The Psychopathic Beast Emperor-Chapter 77: Five Minutes to Doom

They stood there for exactly half a heartbeat, then reality screamed at them.

"RUN."

Sel didn’t ask who said it. He just exploded into motion, his feet striking stone hard enough to echo, his sect uniform blowing behind him like an airbag.

Bahamut followed a split second later with Ren sprawled on his shoulder, his ears flattened, while his claws dug into the fabric for dear life.

The moment Bahamut moved, the suppressors reminded him again that they existed... hard.

It felt like sprinting with the sea strapped to your spine. His legs burned instantly, his muscles protesting, his bones complaining like they’d filed a formal grievance. The world pressed down on him, making him feel like gravity had a personal vendetta with him.

Still, he smiled.

’System,’ Bahamut said in his mind, though on the outside, his breath was already heavy. ’You better not do any shit!’

No response, as expected.

They burst out of the Azure Mind Fang sector and into the outer arteries of the Obsidian Citadel. The sect at morning was alive in a very hostile way.

Stone streets sprawled in layered tiers, bridges crossing over bridges, stairs splitting into stairs that split again, like someone designed the place while actively hating directions.

Black stone buildings rose like jagged teeth, etched with ancient symbols and sect markings. Disciples moved everywhere, some training, some sparring, and some meditating in the middle of walkways, like public obstruction was a personality trait.

Sel skidded to a sharp stop at a three-way intersection. "Left or right?"

Bahamut didn’t slow down. He tilted his head slightly, blindfold humming faintly as his perception flared outward.

Sound came first.

The distant clang of metal. Shouts. A low, rhythmic hum, formation arrays warming up. Footsteps... lots of footsteps.

Then smell.

Incense, sweat, blood, and cooked beast meat. Ink and old stone.

Then pressure.

Ah.

"There," Bahamut said hoarsely, veering hard to the right. "Big space. Lots of people."

Sel blinked, then sprinted after him. "You sensed that in one second?"

Bahamut wheezed. "Three seconds. Don’t rush me."

They turned a corner and nearly died.

A massive stone blade swept across the street at head height, part of a rotating training mechanism. Sel barely ducked, rolling under it with a curse.

Bahamut didn’t duck.

He jumped.

Or rather, he tried to.

The suppressors disagreed violently.

He cleared the blade by inches, sandals scraping stone as he crashed forward into a roll that was more of a controlled collapse.

Ren flew off his shoulder, shrieking, "I AM A BUNNY, NOT A PROJECTILE!"

Bahamut snatched him mid-air by the scruff without slowing down and slapped him back onto his shoulder.

"Hold still," Bahamut panted. "You’re messing with my aerodynamics."

"I DON’T HAVE AERODYNAMICS!"

"Did the bunny just talk?" Sel asked in confusion.

"NO!"

They ran straight into chaos.

Two outer sect disciples were mid-duel, fire and wind techniques, tearing chunks out of the pavement. Sel grabbed Bahamut’s arm and yanked him sideways just as a gust exploded where his head had been.

"HEY!" one of the disciples shouted. "This is a sparring zone!"

"THEN SPAR LATER," Sel yelled back, vaulting over a fallen pillar.

Bahamut followed, misjudged the jump, clipped the edge, and faceplanted hard enough to crack stone.

He slid, stopped, and lay there.

For half a second.

Then pushed himself up, coughing dust, laughing like a lunatic.

"Oh yeah," he muttered. "I’m definitely late."

They took another turn, a wrong one.

It was a dead end.

A sheer drop opened before them, plunging down several levels into mist and distant rooftops.

Sel skidded to a halt, breathing hard. "That’s not..."

Bahamut was already moving.

"Trust me."

He stepped forward and jumped.

Sel’s soul left his body.

Then Bahamut fell sideways as his senses screamed, air pressure shifted, faint humming beneath the stone. He twisted mid-air, slammed his palm into an invisible barrier, and rebounded off a concealed wind array that flung them onto a lower bridge.

They landed in a heap.

Sel stared at him. "You... you just guessed that was there."

Bahamut groaned, rolling onto his back. "No. I felt it trying to murder me politely."

They were both panting now. Sweat soaked their collars. Bahamut’s legs trembled violently, suppressors digging in like anchors.

Ren peeked over Bahamut’s shoulder. "You’re leaking blood."

Bahamut wiped his nose. It came away red.

"Adds character."

A bell rang.

Once.

Twice.

Far too close together.

Sel’s eyes widened. "That’s the assembly signal."

"How much time?"

Sel swallowed. "Less than two minutes."

Bahamut dragged himself upright. His breathing steadied, forced, and deliberate. He pushed his perception even harder.

The world sharpened painfully.

Every footstep echoed. Every voice overlapped. Every formation array pulsed like a heartbeat. The Citadel became a living map in his mind, with paths opening, closing, flowing.

"There," he said, voice low. "Straight. Through the crowd."

They broke into their final sprint.

They barreled through disciples, dodged weapon racks, slid under hanging banners, leapt over meditation circles, and narrowly avoided a sect elder riding a floating stone platform who shouted something extremely unpleasant about manners.

The courtyard exploded into view.

Massive, circular, and packed.

Hundreds of disciples stood assembled in rows. Elders watched from elevated platforms. Elder Hakar stood at the center, arms folded, eyes sharp as execution blades.

Bahamut and Sel burst in at full speed.

Silence fell like a guillotine.

They skidded to a stop at the edge of the formation, chests heaving, robes disheveled, Bahamut bleeding slightly and grinning like he’d enjoyed every second of it.

Elder Hakar slowly turned his head.

"...You’re late," he said.

Bahamut straightened, wiped his mouth, and bowed, sloppy but sincere.

"Respectfully," he replied between breaths, "your sect is built like a death puzzle."

A ripple went through the crowd.

Sel closed his eyes.

Ren covered his face with both paws.

Somewhere far away, Elder Silvia smiled.

Elder Hakar stared at the blind boy, the rank one among the new disciples, and sighed.

"Come here! Both of you, and give me fifty squats. And listen attentively to what I’m going to say, because I won’t be repeating myself afterwards."

Bahamut wanted to cry after hearing this. His whole body was screaming EXHAUSTION at this point.

He even wanted to shout, "I AM WEARING SUPPRESSORS!"

But that wasn’t it.

So, with a dark expression, the two top-ranking disciples went to the side to do squats under the amused gazes of their colleagues.