The Villain Professor's Second Chance

The deeper we moved, the more the city resisted. It wasn't just illusions rearranging cobblestones or conjuring walls to funnel us into dead-end alleys—no, it felt like the entire mass of Kael'Thorne had begun a deliberate, tangible fight against our presence. Each step demanded my full concentration. The breath in my lungs felt sharp at the edges, the dryness catching in my throat every time I inhaled. There was no room left in my mind for caution or fear, only precise movement and grim determination.

The sky overhead churned, swirling in bruised shades of purple and black, with occasional streaks of greenish lightning that cast warped shadows across the broken structures. The ground itself trembled in slow spasms, as though the leyline's raw, unbound power rumbled through the city's foundations like a heartbeat on the edge of arrest. I could feel it, could sense the magic beneath the stone and illusions, an ever-present hum that pressed at the corners of my consciousness. It reminded me of the Ashen Expanse—a place where reality's boundaries had been stripped thin enough to reveal something older, more malignant. Here in Kael'Thorne, the meltdown manifested in different ways but no less lethal ones.

Asterion advanced on my right, moving with a measured pace that hinted at equal parts caution and desperation. Even in the swirl of illusions, he tried to maintain a certain grace—a small hop over a fractured section of ground, a quick slash of his dagger that dispelled a half-formed shape lunging at his ankles. He looked at me occasionally, scanning my face for signs of fatigue or faltering. I offered him only the same cold, steeled expression I'd carried for years—a reassurance that exhaustion would not stop me, that illusions would have to kill me outright before I let them tear me down piece by piece.

The roads weren't just shifting around us; they were actively fighting back. More than once, I watched a perfectly intact stairway collapse the moment we set foot on it, dissolving into ephemeral shards that scattered into the gloom. If we moved too slowly, illusions swirled in to trap us, forging ephemeral cages that snapped at our arms and legs. If we advanced too quickly, entire avenues might vanish under our feet. It was like trying to walk on a chessboard where the squares themselves were alive, rearranging into new patterns each time we adapted. A lesser mind would have found it maddening.

Amid all of this chaos, my body remained tense, protesting the constant demands I placed on it. My mana reserves, already whittled down by the forced transition out of the Ashen Expanse, felt little more than embers in a once-roaring fire. And still, I found small ways to eke out flickers of power—enough to sever illusions that dared coalesce into something too solid, or to shore up my stamina at the brink of collapse. Every breath carried the dryness of dust and the acrid tang of twisted magic.

Then, in the midst of it all, the vision struck.

It came without warning, overwhelming my senses. One moment, I was there in Kael'Thorne, weaving between illusions that snapped like rabid dogs. The next, I was swallowed by a different reality, or perhaps a future:

Flames devoured entire blocks. Swirling violet energy twisted through spires like arteries, pumping destruction in thick, pulsing waves. The city was a ruin of raw chaos, illusions made real enough to tear flesh, to raze buildings in an instant. I glimpsed a figure standing at the heart of it—arms raised, face half-concealed by swirling arcs of magic. Power bled from the leyline, streaming into them like a ruptured vein feeding a monstrous appetite. A single name echoed behind my eyes:

The Harbinger.

Before I could make sense of the image, something collided with my arm. My vision shattered, yanking me back into the present. Reality reasserted itself with brutal abruptness. The swirling illusions of Kael'Thorne returned to my peripheral sight, and the heat on my skin told me I hadn't moved more than a fraction of a pace, but it felt like I'd been gone for a lifetime.

I staggered, forcing a breath into my lungs, then another, sharp exhale. My pulse throbbed in my ears. Asterion's voice drifted closer, laced with worry. "Draven." He rarely said my name so plainly, usually favoring some laconic quip. But I barely heard him.

I blinked, focusing on the illusions that hissed around us. One shape lunged forward—a partial silhouette of something humanoid but elongated, arms stretching in a tangle of ephemeral claws. I slashed reflexively, steel meeting illusion in a clash of sparks that fizzled out. It retreated with a shriek, dissolving back into the gloom. My heart hammered, the dryness in my throat intensifying as though I'd swallowed heated sand.

"We need to move," I said, my voice coming out rough, but firm. The moment I spoke, the illusions around us trembled, as if the city recognized my renewed focus and wanted to challenge it.

Asterion looked at me, and behind his usual sharp wit flickered real concern. "You sure you're—"

"I'm fine," I cut him off, injecting enough cold finality into my tone that he let the matter drop. For now. He saw the tension in my jaw, the set of my shoulders. Time was not a commodity we could afford to squander on explanations. The meltdown advanced with every second, the city warping itself into something more lethal.

Together, we pressed forward, forging a path through a twisting network of illusions that had congealed into a street that spiraled like a snail shell. At each turn, ephemeral figures stood as if to block our way, but they never fully attacked. They were watchers, or maybe living illusions meant to observe, to gauge our strength. I killed them anyway, one efficient stroke at a time, refusing to let them encircle us.

The horizon—if it could still be called that—revealed a looming temple near the city's center, its outline a shifting silhouette carved from nightmares. The spires near it curved inward, an architectural impossibility fused with illusions that made them float precariously, as if half the building might tear free and drift away. Above it all, the sky churned with arcane storms. Lightning crackled, tinted a sickly shade of amethyst, revealing glimpses of hammered stone and half-unraveled towers. My mind drifted to the glimpses from my vision: if the Harbinger completed whatever ritual was feeding on the leyline, flames and swirling energies would devour the entire city—and beyond.

