Fatal Weakness

In the next fifteen minutes, almost every one of Modifications was attacking in full force. Those guys were getting desperate. They seemed not to care about their lives anymore, gambling with their own dignity and credit despite everything.

They looked at the Music History department as if they were looking at enemies who had killed their fathers. They were so angry, so desolate. If a dirge was played now, it would be a great epic poem of revenge.

The turbulent aether burned most of the field into ashes. Ruins were scattered on the rest of the place. Even the goals on both sides had become crooked, almost razed by James's self-destructive attack. Unfortunately, it did not work.

The history department was two points ahead. Their players stood before the goal, then…Charles, that b*stard, froze the goal into a giant ice cube.