Oliver's mind blanked.
'What?'
'Just for that?'
His heart hammered, confusion and terror colliding until he could barely breathe.
The gauntlets flared brighter, lighting Reed's furious expression in a harsh, electric glow. The energy trembled like it was ready to detonate.
'He's serious. He's really going to do it,' Oliver thought, dread freezing every part of him.
The gauntlets buzzed harder, the vibration moving straight through Oliver's body.
His breath caught in his throat, as his desperate gasp turned into a strangled choke.
Then, with a sickening rip, his neck tore open, a brutal, jagged line carving through flesh and muscle.
Blood surged out in a violent rush, splattering the ground as his pulse faltered.
His eyes, wide with shock, flickered once, then slowly shut as as his body jerked, then stilled—his final gasp barely a whisper before everything went silent.
The crimson blood pooled around him, vivid and warm, as his life slowly drained away.
Reed leaned closer as he growled, "Die!"
His fingers tightened around Oliver's neck, that made the metal hum.
He was just moments away from tearing Oliver's head off.
Suddenly... a heavy hand pressed down on Reed's shoulder, forcing him to his knees.
At the same time, the silver gauntlet that had been humming disappeared back into the folds of his clothes.
Reed snapped his head toward the source of that incredible pressure.
A woman stood behind him.
Her presence was sharp, commanding—her porcelain skin almost glowing under the harsh lights, her black hair cascading down her back like a waterfall of ink.
She wore a navy blue uniform, which marked her identity as one of the teachers.
"Reed," she said, her voice low but vibrating with authority, "that's enough."
"You're only fifteen. No need to take things this far."
Her gaze moved across the students, those still standing.
"You can have your first kills," she shouted, her voice rising like thunder, "but not here."
"You're just graduating from high school."
"So, control yourselves," she commanded.
The students stiffened, some turning pale, others gripping their trembling hands behind their backs.
Her nose twitched and a hint of disgust touched her expression—the sight of organic, unprocessed fluids was a crude stain on the polished floor.
"Call the nurses," she ordered, not even looking to see who obeyed. "Now."
Her eyes hardened even further as she glared at the mess on the floor—the blood, the broken neck and Oliver's lifeless body.
She shouted, "Get this disgrace out of here."
...
"Tina!"
"Tina—!" A girl in a blue skirt sprinted up the stairwell, practically tripping over the last step as she shoved open the rooftop door.
The harsh sunlight spilled over the concrete, revealing a girl seated calmly on the bench.
Her legs were crossed, posture perfectly relaxed, eyes closed in steady meditation.
Her soft features — low eyebrows, pink lips, almost delicate — contrasted sharply with the calm detachment on her face.
"Tina!" the girl in blue shouted again, breathless.
Tina's eyelids fluttered open, a faint irritation crossing her expression before she tilted her head lazily toward the disturbance.
"Remy," Tina sighed, her voice sharp with impatience. "What exactly are you screaming for?"
Remy swallowed, chest heaving.
"It's Oliver—Reed actually killed him!"
Tina didn't gasp.
She didn't even straighten.
She just blinked once and murmured, "Took him long enough."
Remy's eyes widened.
"Wait—what? You knew this was going to happen?"
Tina rose from the bench with the same quiet grace she had while meditating, brushing imaginary dust from her skirt.
"I spent the night with Oliver for a reason," she said, almost casually.
"I can't have my boyfriend looking weak, can I?"
Remy froze, her jaw dropping.
"You… slept with Oliver?" she stammered.
"Are you serious?"
Tina shot her a sideways glance that carried more annoyance than shame.
"And why shouldn't I?" she replied.
"He actually knew what he was doing."
She shrugged, almost amused.
"The things he did with his tongue? Reed could take a few lessons."
Remy's face turned several shades of shock. "Tina! He died."
"Oliver's dead. Doesn't that bother you at all?"
Tina studied her with genuine confusion, eyebrows knitting tightly.
"Why would it?" she said plainly.
Remy stared, her mind struggling to catch up.
Tina stepped past her toward the stairs.
"It's the forty-third century," she said, waving a dismissive hand.
"No need to make it dramatic."
She descended the stairwell without a second glance.
Remy remained alone on the rooftop, staring after her.
She rubbed her temples and muttered under her breath, "I seriously need to stop binge-reading those old tragedy novels…"
After a moment, she sighed, shoulders slumping.
"Right… it's just death."
...