Asmodeus System: Stealing My Bully's Mother

​The blizzard roared in response to the thrust of his feet. In an instant, Ethan Valen’s figure shot up, cleaving through the gray sky, leaving the ground far behind.

​Visibility in the air was severely limited. Thick mist and ice pellets flew like thousands of needles hammering his face. However, amidst the fury of the extreme weather, a pair of giant wings continued to flap in defiance of the laws of nature.

​Azhyrael.

​The wings, a manifestation of dark energy, spread out majestically. The base was as pitch-black as a starless night, grading into a fiercely blazing crimson red at the tips. Every flap left a faint, glowing trail in the air.

​Ethan’s jaw clenched. His black shirt was soaked, clinging tightly to outline muscles that tensed against the freezing temperature. His brown hair whipped wildly in the north wind. His dark brown eyes glared sharply forward, maintaining his course.

​The young man’s breath began to race. Not from a lack of stamina, but from his human lungs being forced to adapt to the air pressure at this altitude.

​"Tch, tch... careful, My Lord," Asmodeus’s hoarse voice echoed in his head, dripping with mockery. "Your wings are indeed ancient, but that physical vessel of yours is incredibly mortal. Your balance is as terrible as a pigeon drunk on cheap wine."

​Ethan ignored the taunt. He continued forcing his back muscles to synchronize with the gravitational anomaly.

​Suddenly, the wind current shifted direction. Slamming hard from the left side.

​Azhyrael wavered. Ethan’s body swayed, nearly going into a steep nosedive toward the ravine. However, his predatory instincts reacted faster. He tilted his shoulder, pivoting the angle of his wings to catch the headwind, and stabilized again in a matter of seconds.

​In the midst of his focus, Ethan glanced down. The expanse of pine forests, frozen valleys, and giant mountain ranges merely looked like the folds of a gray carpet.

​Amidst the freezing cold, Ethan’s mind drifted for a moment. The images of Elara, the Valen estate, and his three servants surfaced. This was the reason he had to stay alive. Not just for the sake of power, but so he could return.

​"You spaced out for a second, My Lord," Asmodeus whispered. "At this altitude, daydreaming is the same as kissing death."

​Ethan didn’t reply. He flapped his wings harder.

​After hours of cleaving through the sky, the silhouettes of the Zenithar Academy’s twin towers pierced through the twilight mist.

​Finding a gap in the pine forest near the academy’s main road, Ethan pulled his wings back and dove sharply through the tree canopy.

​Thud!

​His landing was far from smooth. The immense momentum forced him to bend his knees deeply, one hand slamming into the snowy ground. The gust of wind from Azhyrael’s final flap exploded, blasting snow away and snapping the surrounding branches.

​Once his balance recovered, the giant wings folded into his back and melted down into pure energy. The burning sensation in his shoulder blades slowly subsided.

​Ethan stumbled forward, leaning his back against the trunk of a giant pine tree. He slumped down, sitting on a protruding root. His breaths came in ragged gasps, exhaling white mist into the freezing air. This maiden flight had drained his focus quite deeply.

​Closing his eyes, Ethan felt the residual tremors in his back muscles. Unlike an external wound, this fatigue felt much deeper—as if his body had just been forced to adapt to entirely new limbs.

​"Not bad for a baby just learning to crawl," Asmodeus commented again. "At least you didn’t break your neck crashing into a rock."

​Ethan ignored him. Once his heart rate stabilized, he stood up, brushed the remaining snow off his pants and shirt, then walked slowly toward the main road.

​Twilight had completely died by the time Ethan stepped out of the forest’s edge.

​Ethan walked through the gates alone. No luxurious carriage. No guards. He looked almost like a beggar with his soaked shirt and messy hair.

​The footsteps of several students in the courtyard halted. Their eyes widened as they stared at the figure who had just emerged from the darkness of the forest.

​One noble student carrying a stack of books nearly dropped his load. He hurriedly bowed his head, avoiding Ethan’s gaze.

​Whispers instantly spread like wildfire. The Mad Hound had returned. Alone, looking as disheveled as if he had just crawled out of a battlefield, yet his murderous aura felt even denser than before.

​Ethan didn’t care about their stares. His footsteps maintained a constant pace, heading straight for the entrance of the Main Tower.

​Warm air immediately greeted him in the academy’s main corridor. The atmosphere was quite bustling with students just returning from the laboratories.

​As he turned a corner near a large window, Ethan crossed paths with Ciel. The gray-haired young man was hugging a stack of magic parchment scrolls. His steps halted instantly.

​"E-Ethan?" Ciel greeted awkwardly, though his eyes radiated relief. "You’re back. Rumors said you took a long leave of absence... T-thank goodness you’re safe. How was your trip?"

​Ethan paused for a moment. "Smooth."

​Short, flat, devoid of hostility.

