In the mansion for the Vaise children in the academy, there was an underground floor.
It was made of adamantium with a lot of enchantment to it.
It cost tons, but the Vaise didn't lack money, and since every generation of their family went to the academy, it was better to make a durable training or sparring room instead of renewing it every time it broke.
The training room was enchanted in a way that no matter how much damage it sustained, unless completely destroyed, it would mend itself.
Right now, however, cracks like spiderwebs were spread across the floor, splattered with blood—most of it Raven's.
He stood near the edge, his body swaying slightly, his shirt torn, and his chest heaving.
Blood matted his black hair, one eye nearly swollen shut.
Deep gashes decorated his arms and ribs, but even as they bled, the wounds were closing at an unnatural pace.
Muscles tightened. Bone cracked and straightened. Skin stitched itself back together, the process silent and relentless.
