The ground beneath Silas' feet detonated once more, a sharp blast of heat and pressure launching him skyward. This time, the movement was smoother—more calculated. Less chaos, more control. Each launch honed his timing, each second refining his technique. He was learning mid-fight, instincts syncing with power.
"Freight train coming through!"
Silas bellowed, laughter echoing across the battlefield as he twisted mid-air. His body coiled like a spring, legs cocked for impact. He adopted a dropkick stance, arms folded tight over his head as embers flared violently around him, trailing like comets from his limbs.
Connor and the undead bear both instinctively stepped back from the wolf lord, reacting to the deafening boom Silas left in his wake. Barely a second passed between ignition and arrival.
"Time for ol' reliable!"
Silas shouted again, grinning as ember-laced magic surged around his palms. With a flick of his hand, the air beside him detonated, a sharp concussive blast sending him rocketing once more toward the beast's skull. His boots slammed into the wolf lord's temple with brutal precision, leaving another pair of scorched imprints across its snarling face. The creature reeled, staggering backward from the sheer force of the blow.
Dirt exploded outward in twin trenches as its massive frame carved through the ground, sliding with a sound like grinding stone. The battlefield shook from the friction.
Spells followed—flashes of fire, arcs of lightning, crystalline shards of ice. Students across the clearing seized the opportunity to bombard the wolf lord, their combined power forcing it into a frenzy of reactive movement. The beast parried with claws like swords, twisted away from some strikes, and tanked others head-on.
Silas raised one fist high, then clenched it tightly.
A signal. A command.
The barrage ceased instantly.
"I got this one…"
He murmured, steam now curling from his gloves and boots, the heat of repeated detonations building visibly. His knuckles cracked like popping embers, smoke trailing behind each movement.
From behind, Connor's voice cut through the chaos, tight with disbelief and frustration.
"Are you crazy? That thing just tanked dozens of spells—what makes you think you can take that thing one-on-one?"
Silas turned slightly, just enough to meet Connor's eyes with a single, confident glance. His mouth curled into a familiar, infuriating smirk.
"Then go and watch me carefully, pretty boy."
He winked.
Then turned to face the threat.
The wolf lord had closed the distance in seconds. Its massive maw was wide open now, gaping like the mouth of a cave, shadows rippling between rows of gleaming, ivory fangs. It lunged—no time to dodge. No time to second guess.
"Necrotic rune…"
Silas whispered, stretching both hands forward, a grin still on his face as the creature enveloped him completely.
And then—he was gone.
The students on the field froze. Their voices caught in their throats, magic stuttering at their fingertips. They'd just watched a classmate get swallowed whole—eaten alive in a blur of speed and violence.
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
Then—
A shimmer of blue light.
Oswald appeared in a burst of sparkles, his teleportation spell dropping him beside the other students with a snap of displaced air. His expression was pale with dread, hands already glowing with unstable magic—spells strong enough to flatten the entire clearing coiled at his fingertips.
I was too late to react…
He cursed silently, eyes locked on the wolf lord.
But before a single spell could leave his palm, A flicker of sickly green light bloomed deep inside the wolf lord's throat—small at first, like a burning ember lodged behind its fangs. Then it pulsed. Once. Twice.
The creature froze. Its eyes widened, limbs locking as thick black veins webbed outward from its jaw, racing across its fur like cracks in stone. A low, choked growl rumbled in its throat—then stopped, replaced by a terrible stillness.
The pulsing grew brighter.
Then it detonated—not with fire, but with rot. The wolf lord's insides seemed to unravel at once, its chest cavity imploding inwards as if eaten from within by invisible claws. Its bones turned to ash. Its flesh sloughed off in great ribbons of black dust.
No roar. No final howl. Just silence—and decay.
The wolf lord's body disintegrated into motes of ash and black mist, collapsing like dry sand blown apart by wind. From within the settling cloud, a figure stood.
Dripping with saliva. Caked in gore.
But grinning.
Silas.
He straightened, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve.
"Someone save me a towel?"