The Villain Professor's Second Chance-Chapter 435: The Attack in Aetherion (1) Outside The Chamber

Amberine followed Draven out of his room, her heart pounding, the air thick with tension. The hallway was dimly lit, with only the soft glow of enchanted sconces casting faint light across the stone walls. She could feel the anxiety crawling under her skin, like a thousand tiny needles. She had never seen Draven this way—so focused, so guarded. His expression remained stoic, but his eyes darted around, as if he were calculating every possible move, every potential threat.

Ifrit slipped out of her robe, his tiny salamander-like form glowing softly. He perched on her shoulder, his eyes flitting nervously from side to side. "Amberine, stay close to him," he whispered, his voice barely audible. The seriousness in his tone sent a chill down her spine.

She kept her eyes on Draven, her feet following his steady pace. It felt strange, terrifying even, to be relying on him like this. She wanted to hate him—she wanted to scream at him for everything he had done. He had just admitted to killing Sharon, and yet here she was, depending on him to protect her. It was a twisted irony that made her chest ache with conflicting emotions.

The hallway seemed to stretch endlessly, the shadows shifting around them as they walked. Amberine could feel the weight of every step, her senses heightened, every creak of the floorboards echoing in her ears. Draven led the way without a word, his presence commanding, unyielding. There was something almost comforting in his confidence, a steadiness that made her want to believe that everything would be okay.

They turned a corner, and Draven suddenly stopped. Amberine froze behind him, her breath catching in her throat as she saw them—figures emerging from the darkness. Their forms were twisted, grotesque, like something out of a nightmare. They moved with a jerky, unnatural gait, their eyes glowing with a sickly green light. The air around them seemed to hum with malice, a dark energy that made Amberine’s skin crawl.

Draven didn’t hesitate. He raised his hand, and Amberine saw the faint shimmer of his psychokinesis pen hovering in the air. He moved with precision, the pen gliding through the air as if it had a mind of its own. The creatures contorted violently, their bodies twisting, and then they crumpled to the ground, lifeless. It happened so quickly that Amberine barely had time to react.

She stared at the fallen bodies, a mix of horror and fascination washing over her. Draven had killed them without a second thought, without a moment of hesitation. His movements were so fluid, so efficient, that it was almost beautiful in its brutality. She felt a shiver run down her spine as she realized just how powerful he was—how ruthlessly effective.

Draven lowered his hand, the pen returning to its place in his coat pocket. He glanced at Amberine, his expression unreadable. "Keep moving," he said, his voice as cold as ever.

Amberine swallowed, nodding as she forced her feet to move. She couldn’t afford to be weak now—not when they were surrounded by danger. She followed Draven, her eyes flicking to Ifrit, who was staring at the fallen creatures, his tiny form trembling. He glanced at her, his eyes wide, and she gave him a small nod, trying to reassure him.

They continued down the hallway, the tension growing with each step. Amberine could feel it—something was coming. She could see it in the way Draven’s eyes narrowed, his body tensing. They were being hunted. Your next journey awaits at novelbuddy

Suddenly, one of the creatures lunged at them from the shadows. Amberine gasped, her heart leaping into her throat. Draven reacted instantly, his pen slicing through the air. The creature’s head snapped back, its body collapsing to the ground. But something was different this time—a glowing mark on its forehead, a symbol that pulsed with an eerie light.

Draven clicked his tongue, his eyes narrowing. "An alarm rune," he muttered, his voice filled with annoyance. Before Amberine could react, he killed the creature, the glow fading from its forehead. But the look on his face told her everything she needed to know.

"I’m too late," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He looked around, his gaze darkening as he reached into his coat, drawing out another pen. This one glowed with a soft, azure light—the Water Elvish pen. Amberine watched, her breath caught in her throat as the pen began to glow, a shimmering barrier of water forming in front of them.

Before she could even comprehend what was happening, a powerful spell collided with the barrier. The force of the impact sent shockwaves through the hallway, the sheer power of it making Amberine stumble backward. She felt Ifrit’s tiny claws dig into her shoulder, trying to keep her steady. Steam rose around them, the water evaporating from the intensity of the spell.

