CHAPTER 52: CH 52: CHANGE.

"Welcome Adepts, we greatly appreciate your attendance."

His voice ran a shiver down their spines as they remained in place, unmoving.

"As long as no one tries anything stupid then I promise you, everyone will survive this unscathed.

Now, you—"

He pointed to principal Morwen who was still getting up from the floor.

"You’re the principal here, aren’t you?"

She didn’t answer. Just glared at him in a silent study, as if asking herself who’d be dumb enough to attack an awakened academy with guns.

She kept her back straight, head tilted up and eyes cold— even unarmed she wouldn’t be caught scared.

But her eyes betrayed her, they trailed from the man to the far entrance — and he noticed.

Mirage, Mr Collins and the other teachers were sneaking into the auditorium.

~Tchk!~

The man abruptly snapped his fingers then pointed at them. "Would you like to join us?"

Seeing as they’d been caught, they stood properly, about to use their affinities until—

It didn’t work. None of them had access to Aether.

Their eyes couldn’t believe it. They tried time and again, yet to no avail.

Although they could still feel it in the air, they were unable to draw on it. The mercenaries nudged their guns in their direction.

Forcing them to raise their hands in surrender.

’Who are these guys?’ Aegon gritted his teeth, watching became harder and harder.

"Alright, now that there are no more distractions—" he glanced over at the teachers, "—let’s go back to business."

"Shut the hell up." Principal Morwen couldn’t control herself.

"I don’t have all day and these students just got back, so could you just tell us your dumb plan so we can hurt you all down and end you."

"...?"

A silence stretched between them. The man tilted his head in her direction, a playful smile on his face. "You really don’t know when to shut up, do you?"

He turned and walked back to his men.

His steps and the erratic breathing of the students became the sound of the day.

He used a sidearm from one of his men’s holsters, turned back to shoot—

~BOOM!~

Another explosion rattled them all as all hell broke loose.

Aegon covered his head as he tried to see where the explosion was coming from— the entrance was blown up by the students.

The last years— The Aetherion Academy’s Ascendents.

They broke in with a barrage of power— force fields, fireballs, ice waves.

The mercenaries returned fire ~TAT-TA-TA-TA-TAT!~ at the students before the teachers realized their affinities were back and sprang into action.

Mirage broke apart from the others. All he had to do was make contact with any of the mercenaries and they’d drop to the ground with a deafening scream.

Aegon turned as a few mercenaries were lifted off the ground as their bodies were being twisted in a horrendous manner.

It was Quinn. Her hands curved in as she broke men like human puppets.

A little farther away to her left, Micheal stood— skin hardened like titanium as he pummeled men like dolls.

"Enough!"

Mr Collins scream tore through the chaos and froze everyone.

He marched down to the stage, sleeves rolled up, tie loose and two sword in hand.

He nudged the sword at their leader. "Pick up a sword and let’s end this." He tossed him one of the blades.

He caught it before taking a closer look at the blade. "Your funeral."

He turned back to Collins as they both raised their blades at the centre. One hand placed behind their backs.

The auditorium stank of smoke and adrenaline—burnt ozone from stray affinities, gunpowder hanging in the air like a warning.

The students’ cheers died into a tight, anxious silence as Collins and the mercenary leader stepped into the center of the stage.

The two circled each other but would never let their eyes drift far.

Collins adjusted his grip, knuckles white but his face calm— too calm, the kind that says I’ve done this dance more times than you’ve fired a gun.

The mercenary leader rolled his shoulders, testing the weight of the blade. "You should’ve just stayed in place."

Collins rolled his eyes. "Oh great, commentary."

The mercenary lunged first— fast, reckless, trying to overwhelm him with brute strength.

~Chhk!~

Steel rang out as Collins caught the blow, sparks stuttering off the blades. The sound sliced through the room.

Collins stepped in, twisted, sent a sharp elbow into the man’s jaw. The mercenary staggered but recovered with a vicious backhand slash that would’ve gutted a slower fighter.

Collins dipped under it.

The mercenary recovered stupid-fast, bringing the blade around in a sweeping arc. Collins blocked, and the impact vibrated so violently up his arm that even the front-row students felt it.

The mercenary pressed in with heavy, punishing blows—like he was trying to hammer Collins straight through the stage. Each hit echoed like a drum.

~THUM! CLANG! CHRNK!~

Collins moved smart, not pretty—letting the environment help him.

He maneuvered sideways, forcing the mercenary’s blade to scrape against a toppled metal stage light. The friction caught the blade, slowing it—

Collins struck.

A clean, sharp cut across the mercenary’s forearm. Blood splattered the floor.

The mercenary hissed and swung with his off-hand, wild, unpredictable. Collins barely brought his sword up in time.

The mercenary slammed into him shoulder-first, driving him back into the podium. The wood cracked. Microphones shrieked with feedback.

Students gasped but no one moved.

Collins shoved him off and kicked the podium forward. It slid across the floor and smashed into the mercenary’s legs. He stumbled— exactly what Collins wanted.

Collins surged forward— blade flashing, movements clean, controlled, efficient. He sliced at the leader’s ribs, then flicked the blade upward, forcing him off-balance.

The mercenary parried, but he was losing rhythm. His breath turned ragged. Sweat dripped into his eyes.

Collins smelled fear.

"You’re slowing down," he said, voice low.

The mercenary spat blood. "Shut up."

He charged again, and this time Collins let the attack come dangerously close— ducking under the swing at the last millisecond, catching the mercenary’s wrist with his free hand, twisting until the man howled.

Collins kicked the back of his knee.

The mercenary dropped.

Collins pinned him with the blade at his throat.

The auditorium went dead silent.

The mercenary’s eyes darted around— calculating, desperate. He could see it. He knew it.

He was losing. Panic hit him like a shockwave.

His free hand shot into his jacket.

Collins recognized the motion too late.

"Gun!" Mirage yelled.

The mercenary tore the pistol out, trembling, terrified, sloppy—

He fired.

Collins dove sideways, the bullet slicing the air where his neck had been.

Then—

A wet, choking sound.

Not Collins.

Everyone turned.

Principal Morwen stood frozen, hand at her throat, fingers red and trembling.

The bullet had torn a burning line across the side of her neck—just shy of severing something vital. Blood streamed down her collar, dripping off her elbow.

Her knees buckled.

Then everything snapped.

The students screamed. Everyone roared. Affinities surged like a tidal wave breaking free. Fire, ice, telekinetics, soundwaves—every color and element of Aether ripped through the auditorium as chaos erupted.

Mercenaries scrambled, firing wildly as bodies crashed and powers detonated. Some were flung into walls. Some burned. Others froze.

A few managed to grab their wounded leader and retreat, slipping through the secondary exit before Collins could rise.

Collins sprinted to Morwen, catching her as she collapsed. Blood soaked through his sleeves.

"Come on, Morwen. You can’t die now." he demanded.

Her breath shuddered.

Around them, the academy burned with rage—students fighting like the world was ending, teachers unleashing wrath they’d tried to keep hidden.

And Aegon?

He stood in the middle of it all—watching the moment the academy’s heart nearly stopped beating.

Watching the spark that would change everything.