"Burying one's body doesn't guarantee the soul's demise."
The third period had just commenced as Caesar reclined casually in the back row of his next class—Biology.
The classroom was a museum of anatomical models, each meticulously crafted from plastic to depict the intricate physiology of various races, creatures, and monstrous beings. The walls were adorned with a collage of posters overflowing with biological diagrams and detailed information—an overwhelming celebration of the life sciences. Glass panels allowed light from the suns to pass through.
To Caesar's right sat Chalybe, while Izobel occupied the row directly in front of him, talking to a girl whom Caesar did not recognize. Beside Chalybe, Zeus remained absorbed in his Data, eyes unmoving from the stream of information.
Fenrir was absent due to having different classes from the rest of the group, but Caesar couldn't stop himself from being fond of his enthusiastic nature.
Caesar became increasingly aware of the numerous glances being cast toward their group. However, it was Chalybe who bore the brunt of the attention. As the second-born prince of the Kingdom of Zion, Chalybe possessed what many revered as "royal blood." His lineage not only made him a noble but also a figure of widespread recognition across the realm. During the previous period, an entire flock of admiring girls had swarmed him and asked him so many questions.
Caesar knew their fascination had little to do with Zion's economic prospects. What truly captivated them were Chalybe's luminous blue eyes and his radiant, disarming smile.
At times, a twinge of envy stirred within Caesar, but he swiftly silenced it. Chalybe was nothing like the haughty, perfection-obsessed nobles who paraded their titles like trophies. Instead, he was grounded and gracious, a noble who wore humility more proudly than a crown, unconcerned with superficial perfection.
A memory surfaced—one from their boyhood in the Royal Palace, fondly dubbed the "Winter Paradise." The grand corridors had once echoed with Caesar's laughter and Chalybe's gleeful shouts as they chased each other through glistening Ash marble halls. They had dashed with such reckless joy that a royal guard had been summoned to restrain them—though his warning had been mostly performative and thoroughly ignored.
Lost in the recollection, Caesar didn't realize he'd been staring at Chalybe until a sharp snap of fingers brought him back to the present.
"What are you gawking at?" Chalybe asked, a mischievous grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"Oh, nothing," Caesar replied with mock seriousness, placing both hands dramatically at his neck in a mock-choking gesture. "Just marveling at the most hideous creature in all the realms. I'm paralyzed by the horror."
Their laughter rang out—warm and unfiltered—until Izobel turned around with an irritated glance and promptly shushed them.
"Shush, you two," Izobel whispered, a flicker of amusement gleaming in her eyes, though she masked it beneath a veil of irritation. "The teacher's about to walk in."
"And how exactly do you know that, Lady Izobel?" Chalybe asked, his voice laced with amusement.
"I can hear the footsteps," came a voice unfamiliar to both Caesar and Chalybe.
The girl Izobel had been chatting with turned to face them, her gaze steady and peculiar. Her eyes were vast and stormy grey, with gloydon-hued pupils shaped like a hexagram—eerily precise and otherworldly.
Her hair cascaded in a deep obsidian shade, each strand tipped with burnished gold, and her sharp smile revealed teeth like small, jagged blades—striking and unsettling.
"Oh! Where are my manners?" she said abruptly. "My name is Leofrun Mildgyth Billington—but feel free to call me Leo. Or Leofrun, if you prefer, though people say it's a bit of a mouthful. I wouldn't want to trouble anyone with my name—oh dear, I'm rambling, aren't I? Pardon me, pardon me, pardon me…"
Izobel placed a calming hand on Leo's shoulder.
You know what? She's right. Leofrun is a mouthful. I am going to refer to her as Leo. Yes, much better
"Well then," Izobel said smoothly, her voice composed, "this is Leo. She's a close friend of mine."
Leo offered a wide, toothy grin—her beast-like teeth flashing in the soft classroom light.
"Izobel, you have friends?" Caesar teased, raising an eyebrow.
"I'm going to murder you after class," Izobel replied sweetly, struggling to suppress the visible annoyance creeping into her smile.
Chalybe chuckled, then a thought struck him. "By any chance, are you related to Edith Billington?"
The lightness in Leo's demeanor evaporated. Her silvery eyes dimmed, and her smile vanished without a trace.
"Yes," she said quietly. "She's my older sister."
Caesar tilted his head, puzzled. "I thought Edith was an only child. We're... well... sort of friends."
"Sort of?" Chalybe interjected, smirking.
