Chapter 65: "Judgement of the 30!"

Chapter 65: "Judgment of the 30"

Riverdale Academy -11am

The silence of Riverdale Academy's courtyard was broken by the deafening roar of the hovercraft's engines as it descended like an angry beast upon the school grounds. Mr. Hammond, buried in paperwork in his office, jolted upright.

His heart raced as the walls seemed to vibrate. Dropping his pen, he rushed to the window, and what he saw sent a chill down his spine—a massive, sleek hovercraft, gleaming in the dim light, settling ominously in the heart of the school.

"What in God's name..." he muttered, dashing out of his office. The night was thick, and the courtyard was bathed in shadows, but the glaring lights from the hovercraft illuminated the terror-stricken faces of the security men standing with him.

"Stay here!" he ordered the guards, though he wished he had someone telling him the same. His legs felt weak, and fear clawed at his chest. As the craft's doors opened, he felt an urge to retreat, but duty forced him forward.

The men who emerged looked nothing like ordinary humans. The first figure, a hulking giant, moved with the grace of a predator. His muscles rippled beneath his uniform, and the sheer size of his frame made Mr. Hammond's stomach churn. The man looked like he could crush boulders with his bare hands. Behind him, a doctor in a lab coat followed with a twisted grin—the notorious Dr. Lucius Strake.

Then, from the shadows of the hovercraft, a man stepped forward, and Mr. Hammond's breath caught in his throat. The figure radiated power, not just physical but the kind of raw authority that made grown men shrink.

His very presence seemed to sap the courage from anyone in sight. This was General Rwald Dune, and every step he took toward Mr. Hammond echoed like a drumbeat of doom.

The principal tried to hold his ground, but as the general loomed over him, his knees quivered. 'God, he's enormous', Hammond thought, barely managing to look up into the man's eyes. There was no warmth, no mercy there—just cold, calculating menace.

"I learned an alien girl from this school came and destroyed one of my bases," General Rwald growled, his voice deep enough to rattle bones. "Where is she?"

Mr. Hammond opened his mouth, but no words came. His throat was dry, his thoughts scrambled. 'Tessa... Tessa? Alien?' Fear clawed at him, his mind racing to connect the dots. His mouth fumbled as he tried to respond, but nothing coherent formed.

"I... I... I don't... don't know..." he stammered. His face turned ghostly pale as beads of sweat rolled down his temples. He felt his bladder fail him, warmth spreading down his legs as he wet himself.

"I won't repeat myself," Rwald said, his tone laced with deadly finality. His eyes didn't even glance at Hammond anymore. Instead, he gave a subtle nod to one of the Deadly 30 standing behind him, a towering figure whose eyes were cold and dead, like a machine in human skin.

In the blink of an eye, the school grounds erupted in flames. The first building to catch fire was the administrative block.

The roaring blaze lit up the night sky, its flames dancing wildly as though mocking Hammond's helplessness. The heat from the inferno scorched his skin, yet he couldn't move. His heart raced painfully in his chest, and all he could do was stare in horror.

"No... no... no!" he gasped, unable to believe what he was seeing. The school he had poured his life into, the school he had built from the ground up with every penny he could muster, was going up in flames one building at a time.

The Deadly 30 moved with cold precision, each flame lit with methodical ease. The fire devoured everything in its path—the classrooms, the labs, the library, all of it. It was like watching a piece of his soul being ripped apart, and he could do nothing.

"Please... please... stop!" he finally managed to croak, his voice barely above a whisper.

General Rwald turned his menacing gaze back to him, as if considering whether to let him live for a few more agonizing moments. He tilted his head slightly, an almost amused expression crossing his face as he watched Hammond's silent suffering.

"Perhaps... we should visit the students next?" Rwald's voice was casual, as though he were discussing the weather. "I wonder how they'll enjoy the warmth of these flames..."

"No! Not the students!" Hammond cried out, his voice hoarse with desperation. His legs gave out, and he collapsed to the ground. The mere thought of those poor children being dragged out of their beds by these monsters... He couldn't bear it.

But Rwald's expression darkened. "I think we'll do just that," he said coldly. He gestured to the Deadly 30, who immediately began moving toward the dormitories, their heavy footsteps echoing ominously in the night.

Mr. Hammond watched in despair, tears streaming down his face as he crawled toward the smoldering ruins of the school he once called his pride and joy. The laughter of the flames, the eerie silence of the soldiers, and the overwhelming sense of doom pressed down on him until he could barely breathe.

From the corner of his eye, Hammond noticed Dr. Strake, who had been standing to the side, grinning. The doctor's twisted smile grew wider as he watched the chaos unfold.

"You see, Mr. Hammond," Strake said in a low, mocking voice, "it's always easier when you just cooperate."

Hammond didn't respond. He couldn't. He was drowning in his own helplessness, his mind spinning with fear and grief. And now, as the Deadly 30 marched towards the dormitories, Hammond knew that the nightmare was only just beginning.

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The Deadly 30 dragged the students out, their faces emotionless as they worked methodically. Some of the children whimpered, others cried, and a few resisted, only to be met with firm but not cruel restraint—General Rwald Dune had made it clear: no unnecessary harm. Bruised and terrified, they were herded together under the dark night sky.

Mr. Hammond stood frozen, his heart crumbling as he watched the chaotic scene. The shrill screams of the students sliced through him like knives, and yet, even in his despair, there was a flicker of hope in the voices of those who still believed.

Oxlade, Karl, and Richie (a new addition to the Tessa fan group), faces flushed with adrenaline, stood their ground, defying the terror that loomed over them. Oxlade's voice cut through the madness like a battle cry.

"Tessa will come for you! She'll judge you for this! She'll have your head!" His words rang out with a conviction that shook Mr. Hammond more than the sight of the hulking soldiers.

The headmaster's breath hitched. Surely, this would be the end of the boy. He clenched his fists, waiting for the inevitable.

General Rwald Dune turned slowly, his towering frame casting a shadow over Oxlade. His eyes gleamed with a twisted amusement, lips curling into a smirk. For a moment, Mr. Hammond expected the worst, his heart ready to shatter as he imagined the punishment.

But Dune didn't lash out. Instead, he approached Oxlade, every step purposeful, the weight of his presence pressing down on the students like an invisible hand. The general stopped inches away from Oxlade, staring down at him, his voice as cold as death itself.

"I am the devil," Dune said, his words a low growl that seemed to come from the depths of the underworld. "And this is hell."

The silence that followed was suffocating. The wind held its breath. The other students cowered. But Oxlade, though trembling, stood firm, glaring back, defiance still burning in his eyes.

General Rwald let out a low, dark chuckle, clearly entertained by the boy's bravery—or foolishness. He looked around at the gathered students, as if considering whether they, too, shared Oxlade's delusions.

"This Tessa," he said, addressing no one in particular, "will come, will she? We'll see how long your hope lasts when she doesn't."

He turned to his men, his voice rising as he ordered, "Take them to the center of the school, --the open field. Let them watch as we burn this place to the ground."

Mr. Hammond felt his knees wobble, but before he collapsed under the weight of it all, he caught Oxlade's determined gaze. Even in the face of hell, the boy believed. And maybe, just maybe, that belief was enough to spark something more.