​Ciel nodded slowly. He looked like he wanted to ask about the state of Ethan’s soaked shirt, but he couldn’t muster enough courage.

​Before Ciel could open his mouth again, Ethan had already resumed walking.

​"Head back to your dorm, Ciel," Ethan advised quietly without looking back. "The wind outside is getting colder tonight."

​Ciel stood frozen, staring at the retreating broad back. "Y-yeah... you too, Ethan."

​As Ethan’s figure disappeared at the end of the corridor, Ciel muttered softly, almost inaudibly.

​"He’s changed... he’s gotten even colder."

​Click.

​Ethan opened the door to his VIP Room in the North Tower. The room was spotlessly clean, a sign that the academy servants cleaned it routinely.

​He had barely taken a step toward the wardrobe to change out of his wet clothes when his hearing caught a familiar mana fluctuation behind the door.

​Knock. Knock.

​"Come in," Ethan commanded.

​The door opened. Isolde stepped inside. The Vice Headmaster of Zenithar Academy looked elegant in a flowing navy-blue dress. Her platinum blonde hair was pinned up neatly, but her face was slightly paler than usual.

​Isolde’s ice-blue eyes locked onto Ethan’s figure. Beneath her mask of composure, a burning longing resided in her pupils.

​Isolde closed the door, stepping closer without making a sound. Her slender fingers reached out, touching the collar of Ethan’s soaked black shirt. She straightened it slowly, letting her fingertips linger against the young man’s chest.

​"You’re soaking wet," Isolde whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "Let me help you—"

​BAM!

​The bedroom door was pushed open roughly. Kaelia von Ashford stormed in like a hurricane. Her fiery red hair tied in a ponytail swayed aggressively. Her golden-yellow eyes narrowed, radiating an explosive mix of longing and anger.

​"Hah! Just as I suspected!" Kaelia scolded, slamming the door shut. She marched up to Ethan, completely ignoring Isolde’s existence there. "You didn’t send a single word! I had to find out you were back from the reports of the Student Council lackeys instead of from your own mouth!"

​Kaelia grabbed Ethan’s right hand, squeezing it tightly. A selfish demand that failed to hide the immense relief swelling in her chest.

​Surrounded by the Queen and the Flame Queen, Ethan’s expression remained as flat as the surface of a frozen lake.

​"Let academy business wait," Kaelia lowered her voice, gently tugging Ethan’s arm toward the bed. "You just got back. Rest here tonight..."

​Calmly, Ethan shook Kaelia’s hand off.

​"I can’t stay yet," Ethan stated with absolute finality. "Cornelius is waiting for my report."

​Kaelia’s face stiffened. Her lips pouted in annoyance. Meanwhile, Isolde, who was still standing near them, slowly pulled her hand back. The girl’s ice-blue eyes dimmed as she swallowed her disappointment.

​Ethan ignored both of their expressions. He walked over to the wardrobe, grabbed a clean shirt, and immediately stripped off his wet clothes right then and there.

​The moment the shirt dropped to the floor, both Isolde’s and Kaelia’s breaths hitched in unison.

​Upon the young man’s athletic back and shoulders, fresh, gaping red claw marks and gashes were imprinted. Silent witnesses to the brutal battles out there. Proof that while they sat safely inside the academy, this young man had continued to put his life on the line.

​The words of protest in Kaelia’s throat instantly evaporated.

​After throwing on his clean shirt, Ethan walked right past the two of them.

​"Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone," Ethan ordered coldly.

​Kaelia looked away reluctantly. Isolde merely lowered her head in silence, letting the bedroom door shut, leaving the two of them alone in the King’s absolute rejection.

​Inside the room, which had fallen silent once again, Kaelia clenched her fists. The wounds on Ethan’s body still lingered in her mind’s eye. There was something she wanted to say, but her pride was too strong.

​Isolde smoothed out her dress with a slow motion, then glanced at Kaelia.

​"He has changed. And we can only follow his lead," Isolde whispered.

​Kaelia didn’t reply. She turned on her heel and walked out, leaving Isolde alone in the room.

​The staff-exclusive hallway at the end of the tower was extraordinarily silent, perfectly isolated from the student dormitories. Only the tapping of Ethan’s boots echoed, bouncing off the marble floor. Outside the giant stained-glass window, the evening snow began to fall, blanketing the courtyard.

​Along the hallway, Ethan felt the thrum of his Sin Mana beginning to adjust. His body was still warm from the residual heat of his flight, but his mind had turned as cold as the snow outside.

​Ethan’s steps halted in front of an intricately carved wooden door. Two small candles on its left and right burned dimly, casting Ethan’s shadow against the stone wall.

​His knuckles knocked on the wooden door twice.

​Knock. Knock.

​The Demon King had returned, ready to face the old wolf waiting for him behind the door.

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