Meanwhile, with a fluid movement that defied gravity, her body a streak of deadly elegance amidst the chaos.
Each step was deliberate, every gesture charged with a menacing promise.
With a dancer's grace, Lilith struck, each movement a deadly note in her silent symphony of death.
The intoxicating blend of beauty and brutality that was her dance left observers spellbound—if they could keep up.
While Daseos's side of the battle was flashy, there was an eerie silence to Lilith's battle.
The first unfortunate soul barely had a moment to register the threat.
As Lilith's approach intensified, a sinister gleam flashed in her eyes— a hint of sadistic pleasure beneath her cherubic face.
He became her canvas, her fingers tracing lethal strokes upon him.
They penetrated key pressure points, severing tendons and rendering him incapacitated.
A wicked grin blossomed on her face as he fell, a puppet severed from its strings, collapsing in eerie silence.
Her next victim was unable to even draw breath to shout as her hand snaked out, swift and unforgiving.
With an almost unsettling delight, her claws sank into the tender hollow of his throat, squeezing and twisting, his windpipe crushed under her ruthless touch.
Lilith's dance didn't pause; it was relentless, a flowing river of violence that carried her to her final target.
As she moved, a flicker of satisfaction sparked in her — the dance was her canvas, the blood her paint
Before she could even contemplate escape, Lilith was upon her, a shadowy waltz of death that left no room for hesitation.
In a blur, Lilith unleashed a flurry of strikes; each one a painter's brush stroke, crafting a grotesque masterpiece with every splash of red that followed.
She targeted the nerves with an understanding deeper than medical, an intimacy with death that allowed her to silence screams before they could form, to halt breath before it could be released.
As her claws finally withdrew, the female student stood for a breath of a moment longer, a statue carved from terror and agony before her body recognized its end and crumpled silently to the ground, joining the others in lifeless repose.
As the arena drowned in the explosive roars of Daseos's encounters, a lone figure stood somewhat detached, his eyes peeled not on the boisterous young man but on the deadly waltz evolving in a quieter corner of the battleground.
While Daseos had successfully subdued his three opponents, those who stood in Lilith's way were all—Dead.
Fizsure, a man whose eyes had seen battles of many calibers, found himself gripped by an unyielding fascination as Lilith seamlessly maneuvered through her opponents, a silent symphony of death playing out under her delicate yet sinister hands.
Inside the experienced villain, a series of appreciative yet ruthless thoughts began to unfold, a quiet monologue narrated with a tone of someone witnessing artistry of the highest caliber.
'Incredible...'
Fizsure silently mused, his gaze piercing, analyzing every flick of her wrist, every extension of her razor-sharp claws.
'Each swipe, each stab, it holds a terrifying precision that speaks of a method only achievable through relentless, meticulous training...'
A flicker of surprise caught him, soon overtaken by a surging tide of admiration.
Fizzure was no stranger to the world of cruelty, yet the refined, almost artistic manner of Lilith's technique held an elegance that was rare even in Antagonia's blood-soaked standards.
Each swipe, each pirouette that Lilith executed had an artistry that few could appreciate, but he could.
To the untrained eye, her movements might have seemed random, even chaotic.
But there was method in that madness, a strategic pattern that he, as a T2 Villain, could discern.
His eyes narrowed, trying to place the familiar cadence in her techniques.
'Where did she learn such a skill? This isn't the hack-and-slash of a common thug. This is the refined artistry of an elite assassin.'
'Where did she come from?'
'This level of skill speaks of a strict, unforgiving training regime, one dictated by a master of the craft. Every touch is an orchestrated act of violence, a harmony of death composed with meticulous precision and ruthless efficiency...'
'Vile or Abyss Ascendancy Royalty? Or perhaps one of those elusive shadow clans?'
Fizsure's mind raced, trying to piece together her origins.
'She's been trained, and trained rigorously. But by whom? Who honed this young flower into such a potent weapon?'
"I SAID NO DEATHS!!!"
The stadium resonated with Principal Stillwater's furious roar, abruptly pulling Fizsure from his maze of thoughts.
Stillwater's heart pounded fiercely in his chest, a rhythmic harbinger of the tempest that surged within him.
'Damned kids can't even follow simple instructions!'
He raged inwardly, fists clenched till his knuckles whitened. 'It was a simple drill, a mere display of skill and look what it has turned into—a bloodbath.'
The pulsing vein on his forehead felt ready to burst as his gaze darted between Lilith and Daseos, the duo who were responsible for this chaotic turn of events.
His mind raced, foreseeing the repercussions that would unfailingly follow this disastrous exhibition.
'A pointless massacre, that's what this is,'
He thought, bitterness lining every word in his inner thoughts.
'Those three had potential, high PhysRats, they were future assets, damn it!'
It was not the loss of life that angered him, but the loss of valuable assets, potential successful candidates for the Villain Ascendancy.
His last lifelines against the Ministry of Education's manhunt.
Lilith and Daseos locked eyes amidst the chaos.
Their smiles met, a secret language in the curl of lips and the flash of determined eyes, a silent agreement in the midst of chaos.
Ignoring the enraged Principal, Daseos raised a brow, amusement evident in his eyes.
"We had no intention of participating in the first place, you let us get dragged up here and you really expected a playfight? Don't be such a human…"
His mocking tone sliced through the thick tension in the air.
Daseos mocked as he paced toward Rex, who by now, was scared shitless.
Principal Stillwater's face contorted into a canvas of rage, but there really was nothing he could say, as a Principal, encouraging mercy was taboo.