I regressed and became the Sword Ice King

—BOOOOM!!!!!

A loud tremor ran through the skies.

Thunder claps echoing like an orchestra band. Its pulse waves streaked the air. Tendrils streaking out for destruction.

With a single pulse. The rain stopped.

Dark clouds cleared instantly as a palette of ambient scarlet took the skies.

Basking the world in a tinge of hollow brightness.

It spread like cancer.

Reaching across the entirety of the Academy and beyond.

Stretching its reach to the deepest parts of the Academy.

The parts unknown to many. Locked away from prying eyes.

Mana sprang like an overload of data. Raw in its form. Primal and unstable.

It crackled like static.

Casting thick hollows in the cloud of the explosion that took the skies.

Thalia glanced at it, and the only thing she could see was the blast of the explosion spreading. Reaching.

It crept down to the earth and slithered further from its source.

Taking the space offered to it and invading any that denied it entrance.

It was a vapour of death. A cloud of destruction.

A miasmic mantle stretching to swallow all beneath.

Its effects displayed exactly what it was meant to do.

Consume and Destroy.

Towards the other side of the Academy, the fight between Students and Lecturers came to an abrupt stop.

Not that there was much of a fight at this point.

The students had been offered the upper hand and they took it with glee.

Subduing the System Uprisers who rose against them.

Now, it was a matter of time to take control of the situation.

But all that came to a halt when the skies thundered.

When the raindrops ceased to fall. And the clouds split, consumed by an eternal blast of fury and Miasma.

The shockwave was god-like.

Sending an apocalyptic wave down to the earth and across the skies.

Trembling the earth with little effort. Yet making a workload of damage.

Wind compressed itself. Blowing from the blast in powerful currents, threatening to sweep the Students away.

It was strong. Powerful even.

But its tendrils of doom could not reach that far.

Back to Thalia, she could only thank the sleeping lilac-haired woman next to her for that.

Moving it on time was one thing, but calculating the explosion range was another.

The damage was evident. The skies bore the wound of it. The consequences of what could have been if they had not taken it to the skies.

'But even with that, it's impressive she could measure an accurate distance and set it off.'

She could theorise a zone. A zone where it could have been placed without expecting any consequences.

The Bar Zone.

A place in between reality and non-reality.

It acted like a pocket. A space which tethered a Territorial Space with the actual world.

The explosion would leak out from this pocket and spill most of its effects into the outside world.

While this may not sound ideal, it was a measure of controlling how much pressure and power is used in a space.

It prevents its complete destruction while giving notice to the allies of the threat they were facing.

'It's bound to attract the negative attention of the Public…' her brows furrowed. A scowl formed as the image of a figure appeared in her head. '...the king especially.'

Her chest warmed with hot blood from the name itself, before she shook her head.

Easing the pressure that came with the memories.

Her lips curled downwards. A short dissatisfied click of her tongue escaped her lips as she jumped down from the platform.

'...Better careful than sorry.'

She thought.

Looking up as she descended.

She felt a prick on her skin.

Not the kind that came with the danger from a living animal, but a world–level threat.

Her entire body system was sent into a frenzy.

Heart pumping with vigour, pushing blood and adrenaline down her body as she leaned her figure in the air.

Picking up the pace of the fall.

It was coming. Soon.

She had paid attention to the murdered sky. Keeping note of the changes that would signal it.

The real deal of the explosion.

All these effects. The thunderclaps. The raging storm. The powerful wind current threatens to sweep anyone unlucky enough to anchor themselves.

They were nothing to what was coming.

She let her thoughts reel in.

Let it settle.

Nothing much, just her head calculating the skill. The pressure. The patterns.

The signs were clear. Anyone smart enough could tell.

Patches of Miasma and something more could already be noticed.

Like stars in the cosmos. They stood out. Dark crimson patches. A puff of smoke and something darker. Scarlet.

Scattering dust like the Milky Way.

Only this one wasn't just beautiful. It was dangerous.

In a novel kind of way.