"I said sort of," Caesar repeated, the irritation creeping into his tone. "She's never mentioned a sister."
"Of course not," Leo replied, the shadows still heavy in her gaze. "Why would anyone notice me—a mediocre, unremarkable girl—when my sister is one of the illustrious Paragon Eleven? Beautiful. Charismatic. Wise beyond the grasp of most scholars. Compared to her, I'm... invisible."
A heavy silence fell between them.
Caesar didn't need her to explain further—he understood that weight, that gnawing envy. He had twelve siblings, each striving for glory in their own way, each threatening to eclipse him. He had seen the cost of being overshadowed.
Before he could find the words to respond, a deep voice rumbled behind them, cutting through the silence like a blade:
"I understand your struggle."
Caesar turned, startled, and found himself staring into the unwavering gaze of Zeus—his eyes gleaming an intense, almost otherworldly crimson.
"I am not a Paragon," Zeus began, his voice calm and resolute. "And when compared to Caesar, I am hardly a figure worthy of acclaim. Yet I refuse to let that diminish my will."
"Zeus…?" Caesar murmured, stunned, his mouth slightly ajar in disbelief.
"I may not be celebrated. I may be dismissed—labeled as strange or out of place—but I use that perception as fuel. It compels me to push forward, to strive toward the impossible, to stand beside the so-called prodigies I am surrounded by. I understand your struggle, Leo. I understand the weight of comparison. But rather than let it devour you, use it. Let your hunger drive your growth. Let it sharpen your ambition until you no longer stand in anyone's shadow—even Edith's."
The gloom in Leo's eyes began to lift, her former radiance creeping back into her expression. A flicker of hope returned.
In a rare moment of spontaneous harmony, Chalybe and Caesar broke into applause. "Bravo, bravo!" they cheered, grinning.
At that moment, the door creaked open and a man strode into the classroom.
"Good afternoon, noble sons and daughters," he announced in a smooth, lyrical tone. "The sun over Estrellos was positively resplendent just moments ago."
He dropped a stack of worn folders onto the desk with a satisfying thud and rubbed his hands together with eager anticipation.
The man was human—his head bald and bullet-shaped, with a neatly groomed salt-and-pepper beard. Though of average height, his frame was powerfully built, muscles evident beneath his scholarly, white, and deep blue robes. Yet despite his formidable physique, his face was warm, his expression almost boyish in its enthusiasm.
"Alright then... my name is Shawn Harry Pontifeux, and I just have a simple question for you all: Have you ever wondered what it feels like to taste the bliss of death?"
The class fell into an uneasy silence. After a pause that lasted not too long, someone finally blurted out, "What?"
In an instant, the entire row of desks vanished.
The floor beneath them dissolved, and the walls of the classroom evaporated like mist, revealing a boundless dimension—a dreamlike expanse without beginning or end. There was no ground, only a firmament of endless sky, painted in hues of sapphire, lavender, violet, and deep indigo. Clouds swirled in every direction, ethereal and shifting, like living brushstrokes on a cosmic canvas.
Panic broke out.
"What is this place?!" one student shrieked.
"What the hell—?!" shouted another.
"I want my mommy!" a third wailed, voice cracking with terror.
Yet among the panic, Caesar stood still, eyes wide in awe. Izobel was beside him, breath caught in her throat.
"…It's beautiful," she whispered.
Caesar turned to her, catching the gleam of her smile, bright and elegant, her teeth like polished ivory.
Then came the teacher's voice—calm, resounding across the surreal expanse, amplified by the unseen dimension.
"Death is natural. Immortality is a myth. No being escapes it—not truly."
{Mark this. It will matter.}
As his voice rang out, the clouds began to twist and re-form, taking on symbolic shapes—diagrams, figures, mythic scenes—each more vivid than the last, much like the Light Divinity of Ms. Fiah.
With a rustle of parchment and pens, the students began scribbling furiously. Caesar pulled out his favorite black ink pen, while Izobel reached for her ever-dependable blue ballpoint.
The teacher's tone shifted, scholarly now:
"When a being dies, their life force—or what we commonly call a soul—transcends the mortal shell. Different races possess different names and philosophies for this essence."
Humans: Dawnmark
Nephilim: Seraphaine
Giants (Titans): Vaelmir
Ghouls: Tharos
Dwarves: Karnweld
Neptunians (Merfolk): Kelvyr
Demi-humans: Aether
Nature Spirits: Hemaraith
"There are more," he added, "but time, tragically, is short."