As we wound closer to that central temple, illusions thickened, forming corridors that collapsed behind us once we advanced. The city was actively funneling us into the path it wanted, but I had no interest in letting illusions decide my route. Where I spotted a false barrier, I shattered it with a short, violent swing; where ephemeral beasts prowled, Asterion and I dispatched them without hesitation. Our progress was slow, step by step, but unstoppable. My body ached, and my reserves of energy scraped the bottom, but my mind remained locked on the memory of that swirling vortex of flame. I refused to let that vision become reality.

At one point, I heard chanting echoing along the half-fallen rooftops. Cult voices, I suspected, layered with illusions to mask their exact location. The words carried no sense in my ears—just a low, rhythmic cadence that sent spikes of unease down my spine. My jaw tightened. Let them chant. Let them conjure illusions or strengthen them. I would cut every last tether if that's what it took.

Asterion, for his part, rarely spoke now. I imagined he was saving his breath, aware how close we both teetered to the edge of our limits. Every so often, he'd cast me a worried glance, as though checking for fresh visions or signs of collapse. I offered him nothing but the same cold conviction. If I showed a single crack, illusions might slip through and turn me into one more victim wandering these warped streets.

The ground underfoot buckled again in a low quake, illusions shimmering in response. It felt like we were walking on the back of some great creature, each spasm threatening to fling us into a swirling rift or ephemeral sinkhole. I clenched my teeth and held my balance. The city wanted us undone. That alone fueled my grim determination not to give it the satisfaction.

We passed the rubble of what might have once been a grand library or hall. Fragments of pillars lay strewn about, illusions dancing atop them, forming half-sentences or flickers of ghostly books. A stray thought flickered in my mind—Amberine would have hated seeing such knowledge lost. But that life felt distant, overshadowed by the meltdown and the Tapestry's unstoppable rewriting.

A fleeting sense of disorientation struck me then, the illusions pressing in like a vise around my temples. I stumbled, my vision doubling. In the corner of my eye, flickers of that same destructive future roared back to life: swirling violet flames, a figure's arms raised in exultation, Belisarius's name hanging unspoken in the air. I forced the memory away, shutting it down with an act of will that left me gasping. If I let these images linger, I'd be lost.

Asterion steadied me, one hand gripping my shoulder. His knuckles were bloodless, but he managed to keep his voice even. "Stay here with me," he murmured, scanning my face. "No drifting off into cosmic nightmares."

I exhaled sharply, the dryness in my throat rasping. "I'm not going anywhere."
Experience more content on My Virtual Library Empire

He nodded, releasing me, and we continued, pressing ever closer to the half-visible outline of the temple. Each new block we crossed reeked of scorched magic. I noticed how illusions partly fused with actual stone, how certain streets blinked in and out as though their entire existence was conditional on the Cult's permission. Maybe one of those shrines was hidden nearby, forging illusions that spread across multiple zones. But we had neither the time nor the stamina to hunt down every possible anchor. The best we could do was cut a direct line to the temple, severing illusions as we found them, and hope the meltdown didn't catch up with us first.

Above us, spires twisted, releasing arcs of lightning that crackled across the sky, dancing from tower to tower in a net of raw, crackling power. Each flash momentarily illuminated the swirling shape of illusions further down the road—human silhouettes wreathed in a haze, or ephemeral beasts prowling rooftops. They recoiled each time the lightning flashed, but never fully vanished. Like watchers biding their time.

And still, the temple drew closer. Each step we took hammered home the unstoppable reality of what lay ahead. The meltdown, the Harbinger, the possibility that Belisarius was on the cusp of stepping through. My mind lingered on that fleeting vision: If the meltdown reached its peak, if the Cult harnessed the leyline first, the city might burn. Or unravel into cosmic wreckage. Flames and swirling energies devouring everything in an endless storm.

I refused to let that happen. So I pushed on, ignoring the ache in my legs, the dryness that raked my throat raw, the illusions that tested my every step. Asterion kept pace, sometimes stumbling over ephemeral ridges but never losing his nerve. The hush around us thickened, heavy with unspoken tension, an almost electric charge that made every hair on my neck bristle.

We turned a corner around a half-collapsed building, illusions flickering overhead, and the temple's outline leapt into view, dominating the skyline. Where normal architecture might carry arches or buttresses, this monstrosity boasted spiraling spires that hovered in midair, illusions bridging impossible gaps. Lightning fanned out from the highest spire, vanishing into the swirling gloom. And there, at the base, stood the wide entrance, a yawning gateway that glowed with fractal patterns, illusions spinning like a vortex.

That was where the meltdown's heartbeat pounded loudest, where the city's malevolence concentrated, twisted into tangible form. And that, I knew without doubt, was where I needed to be. The swirl of illusions around the temple parted momentarily, as if beckoning. A sour taste filled my mouth, like old copper. But I forced it down. My next confrontation lay within those walls. I'd wrest the leyline from their control or die. That was the cold truth I carried with me, unyielding, final.

Where destiny waited.