Chapter 188: The Fall

Chapter 188: Chapter 188: The Fall

The fight continued.

Lucian pressed the advantage. He rushed forward — Light Acceleration carrying him across the crater in a blink. His fist — coated in Light mana — drove toward Hassan’s face.

Hassan sidestepped.

His hand closed around Lucian’s wrist. His grip tightened. A grin spread across his scarred face.

Then his hand exploded.

BOOOOOM!

The detonation was point-blank — concentrated entirely within his palm, directed straight into Lucian’s forearm. The force was catastrophic. Lucian’s arm disintegrated.

From the elbow down — gone. Blood erupted from the stump. Lucian screamed.

The force of the explosion launched him backward. BOOM! He crashed through rubble, tumbling, rolling, his body ragdolling across the crater. Each impact sent fresh waves of agony through his system. He hit a slab of concrete — CRAAASH — and stopped.

He struggled to stand. His legs trembled and his vision blurred.

His regeneration tried. The stump sizzled — cells attempting to regrow, tissue trying to reform. But nothing happened. His Blood Energy was gone. Depleted. Every drop consumed by the fight with Rashid, the explosion, the healing, the blood he’d given Lemora. Without Blood Energy, Eternal Regeneration was a stalled engine — trying to turn over, finding nothing to burn.

Lucian stood there as his knees buckled.

Hassan walked toward him.

"Looks like the prophecy child ran out of tricks." He kicked Lucian in the chest. BOOM. Lucian flew backward, crashing into rubble. He didn’t get up this time. "Not so tough now, are you?"

Hassan raised his hand — explosions forming in his palm. "Let me take the other arm too. See if your regeneration can —"

"Stop."

Declan’s voice was calm.

Hassan paused as he turned. "What?"

Declan stepped forward. His expression was composed. "Stop torturing the kid. Show some dignity as a knight of the Dark King."

Hassan’s grin faltered. He waved his hand dismissively, the explosions in his palm dissipating.

"Come on, Declan. You’re always so stiff." He kicked Lucian’s side one more time. A parting shot. CRACK. Another rib broke. Lucian groaned but didn’t move.

Lucian’s vision was going dark at the edges. His body was shutting down — blood loss, mana depletion, Blood Energy exhaustion, accumulated injuries. His regeneration had completely stopped. His crimson eyes were glassy and unfocused.

Declan appeared in front of him. The next, he was standing over Lucian’s broken body.

He looked down. His expression didn’t change.

He punched Lucian in the stomach.

BOOM.

The impact — enhanced by Peak Grand Core physical strength — drove every scrap of air from Lucian’s lungs. His body folded around Declan’s fist. His eyes went wide — then blank.

His body went limp. He collapsed face-first into the rubble. Unconscious.

Declan straightened. "He’s done."

Louisa Du Maurier descended into the crater. Her dark hair was singed at the edges — residual damage from the Vice Principal’s Inferno Burn. Her robes were tattered. Burns marked her pale skin in patches. But her violet eyes were furious.

Beside her, Colette Du Maurier landed with silent grace. Her expression was neutral.

Louisa’s eyes swept the crater. She found Lemora first — unconscious, lying on a pile of rubble, her body still healing from Lucian’s blood.

Louisa’s aura exploded.

"Who did this to my daughter?" Her voice was ice cold. Her violet eyes scanned the crater — finding Hassan, finding Declan, finding the unconscious Lucian. Her death energy surged, dark and terrible, pressing against the walls of the crater.

Declan answered without flinching. "He saved her. Fed her his blood to heal the burns. She was caught in Hassan’s explosion — nothing but collateral."

Louisa’s gaze snapped to Hassan. Hassan raised both hands defensively. "She was standing next to the target! Not my fault she didn’t move."

Louisa’s eyes could have frozen the sun. She said nothing. She crossed the crater, knelt beside Lemora, and lifted her daughter’s body into her arms. Lemora’s head lolled against her mother’s shoulder. Her breathing was steady now — Lucian’s blood had done its work.

Declan looked at Louisa. His voice was flat and haughty. Carrying the weight of someone who believed in something larger than any individual.

"We would do anything to awaken the Dark King. That is the oath. Yours. Mine. Hassan’s. Every knight." His eyes met hers. "Sacrificing your daughter is not far-fetched."

Louisa’s jaw tightened. Her arms tightened around Lemora’s sleeping form.

Declan picked up Lucian’s unconscious body. He slung the boy over his shoulder like a sack of grain.

Louisa snorted. "Let’s go."

