The Villain Professor's Second Chance

Sophie hesitated, looking at him as if searching for something more—something beyond the stoic mask that Dravis wore. But there was nothing. His expression remained cold, detached, and focused solely on the mission ahead. Finally, she nodded, her gaze softening.

"Alright," she said, her voice steady. "I'll leave this in your hands, Dravis." She paused, her eyes holding his for just a moment longer. "But be careful."

Dravis gave her a curt nod, his eyes never leaving hers. "Always."

Sophie turned, her eyes scanning for her knights. She called out to Sharon, who immediately rushed to her side. The rest of the knights began to gather around them, their expressions filled with exhaustion but also a sense of relief—they had survived.

Meanwhile, Sylvanna approached Dravis, her bow slung over her shoulder. She glanced at the remains of the portal, her gaze sharp as she turned back to Dravis. "You always seem to have a way of making things more complicated, don't you?" she said, a hint of a grin playing at her lips.

Dravis didn't respond, his eyes still fixed on the charred remains of the portal. Sylvanna sighed, her smirk fading slightly as she studied him. "You did good back there," she said, her voice softer, almost genuine.

He finally looked at her, his eyes narrowing. "Is that meant to be a compliment?"

Sylvanna shrugged, her grin returning. "Take it however you want." She turned away, calling out to Sharon, who was helping one of the other knights up from the ground. "Oi, musclehead! Don't think you're getting rid of me so easily."

Sharon turned, her fiery gaze locking onto Sylvanna. "You think I want you around? I'll be celebrating the day you finally shut up."

Sylvanna smirked, her voice laced with her usual sarcasm. "Sure you will. But until then, try not to get yourself killed, alright?"

Sharon rolled her eyes, her lips twitching in a faint smile. "Yeah, yeah. You too."

The exchange was brief, but it carried a sense of genuine care—hidden beneath their constant banter, there was an understanding, a camaraderie forged through battle. Sylvanna gave Sharon a quick, lazy salute before turning back to Dravis, who had remained silent throughout their exchange.

"Take care of things here," she said, her tone more serious. "I don't want to come back and find out you've gotten yourself killed, either."

Dravis glanced at her, his expression still unreadable. "You have a mission, Sylvanna. Focus on that."

She nodded, giving him one last look before she moved to join the rest of the knights. Sharon walked up to Sophie, her eyes filled with concern as she glanced over her captain. "My Lady, are you alright?"

Sophie smiled, placing a reassuring hand on Sharon's arm. "I'm fine, Sharon. We all are. And now we need to get back to the kingdom." Her gaze shifted to the rest of her knights, her voice carrying across the chamber. "Everyone, we're moving out. We need to report our findings as soon as possible."

The knights began to move, forming up around Sophie, their steps weary but filled with purpose. They started to head towards the cave entrance, their eyes scanning the darkened path ahead.

Sophie cast one last glance back at Dravis. He stood alone in the center of the cavern, his form almost fading into the darkness, his attention fixed on the remnants of the portal. He looked untouchable—cold, distant, yet somehow, despite everything, she knew she could trust him.

"Farewell, Dravis," she whispered, her voice almost lost in the echoes of the cavern.

Dravis didn't move, his back to her, his eyes still locked on the dark remains of the portal, the blackened ground where the dark energy had once surged. He didn't need to hear her words to understand them.

Sophie turned, following her knights as they made their way out of the cavern. The shadows seemed to close in behind them, the darkness swallowing the echoes of their footsteps until only silence remained.

Dravis let out a slow breath, his gaze shifting slightly, catching the faint reflection of himself in one of the blackened stones. His eyes were sharp, filled with a determination that mirrored his other self. This was just the beginning. There were still secrets to uncover, still battles to fight.

He turned his head slightly, his gaze moving to where Sylvanna and Sharon had been standing moments before. A faint smirk crossed his lips, the corners barely lifting.

"Protect Sophie," he murmured, his voice almost lost in the silence of the cavern. He turned his back to the portal remains, his blades still sheathed but his posture alert. There was much to do, and there was no time to waste.

