The Villain Professor's Second Chance-Chapter 439: The Attack in Aetherion (3) The Abduction

The dark hallway of Aetherion’s underwater fortress seemed to swallow Amberine’s scream, leaving only a chilling echo that faded into an unnerving silence. Draven’s normally calm and calculated demeanor cracked, his eyes widening in rage. The air around him seemed to vibrate as if even the shadows sensed his anger. The psychokinesis pen that had flung across the corridor returned to his side, shimmering with a slight blue glow, quivering in sync with his frustration. For just a moment, his control slipped—a rare occurrence that would have left anyone who knew him dumbfounded.

Duchess Blackthorn stood frozen nearby, her fan trembling in her hand. Her eyes darted between the shattered remnants of the stone wall and Draven, who was breathing heavily. The duchess had never seen this side of Draven—the cold, imperturbable man who always seemed five steps ahead, whose gaze could never be read. The brief crack in his composure left her stunned, unsure how to proceed. A hint of vulnerability had flashed across his otherwise emotionless face, and it was not something she could easily dismiss.

Ifrit, left behind, felt the tremors in the air. The small salamander-like spirit slipped from beneath Amberine’s robe, trembling as he looked around the now-empty hallway. His eyes were wide, frantic, searching for any sign of his friend. He tried to reach Amberine, his connection to her normally strong, almost instinctual. But there was nothing—only an emptiness that felt wrong, like a severed bond.

"Amberine!" he squeaked, his voice trembling, a hint of desperation creeping in. His small body glowed with a flickering orange light, growing dim as fear set in. The last thing he heard was her scream—a sound that still echoed in his mind, chilling him to the core.

Ifrit tried again, closing his eyes tightly, willing himself to feel her presence. But all he got was silence. A hollow void that made his tiny heart ache with a dread that was unfamiliar and unbearable. He looked up at Draven, who now stood motionless, eyes closed, trying to center himself amidst the chaos.

Draven’s hands tightened into fists. The rage that had cracked his control began to simmer beneath the surface, transforming into something else—focus. He took a deep breath, his eyes snapping open, cold and calculating once again. The fire of his anger was still there, but it had been contained, refocused into the singular goal of getting Amberine back.

He turned to Duchess Blackthorn, his eyes sharp, almost cutting through her hesitation. "Where would they take her?" His voice was low, controlled, but there was an edge to it—a quiet fury that made the duchess flinch.

She hesitated for a moment, her fingers clutching her fan tighter. "The Devil Coffin... they—"

"Think," Draven snapped, his impatience palpable. He wasn’t one to raise his voice, but the stakes were different now. His usual, almost bored manner of speaking was replaced with something far more dangerous.

The duchess swallowed, her gaze flickering to the darkened hallway. "They use rifts... prison dimensions, alternate planes to keep their prey," she stammered, unsure of what Draven wanted to hear.

Draven’s eyes narrowed, his mind racing through possibilities, analyzing every piece of information. "A prison dimension..." he muttered, almost to himself. His gaze shifted, catching sight of something small glinting against the stone floor. Amberine must have dropped it in the struggle. He crouched, his long fingers picking up a small, intricate compass—an enchanted artifact.

"A magic compass," he murmured, his eyes flicking over the item, recognizing its value immediately. A tool for finding what was lost—or who was lost.

He stood, the compass enveloped in a soft blue glow as his mana infused into it.

"[Chyrisus’ Touch]"

The enchantment reacted to his power, evolving, the tiny gears within whirring faster, the needle spinning erratically before it began to point in a singular direction—searching, sensing Amberine’s unique magical signature. Draven’s lips curled into a tight, almost dangerous smile.

"Good," he said, his voice carrying a weight of certainty, a promise of what was to come. He looked to the duchess, who was watching him with a mix of awe and apprehension.

"Stay here," he ordered, the compass hovering above his palm as he began to channel his power. The duchess opened her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat as she saw his expression—there would be no arguing with him. Draven was a man on a mission, and nothing would stand in his way.

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Ifrit, meanwhile, felt his small form trembling even more. The void where Amberine should have been was like a gaping wound in his mind, gnawing at him, demanding he do something—anything. He floated closer to Draven, his tiny eyes filled with determination.

"I’m coming with you," he said, his voice small but steady.

Draven paused, looking down at the spirit. For a moment, he seemed almost surprised, as if acknowledging Ifrit’s presence for the first time. He knelt, bringing himself to Ifrit’s level, their eyes locking.

"Great spirit. You will not falter," Draven said, his voice softer, but carrying an authority that made Ifrit’s trembling stop. "She’ll need you. You understand that, don’t you?"

