The Night of the Attack
It began with a scream.
Marion's eyes flew open. The night was pitch-black, only the faint glow of torches outside lighting the windows. At first he thought he'd dreamed again—but then another scream came, piercing, tearing. Footsteps thundered through the corridors, doors slammed, voices shouted over one another.
"Fire?" Manuel mumbled sleepily, rubbing his eyes.
"No…" Tobia was already sitting upright, clutching the blanket, face pale. "This is something else."
Then came a crash. Wood splintered, a girl shrieked in the neighboring building. From outside came a growl—deep, dreadful—carried on a stench of rot.
Marion stumbled to the window.
And saw them.
Figures—dozens—lurching, staggering.
Undead.
The bodies of farmers, beggars, maybe even students—graves from the nearby woods—now up and walking again, with empty eye sockets and torn limbs.
"A necromancer," he breathed. "Shit…"
Before they could even process it, the door to their dorm burst open. A teacher stormed in, cloak torn, blood on his arm. "Everyone out! Now! They're inside!"
And as if the world wanted to confirm it, a shadow tore through the doorway behind him: a half-rotten animal—maybe once a dog—now nothing but teeth and bone. It lunged at the teacher, dragged him down.
Screams. Blood.
Students shrieked and surged toward the other exit.
"Move!" Marion grabbed Tobia by the arm and hauled him along. Manuel stumbled after them, eyes wide with panic. They ran into the hallway—
—and straight into chaos.
Students everywhere, some half-dressed, some screaming, some armed with chairs or torches. Undead broke through windows, crawled over stone, bones cracking with every step. Torch smoke mixed with the reek of decay.
Jenny stumbled past, hair wild, tears on her face. "Help!" She tripped—almost fell—but Leon caught her and dragged her onward. Rico bellowed like a madman, hammering bare fists into an undead that came too close.
"To the Great Hall!" someone shouted. "Everyone to the Great Hall!"
Marion stumbled. A skeleton sprang in front of him, skull half shattered, jaw clacking. He cried out, recoiled—
—but Manuel stepped forward and flung a smoldering bolt of fire. The skeleton exploded apart, bones spraying across the corridor.
"Ha!" Manuel laughed hysterically. "Did you see that? I got it!"
"Come on!" Marion seized him and yanked him onward.
They reached the Great Hall, where dozens of students were already packed together. Teachers tried to impose order, raising protective wards over the doors. But outside, blows thundered against the walls, and the undead's howling seemed to come from everywhere.
"There are too many," Tobia sobbed, tears on his cheeks. "We… we can't do this."
Marion pressed his forehead to the cold wall. His heart hammered. Images of Tessa, of Nix, of the pyre-dreams whirled through his mind.
If this is my end… then this time for real…
Then he heard it.
A deep, echoing laugh somewhere out in the courtyard. Not a normal laugh—something heavy with magic.
The necromancer.
"You little children of the Light!" the voice boomed through the night. "Your bones will serve me! Your souls will burn!"
Students screamed and pressed closer together. Marion clung to Tobia and Manuel, felt their bodies shaking. Smoke, blood, and fear filled the air.
The night of the attack had begun.
And it was only the beginning.
The Return of the Cat Woman
The Great Hall turned into a cauldron: screams, smoke, crackling spells, splintering wood—and then the doors exploded inward. A whole wave of undead surged in, ripping apart the panicked wards the teachers had thrown up. Hands. Bones. The stink of rot. Students scattered, shrieking, flooding back into the corridors, trampling books, bags—yes, even those who had already fallen.
"Out! Out!" Manuel shouted, yanking at Marion's sleeve. Tobia panted, sweating, forcing his way through the crowd with brute strength. They were swept along, stumbled down the steps and into the hallway.
Chaos everywhere.
And then—silence, inside the noise.
A figure stood at the far end of the corridor. Slim. Feline. Long ears silhouetted against the torchlight.
But her fur was torn, skin bloody, neck covered in bite marks. Her eyes were empty—two pale holes where no life burned.
Marion froze. His stomach tightened.
He knew her.
The cat slave.
The woman who had kissed him—his first kiss. Quick. Defiant. Cool. Then dead, somewhere in Manuel's parents' house.
