The Bytreal part 2

He was completely shocked to see Nyra. His mind couldn't process what had just happened. She had struck him—Nyra, of all people.

Tears welled up in his eyes, trembling as they clung to his lashes. His breath came in short, ragged bursts.

"Huff… Huff…"

He had already been badly injured before. Now, with another blow to the back of his head, the damage had compounded. His vision blurred. His limbs trembled. The pain was unbearable, but what truly broke him wasn't physical.

It was her.

He opened his mouth, tried to speak.

"N… Nyra… why…"But he couldn't finish the sentence.

His voice faltered. The words died before they could leave his throat.There was no strength left in him—not even to beg.

The classroom was a battlefield.

Reon lay collapsed on the blood-smeared floor, struggling to move. Around him were the crumpled bodies of those he had fought—each one groaning, broken, silent. Desks shattered. Walls cracked. Lights flickering. Chaos frozen in time.

And in the center of it all—him.

In a weak, shaking voice that barely qualified as speech, Reon forced out a few words.

"Nyra… why did you do this? Did they… force you?"

His voice trembled—not from pain, but disbelief.

Betrayal.

The idea that Nyra would turn against him—that she would hurt him—was a truth too sharp to hold. But his words were too quiet to be heard. The sound faded into the dust-filled air.

Only his breathing remained.

"Huuf… huuff…"

Even that, though, was fading. Every breath was harder than the last.

The room fell into dead silence.

Everyone had frozen. Some stood. Some crouched. All watched. And in the middle, Reon lay bleeding, broken, body covered in cuts, clothes torn, unmoving.No one said a word. No one dared.

Then—Laughter.

A voice, twisted and chilling, broke the silence like glass.

"Haahh… hahahahhhhhh… hahaa—"

It wasn't just laughter—it was the kind of sound that slithered into the bones and froze the soul. A laugh that didn't belong in the world of the living.

Reon's eyes widened.

He knew that voice. Ming.

The man stepped forward, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world.He didn't just walk—he loomed. Each step made Reon's breath catch in his throat.

Ming crouched down in front of him, smiling as if he were looking at a trophy.

Reon sensed someone close. He tried to move. His body screamed. His head throbbed. Blood had dried over his eyes, making it almost impossible to open them fully.

Still, he pressed his palms to the floor. He pushed. Every muscle shook. His body didn't want to rise, but his pride did.

Bit by bit, he lifted himself.

When he finally raised his head, he saw the face.

It was him.Ming.Exactly who he feared it would be.

Reon's lips moved, but no words came out. Still, his eyes said everything.

Hate. Hurt. Confusion. Despair.

But he couldn't hold himself up.His arms gave out.

Thud.

His face hit the floor again.

Ming's laughter grew louder.

"Hahhhhhhhahhah hahhahah ahaaaahhahahaha!"

But then—he stopped.

He leaned in. Smiled wider.His mouth was close enough that Reon could feel his breath.

And in a voice like poison, he whispered:

"How does it feel, Reon?"

Reon could not answer. He wanted to move, to resist, to at least glare at Ming—but his body refused to respond. It was like even gravity had turned against him.

Seeing him like that, Ming crouched down beside him and spoke softly—too softly.

"Stay down, Reon. There's no point in struggling anymore."

He twisted his lips into a strange, cruel smile.

"I know you're in pain. Just wait a little longer—I'll relieve you of all of it."

Then, leaning in closer, his grin widened.

"Or maybe… I'll make it even worse."

Hearing those words, Reon clenched his jaw. His teeth gritted, blood pooled beneath him, and his body trembled—not from fear, but from rage. Rage he could no longer act on.

He knew.

He knew there was nothing he could do now. Not like this.

Slowly, the fight in his eyes faded.

And then… Reon gave up.

He stopped moving.

His breathing grew slower.

And with all the blood that had poured out of his body, his vision turned black.

He fell unconscious.

Ming blinked.

At first, he didn't react. Then a flicker of surprise crossed his face. His smile vanished.

"Wait… did he just—?"

He leaned down quickly and pressed two fingers under Reon's jaw. His expression twisted into panic.

"No, no, no… I can't let him die so soon."

A moment passed. Then—

A faint pulse. Weak. But still there.

"…Good," he muttered. "He's still breathing."

Barely.

His body was cold. His breath was shallow. His life could flicker out at any moment.

Ming stood up, pacing slightly.

"The Leader told me to kill him immediately…"

His eyes narrowed.

"…But that would be too easy."

He turned and looked at Reon again—really looked at him.

Memories stirred inside. Rage rose like fire in his gut.

"No. I want him alive. Not healed. Just… stable."

His fists clenched.

"I want him to remember everything. And then, when he finally begs for death—I'll say no."

He reached into his coat, pulled out a small vial filled with glowing blue liquid. The kind of thing that shouldn't exist in a normal school.

"This won't fix you," he whispered. "But it'll keep you breathing. That's all I need."

He tilted Reon's head and poured the liquid into his mouth. A faint hiss came as it hit his tongue. The effect was instant—his pulse grew a bit stronger, his body twitched.

Ming stood up and took a slow breath.

"Good," he said, almost gently. "Now the real pain can begin."

FLASHBACK — Ming's Memory

A massive, throne-like hall. Towering statues watched from the shadows. Pillars reached into the black ceiling. At the center, on a raised platform, sat a figure cloaked in darkness.

Ming knelt on the red carpet, hands crossed to his chest, forehead nearly touching the floor.

"All hail the Leader."