Draven stood alone for a moment longer, feeling the silence settle around him, as though the cavern itself had fallen into a deep slumber now that the battle was over. He could still hear Sophie's whispered farewell echo in his mind. But there was no time to dwell on sentiments—there were things that needed to be done, questions that needed answers, and threats that needed neutralizing.

With a final glance at the blackened remains of the portal, he turned on his heel and began to move, his footsteps echoing in the empty cavern. Sylara, or rather Sylvanna, followed him. Her steps were lighter, almost bouncing as if she were still caught in the high of battle. She called out, her voice carrying a hint of that playful mocking she never seemed to lose.

"Oi, Draven, where are we off to now?" she asked, catching up to his brisk pace.

Draven didn't look at her. He walked with a purpose that made it clear he had a destination in mind. "Summon the chimeras."

Sylara grinned, her eyes glinting with a manic excitement as she moved her hands. The magic circle, inscribed into both their palms after months of research, began to glow. She pressed her palms together, and four shapes emerged from the darkness—twisted and monstrous, each with the dark aura that marked them as chimeras.n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

The chimeras stood at attention, their eyes glowing as they waited for their orders. Draven gestured towards the fallen corrupted orcs that littered the battlefield, their heavy, dark armor and pulsating runes now cold and dead.

"Feed them," he ordered, his voice as cold and detached as always.

Sylara let out a soft, almost delighted laugh as she watched the chimeras descend upon the corpses. Their jaws opened, dark magic swirling around them as they began to consume the fallen orcs, their forms absorbing the energy that had once made the corrupted beasts so formidable.

The aura around the chimeras darkened, growing thicker, more menacing, and Sylara watched, her laughter echoing through the cavern.

She reveled in it, the sight of her creations devouring the very essence of the dark magic. There was something monstrous in her expression—an excitement that bordered on madness, as if this act of consuming the orcs was a victory all its own.

Draven didn't bother to call her, didn't bother to intervene. He knew her well enough by now. This was something she had to relish, something that would help them both in the end. Instead, he turned his attention to a narrow opening in the cavern wall—a shadowed path that led deeper underground.

He stepped inside without a second glance, leaving Sylara behind. This was something he needed to do alone.

The passage was dark, the air cold, and the stone walls narrowed as he moved further down the corridor. He stopped for a moment, reaching into his coat. Four pens—each distinct in color and aura—floated out of his pocket. The fire pen blazed to life, a small flicker of flame illuminating the passageway. It spun gently, lighting up the walls as he moved forward.

With the fire leading him, the other pens floated around him, their power radiating a steady hum in the quiet darkness. His psychokinesis pen hovered near his right hand, while the water elven pen stayed closer, its gentle blue light casting an ethereal glow on the stone walls. The devil pen hovered just over his shoulder, an ominous dark red shimmer marking its presence.

Draven stepped carefully, the soft light guiding his path until he found what he had been seeking. The air grew colder still, and a deep, muffled noise could be heard—a shuffling, a shifting that resonated from deep within the rock. It was as though something within the depths was alive, moving.

The corridor opened into a large chamber, and as Draven stepped inside, he could hear them—voices. Faint, almost inhuman. They were cries, murmurs of pain and fear, not voices that belonged to creatures of this world. His jaw tightened.

His sharp eyes scanned the chamber, taking in the sight before him. It was a prison, of sorts. Row upon row of cells, each filled with figures that had once been human. They were changing, grotesquely.

Unlike his work with Sylara—unlike the chimeras they had created through precise experimentation—these beings were twisted beyond recognition, an amalgamation of orc magic and human forms, a failed attempt to achieve something greater.

Some of them were merging with shadows, their forms losing shape, becoming one with the darkness. Others had grotesque growths, limbs twisting and bending in ways that no living creature should endure. Still more had chimeric traits, monstrous appendages growing from their sides, their bodies distorting in a mockery of creation.

Draven's gaze turned cold, his anger simmering beneath the surface. There was nothing to be gained here—no information, no insight, just suffering. These people were no longer human, no longer anything close to what they once had been. He wouldn't let them linger in agony.

With a single thought, the psychokinesis pen shot forward. It moved with a deadly precision, flinging through the air and striking each prisoner, ending their misery swiftly and without hesitation. The chamber fell silent, the twisted figures now lying still, their torment finally ended.

"This is sickening,"