READERS DISCRETION IS ADVISED - This Chapter contains some uncomfortable topics even though they have been toned down from the original/uncensored version.
Kyle delicately watered the vibrant Rainbow Rose, its petals sparkling under the artificial moonlight. Sitting on a cold stone bench, he gazed at the ethereal beauty of the garden surrounding him. The distant strains of music from the ballroom barely reached his ears, drowned out by a sudden, piercing cry that shattered the tranquility.
His heart pounding with a mix of curiosity and dread, Kyle rose from his seat, drawn towards the source of the fearful wail. With determined steps, he made his way to the closed library, only to realize that the cries did not originate from within its walls. Frowning, he strained his ears and pinpointed the sound to the nearby lavatories.
"What is this?" Kyle muttered to himself, his gut twisting with unease. As he neared the restrooms, the sounds of a struggle intensified, sending a chill down his spine. Pushing the door, he found it blocked, prompting him to hurriedly retrieve a gardener's pliers from the nearby shed.
With a swift motion, Kyle forced the door open, revealing a scene that rooted him to the spot, his breath caught in his throat. "Habondia!" he gasped, horror etched on his face as he took in the sight before him.
Habondia lay crumpled on the floor, her once elegant gown torn and stained, her features marred by bruises and blood. Her broken nose and swollen eye bore testament to the violence inflicted upon her, and her trembling form spoke of unspeakable terror. Curled into a protective ball, she clutched the tattered remnants of her dress, her ragged sobs filling the small room.
As Kyle entered the scene, the sight of Mark standing motionless, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. "Mark, what have you done?" Kyle's heart clenched in his chest as he called out to Mark.
Mark's sudden violent reaction startled Kyle, his body tensing as he witnessed the self-destructive frenzy unfolding before him. The sound of Mark's fists connecting with his own face reverberated in the small space, each blow a painful echo. Kyle's eyes widened in horror as Mark's actions escalated, the brutality of self-inflicted harm leaving him paralyzed with shock.
Despite the danger, Kyle's instinct to help kicked in, overriding his fear. As he cautiously approached, Mark's erratic behavior took a dangerous turn. The unexpected punch to Kyle's stomach knocked the air out of him, leaving him gasping for breath.
“Mark, stop!” Kyle huffed.
Mark's self-destructive tirade continued unabated, the sound of his skull striking the hard surfaces of the sink countertop sent a chill down Kyle's spine. Each impact echoed in the small lavatory. The sight of Mark's bloodied and disfigured face tore at Kyle's heart.
Gasping for air, Kyle gawked as Mark fled, leaving behind a trail of blood. With gritted teeth, Kyle steadied himself, his focus shifting back to Habondia, who struggled to compose herself.
Approaching her cautiously, Kyle extended a hand in a gesture of support, but she recoiled, her eyes wide with fear and mistrust. As she attempted to rise, her trembling limbs betrayed her, sending her crashing back to the unforgiving floor.
Desperation clawed at Kyle's chest as he knelt beside her, his heart aching at her pain and vulnerability. "Let me help you, please," he implored. Yet, Habondia's shattered gaze met his with anguish, her hands stained with tears and blood as she pushed him away.
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Struggling to her feet once more, she stood unsteadily, her body wracked with tremors as she attempted to regain her composure. Each breath came in ragged gasps.
The harsh fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting a sterile glow over the tiled floor of the school lavatory. Kyle stood frozen in the doorway as if guarding it from any intruder. Habondia's anguished cries resounded through the empty corridors.
"Habondia?" Kyle's voice wavered, the name falling from his lips like a fragile plea for connection.
"Go away!" Her words lashed out, sharp and raw with emotion, cutting like a blade. The echoes of her scream seemed to linger, a haunting melody that drew the attention of curious onlookers, their footsteps echoing in the hallway as they followed the trail of distress.