Ifrit nodded, his tiny body glowing with renewed determination. There was no room for weakness, not now. He had to be strong—for Amberine.

Draven rose, the compass glowing brightly as he brought out the psychokinesis pen. With a flick of his wrist, he began to weave mana through the air, the pen glowing as it carved sigils that shimmered with psychic energy. Flames from his Fire Pen mingled with water summoned from the Water Elvish Pen, creating a swirling vortex of fire, water, and energy. The duchess watched, her eyes widening as the elements twisted together, creating an unstable rift—a hastily crafted gateway that shimmered with an unearthly light.

Draven didn’t hesitate. He stepped towards the portal, his eyes fixed, unyielding. The duchess called out to him, her voice trembling, carrying a warning: "Don’t underestimate them, Draven. The archbishops of the Devil Coffin—they’re more dangerous than you know, especially if Amberine is their key target. They must have some use of that girl..."

Draven paused, his gaze cold as he looked back at her. "They’ll wish they never touched her," he replied, his voice filled with an icy resolve that left no room for doubt. He turned to Ifrit, who floated close to him, glowing faintly. "Regroup with the others," Draven called back to the duchess. "Reduce the casualties. I will end this from my end."

And with that, he stepped through the rift, Ifrit close behind, the portal closing behind them with a soft crackle of energy. The duchess was left staring at the empty hallway, her heart pounding, her mind still reeling from the intensity of Draven’s words. She had never seen him like this—never seen him so determined, so raw. She knew one thing for certain: anyone standing in his way wouldn’t live to tell the tale.

___

Amberine blinked, her head pounding as she struggled to make sense of her surroundings. Darkness enveloped her, the only light coming from faint, glowing symbols etched into the cold stone walls. Her wrists were bound, heavy chains digging into her skin, enchanted with a magic that seemed to sap her strength, draining her mana. She tried to move, but the chains tightened, pulling at her, leaving her feeling weak, disoriented.

Her heart hammered in her chest, the fear almost suffocating. She closed her eyes, the echo of that chilling voice—"I found you"—ringing in her ears, sending shivers down her spine. Amberine struggled against the bonds, panic setting in. She had to get out. She had to find Ifrit, had to find a way back to safety. But the magic of the chains seemed relentless, draining her mana, cutting off her connection to Ifrit. It was as if a part of her was missing, and it left her feeling hollow, terrified.

She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to focus. Ifrit had always told her to stay strong—to never let her fear control her. She couldn’t afford to give up now. Not after everything they had been through. She closed her eyes, trying to channel her mana, but the chains tightened again, the magic biting into her, leaving her breathless.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway, growing louder, closer. Amberine’s heart pounded harder, her eyes snapping open. The door creaked, opening slowly, and a figure stepped into the room—cloaked, dark, the hood hiding most of his features. The faint light from the glowing symbols cast eerie shadows across his face, his eyes barely visible beneath the darkness of his hood.

"You thought you could hide from us, little mage?" the figure taunted, his voice low, dripping with malice. "The archbishop has plans for you."

Amberine glared at him, her body trembling, her heart racing with a mix of fear and anger. She didn’t understand—why her? What did they want? She struggled again, trying to pull her wrists free, but the chains only tightened, their magic draining what little strength she had left.

The cloaked figure chuckled, stepping closer, his smile sinister. "You have something we need. A power that your father tried to hide from us—but he failed. Just like you will."

Amberine’s eyes widened, confusion mixing with fear. Her father—what power? What was he talking about?

"What are you talking about?" she demanded, her voice trembling, filled with defiance. "What power?"

The figure tilted his head, his smile widening beneath the hood, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he turned away, his cloak billowing as he walked toward the door. "You’ll find out soon enough," he said, his voice fading as he left the chamber, leaving Amberine alone in the dark.

She felt her body sag, exhaustion washing over her. She was scared—more scared than she had ever been. She had no idea what they wanted, no idea how to escape. The chains were relentless, the room was cold, and the silence that followed was oppressive.

But she refused to give in to fear. Ifrit’s voice echoed in her mind, reminding her to be strong. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, focusing on the flicker of warmth that still lingered deep inside her. She wouldn’t let them break her—she couldn’t.

The door creaked open again, and Amberine’s eyes snapped open. Her heart skipped a beat as she saw a new figure standing in the doorway. This one was smaller, grotesque, his features twisted, almost inhuman. His eyes glowed faintly, and he smiled, revealing rows of sharp, uneven teeth.

"Who... are you?" Amberine whispered, her voice barely audible, her heart pounding as fear and confusion swirled within her.

The small, grotesque man stepped closer, his smile widening.

"Me? Oh, I’m just here to make sure you stay... comfortable." He laughed, the sound chilling, echoing off the stone walls.