The Villain Professor's Second Chance

It should have been impossible.

Yet it was there, just beneath the surface, lurking behind those golden eyes.

Then, without warning, the change happened.

Liora barely had time to brace himself before it hit—the shift in her stance so sudden, so complete, that it felt like watching a different person entirely.

Her presence sharpened.

Her movements, already impossibly skilled, became something else—something refined, lethal.

A deadly elegance settled over her frame like a second skin, as though she had cast aside the last remaining restraint she had been holding onto. Before, she had been toying with him, testing him, measuring every step with practiced control.

Now?

Now she didn't just fight.

She dominated.

Liora felt it the second she moved.

She came at him faster than before, her strikes no longer precise but overwhelming. Every attack flowed into the next, a seamless display of mastery that forced him entirely on the defensive. He barely had time to think, let alone react, as she pushed him back with an onslaught of movement so perfect, so calculated, that it was almost inhuman.

This wasn't just skill.

This was something else entirely.

Liora had seen expert swordsmen. He had fought the best. He had trained with warriors who had spent their lives perfecting the blade.

But this—this was beyond that.

This was terrifying.

She moved in a blur. One second she was in front of him, the next she had closed the distance, her blade slicing through the air from an impossible angle. Liora barely deflected it in time, crossing his daggers to absorb the impact, but the force behind her strike sent a sharp jolt up his arms. His wrists ached from the sheer power of it.

Too strong. Too precise. Too fast.

Kael lunged to help, his blade flashing toward her side, but she twisted without missing a beat. She brought up her forearm, catching Kael's blade with an armored bracer. A sharp flick of her wrist sent his sword skidding off course, and in the same fluid motion, she turned her momentum into a spinning kick aimed straight at his ribs.

Kael barely managed to throw himself back, the tip of her boot grazing his side. "Shit," he cursed, staggering slightly before resetting his stance.

Liora didn't have time to help him. She was already coming for him again.

He caught the faintest twitch of her fingers before she struck, the only warning he had before she lunged forward with brutal efficiency. Her blade came low this time, aiming to slip beneath his guard. He shifted, angling his left dagger downward to parry—but the moment their weapons clashed, she moved her leg, sweeping for his ankle.

Liora jumped, narrowly avoiding the sweep, but the second his feet left the ground, she was already bringing her weapon up again, aiming for his exposed ribs.

Too fast.

"Ooh, shit—" Liora twisted midair, barely escaping the deadly arc of her blade. He landed hard, rolling into the impact to keep from losing his balance, but before he could recover, she was there again.

He swung his right dagger in a wide, defensive arc to push her back, but she didn't even try to dodge. Instead, she ducked at the last possible moment, her shoulder almost brushing against his blade as she closed the distance again.

She's reading me too easily.

Liora barely had time to pivot before she struck again. A downward slash, precise and lethal, aiming for the gap between his shoulder and neck. He moved on instinct, stepping to the side at the last second and catching her blade between his crossed daggers, locking their weapons together.

For a moment, their faces were inches apart.

Her golden eyes burned, sharp and calculating, measuring every twitch of his muscles, every subtle shift in his stance. He could feel the strength behind her grip, the way her fingers flexed slightly, adjusting for a better angle.

Then she twisted.

Liora felt his balance shift—too late.

She turned her entire body into the motion, rolling her shoulder to wrench their weapons apart. The force sent his daggers skidding, loosening his grip. He barely had time to adjust before she used the opening, her knee slamming toward his gut.

Liora caught it—barely. His forearm absorbed most of the impact, but the sheer force still knocked him back a step. He gasped for breath, his lungs burning.

She didn't stop.

She stepped into his space again, her blade carving through the air in a blur of movement. A thrust, aimed straight for his chest. Liora shifted at the last second, turning his body just enough that the blade only sliced through the fabric of his coat instead of his ribs.

That's close. Too close.

His instincts screamed at him—move!

Liora dropped low, sweeping his own leg out in retaliation, aiming to trip her up.

She didn't fall for it.

Instead, she leapt, twisting in midair with a grace that should have been impossible. Before he could react, she spun her body into another kick, aimed straight for his head.

Liora barely ducked in time.

He could feel the air shift as her boot passed inches from his face.

He rolled to the side, using the momentum to spring back onto his feet. His breaths were coming too fast now, his chest heaving, his muscles burning.

