Expulsion

Elian stared, his heart hammering a frantic tattoo against his ribs. The figure before him, a mirror image etched with the grime and blood of their recent struggle, levitated a few inches off the ground. An ethereal white light pulsed around him, casting distorted shadows on the damp walls of the chamber.

"Who… what are you?" Elian stammered, his voice hoarse.

The other Elian remained motionless, his blue eyes fixed on some unseen point beyond the flickering torchlight. A faint hum emanated from him, growing louder with each passing moment. The white light intensified, bathing the chamber in an otherworldly glow.

Fear, cold and primal, clawed at Elian's throat. "Come down!" he rasped, his voice barely audible over the growing hum. "What's happening?"

The other Elian didn't respond. His entire form began to vibrate, the white light crackling around him like an electrical storm. Elian backed away, his hand instinctively reaching for Voidbane, the sword shimmering into existence with a low hum.

Suddenly, a ragged figure burst through the doorway. It was Rylan, her face bloodied and bruised, but her eyes burning with determination. Without hesitation, she launched herself at the levitating Elian, a desperate roar escaping his lips.

The impact sent both figures crashing to the floor. The white light sputtered and died, replaced by the flickering orange glow of the torch. Elian's vision swam as a wave of dizziness washed over him. He stumbled forward, his ears ringing with a deafening silence.

"Rylan?" he rasped, his voice barely a whisper.

"Elian!" Rylan groaned, pushing herself up from the floor. He looked around frantically. "Where… where'd he go?"

Elian sank to his knees, his gaze falling upon the spot where his doppelganger had been. It was empty. The only thing remaining was a faint scorch mark on the damp stone floor.

The chamber swam before his eyes, the darkness at the edges creeping inward. He felt himself falling, collapsing onto the cool stone.

Then, darkness.

He awoke to the sound of worried voices. Res, her face etched with concern, hovered over him. Kyle, Rylan, Marcus, Marco, Drake and Hera were all there, their faces a mixture of relief and exhaustion.

"Elian?" Res's voice was a soft melody in his ears. "Are you alright?"

Elian blinked, his vision clearing slowly. He was lying on the chamber floor, a throbbing ache in his head. The other Elian… the light… it felt like a fever dream.

"Yeah," he croaked, his voice dry. "I… I think so."

He sat up, his gaze sweeping the chamber. It was empty. No sign of the levitating doppelganger, no scorch mark, nothing.

Was it all a hallucination? Or something more? He couldn't shake the feeling that he'd brushed against something profound, something that held the key to a deeper understanding of himself and the darkness that threatened to engulf the world.

But for now, survival was paramount. He had friends alive, injured but alive. They had found a temporary reprieve within the labyrinth. But what horrors, or perhaps even unexpected help, awaited them next, remained a terrifying mystery.

The labyrinth disgorged them like a monstrous maw spitting out something it couldn't digest. Elian stumbled out, blinking against the harsh sunlight that flooded his vision. The air was thick with the acrid stench of smoke and burnt flesh, a stark contrast to the cool, stale air of the labyrinth.

His heart lurched. Arcana Academia, once a beacon of arcane knowledge, was no more. In its place lay a smoldering ruin. Shattered towers jutted skyward like broken teeth, their once-gleaming facades blackened and scarred. The air vibrated with an unsettling silence, broken only by the distant moans of the wounded.

Elian's stomach churned. This… this was his wish? This devastation, this carnage – it was the price he'd paid for a new age? He felt a wave of nausea roll through him, the metallic tang of bile rising in his throat.

Res, her face a mask of horror, gripped his arm. "Elian… look."

She pointed towards the sky. The crimson eclipse was gone, replaced by a clear azure expanse. Relief washed over Elian, fleeting and fragile. The immediate threat might be over, but at what cost?

Tears welled up in Res's eyes, spilling down her soot-streaked cheeks. "Look at them," she choked out, her voice thick with emotion.

Elian's gaze followed hers. Scattered across the once-manicured lawns, amidst the smoldering debris, lay bodies. Students, professors, dignitaries – all victims of the monstrous onslaught. The vibrant uniforms now lay crimson-stained, limbs twisted at unnatural angles. The stench of death, overwhelming even the acrid smoke, hung heavy in the air.

A guttural sob escaped Rylan, his normally vibrant green eyes clouded with grief. He knelt beside a fallen comrade, his hand resting on the cold, lifeless flesh.

"This is your new age?" Kyle spat, his voice laced with venom. "You wished for a dawn, Elian, and you brought us a goddamn nightmare."