Amberine blinked, her vision blurring as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing. When the steam finally cleared, she saw them—five figures standing in the hallway, their cloaks dark, marked with the insignia of a coffin. The sight of it made her blood run cold.

The emblem of the Devil Coffin.

Draven stepped forward, his demeanor calm, his eyes sharp as they locked onto the figures. "Are you underlings of the Seven Sins?" he asked, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

One of the cloaked figures stepped forward, their voice echoing eerily as they spoke. "Amberine Polime, you are being sought by one of the archbishops. You will come with us."

Amberine’s heart dropped, her body trembling. The words felt like ice in her veins, freezing her in place. She couldn’t move, couldn’t think. Fear gripped her, her mind spiraling as she tried to comprehend what was happening. Ifrit nudged her, his small form pressing against her neck, but she couldn’t respond. The fear was too much, too overwhelming.

Draven’s gaze hardened, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the cloaked figures. "I do not recall giving you permission to take her," he said, his voice cold, a dangerous edge to his words.

Before Amberine could even register what was happening, Draven disappeared. The next thing she knew, one of the Devil Coffin members was sent flying, crashing through multiple stone walls with a sickening force. Amberine gasped, her eyes wide as she watched, her mind struggling to keep up.

Draven reappeared in front of her, his presence unwavering, his gaze sharp. "She is under my protection," he said, his voice filled with a quiet but chilling conviction. Amberine felt a shiver run through her, her heart pounding in her chest.

Two swords of water materialized in Draven’s hands—swords forged from the very magic of the Water Elvish pen. He moved forward, his strikes precise, lethal. The remaining figures barely had time to react before they were cut down, their bodies crumpling to the ground. It was over in an instant, the hallway falling silent once more.

Amberine stared at the bodies, her breath shaky, her mind reeling. She had never seen anything like it—the sheer power, the ruthlessness with which Draven fought. He turned to her, his gaze steady, his voice calm as he spoke. "We need to move. You are being targeted."

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He reached for her hand, his grip strong, reassuring. Amberine felt the warmth of his hand, the steadiness of his presence, and it snapped her out of her daze. She took a deep breath, her eyes meeting his as she nodded. She had to be strong. She couldn’t afford to be weak now.

Draven led her through the fortress, his pace quick, purposeful. Amberine followed, her heart pounding, her mind still trying to process everything that had happened. The hallway seemed to stretch endlessly, the shadows growing darker, the air thick with tension.

Suddenly, an explosion rocked the hallway ahead of them. Amberine stumbled, her eyes widening as she looked up, her breath catching in her throat. The source of the commotion became clear—Duchess Blackthorn, her black fan held up to cover her mouth, stood amidst the chaos. Her gaze was locked on three Devil Coffin members, trapped within a massive black sphere of magic.

The duchess’s eyes narrowed as she noticed Draven, her expression filled with disdain. "Ah, what a wonder," she said, her voice dripping with contempt. "The one who summoned the Devil Coffin appears here himself."

Before she could continue, the wall beside her exploded, debris flying through the air. Amberine braced herself, expecting the impact, but it never came. Instead, a barrier of water formed in front of them, absorbing the blast. The duchess’s four mage bodyguards looked around in panic, but the danger had already passed.

Duchess Blackthorn turned her gaze to Draven, her eyes filled with confusion, suspicion, and something else—something that looked almost like desperation. "Why did you save me, Draven?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly. "You killed Sharon. Why save me now?"

Draven didn’t answer her question. His expression remained cold, indifferent, as he raised his hand. The water sphere holding the Devil Coffin members shimmered, and with a flick of his wrist, the water tightened, crushing them within its grip. Their bodies crumpled, lifeless, the magic dissipating into nothingness.

Draven stepped forward, his gaze locked onto the duchess, his voice calm but filled with something dangerous.

"I have my own agenda," he said, his eyes meeting hers without a hint of hesitation. The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, and Amberine felt her heart pound, her mind reeling with questions she wasn’t sure she wanted answered.