The Villain Professor's Second Chance-Chapter 449: Bring Me With You

"Now!"

Duke Icevern’s shout echoed across the chamber, cutting through the din of battle like the chill edge of his blade. It was a command that brooked no argument, pulling everyone into perfect focus. The three chancellors—Lisanor, Elysior, and Balthus—stepped forward in response, their faces solemn and determined. They moved as if they were a single being, each raising their hands, the air thrumming with latent power. Together, they clapped—a single, resonant sound that reverberated off the stone walls, shaking loose the dust that had settled over centuries. The resonance traveled through the ley lines embedded deep within the fortress, and for a moment, it felt as if Aetherion itself had come alive, its very essence quivering in response to the call of the mages.

The sound wasn’t just heard; it was felt. It pulsed through the chamber like a heartbeat, a deep thrumming that vibrated within the bones of everyone present. Almost immediately, the air around the chancellors shimmered, and intricate magic circles began to form, each one more complex and layered than the last. They spun slowly at first, gaining speed as they stacked upon each other, forming a colossal magical formation around the three chancellors. The circles glowed with various hues—crimson, azure, gold—each color representing a different aspect of their combined powers.

Duchess Blackthorn and Count Valen exchanged a knowing glance as they watched the magic circles weave together, the colors merging to create something more potent than any individual spellcaster could manage alone. They recognized this immediately—a harmonic magic series, an advanced and rare form of combined spellcasting that required perfect coordination among its casters. It wasn’t something just any group of mages could attempt, and seeing it executed here, under such pressure, was awe-inspiring.

"A harmonic series," Valen murmured, his gaze fixed on the chancellors. There was a hint of admiration in his voice. "They’re really going all out."

Blackthorn nodded, her fan flickering with dark energy, the shadows around her responding to the surge of power in the room. "They have to. If we don’t cut off their escape, we’ll be fighting them again another day."

As the magic circles reached their peak, they began to weave together, their lights intertwining in a dazzling display. Energy pulsed outward, forming barriers at key points around the chamber, effectively cutting off all routes of retreat for the Devil Coffin forces. The hum of power filled the air, a deep, rhythmic sound that seemed to echo from within the very stones of the fortress. The barriers solidified, their surfaces shimmering iridescently, and from their boundaries, chains forged of pure mana shot out, capturing Devil Coffin members who had been caught off guard.

The chains moved with terrifying speed, like serpents striking their prey. They wrapped around the dark-robed figures, binding them tightly, their struggles futile against the raw arcane force. Each time a chain lashed out, there was a flash of light—a burst of energy as the magic interacted, leaving the captives immobilized. Their cries of protest were drowned out by the humming power of the chancellors’ magic.

Chancellor Lisanor stepped forward, her fiery red hair seeming to blaze with an inner light, her eyes aglow with power. She raised her arms, and the air around her shimmered with heat. Her voice rose above the chaos, clear and commanding, each word carrying the weight of ancient magic.

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"Oh ancient flames, born from the heart of the sun, heed my call," she chanted, her voice resonating through the chamber. Her words seemed to ignite the air, filling it with a tangible heat that made those nearby flinch. "Ignite, consume, and rise again from the ashes. Let thy light be my weapon and thy fire my wrath. Purify all before thee with incandescent justice—Phoenix Rebirth!"

As the final words left her lips, a massive phoenix made entirely of flames erupted from the magic circle. It was radiant, majestic, a creature of fire and fury. Its wings spread wide, lighting up the entire chamber with a golden glow, the intense heat washing over everyone. The ground beneath it seemed to ripple with the force of its energy, the stone beneath its talons beginning to glow red-hot.

The phoenix let out a powerful screech, a sound that shook the very air, its voice a symphony of destruction and rebirth. It soared into the air, flames trailing behind it, before diving towards the Devil Coffin forces. The fiery bird blazed through the enemy ranks, its flames consuming everything in its path. Screams echoed as those caught in its way were incinerated, reduced to ash in an instant, their forms vanishing in the brilliance of the conflagration. It was as if the phoenix was the embodiment of the chancellors’ collective rage and determination, purifying the battlefield with unrelenting fire.

Count Valen watched the spectacle unfold, a look of admiration on his face, the glow of the phoenix reflecting in his eyes. He muttered under his breath, "As expected... even if they have spent their years in research, they are still the strongest mages on the continent. Monsters, all of them."

