The Villain Professor's Second Chance-Chapter 623: The Unexpected Name (2)

"This isn't a history book," he whispered, the words strained, as though every syllable physically hurt him. "It's a manual."

The sheer terror in his tone sent a cold shiver down my spine. Kyrion was never shaken easily. Seeing such fear in his eyes gave frightening weight to the implications I'd already begun to grasp. I could feel the puzzle pieces aligning in my mind, revealing a darker picture than I'd ever imagined possible. This chamber wasn't merely protective—it was functional. These leylines were not random veins of magical energy; they were engineered conduits, deliberately crafted to serve a hidden purpose—a purpose that someone, or something, had hidden away beneath layers of secrecy and wards.

Whoever the benefactor was, their power extended further into the heart of Aetherion than I'd previously realized. They'd buried this manual here, within the fortress itself, a dormant weapon ready to be wielded against the Council—or perhaps against reality itself.

My mind raced. We had mere seconds, maybe minutes, to act. The Council's enforcers would breach the chamber any moment. They'd overwhelm us, their numbers and resources nearly limitless compared to ours. Without intervention, we were as good as dead.

Decisiveness surged within me, silencing doubt. There was no time for hesitation. My grip tightened on the Fire Pen, resolve burning hotter than any spell. "We're using it," I announced, voice firm, tone allowing no argument. "We're tearing through the leylines."

Kyrion's head snapped sharply toward me, disbelief stark on his face, panic clawing at his normally composed mask. "Have you completely lost your mind? That kind of rupture could—"

"We don't have the luxury of debate," I interrupted harshly, cutting him off with a razor-edged glare. "Either we break through, or we die trapped down here. Choose."

I saw the emotions play across Kyrion's features: anger at being cornered, frustration at our limited choices, and beneath it all, resignation as he accepted the brutal logic. His fists clenched tightly, knuckles white, then slowly relaxed as he exhaled a breath of weary surrender. His eyes hardened into grim determination, and with a reluctant nod, he moved swiftly to stand beside me.

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My attention returned to the diagram. Details snapped rapidly into place, my mind sorting through possibilities with ruthless efficiency. I felt the room's pulsing energy throb impatiently around us, as though urging us forward, daring us to unleash whatever dormant power waited below. I quickly stepped toward the stone floor at the chamber's center, eyes flickering across the embedded leyline seals, now glowing brightly as if anticipating the violence to come.

Behind us, the sound of cracking stone grew louder, mingling with the urgent shouts and barked commands of Council enforcers. Every strike against the sealed door sent tremors reverberating through the chamber, driving home the urgency of our perilous situation.

Kneeling swiftly, I traced the diagram's key points with practiced precision, aligning the Devil's Pen and the Fire Pen along specific leyline junctures. As each Pen touched the stone, mana flared violently, rippling outward in pulsating waves. Sparks shot upward from the floor, stinging my fingers, scorching my palms. Pain lanced through me, but I pushed through, ignoring discomfort as I channeled raw power into the seals.

Beside me, Kyrion's whispered incantations filled the air, a low chant thick with necromantic resonance, intertwining darkly with my own fiery mana. Shadows pooled around his fingertips, weaving into the leyline seals, twisting and distorting their runes. His magic added a volatile edge to mine, pushing the energy toward the breaking point.

Sweat poured down my forehead, dripping onto the heated stone. The chamber roared its fury around us, magic violently resisting our assault, runes flashing in chaotic protest. For a moment, uncertainty flickered—had I miscalculated? Was this a fatal mistake?

But behind us, the sound of cracking stone intensified further, mingling ominously with the cacophony of shouted orders from the Council's forces just beyond the weakening barrier. We had mere moments left.

Kyrion pressed both hands against the leyline seals, his entire body trembling with exertion as tendrils of necromantic energy poured forth like dark vines, rapidly spreading and weaving themselves into the intricate, ancient inscriptions embedded in the stone. His breathing grew labored, each breath escaping through clenched teeth, sweat beading along his brow and trickling down the sides of his pale face. The inky black tendrils moved deliberately, almost sentient, curling and twisting as they fought against the chamber's fierce resistance, each interaction releasing sparks of angry, crackling magic into the air.

The chamber itself responded violently, as if in physical agony at our intrusion. An agonized scream reverberated through the walls, echoing deafeningly around us. It was the scream of something ancient—something alive, wounded, and deeply offended by our violation. The sensation clawed at my ears, piercing deep into my mind, setting my teeth on edge and rattling the very core of my bones.

Yet, despite the pain and the danger, I refused to waver. There was no time to second-guess, no room to hesitate. Instinct and cold, ruthless determination guided every movement of my fingers, every precise stroke of the Pens in my grasp. The weight of countless lives, including my own, rested heavily on my ability to execute this perfectly.

Focusing intently, I called upon the searing heat of the Fire Pen, allowing it to surge through my hand and flood the inscriptions. Fire bloomed brilliantly at my fingertips, intense enough to cast flickering shadows across the walls, painting Kyrion's face in a mask of shifting light and darkness. I could feel the flames pulsing eagerly, hungry to be unleashed in their full force. Beside it, the Devil's Pen surged in response, its sinister strength weaving effortlessly alongside the burning fire—melding seamlessly in a harmony both beautiful and terrifying.

