Problem Arise

Just as Vincent instinctively covered himself with chaos energy and struggled to his feet, he heard a familiar voice. It was Arnold's, and it carried a tone of disbelief.

"H-How do you have that aura…?!"

In that moment, Vincent realized his grave mistake. He had been so preoccupied with the Annual Battle Ceremony that he had completely forgotten about the trouble he caused when he merged with the black cosmic marble. Now, even Arnold had recognized his chaos energy.

His expression immediately darkened. A flurry of thoughts raced through his mind, as he carefully considered his next move.

Should I run? Could I even escape?

Even if he managed to flee, what would happen to his sister and Amara? Would they be safe?

It was then that the full weight of his situation hit him. One small misstep had the potential to unravel everything he had built in this world. His new life—fragile and precarious—could fall apart in an instant.

How foolish I've been, thinking I could handle everything just because of my talent.

I need to become stronger.

I want to be stronger!

"But first," he muttered to himself, "I need to figure out how to survive…"

Before he could finish that thought, Arnold's voice cut through his musings once more.

"You… You're a bearer of calamity!"

Calamity?

Vincent had no idea what Arnold was referring to, but the seriousness in his tone made it clear that this was not a minor issue. Despite his growing sense of dread, a different emotion stirred deep within him. It wasn't fear—it was something primal, a feeling that he wasn't the one who should be afraid. They should fear him.

Yet, Vincent couldn't understand why he felt this way.

"I've already exposed this damn chaos energy," he muttered, clenching his fists. "Might as well use it to my advantage…"

With a steely resolve, he channeled the chaos energy into his eyes, which turned abyssal black. In an instant, different scenes flashed through his mind, and his initial calm gave way to horror as his face paled.

"Am I… going to die?" he whispered, terror creeping into his voice as the visions played out before him.

Arnold, sensing the change, ignored Vincent's words and instead took a step forward, his own voice tinged with panic.

"You demon! What did you just do?!"

Dean Thorne, who had been standing silently behind Vincent, hadn't witnessed the full extent of what had transpired. Nevertheless, he quickly stepped between the two, positioning himself as a barrier between Arnold and his student. Though the ominous energy emanating from Vincent didn't escape his notice, Dean Thorne was more concerned with his duty to protect the honor of his school.

"Mr. Mazels," the dean said firmly, "I must ask you to stop this at once!"

Arnold's expression twisted into a frown.

"Dean Thorne, do you have any idea what you're doing? You're protecting a demon!"

At the mention of the word "demon," a wave of confusion spread through the others—Loy Mesins and others, who had only just regained their composure after being shielded by the dean's aura.

"A demon?"

"What's happening?"

Their bewilderment only grew as Verno and the Ice Princess, Sylthana, arrived on the scene, standing behind the dean.

Verno, who had no knowledge of what was happening, spoke in his usual emotionless tone. 

"Just because you've been let off your leash doesn't mean you can act like a rabid dog in front of these students."

Sylthana, her aura cold and frigid, stepped forward to stand beside her uncle. Her eyes narrowed as she addressed Arnold in a chilling tone.

"Senior Mazels, please control your anger. This is simply a ceremonial event at my uncle's school. While you were the one who proposed this event, we're willing to overlook that and compensate you for your injury. So, please—calm down and make a wise decision."

Though her words were polite, the threat behind them was clear, and Arnold's face darkened in displeasure.

"You're all insane!" he shouted, jabbing a finger in Vincent's direction. 

"Don't you see that aura? It's pure evil!"

However, neither Verno nor Sylthana detected anything unusual about Vincent, aside from his pale complexion. They assumed the pressure from Arnold was responsible for his appearance.

Dean Thorne, on the other hand, had sensed something strange earlier, but he remained silent, choosing not to reveal his suspicions.

"You're just a senile, old fool," Verno said, shaking his head in disbelief. 

"I can't believe you'd stoop this low—to the point of framing a student."

Sylthana, meanwhile, continued to fix Arnold with her icy stare, saying nothing.

Arnold, rendered speechless by their dismissal, could do nothing but fume in frustration.

As the situation unfolded in his favor, Vincent found no relief. His face remained ghostly pale as the images of his vision replayed in his mind. Without a moment's hesitation, he gathered his strength and sprinted out of the arena, fleeing the school grounds.

"He's running away!" Arnold roared. "He's guilty!"

