The hallway was too long.
It was one of those architectural indulgences of the Academy—ceilings high enough to fly a dragon through, floors polished until they looked like frozen lakes, and a silence that made your own footsteps sound like gunshots.
Caelus walked fast. He wasn't walking like a villain. He was walking like a man whose wrist was actively eating him alive.
He pulled his cuff back.
Life Force: 03:42:15
Three minutes gone just walking down the stairs.
"Calm down," he whispered to the empty air. "Find a target. Hurt them. Get points. Survive."
It sounded simple. It sounded like a video game loop. But his hands were sweating. He wiped them on his black trousers, leaving faint, dark streaks on the expensive fabric. He wasn't a killer. He wasn't a torturer. In his first life, his "villainy" had been petty insults and arrogance, a desperate theater to make the Prince look better by comparison.
Now, the System wanted real evil.
He turned the corner into the East Wing garden.
The smell hit him first—white lilies, damp earth, and the cloying, sugary scent of holy incense.
The Saintess.
Caelus stopped. Through the archway, he saw her.
Elara was kneeling by the fountain. The morning light filtered through the leaves, catching the gold embroidery of her white robes. She looked like a painting of piety. She looked fragile. She looked like exactly the kind of person a villain would target.
In the previous timeline, Elara had been one of the quiet ones. She had followed the Prince, blessed his armies, and looked at Caelus with sad, disappointed eyes as he was dragged to the scaffold.
She stood by while they cut my head off, Caelus reminded himself. The anger didn't come naturally, so he forced it. He dredged up the memory of the execution—the cold rain, the cheering crowd, the silence of the Saintess.
She deserves this.
He stepped into the garden. Gravel crunched loudly under his boots.
Elara didn't move. She was deep in prayer, her hands clasped, her forehead resting against the cold stone of the fountain rim.
Caelus approached her back. His heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. This was it. He was going to assault the Saintess of the Gaerath Church. He was going to slap her.
It was crude. It was violent. It was perfect.
"Hey," Caelus said. His voice cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again, pitching it lower, meaner. "Hey. Saintess."
She didn't turn.
"Are you ignoring me?"
He was three steps away. He raised his hand. He stared at the back of her head, at the delicate curve of her neck exposed by her braided hair.
Just do it. Strike her. Get the points.
His hand trembled.
Do it or you die in three hours.
He gritted his teeth, squeezed his eyes shut for a microsecond to banish his conscience, and swung.
------------------------------------------------------------------
[LOCATION: TEN METERS AWAY - THE ROSE BUSHES]
Sylvia watched through the gap in the thorns.
She wasn't breathing. Her pupils were dilated so wide her eyes looked almost black.
She saw Caelus approach Elara. She saw the shake in his hand. She saw the hesitation, and then the resolve.
"He's going to hit her," Sylvia whispered.
A normal person would have intervened. A normal person would have shouted, or jumped out, or blocked the strike.
Sylvia wasn't normal. She was a regressor who had spent the last three years of the previous timeline slaughtering demons in a world without a sun. She didn't want to stop Caelus. She wanted to help him.
He's trying to push her away, Sylvia analyzed, her mind moving at the speed of tactical combat. He thinks if he hurts us, we'll be safe from his enemies. He's protecting her by being a monster.
Her heart squeezed. It was so like him. So stupidly, tragically noble.
I won't let you ruin your reputation, Caelus. Not this time.
Her hand moved to her pouch. She didn't grab a weapon. She grabbed a small, glass vial she had stolen from the Alchemy lab five minutes ago.
She flicked her wrist.
It was a technique she had perfected for assassinating commanders behind enemy lines. The Silent Throw.
The vial sailed through the air, invisible against the dappled sunlight. It struck the stone rim of the fountain right next to Elara's ear.
It didn't shatter. It tipped.
And a Purple-Spine Beetle—one of the deadliest, most aggressive insects in the Academy greenhouses—scuttled out.
------------------------------------------------------------------
[LOCATION: THE FOUNTAIN]
Caelus's hand was mid-swing.
He was aiming for her cheek. He had committed. The momentum was there.
Then he saw it.
A flash of purple. A chittering sound.
The beetle was the size of a fist. It lunged from the stone rim, mandibles clicking, straight for the exposed skin of Elara's neck.
Biology took over.