She coated all four of them — herself, Colette, Declan, and Hassan — in a layer of dense death energy. The dark aura wrapped around them like a shroud. They rose into the sky, ascending above the ruins of the academy, and flew northeast at speed.

At the same moment — above the academy.

The Head Instructor was dying.

His golden avatar had collapsed three minutes ago. The massive construct shattered under the combined assault of Tariq al-Khamsin and Seth al-Apep — golden fragments dissolving into the dark sky like dying stars. Without the avatar, the Head Instructor was just a man. An old, powerful, Peak Grand Core man — bleeding from a dozen wounds, his mana nearly depleted, his body broken.

He was surrounded.

Tariq circled him from the left. Seth from the right. Three Khamsin vampires — Mid to Late Grand Core — flanked from above. Two Apep shadow manipulators sealed the ground below. There was no escape.

The Head Instructor raised his fists. His golden mana flickered. His breathing was ragged. Blood dripped from his mouth, his nose, the gashes across his face and chest.

He swung at Tariq. Tariq dissolved into blood mist. The fist passed through empty air. A Khamsin vampire caught him from behind — claws raking across his back. SHLK-SHLK-SHLK. Three deep gashes. The Head Instructor screamed and spun — driving his fist into the vampire’s jaw. CRACK. The vampire stumbled but didn’t fall.

Another vampire struck from the side. Then another. From above. From behind. A coordinated assault from every direction — claws and blood mist and shadow strikes, each one finding its mark. Each one drawing blood and wearing him down.

He fell to one knee.

His vision blurred.

His one good eye stared at the sky.

At least I managed to buy time for the students.

Some of them made it through the portal. Some of them survived. That’s enough.

Tariq al-Khamsin materialized in front of him. The Khamsin patriarch looked down.

"You fought well," Tariq said. "For a human."

His dagger drove through the Head Instructor’s heart.

SHLIKT.

The Head Instructor’s body went rigid. His eye dimmed as his body collapsed.

The vampires scattered — leaving his body where it fell. They rose into the sky, following Louisa’s group, leaving behind the ruins of one of the greatest academies on Earth.

The European All-Star Academy was destroyed.

They had succeeded because of intelligence, verified intelligence about the academy’s defenses, its staff rotations, and most critically, the absence of its two strongest protectors. The Principal. And Allistar Flint. Both gone. Away from the academy at the same time. The window had been narrow, but the information had been perfect.

Professor Vasilev. The academy spy. She had fed every detail to the Dark Order for months — barrier frequencies, staff rotations, student locations, and the critical timing of when the two strongest cultivators would be absent. They had taken advantage of every piece of information she provided.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the portal — the World Government facility in London.

The portal destabilized.

The blue gateway that had been transporting students to safety flickered and then collapsed. KRRRAK. The array on the facility side shattered. The technicians who had been maintaining it were thrown backward by the mana backlash.

No more students could come through.

Those who had made it through were safe. Those who hadn’t — hadn’t.

A week passed.

The news broke despite the World Government’s best efforts to suppress it.

The European All-Star Academy — one of the three premier academies on Earth, the training ground for the continent’s strongest young cultivators, the host of the International Champions League — had been destroyed. Attacked by unknown forces. Over five hundred students dead. Sixty staff members dead. The Vice Principal — dead. The Head Instructor — dead. The campus — leveled.

The World Government tried to control the narrative. They issued statements about a "coordinated terrorist attack" and promised investigations. They deployed soldiers to major cities. They increased security at the remaining academies. They activated emergency protocols that hadn’t been used since the Cataclysm.

But the truth leaked. It always leaked. Survivors talked. Families of the dead demanded answers. Footage from students’ communicators surfaced online — shaky recordings of vampires in the sky.

Riots started.

In Paris. In Berlin. In Rome. In Madrid. Citizens took to the streets — not against the government, but against the fear. Against the helplessness. Against the growing, terrifying realization that the institutions and bodies meant to protect them could not.

The Dark Order was named as the primary suspect. Most who knew of the organization suspected them immediately — the coordinated nature of the attack, the simultaneous assault on London that had prevented World Government reinforcements from reaching the academy, the use of traitors within the institution.

But the Dark Order’s true identity remained hidden. Their leaders. Their bases. Their goals. All unknown.

Panic spread across Europe and other continents. If the European All-Star Academy — a fortress protected by Astral Realm cultivators, Peak Grand Core instructors, and S-Rank barriers — could be destroyed in less than two hours, what hope did ordinary people have? What hope did smaller academies have? What hope did any city have?

First New Geneva. Now the European All-Star Academy. Two of humanity’s strongest strongholds — attacked.

The questions whispered through every city, every shelter, every home.

Who is next?

What is next?