The safe floor bled black.
That was my first correction.
Not screamed. Not cracked. Not collapsed. Bled.
A thin line of oily darkness crawled between the first-floor stones and spread beneath the dead Shadow Mite like spilled ink remembering gravity too late.
Three students behind me laughed because they had not seen it yet.
Liora had.
Her sword lowered by a finger's width. Barely anything. Enough.
"Is it supposed to do that?" she asked.
Excellent question.
Terrible timing.
The Abyssal Training Ground's first floor was a nursery with teeth filed down. Stone corridors, instructor surveillance sigils, crystal lamps every ten steps, and monsters weak enough for nobles to brag about killing without admitting how carefully the academy had arranged the danger. In the game, Cedric Valdrake had never paid attention to this place. He had entered with D-rank output, insulted a few commoners, and left bored.