Kael wasn't doing much better.

The bastard was locked in his own struggle, his movements just as strained, just as desperate. He managed to fend off a quick series of slashes, but even from the corner of his vision, Liora could tell—

They weren't winning this.

Not even close.

She had changed.
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Before, she had been testing them, moving like an assassin trained to strike with precision. But now—now it was something different. Something refined, relentless. She fought with the kind of skill that came from years of honing, from battle after battle, from discipline forged in fire.

She wasn't just fighting them anymore.

She was overwhelming them.

Liora's instincts screamed at him again, and this time, he listened. He threw himself back just as her blade sliced through the space where his throat had been. He landed hard, skidding to a stop, his knees protesting the sudden movement.

His grip on his daggers tightened.

He had fought the best.

He had fought monsters, mercenaries, warlords—people whose names alone struck fear in the hearts of warriors.

And yet, this was different.

This was terrifying.

Every opening he thought he had was a trap. Every defense he put up, she dismantled effortlessly. It was as if she had spent years learning not only his fighting style but how to dismantle it piece by piece.

Liora gritted his teeth, sweat slicking his grip on his daggers. He had never been on the back foot like this before.

Kael, equally struggling, cursed under his breath. "Tell me this isn't normal for you."

Liora didn't answer. He couldn't.

Because if she had truly been dead—if she had been taken—then what the hell had brought her back?

Then, just as suddenly as the fight had escalated, the air changed.

A deep, resonant bell tolled in the distance.

It shouldn't have been possible—there were no churches nearby, no towers that should have held such an ancient, hollow sound.

The assassin froze.

Liora saw it, saw the way her muscles tensed, the way her head tilted slightly as if listening to something only she could hear.

For the first time since the fight began, her expression shifted.

Then she spoke.

"You shouldn't have come looking."

Her voice was quiet. Controlled. But beneath it, something flickered—something just barely restrained. Not anger. Not hatred. Something almost personal.

Liora's breath was uneven, his mind still racing to catch up with reality. The weight of her presence pressed down on him, heavier than the mist curling around them. He had thought he was ready for anything tonight. But this? This wasn't just a fight.

This was a nightmare made real.

She shifted slightly, adjusting her grip on her blade. A movement so subtle, so precise, that Liora barely noticed it. But it was there—the tell of a final decision.

The fight was over.

"…You should have stayed dead."

The words cut deeper than any blade.

Liora took half a step forward, his mouth opening as if to speak—but before he could say anything, she moved.

With a flick of her wrist, she threw down a small, sigil-marked bomb. The moment it hit the ground, the sigil flared, pulsing with eerie light before exploding into a thick, curling mist.

Liora lunged forward, ignoring the sting in his muscles, his instincts screaming at him to move. He swung his blade in a sharp arc, cutting through the dense fog, hoping—praying—to catch her before she vanished.

But the mist swallowed her whole.

He coughed, his vision nothing but shifting shadows and rolling smoke. The air felt thick, cloying, as if the mist itself was alive, wrapping around him like unseen hands.

He kept moving, kept searching, his golden eyes flicking through the fog, scanning for any sign of movement.

Nothing.

Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the mist began to dissipate.

Liora whipped around, his blade still poised to strike.

But she was gone.

The other assassins were gone too.

As if they had never been there at all.

The only thing left was silence.

Liora stood frozen, staring at the empty space where she had just been, his pulse hammering against his ribs. His breathing was still uneven, his body thrumming with the aftermath of battle, but none of that mattered.

The torn mask in his hand was real.

The way she had fought was real.

And her voice—her voice was real.

His fingers curled tightly around the fabric, knuckles white with the force of his grip. He swallowed hard, his jaw clenched so tight it ached.

Kael, still catching his breath, stepped up beside him. He said nothing for a moment, his sharp gaze flicking between Liora and the empty street ahead. Then, finally, his voice cut through the silence, low but firm.

"…You knew her, didn't you?"

Liora didn't answer right away.

He couldn't.

The words felt thick in his throat, an impossible weight pressing down on him. He had spent years burying this, convincing himself that it was over, that the past was dead and gone.

But the past had just looked him in the eye.

Finally, after a long, heavy silence, he exhaled sharply. His voice, when he spoke, was strained—rough around the edges in a way it hadn't been in a long time.

"She was supposed to be dead."