After the Head of Administration spoke his final words, he sank heavily into his chair—didn't even bother looking at the people he had just condemned.
Loen's smile stretched wider.
He turned away from me and slowly raised both hands toward his target.
I didn't think.
I ran.
Straight for the main exit near the front rows.
"Stop, you idiot!" Clyde shouted.
I didn't look back.
My pulse hammered in my skull. My breath came in ragged bursts, uneven and sharp. Panic tore through me, clawing at my chest—but I kept moving.
One thought.
Just one.
Torrent is in there.
No one moved.
No one dared.
I slammed the doors open—
and saw it.
A massive sphere of fire tearing through the air toward the small, plain building.
It was faster than me.
Didn't matter.
I ran anyway—like an arrow already loosed, already too late.
Trying to reach it.
To warn them.
To do anything.
Even though I knew—
there was nothing I could do to stop it.
The fireball struck the roof.
And everything exploded.
Flames burst outward—violent, roaring—devouring the building in seconds. Fire poured through windows, through cracks, through every opening—cutting off every way in, every way out.
Glass shattered under the pressure.
I heard the screams.
Sharp.
Panicked.
Then more.
The heat hit me before I reached it—dry, suffocating, burning the air out of my lungs.
I stopped in front of it—
staring—
searching for a way in.
Any gap.
Anything.
I dragged in a breath—
hot air scorched my throat.
I exhaled—
smoke flooded my lungs.
The door barely showed through the flames.
I ran.
Straight into it.
Pulling my sleeve over my mouth, I forced my way inside.
The panic burned out.
Gone.
No fear.
No hesitation.
Just one thing—
Find Torrent.
Get him out.
Bodies blocked the way.
Some were already burning.
Others still moved—
crawling, choking, dragging themselves through smoke that was killing them slowly.
Parts of the building hadn't caught yet—
but it didn't matter.
They were suffocating anyway.
I kicked the door to the first room open—
and saw him.
Robert.
Dragging himself away from a wall already swallowed by flames.
On the bed beside him—
a body.
Half-burned.
Didn't move.
Never would.
"Robert!" I shouted, rushing to him.
"Alan—?!" he coughed, eyes red, barely able to see. "What the hell are you doing here?! Get out!"
I didn't answer.
I hooked my arm under his useless one and hauled him up.
Adrenaline hit like a spike.
I pulled him forward—half dragging, half carrying him through heat that should've dropped me where I stood.
"Leave me! You won't make it!" he choked out.
I didn't slow.
Didn't hesitate.
I dragged him straight toward the fire.
"Alan?"
A voice behind me.
I turned.
"Andrew? What the hell are you doing here?!"
"Medicine—doesn't matter! Over here! Bring him!"
No time to think.
I changed direction, dragging Robert toward a gap in the wall—half-collapsed, torn open.
Andrew had made it.
I got Robert out.
Dragged him far enough from the flames—
then let go—
and turned back.
There were still people inside.
Too many.
Robert tried to grab me—
but I pulled free.
How the hell was I supposed to leave them?
My clothes were burning.
My skin should've been blistering.
Andrew's hands already were—raw, torn, skin hanging loose.
But he kept moving.
Dragging people.
One after another.
I felt nothing.
No heat.
No pain.
Just anger.
I dragged another body out—
limp, unconscious—
when a scream tore through the air behind me.
I turned.
The person Andrew was carrying—
caught fire.
Just like that.
The passage ignited—
flames surging through it in a single breath—
cutting everything off.
No exit.
No way through.
Trapping him inside.
"Andrew!" I shouted, dropping the body and running back.
"Idiot! Get out! You can't get through anymore!" he yelled, coughing hard enough to choke.
"Andrew! I'll find another way—just wait!" I shouted back.
No answer.
"Andrew!"
Nothing.
No time.
I didn't look for another way.
I ran straight into the fire.
Too late for everyone else.
Flames everywhere.
Walls burning.
Air gone.
Andrew lay on the ground.
Fire had already eaten through his boots—
only a small patch beneath him untouched.
I stepped forward—
waiting for pain.
For skin to melt.
For something—
Nothing.
I felt nothing.
I moved my hands—wild, desperate—trying to push the fire back.
And it moved.
I don't know how—
but it did.
It pulled away.
Recoiled.
With everything I had left, I grabbed him—
dead weight—
and bound him to my back with strands of force.
Then I walked.
Straight through it.
Through the flames.
Carrying him.
The fire split around me—
closed behind me—
as if I weren't even there.
I didn't think about it.
Didn't try to understand.
Didn't care.
I just moved.
Step after step.
Until I was out.
I dropped to my knees—
lowered him carefully beside the others.
His body was wrecked.
Skin blackened.
Blisters everywhere—arms, legs, face, chest.
But he was breathing.
Barely.
I exhaled.
Looked around.
Twelve.
That was it.
That's all I got out.
A crack split the air—
loud—
sharp—
The fire surged higher.
The walls gave way.
The roof collapsed.
The building folded in on itself—
disappearing into flame—
taking everyone still inside with it.
I dropped.
Hands over my face—
and screamed.
From the stands—
laughter.
Loud.
Hysterical.
"Little mouse! You entertained me!" the demon shouted. "Now the rest of you—enjoy the show!"
The crowd broke.
People rushed in—some to help, some just to watch.
I didn't move.
Sat there—
staring at my hands.
Black with soot.
Beside me—
someone I cared about, barely breathing.
Behind me—
my best friend.
Silent.
Robert didn't say a word.
I only turned when I heard him try.
"What the—"
A dull thud.
A body hitting the ground.
I snapped around.
Blocking stood there.
Smiling.
"Little Al. Come with me."
"I'm not going anywhere," I shot back. "What did you do to Robert?"
"Knocked him out. He was getting in the way. Others too. Hurry."
"I said—"
"If you don't move now, everyone here finds out your little secret," his voice dropped—cold.
"My what—?"
"Look at yourself," he cut me off. "Still don't get it? Look around."
I did.
Everyone was burned.
Some worse.
Andrew worst of all.
Then I looked at myself.
Soot.
Burned clothes.
No burns.
Not one.
My throat tightened.
I opened my mouth—
but he spoke first.
"No time. If you don't want your dear friends—and your oh-so-annoying superior—to start looking at you like something they should kill…"
He stepped closer.
"Move."
Voices were getting closer.
I saw blond hair—
running straight toward us.
I looked at Blocking—
and nodded.
He threw his jacket over my head—
and lifted me like I weighed nothing.
"Don't move. Don't speak," he said, turning away.
"Blocking!" Clyde's voice cut through everything—cold, sharp, furious. "Let him go!"
"Sorry," Blocking replied lazily. "Can't do that. Little Al here is badly injured—and I'd hate for him to die before I'm done with him."
Then—
he jumped.
Cleared several meters in a single motion—
landed—
and vanished.
Gone.
Leaving only:
"Handle the rest yourselves."