Now she stood there again.
Undead.
Blood dripped from her lips.
And she fixed her gaze on only them—Marion, Tobia, Manuel.
"No…" Manuel whispered, voice scraping. "That… that's her."
The cat woman hissed—an animal sound that went straight through bone and nerve. Then she moved—low, stalking, like a hunter who had scented prey.
"She wants revenge for the kiss!" Tobia screamed, flinging his arms up as if that could stop her.
"Brother!" Manuel gasped. "Stay back—maybe she'll stop if you stay behind!"
"Run!" Marion roared. "Run, damn it!"
They ran.
They stumbled over bodies, tore open doors, sprinted through corridors. Behind them: the slap of her footsteps, the growl of the undead cat woman, the scrape of claws on stone.
Tobia sobbed and wheezed as he ran. "I swear, she's going to rip my throat out!"
"Shut up and run!" Marion yelled.
A corridor, a staircase, another corridor—then they found a door half open leading into an old storage room. Dust, crates, old brooms. Without thinking, they shoved inside, slammed the door, and piled everything they could find against it: planks, chairs, an old wardrobe.
They had barely wedged the last board in place when it hit.
Hands. Claws. Bodies.
Undead—many of them.
The boards groaned. Splintered. Nails popped loose.
Marion braced his back against the door, panting, chest racing. Tobia sank to the floor, hands in his hair. Manuel stared at the door with wide eyes, as if it might give way any second.
"We're… we're dying here," Tobia choked. "That's it."
"We're finished," Manuel whispered. "The door won't hold."
The planks bowed under the pressure. Dust rained from the ceiling. The pounding of the undead echoed through the small room like drums.
Each уар—each blow—was a heartbeat. Louder. Closer. Inevitable.
Marion closed his eyes.
Again here.
Again at the end.
Again about to lose everything.
He saw the cat woman's face—alive, defiant, cool. That quick kiss. The laugh afterward.
And now her empty eyes. Her hungry focus.
"It was just a kiss," he whispered. "Just a damn kiss."
But outside, hell clawed at the boards.
And inside, they were just three boys—alone, weak, with no plan.
And all three were sure:
This time, it's the end.
Nix in the Shadows
The academy had become a storm of screams, splintering wood, and shattering glass. Students ran everywhere—stumbling, crying out—while the undead flooded the corridors like a tide of bone and rot.
But in the darkness, something else moved.
Soundless.
Unseen.
Nix.
Her copper skin shimmered faintly in the torchlight. Green hair clung to her face. A bow rested in her hand, already strung. Each step was so light her bare feet barely stirred the dust. To human eyes she did not exist—just another shadow among chaos. Students rushed past her as though through empty air.
Her eyes scanned the halls.
Blood. Smoke. Fear.
But her gaze remained clear.
She had only one objective.
The Great Hall.
From afar she already heard the laughter—deep, resonant, as if rising from the earth's belly. It vibrated in her bones. Nix slipped closer, crawling past a shattered door, climbing along a broken window frame until she could see inside.
And there he was.
The necromancer.
He stood upright amid ruin, robes blacker than night. Shadows flickered around him as though alive, as if they carried him. His arms lifted, and every word from his mouth became a command.
"Tear them apart! Let everything burn! Rip flesh from bone until nothing remains!"
The undead obeyed like puppets—ripping at barricades, clawing at students too slow to escape, swarming teachers who fought desperately with flame and warding circles.
Nix crouched lower.
No teacher could reach him. They were drowning in the horde.
She saw an elderly lecturer draw a binding circle—only to be overwhelmed by three corpses. She saw girls screaming as skeletal hands reached for them.
And the necromancer laughed.
As though this were all a game.
Nix tilted her head.
Her breathing slowed.
Her fingers brushed the bowstring.
She was not like the others. Not like these humans who screamed and stumbled.
She had been born for shadow.
And in that moment she knew: if anyone could reach him—
—it was her.
The Shot from the Shadows
Nix clung to the rafters of the Great Hall like a spider. Fingers dug into old timber. Her body merged with darkness.
Below, chaos raged.
She heard none of it.
