat.
Alex Rim felt the sting of helplessness immediately. No blessing. No advantage. Nothing but his own body, instincts, and the subtle, constant whisper of the Ancient Demon System guiding him. Twelve percent. Twelve percent chance of survival. The number seared itself into his mind, an impossible figure. And yet, survival was all he could focus on.
From the misted depths of the Rift, humanoid elves emerged. Pale-skinned, lithe, their green eyes glowing with unnatural precision. They moved like liquid predators, every step calculated, every attack measured. Unlike beasts, they fought with strategy, splitting formations, isolating squads, cutting off escape routes. Cadets screamed as the first wave of attacks came. A first-year noble beside Alex's hiding spot was hurled across a drifting platform, shield flickering and failing, her scream piercing through the chaos as she plummeted dangerously close to the void. Another commoner froze mid-step, trembling in terror, before a curved blade slashed through his defenses. Another cadet attempted a counterattack with fire blessing, but the Rift distorted the flames, scattering sparks harmlessly into nothing.
"Move!" someone shouted. Cadets scrambled, blindly leaping from slab to slab, clinging desperately to fractured edges. Hesitation was punished by gravity and debris alike.
Galen Mor moved like a tempest at the center of the chaos. Wind flared violently around him, hurling debris at the elves, lifting platforms to protect retreating cadets. His voice carried above the screams and shrieking wind. "Left flank! Pull back! Hold formation—NOW!" His blessings twisted around him, precise and lethal, yet the Rift refused order. Platforms shifted beneath his feet. The wind, normally his perfect weapon, became unpredictable. Debris flung cadets into the void even as it shielded others. The elves adapted, pressing openings with terrifying intelligence.
Alex crouched behind a fractured pillar, rolling instinctively as shards of stone shot past him like jagged knives. This is authority. This is power, he thought. And I… have nothing. He could do nothing but watch, his lungs burning, muscles screaming, clinging to edges as he tried to remain alive.
The System stirred in his mind. Target opportunity detected. Galen Mor. Elemental core: wind. Status: active—fragile. Probability of extraction: low. Alex's stomach twisted. He was powerless. Yet the sight of Galen struggling, his wind spiraling uncontrollably, ignited a dangerous spark within him. Observation recommended. Survive. Wait. Learn.
The battlefield was a furnace of agony. Cadets screamed in terror and fury. A first-year noble's shield failed again, sparks and shards embedding into her arm as she tumbled across floating stones. She let out a scream that echoed through the Rift, raw with terror. A fire-blessing cadet, desperation on his face, attempted to launch an inferno at an elf, only for the Rift to scatter the flames into empty air, leaving him exposed to a counterstrike. A high-tier cadet tried to maintain composure, commanding a line of first-years with telekinetic shields, yet the Rift twisted his constructs, sending them into allies instead of enemies. A commoner cried for friends, grabbed by a fragment of earth, thrown screaming into the void. Anger, fear, and hopelessness radiated from every corner. Some cadets tried reckless bravery, charging with blessings they barely controlled. Others huddled in paralysis, waiting for death.
Alex felt it all, the hopelessness and terror radiating from the battlefield, yet he survived. He watched Galen. How he moved. How he controlled what little he could. Hope still flickered in the unshakable Mid-Tier C.
Then it happened. Galen misjudged a collapsing platform. His wind flared, trying to stabilize both himself and nearby cadets. But the slabs shifted too fast.
"NO—!" he shouted, arms flailing as the wind spiraled violently. Cadets scrambled to reach him, but elves pressed in, precise and unrelenting. Screams of those flung into the void or impaled on shards cut through the chaotic hum of the Rift.
Alex froze. Galen—untouchable, ruthless, master of battlefield command—was falling helplessly.
He slammed into a jagged edge. Blood seeped through torn fabric. His chest heaved violently, lungs straining, one leg twisted painfully. The wind flared chaotically, rebelling against him, ripping slabs from the Rift and hurling cadets. Yet his eyes—wide, desperate—still sought control. "YOU… HOLD THE LINE!" His voice cracked. "DON'T FAIL—ANYONE!" Some cadets obeyed, some froze, some fell. The elves pressed in, intelligent and calculated, exploiting every weak point.
Alex felt a thrill tempered by terror. He was weak, useless in direct combat—but he could watch. He could learn. And maybe… wait.
A platform beneath Alex shifted violently. He rolled, scraping his arms across stone, blood trickling from fresh cuts. Heart hammering, muscles screaming, he clung desperately to edges. Another misstep, and he would be flung into the abyss. Environmental hazard detected. Survival probability: eight percent. The System guided him in microseconds: step here, roll there, grip this. Precise, life-saving advice.
Alex watched hope in Galen, his movements, his attempts to direct his blessing even partially against impossible odds. The screams of cadets, the blood, the panic—all of it imprinted itself into Alex's mind. He was weak, powerless, but he survived. He watched. And then the System spoke again.
[Target Core: Visible — Galen Mor]
[Direct Contact Recommended]
[Assimilation Sequence Available]
[Risk: Extreme]
Hands trembling, Alex stared at the wind core flickering within Galen. No blessing. No right. Yet it was there, vulnerable, partially uncontrolled. [Opportunity Detected. Elemental Core Extraction Possible. Probability of Interruption: Low — Target Isolated.] Alex's thoughts raced. Weak. Powerless. Barely surviving. And yet… he could see it. He could take it.
Above, Leon moved precisely, scanning fractured platforms. Blessings shielded cadets, debris sliced aside. And then he saw it. Alex, crawling toward Galen, black tendrils of Abyssal Essence coiling around the wind core. Leon froze. Shock. Disbelief. Alex, fragile and blessingless, siphoning the power of the Mid-Tier C. He did not intervene. He did not speak. He watched, stunned, before disappearing back into the chaos.
Alex inched closer to Galen. Wind lashed violently, shards of debris slicing air like knives. His arms burned. His lungs screamed. The Abyssal chains tightened, pulling, compressing, siphoning.
Galen's eyes widened. Pain. Rage. Confusion.
"You… you're… NO!" he rasped, thrashing violently. "YOU CAN'T—!"
The wind spiraled in chaotic bursts. Loose stone and shattered platforms collided, spiraling around them. Alex convulsed as black veins of Abyssal Essence crawled over his arms. Bones screamed. Muscles shredded. Breath left in ragged bursts. Yet one hand reached the core. One pulse. One act of will. Survival. Power. Revenge.
Galen's screams cut off abruptly. His eyes rolled back. The wind—the blessing that had dominated the battlefield—collapsed into Alex. Cadets froze, some dropping to their knees, wide-eyed.
Alex fell backward, trembling, lungs burning, blood trickling from nose and ears. Abyssal Wind nested within him, dormant but potent.
[Elemental Blessing Acquired]
Type: Wind Element — Fragmented Core
Status: Corrupted
Assimilation: 7%
New Trait Unlocked: Abyssal Wind — Dormant
Effect: Movement efficiency under extreme stress
Warning: Uncontrolled activation may cause internal damage
Alex sat amidst the chaos, bloodied and trembling. He looked at Galen—helpless, broken, shocked. The man who had ruled them with fear and precision now powerless.
Outside, elves continued to press. Cadets screamed. Some survived, some fell. Chaos raged, unrelenting. The first-years learned the brutal lesson of survival: even the strong could bleed, even the mighty could fall.
Alex's gaze flicked to the dark corner where Leon had been. Gone. Silence. He whispered, raw, hoarse: "Power… is not chosen. It is taken."
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