Good Morning Vietnam

With the world's pace entering into a crawl, fear-filled suspense bubbled at the back of Mark's mind—though Calm Mind suppressed it.

There was a certain serenity within. His sword hand loosened as the juggernaut's steel foot came into view.

THUD. THUD. THUD.

A single calm breath.

The Demon, fully clad in matte-grey Kivinium armor—a natural material superior to steel—nonchalantly strolled past the shredded corpses of his compatriots and enemies alike.

But when he finally noticed something ary in his periphery, it was too late.

Frozen like a deer in headlights; gobsmacked; taken off guard by a human—one student, ignorant of the flames nipping at his heels.

An obsidian sword was raised into the air, pointed at the Demon's turned head.

The fatal movement was art. Simple in form, yet performed with an ultimate, intangible poise.

SHING.

Mark's right arm fully extended into a thrust—accelerating in a blur, even to his own eyes.

Obsidian punctured the stone-like helmet. A short screech of impact followed by the slicing of flesh. Akin to a needle piercing cardboard.

Deactivating Calm Mind, Mark tugged his blade free with a spine-tingling, audible slosh.

The armored juggernaut fell forward, crashing onto the ground along with his magical minigun which he hadn't been able to use.

The prideful Demon who once belittled his own for a foolish death now suffered one similar.

'My first humanoid sword kill…'

Mark felt little remorse. It wasn't worth sparing a thought for, especially now.

Though that didn't mean the action felt particularly good—albeit oddly satisfying and relieving—no sane being liked exterminating any creature so intimately.

'Especially with all this blood… gross.'

He attempted to shake the black blood off his blade like a samurai, though at an amateur level. It splattered onto the nearby wooden wall.

'Guess the Sword God's Will can't do everything for me.'

But it did do a lot for Mark. The thrust of his sword felt natural. His sloppy Beginner-level form was entirely erased, replaced with a mechanical and instinctual aptitude that he simply hadn't possessed prior.

Peering down the hallway revealed no other surprises—the coast was clear. Now, the sweltering flame's heat was Mark's biggest issue.

'But wasn't he talking to somebody?'

Stepping over the dead corpse, Mark kept his senses sharp as he discerned his surroundings.

Over the crackling of fire, he could barely make out a small squeak of sound. It was coming from the juggernaut.

'Still alive?'

Mark kicked the corpse over.

'Nope…'

As he leaned in, the audio became clearer.

"—Upper Dormitories. Squadron 2 is heavily wounded. Requesting immediate support."

'Magical earpieces…? That's sick.'

Mark dismissed his Soul Sword, getting down on one knee as he fiddled with the juggernaut's helmet. Two large, wiggly horns protruded out the top of the knight-like helm.

'How the hell did he even fit this on?'

Finally unstrapping the helmet and tossing it aside, Mark grabbed a small black earpiece from the Demon's ear—careful to ignore the massive, bloody, gaping hole and frightened expression on the dead demon's face.

Putting it into his own, he began to carefully listen, though most of his attention lay down the hallway.

'Time to ditch this place—wish I could take the magical minigun with me, but it's too heavy. Gotta be nimble to run through fire.'

As Mark listened to the Demon's radio, he got a better understanding of the battle.

There were ten different Squads of powerful demons, each with around 5 or 6 total fighters.

Squads 2 and 3 appeared to be fighting at the Upper Dormitories, meanwhile, 4, 5, and 6 fought the Middle Dormitories while 7 through 9 fought the Lower Dormitories.

'They don't care about winning, they're just trying to kill as many students as possible. It's a massacre.'

Squad 10 was a larger force made up of high-quality reserves who played cleanup for the other Squads—the juggernaut being part of Squad 10. Their disjointed, supportive nature was the only reason Mark hadn't been caught snooping—yet.

But Squad 1 was special. They were the elites. They occupied the attention of the faculty around the main building, buying time for the other Squads to rampage the student population.

'Things seem to be slowing down for their offensive though.'

The main campus building wasn't all that safe; Where could Mark even go?

'Guess I'll just find a bush to hide in or something…'

Squad 1 was now unresponsive, with the radio operator frantically demanding information. On top of that, Squadrons 2 and 3 were getting smoked—probably from the efforts of the main cast

Mark would keep an ear out. Now, he had to get moving.

He maneuvered down the hallway towards the stairs with a light jog, hopping over the few odd corpses, fire, and debris along the way. His left shoulder occasionally cried out in pain, but it wasn't anything serious; his 4 points in Vigor seemed to help out.

With a swivel head, he glanced into the few open dorm rooms in his hall, weary not to fall into the same trap that he himself had laid out. Thankfully, it was solely for caution. The floor was clear.

Gently opening the staircase door, Mark looked down to see that it was also strangely devoid of any living beings, enemy or ally.

'Please no one jump me here.'

He hurriedly rushed down the stairs—the less time spent there the better. Luckily, no one appeared.

A similar story occurred upon his arrival outside.

The air was abnormally cold—it was nighttime in the Autumn season. There was an invisible smoke that tickled his nose hairs.

But most importantly was the eerie silence. Mark could hear the occasional clamor of battle far off in the distance, but it wasn't nearly as loud as before.

This extended to the ear piece too. Since stepping outside, it had been entirely silent.

'I'm a sitting duck out here…'

Mark was relatively shielded from vision as he came out of the Middle Dormitory's backside, away from the main road's vision—but he was still visible in the open air.

But as Mark moved to cover, a strange phenomenon occurred. A pure light bathed the area.

'The sun? But it's nighttime…'

A massive white ring crackled and sparked high in the air, illuminating the entire Academy.

One figure stood in the air, arm outstretched. It was the ring's caster. Their black outline was barely visible in the night sky.

Mark's earpiece began to hiss, almost as if reacting to the ring's lightning-like emissions.

Tossing the earpiece out, his single eye was trained, captivated by lights far off in the distance.

It wasn't just the massive ringed light, but also the Kriophorus. Once deactivated, shrouded in darkness—hardly illuminated by nearby lights—hummed lowly; audible, even from a long distance.

A swirl of blue light began in the portal's center, soon sprouting into a complete revival of the disabled teleporter.

Almost immediately, a horde of Human warriors entered.

And the battle was over.

…

'How anticlimactic.'