That could only mean one thing.
The possessed couldn't be saved.
Clenching everything I had, I wrapped a stream of combat energy around the old woman's waist and tried to tear her off me—
—but her grip didn't budge.
If I kept pulling, I'd rip my own flesh open.
I had to stop.
With my free hand, I tried to pry her fingers off my shoulder.
My jacket was already shredded.
Her nails were digging straight into bare skin.
Then—
she bent down with a guttural snarl—
and sank her teeth into my torn shoulder.
I screamed.
"Paul! Don't just stand there!" one of the instructors shouted.
Paul didn't move.
Didn't even flinch.
Desperation hit.
I ripped the knife from its sheath.
I knew what she was.
I knew it.
But all I saw—
was an old woman.
My hand shook.
I drove the blade into her back.
A cry.
Sharp.
Human.
Not a monster.
My chest clenched.
I hadn't hit the heart.
If I wanted to kill her—
I had to strike again.
I yanked the knife out.
The old woman snarled, baring her teeth—
and lunged straight for my throat.
Either her—
or me.
"Kill her! She's not human anymore!" the other student shouted.
Like he'd torn the thought straight out of my head.
I didn't hesitate.
The blade went into her neck.
Deep.
She choked—
a wet, broken sound—
and collapsed to the side.
I was shaking.
Hard.
Couldn't stop.
The knife was still in my hand.
Blood everywhere.
Footsteps.
Shouting.
I forced myself up.
Shock dulled the pain.
For now.
I looked at Iveson running toward me.
Then at Paul—
still standing there.
Not moving.
While the others were yelling at him.
Then at the student—
staring at me like I'd just done something unforgivable.
Iveson dropped to one knee in front of me.
Checked my pulse.
Turned my head.
Tore off what was left of my jacket.
"Holivan, can you hear me?"
I nodded.
"Good."
"Sidan!" he barked.
The student snapped out of it and rushed over.
"Collect the bodies. Burn them."
"Yes, sir."
"Paul!" Grek roared. "You useless piece of shit—move and help him. Now."
Paul finally moved.
Slowly.
Like none of this mattered.
"How bad is he?" one of the instructors asked.
"How does he look?" Grek snapped. "He was seconds away from being torn apart. Damn it, Paul—what the hell were you thinking?!"
"I'll be reporting this," another said coldly. "His actions nearly got a student killed. Open the portal."
I tried to stand—
but my legs gave out.
Grek clicked his tongue and picked me up.
A few minutes later—
we were back in the academy.
Lower level.
"Get the medics. Now."
The shaking hit first.
Then the pain.
All at once.
"Hang in there, kid," someone said.
"Instructor…" I rasped. "Those old people… who were they? Why did they become possessed?"
"Now's not the time—"
"I want to know."
He exhaled.
"Sometimes spirits cooperate. Makes it easier to find hosts." A pause. "That couple… they lost both their children's families. During a holiday. Daughters, sons-in-law, grandchildren—slaughtered."
My chest tightened.
"They became easy targets," he continued. "They agreed to give up their bodies. For revenge."
"I didn't see her soul," I said, shaking my head. "There was nothing."
"They didn't try to hold onto it," he said quietly. "They just… gave themselves away. It happens."
"I killed her," I whispered, staring at my hands.
Covered in blood.
"My own hands…"
Darkness crept in.
The floor disappeared.
"Where the hell are the medics?!" someone shouted—
And everything went black.
I opened my eyes.
Ceiling.
Hospital room.
Not Samantha's.
Worse.
Much worse.
"Awake?" a hoarse voice said.
I turned my head.
Clyde.
Sitting beside the bed.
Half-asleep.
"What are you doing here?" I muttered.
"It wasn't safe to leave you alone like this."
"We're in the academy."
"And?"
His gaze slid over the bandages.
My cheek pulled—stitches.
Chest wrapped.
Left hand too.
Right barely moved.
Empty room.
"I sent everyone out," he added.
"Everyone?"
"Yes. Too many people. Too much noise."
"…Why did you stay?"
"I fell asleep."
I tried to sit up.
Pain.
Sharp.
"Don't," Clyde said. "They wouldn't transfer you to Samantha. You'll need time to recover."
A pause.
"You'll have scars."
"Scars aren't that bad," I muttered.
"Sleep."
He closed his eyes.
I watched him for a second—
then drifted off.
Voices pulled me back.
Low.
Irritated.
Clyde was gone.
Robert. Alma. Nick.
Around my bed.
"Hey…" I croaked. "Shouldn't you be in class?"
"You're awake? Classes are over," Robert snapped. "You've been out forever. What the hell, Al? When I saw them carrying you in, I thought you were dead!"
"Like I had a choice," I muttered. "It just… happened."
I told them.
Briefly.
About the mission.
About Paul.
"What? That's it?" Nick snapped. "He just gets a warning?!"
I pushed myself up.
Still hurt.
But manageable.
"I'm getting out of here."
Alma grabbed my arm.
"You're excused from classes. You can rest."
"Great. I'll rest in my room."
I hated hospitals.
Always had.
Another minute here—
and I'd lose it.
With her help, I pulled on a shirt over the bandages.
We headed out.
Slow.
Careful.
Stairs—
And then—
a voice.
Furious.
Andrew.
My heart slammed in my chest.
I moved faster.
Ignoring the pain.
Ignoring them.
Down the stairs—
into the hall.
Andrew stood in the center.
Across from him—
Paul.
They were staring at each other.
Pure hatred.
Like nothing else existed.
Like the crowd around them—
didn't matter at all.