Habondia retreated into a stall, the door closing behind her. The sight of her trembling form, her legs stained with blood, stirred a deep ache of helplessness within him, a desire to shield her from further harm.
A sudden influx of girls flooded toward the restrooms, their voices a cacophony of mockery and cruelty as they circled Kyle who struggled to hold the door not wanting to let their way in.
"Oh, Bondy! Little mouse!" Their taunts melded into a cruel chorus, the affectionate nickname twisted into a weapon of humiliation. Laughter rang out, sharp and cutting, as they closed in on the lavatory’s entrance like a pack of predators scenting fear.
Jonna and Joanne reached the restrooms, their presence a shield against the groupies's onslaught. Kyle who recognized Habondia’s friends let them in before closing the lavatory’s door behind.
"Bondy... Are you okay? What happened?" Jonna's voice was gentle.
"Go away!" Habondia's voice cracked, the strain of her anguish evident in every syllable. "I hate you both!" Her words were a bitter lament.
Kyle approached Joanne and Jonna who stared at him at a loss for words.
"Habondia, we want to help you, please!" he said.
Before he could bridge the gap between them and help Habondia, a surreal spectacle unfolded. A bubble of water encircled Kyle's head. Panic seized him as he struggled against the invisible force, the sensation of weightlessness disorienting and terrifying in equal measure.
Desperation etched lines of fear on Habondia's face as she opened the stall’s door to witness the inexplicable display of power, her eyes wide with fear.
"Stop!" she screamed. Tears mingled with the blood on her cheeks.
As the tension in the room reached a fever pitch, Kyle's body levitated, suspended in mid-air by forces beyond comprehension. The world around him seemed to blur and warp.
Kyle's chest tightened as he struggled against the suffocating weight of the water enveloping him. Panic surged through his veins, his lungs burning with the desperate need for air. With each passing moment, his struggles grew weaker, his movements slowing until they ceased altogether. Limbs hanging limp, Kyle's body floated in the air, a puppet with its strings cut.
In a burst of energy, the bubble exploded, showering the tiled floor. An unexpected figure appeared in the restroom, an elderly man with a weathered face and kind eyes. He hurried to Kyle's side, cradling him in his arms before gently laying him down on the cold floor. Placing his hands on Kyle's chest, the man applied pressure until Kyle coughed and sputtered, expelling the water that had filled his lungs.
"Who’s done this?" The old man's voice was firm, commanding attention.
"Mark Wallace," Jonna's voice trembled with anger.
Turning to the trembling Habondia still huddled in the stall, the old man's gaze softened. "Habondia, did you create the bubble?"
"Yes, Professor Smed," Habondia's voice cracked with emotion as she admitted her role in the chaotic event. Tears streaked down her cheeks, her whole body trembling. “I’m so sorry, I couldn’t control it.”
“Mr. Völundr. She’s the victim here,” Kyle gasped. “Don’t blame her.”
Without hesitation, Völundr approached the stall. He removed his raincoat and draped it around Habondia's shoulders, guiding her out with a reassuring touch.
Völundr snapped his fingers and the whole group reappeared in the infirmary.
“What?” Kyle gasped. Jonna and Joanne helped him to his feet.
In the infirmary, Habondia sat on a bed trembling, her body still reeling from the events that had unfolded.
“Mrs. Du Bellay, we… you to… need,” Jonna gabbled.
“Calm down,” the woman said.
The nurse, Mauve Du Bellay, offered a comforting presence, her gentle touch and soothing demeanor were a balm to the students’ frayed nerves. Putting Habondia to sleep with an injection, Mauve's actions spoke volumes where words fell short.
“First, she needs resting,” the nurse stared at the students. “So do you.”
“We better go,” Völundr ordered, motioning Kyle, Joanne, and Jonna to step out of the infirmary.
The night passed in a blur, leaving Kyle with a gnawing sense of unease. The next morning brought no respite, only a harsh reminder of the violence and chaos that had taken hold of their once peaceful school.