Caelus didn't think. He didn't weigh the moral implications. He saw a venomous bug jumping at a human being, and his body reacted before his brain could file a protest.
He twisted his wrist.
Instead of a slap, his hand turned into a swat.
SMACK.
The sound was wet and loud.
Caelus's palm connected with the beetle mid-air, inches from Elara's skin. He felt the crunch of the carapace. He felt the burst of cold insect fluids against his skin. He slammed the bug into the stone fountain, crushing it into a paste.
"Gross," he gasped, pulling his hand back.
Elara jerked back, her eyes flying open. She spun around, clutching her neck.
"What—?"
She looked at Caelus. She looked at his hand, dripping with purple ichor. She looked at the smeared remains of the beetle on the fountain rim.
Silence stretched between them. The wind rustled the leaves.
Caelus stared at his hand.
I missed.
No, worse.
I saved her.
Panic, cold and sharp, spiked in his chest. "No," he stammered. "No, that wasn't... I was trying to hit you."
Elara looked up at him. Her blue eyes were wide, swimming with tears. But they weren't tears of fear.
She remembered.
She remembered the way he had died. She remembered the way the world had burned after he was gone. And now, in the first moment of their reunion, he had saved her life.
"You..." Elara's voice trembled. She reached out, her fingers hovering over his messy hand. "You saw it. You saved me."
"I didn't!" Caelus shouted, backing away. "I was attacking you! I am a villain! Look at me, I'm wearing black!"
Elara slowly rose to her feet. She didn't look at his clothes. She looked at his soul.
"You pushed me away in the past," she whispered, too low for anyone else to hear. "And you're doing it again. You protected me from the venom, even though it meant dirtying your own hands."
She took a step toward him.
"Why?" she asked, her voice cracking with an emotion Caelus couldn't identify. "Why are you always like this?"
Caelus didn't answer. He couldn't.
Because his wrist was burning.
It wasn't the slow burn of the timer. It was a searing, white-hot agony, as if someone had wrapped a wire of molten copper around his bone and pulled tight.
Narrative Deviation Detected.
The text slammed into his vision, red and angry.
Act of Heroism Confirmed.Life Force Penalty Applied.
Caelus gasped, clutching his wrist. His knees buckled.
Calculation: 50% Reduction.
"Wait," Caelus wheezed. "Wait, it was a mistake. It was a reflex!"
Life Force: 01:51:00
The numbers rolled back like a slot machine hitting a loss. Two hours. Gone. Just like that.
He had less than two hours to live.
The pain in his wrist faded to a dull, throbbing ache, leaving him sweating and pale. He looked at Elara. She was reaching for him, concern etched into every line of her beautiful, holy face.
"Caelus? Are you hurt?"
"Stay away from me," he choked out.
He scrambled back, his boots slipping on the gravel. He looked like a cornered animal.
"Don't look at me like that. I hate you. I hate all of you!"
It was the line he needed to say. It was the script. But as he said it, he saw the way Elara flinched—not from the words, but from the pain in his voice.
She didn't believe him.
"I know," she said softy. "I know you have to say that."
Caelus stared at her. He felt like he was going insane. Why weren't they following the script? Why was the bug there? Why was the universe conspiring to make him a hero when all he wanted to do was be a scumbag and live past lunch?
He turned and ran.
He ran out of the garden, past the roses, past the hiding spot where Sylvia was quietly pumping her fist in victory.
He needed to get away. He needed to think. He needed—
Life Force: 01:49:55
He needed a new plan.
As he stumbled back into the dark hallway, leaning against the cold stone to catch his breath, he didn't see the figure watching him from the shadows of the infirmary entrance.
He didn't smell the ozone yet. But he would.
Caelus slid down the wall, burying his face in his hands. The purple bug guts were sticky on his palm.
"I'm going to die," he muttered, and a laugh bubbled up in his chest, hysterical and sharp. "I'm actually going to die because I have good reflexes."
He wiped his hand on his pants.
Current Objective Failed.New Opportunity Detected.
The System window flickered again. It seemed almost... amused.
Location: Infirmary.Target: Unattended Valuables.Reward Potential: High.
Caelus looked up. The infirmary door was ajar.
He pushed himself up. His legs were shaking.
"Fine," he whispered. "Theft. I can do theft. Bugs don't jump out of wallets."
He limped toward the door, leaving a faint trail of purple ichor on the pristine floor.