"Each soul is drawn to the Judges of the Seven Havens. But my interest lies not in the spiritual. I care for the physical."
His voice seemed to resonate in everyone's head, or even their mind.
"When a human dies, microorganisms invade the body—unicellular predators such as Arghertue and Gerhjsune. These creatures proliferate rapidly, consuming flesh, liquefying tissue. In roughly four months, a human corpse is reduced to dust—a remarkable feat, considering the body's complexity. Especially… with both hearts."
Murmurs flickered through the crowd. Caesar underlined two hearts three times.
"Nephilim are different," the teacher continued. "When they perish, their Seraphaine visibly ascends into the Havens, glowing with celestial radiance. Their bodies resist decomposition—immune to bacteria and rot. Instead, they unravel into shimmering fragments of light. Over two days, they dissolve entirely into luminous ash. The head is always the last to vanish."
Caesar and Izobel were enthralled, their pens flying across pages.
Caesar allowed himself a quiet smile, remembering the torment he endured to enter Black Meadows: the gunfire scars, sleepless weeks, and despairing days. All of it—worth it.
Izobel, in silent reverence, offered a whispered prayer of gratitude to the Almighty for allowing her to study in such a prestigious institution.
But at the edge of her vision—she saw him.
While the teacher now explained how Ghoul corpses scatter into flocks of crimson-eyed crows or silver-beaked ravens, Izobel's focus shifted. She nudged Caesar and subtly pointed.
Following her gaze, Caesar spotted him too.
A familiar face. Blue hair cascading like silk, just long enough to hide his eyes. Jacques—another of the Paragon 11. He floated toward the back, expression calm, diligently transcribing every word. His presence carried weight, even in silence.
Caesar couldn't help but feel a strange joy bubbling up—delighted by the sheer absurdity and wonder of having a teacher who warped an entire classroom into another dimension for a lecture on decomposition and the metaphysics of souls.
When Mr. Shawn was elaborating on why the bodies of Neptunians dissolve into saltwater upon death, his explanation was abruptly cut short.
"Pardon me, class," he said, his voice still echoing in the minds of his students like a resonant chime. "There's someone at the door."
In an instant, the entire dimension dissolved, leaving the students once again in their ordinary biology classroom.
Mr. Shawn stood at the front, an inscrutable smile curling across his face, as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. With deliberate steps, he strode toward the door and opened it. A guard awaited him — clad in gleaming Imperial iron armor, exquisitely forged to resemble a knight born of nightmares. The helmet, sculpted in the likeness of a dragon's head, gleamed ominously. In the knight's left hand was a lance, tipped with slaver crystal, exuding menace.
Mr. Shawn conferred with the armored figure for three brumites before turning back to the class.
"Uh… class," he began, "it seems the knight has come to—"
Before he could finish, the knight vaulted into the fifth row and hurled his lance at blinding speed toward Chalybe's skull.
Yet hypersonic velocity proved laughably slow for Chalybe. With effortless grace, he sidestepped the weapon and tapped it with a single finger, freezing it mid-air. The weapon wasn't physically encased in ice, but suspended in time and locked in space, stripped of motion, and its existence paused.
Undeterred, the knight drew ten daggers in a flourish and flung them all at Chalybe. Again, Chalybe evaded them without effort — and then, from the back of the room, a student hoisted a comically oversized warhammer.
She had brilliant orange ponytails, eyes as dark and gentle as dusk, and skin that shimmered like the twin suns. But her smile? A devil's grin. This was Martha Chaste Hope — a noble-born human, daughter of Tennant Jones Hope, an eminent figure in the blacksmithing and weapon trade across Zion. With a cry of determination, she swung her hammer, smashing it into the knight's chest and sending him hurtling across the room until he collided with the chalkboard.
"Bullseye!" she roared triumphantly.
Mr. Shawn conjured a cloud — the same ethereal entity from his private dimension — and used it to ensnare the knight. The cloud twisted and solidified, pulsating with iridescent hues, each shimmer searing pain into the knight's very essence.
"Who are you?" Mr. Shawn thundered, fury crackling in his voice. "No one storms into my class to commit murder. Why are you here to kill Prince Chalybe?"
The knight's armor began to tremble, the helmet loosening. Then, in a violent burst, the entire suit disintegrated into a frenzied flock of ravens, each bird honing in on a student with bloodthirsty precision — only to be swiftly dispatched by the students themselves.
Caesar felt something sinister slither into his senses. His stomach twisted — not with fear, but confusion.