Chancellor Balthus, standing nearby, turned his head slightly, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. "I wouldn’t say you and Blackthorn are any less monstrous, Valen. But..." He trailed off, his eyes shifting to the Devil Coffin forces who were regrouping in the distance, their leaders barking orders, trying desperately to form a defensive line. His expression hardened. "This isn’t the time to celebrate. They have monsters of their own."

Count Valen’s eyes gleamed with a dangerous edge as he gestured towards the front lines, where Duke Icevern and Earl Falken were engaged in direct combat. "Perhaps. But we have more than monsters. We have beasts."

The scene shifted to the clash between Aetherion’s defenders and the Devil Coffin forces. Duke Icevern and Earl Falken led the charge, their blades moving with deadly precision, cutting down any enemy that dared stand before them. Icevern’s cryomancy manifested as jagged spikes of ice, which shot up from the ground, piercing through the Devil Coffin agents, freezing them solid before they shattered into countless fragments. His movements were methodical, each swing of his blade calculated, his cold gaze never wavering from the enemy.

Earl Falken fought with unmatched agility, her wind magic coiling around her like a tempest. Her sword danced through the air, each strike accompanied by the force of a raging gale. She moved fluidly, almost as if she were gliding on the currents she created, her enemies cut down before they even realized she was upon them. Her wind magic formed deadly vortices that tore through the Devil Coffin ranks, disorienting them, cutting them down by the dozens.

Duchess Blackthorn and Count Valen remained in the rear, their combined magic providing support, breaking through the enemy defenses. Blackthorn’s dark tendrils lashed out, ensnaring enemies, her magic draining their life force, leaving them collapsed and weakened. Her fan moved gracefully, each flick of her wrist guiding the shadows, weaving them into weapons of pure destruction. Beside her, Count Valen’s golden mana flared brightly, acting as both shield and spear. He sent waves of golden energy crashing into the enemy ranks, his magic forming barriers that protected their allies from counterattacks.

The chancellors remained near the Arcane Influx, maintaining their barrier, their magic circles glowing brightly, ensuring the stability of the ley lines. Chancellor Elysior’s chronomancy created openings for Icevern and Falken to exploit, slowing down the enemy’s movements, rendering them vulnerable. Every time the Devil Coffin agents attempted to regroup, they found themselves faced with a barrage of relentless attacks from Aetherion’s defenders.

The defenders pushed forward, each step driving the enemy back, their attacks unyielding. The combined strength of the chancellors, duchesses, counts, dukes, and earls was overwhelming. The Devil Coffin forces, though formidable in their own right, found themselves struggling against the relentless assault. Slowly but surely, the tide of battle was turning.

Amidst the chaos, one Devil Coffin member stood apart from the rest, his robe adorned with elaborate symbols that marked him as someone of importance—a leader among their ranks. His eyes widened as he watched his comrades fall, disbelief etched across his face. His lips moved soundlessly at first, before his muttering grew louder, his voice filled with a mix of anger and desperation.

"This... this is not how the prophecy was supposed to unfold," he muttered, his voice trembling. "The revelation promised victory... promised salvation." His eyes darted around, taking in the devastation, the advance of Aetherion’s defenders, the collapsing lines of his own forces. Panic began to set in, his movements growing frantic as the realization hit him—they were losing.

His hand disappeared into his robes, and when it emerged, he held a dark, swirling orb. He raised it high, his voice rising in a frantic chant, the words almost a plea. "By the will of the dark, by the promise of the unseen, open the gate! Grant us escape from this cursed place!"

The orb began to pulse, dark energy swirling around it, and above him, a black portal began to form. The energy swirled violently, the air around it distorting as a gateway opened, leading to an unknown destination. The leader’s eyes widened, hope gleaming in them for the first time as a triumphant grin spread across his face. Salvation was within reach.

But before he could take a step towards the portal, his expression changed—hope replaced by terror, pure and unadulterated. A hand clamped down on his head, fingers digging into his scalp, and the orb slipped from his grasp, shattering on the ground. The dark energy dissipated, the portal flickering before vanishing entirely.

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The leader’s body began to tremble, his eyes widening in shock and fear. He turned his head slightly, just enough to catch sight of the figure behind him—cold, detached, and utterly emotionless. Draven’s eyes met his, and in those eyes, the Devil Coffin leader saw nothing but the inevitability of his fate.

Draven’s voice was low, almost a whisper, but it carried an authority that made the leader’s blood run cold. "I’ve been waiting," he said, his fingers tightening their grip, his eyes narrowing with a predatory gleam. "Bring me with you, fool."