Her breathing was steady.
Her gaze unwavering.
Her target clear.
She nocked an arrow. The string tightened with a whisper like a serpent's breath. Her yellow eyes glowed faintly in the dark.
The necromancer raised his arms again.
"Burn! Tear them apart!"
But for Nix, the world narrowed.
Only the bow.
Only the line of aim.
Only him.
She inhaled.
Time froze.
She exhaled.
The arrow flew.
A soft hiss—barely audible—
—and then impact.
The arrow drove clean through the necromancer's skull.
For a heartbeat, absolute silence.
He stared upward, eyes wide—as though seeing something for the first time in his life.
Then a shriek—high, inhuman.
His body convulsed.
Collapsed.
And with him—
everything.
The undead, mid-swipe at fleeing students, crumpled like severed marionettes. Bones shattered. Flesh dissolved to dust. Skeletons fell into nothing. The clawing at doors ceased.
Even the cat woman—empty-eyed, blood-streaked—stood frozen for one final second.
Then she, too, disintegrated into gray ash that scattered in the draft from broken windows.
One last echo of the necromancer's scream rang through the hall—
—and then there was only silence.
Teachers froze, unable to comprehend. Students collapsed to their knees, sobbing, clutching each other.
The chaos was over.
Only dust remained.
And no one knew how.
No one—
except Rico.
He stood near the edge of the hall, staring upward.
He had seen her.
The shadow in the rafters.
The yellow eyes.
The shot.
He had seen Nix.
Tears streamed down his face—but now not only from grief.
From hope.
"She's alive…" he whispered. "Nix…"
For a single heartbeat their eyes met.
Then she slipped back into darkness, gliding through shadow like a spirit into the night.
Rico did not hesitate.
He ran after her—through doors, across the courtyard, into the forest.
"Nix! Wait! It's me!"
His voice vanished among the trees.
No one else noticed.
They were too busy breathing.
Too busy crying.
Too busy realizing they were still alive.
After the Attack
The academy was quiet.
Unnaturally quiet.
Only dripping water from broken roof tiles, the faint crackle of scorched beams, and the soft sobbing of students disturbed the night. Where undead had marched an hour ago, only gray dust remained—like ash after a funeral pyre.
In the hall, teachers gathered with pale faces and hoarse voices.
They counted names.
Again and again.
Some answered with "alive."
Some with "missing."
For others, there was only silence.
No one dared say "dead."
Students sat wrapped in blankets pulled from storage rooms. Some stared into nothing. Others wept uncontrollably.
Jenny huddled in a corner, arms around her knees, soot still on her face. Vania sat beside her, holding her tightly, whispering gently while Jenny barely reacted.
Katie sat a short distance away, pretending composure—but her hands trembled.
Marion stood apart, unable to sit.
His heart still pounded.
His breath shallow.
Faces everywhere—white, exhausted, terrified.
But one was missing.
Rico.
"Has anyone seen Rico?" Leon finally asked, voice brittle.
No one answered.
Just shrugs.
Shaken heads.
Tobia and Manuel exchanged a look. Then looked at Marion.
He didn't know either.
"Maybe… maybe he didn't make it," Tobia whispered, guilt thick in his voice. "The undead… maybe…"
"Shut up!" Manuel snapped—too loud, too sharp. He bit his lip immediately.
The silence afterward was worse.
The teachers announced that the necromancer had fallen. The danger was over. Those alive should be grateful.
But no one knew how he had died.
Some whispered of a miracle.
Others claimed a professor had cast a final banishing beam.
A few murmured that Alion, God of Light, had intervened.
Everyone wanted an explanation.
No one found the truth.
Marion stood still.
His mind burned.
Nix is alive.
Rico saw her.
He looked at the teachers, exhausted but trying to inspire courage. At the students comforting one another.
The world was shifting again.
He was no one.
He must remain no one.
"We stick together," Tobia muttered, clapping a sweaty hand onto Marion's shoulder. "No matter what."
Marion nodded faintly.
If you only knew…
Dawn crept over the academy—pale and gray as the survivors' faces.
The academy had been saved.
But it would never be the same.
And Rico was gone.
Alive or dead—
no one could say.