Then Leo, astonishingly swift, flipped her entire row's table toward the class's glass panels.
"Everyone, get down!" she shouted.
But it was too late.
An explosion shattered the panels and blasted through the barrier of desks. The shockwave shook the entire classroom, with Scorching heat scalding the air. Students were thrown through the chaos, fragments of glass and splinters of wood embedding into their skin. Caesar caught Izobel midair and cradled her descent to the ground.
A violent storm of ravens burst into the room, their slaver-forged beaks ripping through flesh and bone, tearing blood vessels as screams echoed.
Izobel's rose-colored eyes flared with luminescence. A force field burst forth, shielding Caesar from eight oncoming ravens.
"Caesa!!!" a voice cried out.
Caesar looked over and saw Zeus on his knees, bloodied and torn, yet seemingly unharmed. "Thunderbolt! Now!!!"
A smirk danced across Caesar's lips. He soared toward the roof as Chalybe unleashed a hail of radiant arrows from his bow. The weapon, electric blue and adorned with glowing cyan runes, matched his eyes. Though it appeared broken in half, a string bound it, and as Chalybe pulled, a radiant sphere of divine light formed. Each shot froze ravens mid-flight, locking them in time and space.
Caesar's aura ignited in blazing crimson. Zeus raised his hands to the sky. Above them, a vortex formed — a tempest swirling with crackling lightning, expanding to cover the entire classroom, blocking the light of the three suns.
Caesar leapt through a hole in the ceiling as Zeus's hand came crashing down. A searing red lightning bolt struck Caesar's feet — but instead of burning him, the energy was absorbed into his aura.
Spinning like a cyclone, Caesar redirected the electric force through his limbs, channeling it into his descent.
"THUNDERBOLT!!!" Zeus and Caesar roared in unison.
Caesar crashed down onto a raven, unleashing arcs of lightning that lanced through the air, striking every last bird, reducing them to smoldering ash.
The classroom fell silent for a breathless moment. The students stared, awestruck by the flawless synchrony between the Prodigy and the Genius.
Then the far wall crumbled. From the shadows emerged a new foe — a monstrous creature, towering four times Caesar's height. Its hulking limbs ended in jagged talons. Wings unfurled like blackened thunderclouds. Its body was veined and armored with razor-tipped spines.
"Okay, Caesar," Izobel said calmly, brushing dust from her skirt. "You've had your fun."
She turned to Chalybe.
"Butterfly Endgame. Now."
Chalybe's smile was obvious—he wanted to surpass Caesar. If Prodigies and Geniuses made a spark, two Prodigies would make an explosion.
Izobel's eyes glowed brighter, and behind her, an enormous butterfly avatar materialized—glowing pink and the size of an automobile bus. The radiant construct charged straight at Chalybe.
Chalybe's right fist lit up with a menacing dark-blue hue. The butterfly avatar latched onto his back, gifting him two pairs of shimmering pink wings. The beast responded by hurling shelves, debris, and jagged talons—but Chalybe blurred between them, too fast to hit. In a blink, he was face-to-face with the creature.
He drew back his glowing fist—and drove it into the beast with impossible force. Shockwaves tore through the classroom.
"BUTTERFLY ENDGAME!!!"
The beast convulsed violently, its form fracturing at the seams. Chalybe's blow launched it skyward. It erupted in a brilliant pink flash, leaving a butterfly-shaped hole in the clouds above.
A wave of relief washed over the room. Laughter broke out—nervous, euphoric, disbelieving. Mr. Shawn dabbed sweat from his brow with a handkerchief. But the worst was still to come.
As Chalybe turned, his wings fading, a crow streaked through the air—and straight through his chest.
It impaled him cleanly.
Caesar's vision blurred as he saw his best friend, a gaping wound where his heart once beat. Chalybe, the boy fast enough to dance with light itself—undone in an instant. How fast had that crow moved?
"Subarchi, kinomurta, yeppa kenkai geetei."
A deep voice spoke from the ruins of the classroom wall. There stood a man.
His skin was deathly pale, but cruelly handsome. His swamp-green eyes wept blood—emotionless, heavy with unkindness. He wore pure black robes adorned with feathers, bone, and slaver. Atop his head sat a helmet shaped like a raven's slaver-beak, more a crown than armor. His hands were gloved, the fingertips sharpened into talons. A murder of ravens circled him like a living aura.
"Finally," he said. "Was it that difficult to kill a teenager?"