It threatened to tear what little was left of the world. Swipe the entire Space upside down if it had to.

And perhaps it would.

Because in the next second– all hell went loose.

A static explosion.

Like lightning ran through the skies.

A fluttering vibration. An impulse. Subtle, yet right there.

It could not have been ignored. Because it immediately erupted. The Academy grew still.

Thalia landed with a thud, just as the impulse ran through her body.

She felt it like a pull.

A tug. Powerful, yet calm.

Like a mother holding her beloved child firmly.

Gentle. Yet, impossible to ignore.

She stood up silently. A sigh escaped her lips as she felt her mana pool drain down.

Sucked into a black hole that was never there. Never meant to be there.

It hummed silently within her. And she felt it.

All of it.

Then in that instance. Just as the mana reflux surged through the air.

Sucking all mana with it, the World trembled.

Low. Powerful. Shuddering.

Grumbling like a hungry giant.

The basalt floor shook under her feet.

A low pressure is spreading through the entirety of the Academy.

Spreading into places locked away from even the Academy.

Reaching parts hidden from the norm.

It was natural.

Expected.

A normal phenomenon that a Territorial Space should undergo.

'After all, even this entire space is made from mana.'

A lot of it. A terrible amount of it.

One of the reasons Psychic Mages were one of the rarest out there.

Thalia let the possibility of the situation lie in her head.

The situation that could arise if this weren't taken care of on time.

She scoffed at the thought.

Buried it within her chest.

Because if she even thought of it. Then the risks would be all too high, and the taste of victory would be bitter with blood.

Thalia shook her head. Turning attention to the girls who helped in that victory.

One of the first few fights she won at the nick of her skin. Blood and sweat spilt. Flesh carved.

All for the sake of defeating Mila Jack.

They had done it though.

Together. Separately. It didn't matter.

An executive was dead. And that made all the difference.

"Well…" She muttered as she placed Sophie down on the basalt floor.

Looking ahead where she found Monica and Felicia placed on the floor. Still unconscious. She could only sigh.

Because for them, the worst of it was over.

Though others are still in the middle of their battle?

Thalia's brows furrowed at the thought.

"....Good luck, to the rest of you."

*****

Further away from the Academy.

Into the semi-spaces formed within the Territorial Space.

A fight brewed.

A victor decided.

Not by effort, but by practical ease and strength.

The Rhakar of the Northern Tribes people.

Leader of the Mercenaries that ruled Beyond the North.

Nicho Mayuri. Rhakar of the North.

His name held weight in many places and not just with his people.

Though all that were rewards earned, beyond the North.

The thought left his lips dry.

He licked them clean, a sigh escaping his lips.

"I miss home."

In the Pipelines.

Deep impressions could be seen throughout the iron pipework.

Dents. Scars. Marks. Burns.

They lingered. They stayed.

The result of a battle fought, but not a battle won.

And Nicho dwelt in it.

He stood tall. Firm. Dark.

An ominous energy was flourishing through his body.

Spreading deeply into places not meant to be strengthened. Miasma.

His Odachi lingered in the air. Held firmly in his grasp, while its slender blade sparkled with scarlet blood.

Its crescent blade was sparkling with what little light that landed on its lustrous surface.

It held weight. Just like every other part of him.

Next to him was Ruffia Jones.

A nice safe distance was kept between them while she observed.

Her attention seemed more fixated on something other than their opponents. It couldn't be helped.

It was expected.

It was the cause of the one–sided victory anyway.

In front of her, there was a gust of wind.

Powerful. Tall, yet controlled.

Very controlled.

It took shape. A form.

Like a genie out of a bottle, the wind shaped itself. Green and blue with something darker. Miasma.

It pooled out of its eyes. Hollow eyes made of air for aesthetic rather than functional purposes.

Wind couldn't see.

In its grasp, held firmly. Tightly. Like its entire being depended on it. Summoned for this single purpose, where Louis and Ciara.

Battered and bloodied.

Conscious, yes. Alive and well, in fact– subtly.

But winning? No.