The Villain Professor's Second Chance-Chapter 445: The Library of Scriptures

Amberine’s breath caught in her throat, her body tensing as she heard the voice. That voice—the chilling whisper that seemed to echo from everywhere and nowhere all at once—the one that had haunted her nightmares since she’d been taken.

"I found you," it said, low and mocking. Panic rushed through her, her heart pounding in her ears. She couldn’t see him yet, but she knew he was close, his presence pressing down on her like a suffocating weight.

Ifrit scurried onto her shoulder, his small salamander-like body trembling as his faint glow flickered, lighting up the narrow stone corridor in dim orange hues. "We need to move, now!" his voice was a whisper but laced with urgency. Amberine needed no encouragement—fear had already propelled her into motion. Her legs pushed her forward, her muscles screaming from exhaustion, but she couldn’t stop, not now. The footsteps of the cloaked man were growing louder, echoing through the stone corridor. She didn’t need to turn around to know that he was getting closer, his whispered words drifting towards her like a cold wind.

She made a sharp turn, barely keeping her balance, her fingers brushing the rough stone wall for support. Ifrit clung to her shoulder, his tiny claws digging into her robes to keep himself steady. "Left, Amberine! Left again!" he urged, his voice cracking slightly, filled with the same fear that gripped her chest.

Amberine darted down another passage, her breath coming in short, frantic gasps, her eyes darting around for anything—anywhere they could hide, some way to lose him. But the stone corridors seemed endless, twisting and turning with no end in sight. The echoes of his footsteps still chased them, relentless, the words of his chant seeping into her bones, chilling her to her core. She couldn’t understand the words, but the power behind them was undeniable, dark and hungry.

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Ifrit glanced behind them, his small body trembling. He knew Amberine was running on empty. He could feel her mana flickering, like a candle about to go out. His flames burned low as well, his strength waning. He had to do something. Anything.

"Amberine, keep going," he whispered, his voice trembling but filled with a desperate determination.

She didn’t have time to question him. She kept running, her vision blurring with exhaustion, her legs feeling like lead. Behind her, she heard Ifrit take a deep breath, felt the sudden heat that flared from him. She risked a glance over her shoulder and saw the salamander’s body blaze with an intense, fiery light, the flames roaring to life.

In an instant, the corridor behind them erupted in fire, a massive wall of flames springing up, filling the passageway with blistering heat. The fire roared, the orange and red flickering wildly, casting long, twisting shadows against the stone walls. Amberine could barely make out the cloaked figure beyond, his form obscured by the intense light and heat. He had stopped, the fire halting his pursuit, at least for the moment.

Ifrit’s small body slumped against her shoulder, his glow dimming, the fire he had conjured draining what little energy he had left.

"That should… slow him down," he panted, his voice barely a whisper. Amberine nodded, swallowing hard as she forced herself to keep moving. She couldn’t stop, not now, even though her entire body ached, every part of her begging for rest.

"You did good, Ifrit," she whispered, her voice cracking, her hand coming up to steady the exhausted spirit. She felt his warmth, faint but still there, and it gave her strength. She had to keep going, for both of them. They had to find a way out of here.

The wall of fire had given them a brief reprieve, but it wouldn’t last forever. Amberine knew that the cloaked man wouldn’t be stopped by mere flames. He was too relentless, too powerful. She could still feel his presence, the cold, oppressive weight of it pressing in on her even as she ran, like a shadow that refused to be shaken.

They took turn after turn, the passageways twisting and winding, their path uncertain. Amberine’s steps faltered more than once, her body growing weaker with every passing moment. The tattoos etched into her skin burned, the dark lines seeming to pulse with every beat of her heart, each step sending a fresh wave of pain coursing through her. She could feel her mana draining, slipping away with every breath, every movement. She was running on fumes, but she couldn’t stop, not yet.

They stumbled into a quieter corridor, darker and narrower than the rest. Amberine’s eyes scanned her surroundings, her gaze catching on an ancient wooden door at the far end of the hallway, slightly ajar. She hesitated for a moment, her instincts screaming at her to keep moving, to not waste time. But something about the door—the way it seemed almost forgotten, hidden in the shadows—drew her in.

