The Bastard’s Retribution

Chapter 5

Although the black fire did not kill Lady Bianca, it was never truly meant to end her life just yet. The devastating wave of dark energy had slammed into the high podium with catastrophic force, shattering the grand marble pillars and sending the once-dignified noble family scrambling for their lives like terrified rats. 

Across the Great Square, the heavy air grew thick with the acrid stench of burnt stone mingling with something ancient and oppressive, carrying the distinct scent of a storm that had spent a millennium brewing in the shadows.

Victor Chapman stood firmly in the center of the utter destruction with his chest heaving from the exertion. Beside him loomed the six-winged Seraph, Fiona, remaining as motionless as a magnificent statue carved from obsidian and pulsating violet light. Her overwhelming presence pressed down so heavily upon the courtyard that the very ground beneath Victor’s feet ceased its violent shaking, as though the earth itself was far too terrified to tremble while she stood in its realm.

When the explosion finally faded, the suffocating silence that followed proved to be infinitely worse than the chaotic screaming, for it was a profound stillness brimming with pure, unadulterated terror.

A ragged accusation of monstrousness drifted out from the settling dust and rubble of the ruined podium. Lady Bianca was currently being hauled to her feet by two trembling guards, her normally pristine silver hair now wild and completely coated in gray debris. Her aristocratic face, which was usually a mask of composed arrogance, twisted violently as a potent mixture of raw rage and desperate fear took hold of her features.

"He is an absolute monster!" she shrieked while thrusting a shaking finger toward Victor's direction. "Look at the horrifying entity he has brought upon us, for this is no benevolent spirit of the Light, but rather a catastrophic Calamity destined to bring about the End-Times!"

Almost as if her hysterical words served as a prearranged signal, the High Council of Dagobah—comprising five men and women draped in long, flowing robes of pristine white and gold—stepped forward from the deep shadows of the Great Hall. While these esteemed masters of law and magic were typically the ones who sat in judgment to determine whether a young person was worthy of joining the Academy, they now stared down at Victor with expressions of utter revulsion, treating him as though he were a walking plague.

"The Matriarch speaks nothing but the truth in her assessment," declared Lord Hestor, the eldest member of the Council, projecting his magically amplified voice to drown out the menacing, low hum of Fiona’s radiating power. "The ancient prophecy of the Dark Seraph has come to pass, warning us that a child born of forbidden blood would one day cast a shadow so absolute that the sun could never pierce it; Victor Chapman is no mere student, but rather a living omen of complete and utter destruction!"

For eighteen agonizing years, Victor had looked up to these powerful figures with profound respect, harboring a quiet hope that enduring their harsh trials and suffering endlessly would eventually compel them to recognize his humanity. Standing before them now, the veil of illusion lifted entirely, allowing him to see them for what they truly were: a gathering of frightened old men desperately terrified of losing the comfortable authority of their high chairs.

"I did not ask to bear this burden or choose this path!" Victor shouted in response, his cracking voice steadily gathering strength and volume as his long-suppressed anger finally boiled over. "You callously treated me like a stray dog while breaking my bones for your amusement, yet the moment I finally possess the power to defend myself, you dare to brand me a monster!"

"You will hold your insolent tongue immediately and cease this rebellious defiance!" Lord Hestor bellowed, his face flushing crimson as he asserted his dominance. "By the absolute authority vested in the High Council and the holy grace of the Solar Goddess, I officially declare you a Calamity-Bringer whose life is completely forfeit! We must immediately purify this square with righteous force to ensure the eternal protection of our beloved city!"

"Sentinels, you are hereby ordered to carry out the execution sentence without a single moment of hesitation!" Lady Bianca barked with venomous authority.

Closing in from the perimeter of the vast square, forty elite guards known as the Silver-Cloak Sentinels began their coordinated advance. Far from being ordinary soldiers, these highly trained sorcerer-knights were specifically forged to hunt down rogue spirits and eradicate dark mages, carrying heavy chains forged of enchanted silver that were meticulously designed to suppress a target's mana and securely lock their soul away in magical confinement.

"Do not allow the abomination a single moment to react or escape!" yelled a bruised and bloody Julian Vane as he struggled to rise from the debris-strewn ground. "Bind the wretched bastard in chains and slaughter the beast before it can strike again!"

Moving with practiced lethality, the Sentinels unhesitatingly hurled their specialized silver shackles through the tense air, sending the metallic snake-like chains flying forward while glowing with a blindingly bright, white luminescence. These formidable weapons were widely known as "Soul-Binders," deeply feared for their unique ability to instantly sever a victim's connection to their magic upon physical contact, invariably forcing the most powerful of sorcerers to collapse helplessly to their knees.

Watching the glowing chains hurtle toward him, Victor realized that in the past, he would have instinctively curled into a defensive ball to await the inevitable pain. On this fateful day, however, a profound transformation had taken place within him, manifesting as a sensation of cold, liquid fire rushing fiercely through his expanding veins. This newfound strength flowed directly from the magnificent Fiona, who remained perfectly composed and stationary behind her newly chosen master.

"You must never harbor fear for the primitive metal crafted by ordinary men, my sovereign," the Seraph’s ancient, echoing voice whispered reassuringly into the depths of his mind. "The boundless power of the Void does not suffer breakage, for it simply consumes everything that dares to oppose it."

With deliberate confidence, Victor reached out his scarred hands toward the incoming assault, completely unbothered by the fact that he had never formally been taught how to wield sorcery. He required neither dusty spellbooks nor arrogant tutors to channel his immense power, drawing instead upon the bottomless well of his own righteous rage. He vividly recalled the humiliating sensation of Julian’s heavy boot crushing his fingers, the gnawing starvation he had endured for countless years, and the haunting memory of his mother’s tearful face as the guards had mercilessly dragged her away.

"I command you to turn to dust and trouble me no more," Victor whispered, letting his softly spoken words carry the devastating weight of a royal decree.

The moment the supposedly infallible silver chains made contact with his bare skin, they completely failed to lock their magical enchantments into place. Instead of restraining him, a violent pulse of black-violet energy erupted outward from Victor’s body, revealing the sheer magnitude of Void Sorcery—an ancient, primordial magic that flatly refused to obey the established natural laws of the mortal world.

Revered as the most inherently pure magical metal in existence, the enchanted silver did not merely snap; it suffered catastrophic disintegration as the bright light of its binding enchantments immediately blackened and corrupted. The entire length of the chains crumbled away into a fine dust that settled uselessly upon the cobblestones, while the Sentinels desperately gripping the opposing ends were violently jerked forward as a creeping black frost suddenly coated their hands. Panicked screams tore from their throats as they felt their own life force and precious mana being forcefully siphoned out of their rapidly weakening bodies.

Standing taller and prouder than he ever had in his entire life, Victor watched as the rough, peasant sackcloth of his humble tunic underwent a miraculous transformation. The pulsing dark energy began weaving intricate patterns directly through the cheap fabric until it took on the elegant, flowing appearance of garments spun from midnight silk.

"Is this pathetic display truly the extent of the great power you possess?" Victor demanded in a cold, hollow tone that completely lacked the trembling hesitation of the scared boy he had once been. It was the terrifying, unwavering voice of a dangerous young man who had absolutely nothing left to lose and everything to destroy.