Elian's shoulders slumped. Kyle's words were a harsh truth, a truth that echoed in the desolate silence. He hadn't just failed to stop the darkness; he'd unleashed it in a way he could never have imagined.

The weight of responsibility, crushing and suffocating, settled upon him. He had wished for a dawn, a new beginning, and instead, he had brought about a terrible end. Arcana Academia, a symbol of hope and knowledge, was gone. Friends were dead, comrades injured, and the future stretched before them like a barren wasteland.

He had a staff, a title, and a victory he barely understood. But all he truly felt was the crushing weight of failure, the bitter taste of ash on his tongue, and a chilling realization - the fight for the Grand Arcana had just begun, and the cost of victory might be more than he could bear.

The air, thick with the stench of burnt flesh and despair, clawed at Elian's throat. Each ragged breath brought a fresh wave of nausea, the metallic tang of bile rising in his throat. Arcana Academia, once a vibrant tapestry of arcane energy and bustling life, was now a smoldering wasteland. Shattered towers, like broken teeth, jutted accusingly against the bruised, crimson sky. Gone were the manicured lawns and bustling walkways, replaced by a battlefield littered with the broken bodies of students, professors, and dignitaries.

A choked sob escaped Res, her emerald eyes shimmering with a grief so raw it ripped at Elian's already frayed soul. He reached for her, his hand trembling, but the movement felt foreign, disconnected. This wasn't his hand, it couldn't be, stained with the blood of innocents, the weight of their deaths a crushing burden on his chest.

A figure emerged from the labyrinth's gaping maw - Grand Mage Elara. Her once-proud bearing was a thing of the past, replaced by a hunched posture and a grimace etched with pain. Her crimson robes, stained black with soot and something darker, clung limply to her frail frame. Her staff, once a symbol of her authority, trembled in her weakened grasp.

Elian stumbled towards her, a desperate question bubbling up from the pit of his stomach. But before he could speak, Elara raised a hand, her voice a ragged rasp that tore through the deafening silence.

"Elian," she croaked, her words dripping with disappointment, a bitter cocktail laced with a hint of something that sounded suspiciously like fear. "Your wish… it caused this. You have much to answer for."

Elian's vision blurred, the world tilting on its axis. Elara's words echoed in his skull – his wish. The monstrous onslaught, the carnage, the deafening screams that still haunted his dreams – they were all his fault. A guttural sob tore from his throat, raw and primal, echoing the devastation that surrounded him.

Then came the fury. A white-hot rage that burned through the despair, momentarily consuming him. He hadn't meant for this, hadn't wanted this! He had wished for a better future, a world free from Malachar's tyranny. But the universe, it seemed, had a cruel sense of humor.

Suddenly, a booming voice cut through the cacophony of grief and anger. Dean Thorne, her pristine white robes now smeared with grime and blood, limped out of the labyrinth, supported by two younger mages. Despite the obvious pain etched on her face, her emerald eyes blazed with a righteous fury that sent shivers down Elian's spine.

"Elian Aetheris!" Dean Thorne's voice rang out, each syllable a hammer blow to his already shattered spirit. "By the authority vested in me as Dean of Arcana Academia, and with the full agreement of the Grand Mage Council, you stand accused of reckless endangerment, mass property damage, and the willful unleashing of forces beyond your control, resulting in the deaths of over a hundred innocent people!"

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd of survivors. This wasn't just an accusation; it was a death knell. Elian felt a fresh wave of nausea roll through him, the metallic tang of bile burning his throat. He wanted to scream, to defend himself, to somehow make right the terrible wrong he had wrought, but the words wouldn't come. The weight of his actions, a crushing boulder on his chest, stifled any sound.

"Therefore," Dean Thorne continued, her voice trembling with a barely contained fury, "it is with a heavy heart that I pronounce the following sentence: Elian Aetheris is hereby expelled from Arcana Academia!"

The world dissolved into a swirling vortex of despair. Expelled. The word echoed in the vast emptiness that had become his mind. Expelled, stripped of his title, his friends, his very purpose. He was a pariah, an outcast, forever branded with the mark of failure.

Before the darkness claimed him, Elian registered the choked gasp of his name escaping Res's lips. Her face, a mask of disbelief and dawning horror, was the last image etched into his fading consciousness. Then, the darkness swallowed him whole.

He lay unconscious in the ruins of his own making, a champion stripped of everything, the weight of a hundred deaths a constant companion. The fight for survival might be over, but the real battle, the battle for redemption, for a sliver of forgiveness, had just begun. And Elian, drowning in a sea of guilt and despair, had no idea how to even start swimming against the tide of his own destruction.