She exchanged a glance with Ifrit, the salamander’s weary eyes meeting hers. He gave a small nod, and she took a deep breath before pushing the door open. It creaked loudly, the sound echoing through the stillness of the corridor. Amberine winced, her heart pounding as she stepped inside, Ifrit’s faint glow illuminating the room.

It was a library. Or, at least, it had once been. Shelves lined the walls, filled with dusty tomes and scrolls, the air thick with the scent of aged parchment and neglect. The room was dark, eerily quiet, the only sound their ragged breathing. Amberine moved deeper into the chamber, her fingers brushing against the spines of the old books. There was something about this place—something that made her feel like she was meant to be here.

"Look," Ifrit whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. Amberine followed his gaze, her eyes landing on an old, worn book sitting on a pedestal at the far end of the room. Its cover was marked with the same symbols that had been etched into her chains, the same dark lines that burned across her skin. The Holy Scriptures.

Amberine’s hands shook as she reached out, her fingers brushing against the cracked leather of the cover. She swallowed, her breath shallow, her heart pounding in her chest as she opened the book. The pages were yellowed, the text faded and worn, but she could make out the symbols, the same ones that had been burned into her skin.

She sank to the floor, her legs unable to support her any longer, Ifrit settling beside her, his small body resting against her arm. She flipped through the pages, her eyes scanning the text, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. The words were old, cryptic, but she forced herself to focus, her eyes narrowing as she pieced together the meaning.

"The ritual," she whispered, her voice trembling.

"They’re using me… for the ritual." Ifrit looked up at her, his eyes wide with fear and concern.

"Dormant spirits… trapped within Aetherion. They need… someone like me," Amberine’s voice wavered, her hands trembling as she turned another page. The "Daughter of Flames." It was all here—everything the Devil Coffin needed to complete their twisted plans.

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"They’re going to use me to harness the power of the spirits," she said, her voice cracking, her eyes meeting Ifrit’s.

"To… to bring something into being." Her hands clenched around the book, her breath coming in shaky gasps. Ifrit’s small claws pressed gently against her arm, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and determination.

"Amberine, we can’t let them do this," he said, his voice trembling but steady. Amberine nodded, her eyes narrowing as she closed the book, her mind racing. She had to stop this. She had to find a way out of here, had to find Draven, had to warn him—warn everyone about what the Devil Coffin was planning.

But before they could do anything, Amberine heard it—the sound of footsteps, the faint clink of metal echoing through the stone corridors. Her heart sank, her body tensing as she looked at Ifrit, her eyes wide with fear. "He’s here," she whispered, her voice barely audible. Ifrit’s glow dimmed, his small form trembling as he pressed himself against her.

"We need to hide," Ifrit whispered, his voice laced with urgency. Amberine nodded, her eyes darting around the chamber, her breath coming in short, frantic gasps. There was nowhere to go—no other door, no hidden exit. The room was a dead end. She swallowed, her heart pounding in her chest as she pressed herself against the shadows between the shelves, Ifrit nestling close against her, his flames extinguished.

The door creaked open, the sound echoing through the silent chamber. Amberine held her breath, her eyes squeezed shut, her heart pounding as she heard the soft shuffle of footsteps entering the room. The presence was suffocating, the dark energy that radiated off the cloaked figure filling the space with a palpable sense of dread. She could feel it, the cold weight of his gaze sweeping across the room, searching.

Her body tensed, every muscle screaming for her to run, to move, but she forced herself to stay still, her breath caught in her throat. She watched through the gaps between the shelves as the cloaked figure moved, his eyes scanning the rows of dusty tomes, his movements deliberate, his chant now silent but his presence more terrifying for it.

His gaze swept over her hiding place, and for a moment, Amberine thought that maybe, just maybe, he would pass them by. But then his head turned, his eyes locking onto hers, a smile spreading across his lips. "Not that easy, girl," he whispered, his voice low, mocking.

"I found you,"