Just as Arnold moved to chase him, a sharp, crystalline barrier of ice appeared out of thin air, blocking his path. Furious, he spun around to face Sylthana.

"You're going to cross me for that boy?!" he bellowed.

Her voice was calm but firm as she replied, "I'm merely fulfilling my duty as the protector of our citizens and Bronzehaven Arc."

Arnold let out a hollow laugh, seething with rage. "Fine… I'll remember this."

Vincent, now outside the school, donned his Morphic Mask, altering his appearance into that of an elderly man. He moved stealthily through the districts, heading toward the Central Bazaar. He needed answers. Alex, the mysterious old man, had to know something about the other black marble.

He must know…

The sky had darkened, the moon casting its silver light over the city. As Vincent turned into a shadowed alley, a suffocating aura suddenly locked him in place, immobilizing him.

A cold, arrogant voice cut through the night.

"I've finally found you."

Vincent's eyes widened as the figure revealed itself—floating in midair. It was a blonde-haired man, clad in sleek black armor, almost identical to Dmitri's but far more refined. This was one of the men from his vision. The leader of District 11, Arman Matthews.

The man who would kill him.

Vincent, his heart pounding, quickly adopted the role of the old man and rasped, "W-Who are you? Why are you doing this to me?"

Arman smirked. 

"Drop the act, boy. Your tricks won't work on someone like me. I can see right through that illusion."

"You calamity bearers must die."

Though Vincent maintained his disguise, he stammered, "W-What are you talking about? What calamity bearer?"

Arman sighed. 

"Since you're about to die, I might as well tell you. A calamity bearer is cursed—doomed to destroy everything around them. It's a force of destruction with only one purpose: to annihilate everything. Luckily for us, we found you early enough to prevent that."

Despite Arman's explanation, Vincent's mind raced. How can I escape?

"What… what makes you so sure I'm a calamity bearer?" Vincent asked, desperate to stall for time.

Arman's eyes burned with hatred. 

"I know that aura. I've seen it before. It's the same power that killed countless innocents—my comrades, my family."

His gaze hardened. 

"That's why you must die."

Arman stretched out his hand, closing his fist slowly as if crushing something. In that instant, Vincent felt an unbearable pressure pushing him to the ground. He gasped in pain, barely able to move.

With a grunt, Vincent muttered through clenched teeth, "I won't die here."

With a roar, he unleashed all of his chaos energy, his body groaning under the strain but slowly pushing back against the overwhelming pressure. Dark, ominous energy swirled around him as a singular thought filled his mind: Kill. Kill. Kill.

"Shut up!" he screamed, trying to silence the voices echoing in his head.

Arman's expression didn't waver. 

"That's it. Show your true self. You're nothing but a mindless killing machine. And now… you die."

Before Arman could make a move, Vincent's fury boiled over. His right arm transformed into a demon-like appendage, and without thinking, he lunged at Arman with all his might.

"Die!"

Though Vincent's chaos-empowered eyes could foresee Arman's counter, his body couldn't react fast enough. Arman's punch landed squarely in his abdomen, sending him crashing through several walls.

"Urgh…!" 

Vincent coughed, blood spraying from his lips.

The pain was excruciating, but like a machine, he forced himself back to his feet. Wiping the blood from his mouth, he charged at Arman once more.

Arman, still standing in the same spot, didn't move. He waited for Vincent's attack, only to counter each time, sending him flying again and again.

"You're persistent," Arman mocked. 

"But you're no match for me. Just die already."

As Arman raised his hand, preparing to deliver the final blow. His voice was filled with deadly intent as he said, "Just die."

But before he could strike, a sharp feminine voice echoed through the night, cutting through the tension like a blade.

"That's enough."

Arman froze, his eyes darting to the source of the voice. He hadn't sensed her presence at all, which left him momentarily stunned. Slowly, he turned, scanning the shadows.

"Who?!" 

Arman demanded, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Stepping into the moonlight was a woman, her cold beauty unmistakable. She floated effortlessly in the air, her long, pink-blossom hair swaying gently in the breeze. Her eyes glowed with an ethereal light, sharp and piercing.

Arman recognized her immediately. His expression shifted from rage to astonishment as he processed the sight before him.

"Why is she here?" he muttered under his breath, clearly unsettled.

The woman, unperturbed by his shock, regarded him with a gaze as cold as ice. Her presence radiated power and authority, the kind that made even seasoned warriors like Arman cautious. She stood tall, her aura dominating the space around her as she addressed him with a chilling calm.