"Keep pushing!" I shouted at Kyrion, voice strained above the chaotic noise. My heart hammered furiously in my chest, adrenaline surging through every nerve ending. It wasn't fear—not entirely—but rather the rush of navigating a dangerous precipice, knowing full well how thin the line between survival and destruction had become.

He didn't respond verbally, couldn't spare the energy, but the grim set of his jaw and the flash of determination in his eyes told me everything I needed to know. Kyrion poured everything he had left into his magic, his entire body radiating with the eerie glow of necromancy. The chamber recoiled, shuddering violently beneath our feet, but still, he persisted, pushing past exhaustion, past pain.

In that moment, my mind sharpened, taking in every detail around me at lightning speed. The lines etched in the stone shimmered furiously, their glow intensifying with each passing second. My eyes flicked rapidly between runes, my thoughts instantly deciphering the complicated symbols and sequences. Each rune had a specific resonance, a precise function; one mistake, one misaligned carving, would spell catastrophe. My fingers moved with practiced certainty, guiding the Pens along exact patterns I had memorized only moments ago, carefully carving the first rune directly into the stone floor.

As the rune completed, a blinding flash of mana erupted from beneath us, sending jolts of raw energy crackling through the air. The dormant leyline awakened with a violent burst, its pent-up power roaring forth like an unleashed beast. The sheer force of its awakening slammed into my body, forcing me backward. Every muscle in my body tightened instinctively, resisting the surge of energy, feet digging stubbornly into the crumbling floor.

The chamber convulsed again, this time more violently, more desperately, as if attempting to expel us—like a body fighting infection. The walls fractured with deafening cracks, deep fissures spreading outward like spiderwebs of ruin. Shards of stone exploded outward, hurtling dangerously close, slicing into my skin with sharp, stinging bites, but I barely registered the pain. My focus remained razor-sharp, trained solely on maintaining control of the magic now flooding the chamber.

"Kyrion!" I called again, urgency tightening my voice as I sensed his strength faltering slightly. He responded with a grunt of effort, eyes narrowed with stubborn defiance as he forcibly steadied himself, sending another surge of dark magic cascading into the seals. He was drawing power from depths I hadn't imagined he possessed—an admirable, desperate display born of necessity.

But then, the room buckled once more, the runes on the walls flaring uncontrollably as if breaking free of centuries of restraint. Powerful gusts of arcane wind whipped through the chamber, swirling dust and debris into blinding storms. The chaotic energies lashed out, indiscriminate in their violence, tearing deep grooves into the walls and ceiling, leaving behind scars of raw, pulsing magic.

I heard the harsh sound of splintering wood and cracking stone from behind—the door had finally shattered, and the Council's enforcers surged through the entrance, voices raised in anger and fear. They were armed, spells and weapons alike at the ready, expressions twisted in frantic determination to stop us at all costs.

"Stop them!" shouted one enforcer, voice edged with panic as they saw the rapidly escalating chaos.

Yet their arrival was too late. The chamber's collapse had already reached its peak, its very structure unraveling around us. I spared them only the briefest glance, enough to gauge their distance and trajectory. Their interference could no longer matter; the energies we had unleashed had become an unstoppable force, too far beyond their control—or ours—to restrain.

Another powerful surge erupted from beneath us, sending a violent tremor through the floor. My knees buckled momentarily, balance wavering dangerously. I braced one hand firmly on the floor, steadying myself. The ancient stone was now hot to the touch, glowing faintly beneath my fingertips, humming deeply as if it were alive and furious.

"Almost there!" I hissed through gritted teeth, forcing myself to remain grounded. The flames from the Fire Pen now surged into an inferno, nearly overwhelming my control, scorching my fingertips with intense heat. But I refused to flinch, holding steadfast as the final runes blazed into existence.

Across from me, Kyrion gasped sharply, staggering under the immense magical pressure. Yet still, he pushed forward, his face a grim mask of raw determination. Necromantic energy now spilled from his hands freely, pooling around his feet in an eerie, spectral fog, mixing with the fiery blaze erupting from my own magic.

The next heartbeat stretched into a painful eternity, every sense hyperaware as the chamber shook again, more violently than before. Then, with an earth-shattering crack, the chamber floor fractured completely, splitting open directly beneath us, releasing an overwhelming torrent of leyline energy.

For a split second, I saw the enforcers' terrified faces, their realization dawning too late as the surge rushed towards them like a tsunami of power. Their shouts of alarm were lost in the deafening roar of magic as the chamber began to collapse inward.

The stone floor crumbled beneath our feet, gravity disappearing as we were abruptly plunged downward, plummeting helplessly through a vortex of energy that enveloped us like a maelstrom. There was no anchor, no direction—only the dizzying sensation of uncontrollable descent. Light and color exploded around us, mingling in wild, incomprehensible patterns.

I felt Kyrion's presence nearby, though I couldn't see him, couldn't reach him. The magic raged around us, stripping away all control, all logic, leaving only instinct and survival. My thoughts raced wildly, each second of descent stretching infinitely as I struggled to comprehend the impossible chaos engulfing us.

Then, abruptly, everything was swallowed by blinding white light. All sensation vanished, replaced by the overwhelming presence of raw, unfiltered power. My body was no longer mine to command—I was merely a passenger, helpless against the leyline's relentless pull.

The leyline's immense power engulfed us, swallowing us whole into a chaotic void of pulsating magic.