The cameras went dark one by one.
Not all at once—no dramatic blackout. Just quiet failures. Static. Frozen frames. Blind spots spreading like an infection through the academy's inner corridors.
That was Ren's signal.
"Path's clear," her voice whispered through the comms. Calm. Focused. Too calm for what they were about to do.
Aira didn't reply. She never did when she was moving.
They slipped through the service corridor—low light, metal floors, emergency strips humming faintly underfoot. This wing had been stripped down over time. No students. No instructors. Only summoners.
Assets.
The first guard stepped into their path without noticing them until it was too late.
Ren moved first.
She didn't summon vines. Didn't need to.
She stepped inside the guard's reach, twisted the wrist, redirected momentum, and drove an elbow into the throat with surgical precision. The man collapsed without a sound. Aira caught him before he hit the floor, lowered him gently, then glanced at Ren.
"Too loud?"
Ren shook her head. "Clean."
Two more appeared at the far end of the hall, mid-conversation. Aira exhaled slowly, fire blooming faintly under her skin—not released, just ready. She surged forward, sliding low, sweeping one off his feet while Ren took the other. Aira's knee hit the chest. Ren's palm struck the jaw. Both guards went down hard, unconscious before their bodies understood what happened.
They didn't celebrate it.
They didn't slow down.
Monisha stopped at the reinforced door.
This was her part.
The lock pulsed blue as it sensed her presence—recognition code, asset clearance, ownership tags layered deep into the system. For a moment, her hands hovered in the air, trembling.
Aira noticed.
"You don't have to—" she started.
Monisha closed her eyes.
"I do."
The portal mark ignited along her arm, lines of light threading through her veins. The door shuddered, metal bending inward like it was made of clay instead of steel. With a sharp crack, the lock failed.
The door fell.
Inside, the summoners froze.
Children. Teenagers. A few older ones. All of them thin. All of them exhausted. All of them wearing the same look—fear trained into muscle memory.
Monisha stepped in first.
Her voice shook at first… then steadied.
"We're here to get you out."
No one moved.
"They'll kill us," someone whispered.
"They already were," Ren said quietly.
Aira stepped forward, letting a small flame bloom above her palm—not threatening, just proof. "We don't work for the academy."
Monisha swallowed. "I was one of you."
That did it.
Something broke—not loudly, not dramatically. Just a collective release of breath. A few of them cried. One laughed hysterically. Another collapsed to their knees.
"Portal," Ren said softly.
Monisha nodded and raised her hand.
The air tore open.
Light spilled out—warm, green, alive.
Planet Mongula.
"Go," Aira urged. "Now."
They didn't need to be told twice.
No one spoke.
The screens were back online—but it didn't matter.
They were all watching the same feed.
Two guards lay twisted on the ground, bodies folded at impossible angles. Walls were painted dark, slick with blood that hadn't finished dripping yet. A white figure stood at the center of it all, unmoving.
The Oni.
Its mask was wrong. Too still. Too expressive without expression. Red streaks ran down its face like tears.
One of the officers swallowed. "That's… that's a student, right?"
No one answered.
Another screen flickered—another corridor. Another body falling. The same white blur. The same weapon. A chain snapping tight, an axe appearing where there shouldn't be one.
"He's not running," someone whispered. "He's walking."
As if to prove the point, the Oni stopped mid-hallway and tilted its head slightly. Not confused. Listening.
The feed cut.
"Reinforcements," the commander barked. "Call Academy One. Three. Anyone!"
"They're responding slow," a tech said, fingers shaking. "Signals are jammed. Systems overridden. Someone's inside."
A pause.
"…Sir," another voice said carefully. "We've lost the summoner wing."
The room went silent.
"That's not a raid," someone muttered. "That's an extraction."
The commander stared at the frozen image of the Oni.
"No," he said slowly. "That's a message."
By the time alarms finally synchronized and backup routes were sealed, it was already too late.
The trio vanished into light.
And the Oni kept moving.
Somewhere deep in the academy's records, a new threat designation was being drafted. New protocols. New bounties. New fear.
But on the ground—on blood-soaked floors and broken corridors—one truth had already settled in.
This wasn't a rebellion.
This was the beginning of a hunt where the academies weren't sure anymore…
…who the real monsters were.