The Villain Professor's Second Chance

Selric's hands trembled as he attempted to weave the final illusion, but Draven's calm, piercing gaze met his with an icy precision that froze the air between them. The pens hovered in the air, waiting for their master's command. For Draven, this was no longer a battle.

It had become an intricate puzzle, one he was about to solve before his wide-eyed students, Amberine, Elara, and Maris, who remained transfixed by the sheer mastery displayed before them.

"Illusion Magic: Shadow Waltz," Draven muttered, identifying the spell as the threads of Selric's magic twisted into form. His voice was measured, controlled. "An advanced misdirection spell. It creates phantom images of the caster, making it impossible to discern the real one. Effective, if the opponent lacks focus."

Selric's form shimmered, and suddenly there were ten of him, each one darting through the chamber with incredible speed. The phantom Selrics flickered like a mirage, weaving in and out of the room's dim light, each one a perfect copy of the original.

For a lesser mage, this spell would have been a nightmare to unravel. But Draven's eyes narrowed, and his pens moved almost lazily in response.

"An effective illusion, but flawed," Draven continued as if he were lecturing in his classroom. "This spell relies on the caster's aura to maintain each duplicate. The real one will always leave behind the faintest trace of residual mana—the tiniest disturbance in the air."

His water pen hovered, and with a smooth, sweeping gesture, he unleashed a fine mist into the chamber. The vapor spread quickly, settling over the battlefield, and as the mist thickened, one of the Selrics stood out—his movements causing minute ripples in the mist that the others did not.

"There you are," Draven said softly, his eyes locked onto the true Selric.

The psychokinesis pen surged forward with lightning speed, striking through the false Selrics as though they were paper. The real Selric's eyes widened in shock as he realized his deception had been unraveled so effortlessly. He tried to move, but the pen's arc was too swift, and it struck him squarely in the chest, sending him crashing to the ground.

"Lesson four," Draven intoned, walking toward Selric as he struggled to rise. "Illusions are only as effective as the caster's ability to misdirect. Once the pattern is recognized, it becomes predictable—therefore, useless."

Selric groaned, clutching his chest, but Draven didn't give him time to recover. With a flick of his hand, the fire pen followed, blazing through the mist and igniting the air around Selric with a controlled explosion. The professor's shriek of pain echoed through the chamber as he fell, clutching at his singed robes.

"Fool," Ciril hissed, watching as his colleague crumbled under Draven's assault. His eyes gleamed with rage and desperation. "Do you think you've won just because you dismantled a few parlor tricks?"

Draven barely glanced at Ciril. "Your crystal magic is predictable, Ciril. Like the stones you manipulate—rigid, unyielding. But even stone erodes."

The devil pen shot forward, dark energy trailing behind it like a shadow. It slammed into Ciril's hastily constructed crystal shield, the dark tendrils wrapping around the edges of the barrier and forcing it to crack under the immense pressure. The crystal splintered, fragments breaking off as the devil pen continued its relentless assault.

Ciril gritted his teeth and summoned more crystal, layers upon layers forming in front of him like a towering fortress. But the cracks continued to spread, faster than he could repair them.

"Crystal Magic: Reinforced Bulwark," Draven said, almost bored. "A defensive spell designed to harden over time, but it has one fatal flaw—its structure is too dependent on its foundation."

Draven extended his hand toward the base of Ciril's massive crystal wall. The water pen, glowing with cold light, darted forward. A surge of water crashed against the floor beneath the crystal, seeping into the tiny cracks in the stone. It was a subtle, surgical strike—barely noticeable at first—but as the water froze within the cracks, it expanded, forcing the foundation to weaken.

Ciril's eyes widened in horror as the cracks spread through the base of his barrier like wildfire. "No…"

Draven's voice remained cool as he watched the inevitable collapse. "Once the foundation is compromised, the entire structure fails."

With a deafening crack, the crystal wall crumbled into a thousand jagged shards, collapsing inward with a violent explosion of sound. Ciril staggered back, the remains of his defense disintegrating around him, leaving him exposed and vulnerable.

But Ciril wasn't finished yet. His desperation turned to fury as he summoned all his remaining power, his hands glowing with a pale, dangerous light. Sharp, deadly crystal spears materialized in the air around him, each one gleaming with lethal intent.

"This ends now, Draven!" Ciril roared, launching the crystal spears toward him in a frenzied barrage.

Draven's pens responded in perfect harmony. The psychokinesis pen shot forward, its invisible force batting aside the first wave of spears with ease. The fire pen ignited a second spear mid-flight, reducing it to molten slag before it could even reach him. The water pen intercepted the third, freezing it solid before shattering it with a single pulse of energy.

"Crystal spears," Draven said, his tone never wavering, "are fragile. They shatter under sudden force, melt under heat, and become brittle when exposed to cold. In short, Ciril, your magic is full of weaknesses."

Amberine watched, her breath caught in her throat. This was no ordinary battle. This was an execution, and Draven was the cold, unrelenting hand of justice. His control over the battlefield was absolute, his every word and movement calculated to dismantle his opponents piece by piece.

"You rely on power," Draven said, his voice carrying through the now-silent chamber as he approached the fallen Ciril. "Raw force. But magic, real magic, is about understanding the intricacies. How each thread connects, how each spell is woven together."

Ciril collapsed to one knee, gasping for breath, his crystal spears shattered and his magic all but spent. "You… You can't…"

Draven loomed over him, his pens floating in a slow, ominous orbit around his figure. "Lesson five," he said, his voice cold as ice. "Never overestimate your own strength."

The devil pen struck one final time, wrapping around Ciril's wrist with dark tendrils of energy. It pulsed, sending a wave of entropy through the professor's body, draining what little power he had left. Ciril gasped, his eyes rolling back as he crumpled to the ground, completely drained of energy.

Now only Ardan remained, and though he tried to mask it, Draven could see the fear etched across his face. His light magic flickered weakly at his fingertips, the once-bright radiance dulled by the overwhelming force Draven had displayed.

Ardan gritted his teeth, summoning the last of his magic as he prepared one final, desperate assault. "You may have defeated them," he growled, "but you won't defeat me."

He raised his hands, summoning a massive sphere of blinding light above his head. The sphere pulsed with raw energy, the sheer intensity of it shaking the room as it grew larger and larger. The air crackled with power, and Amberine, Elara, and Maris instinctively shielded their eyes from the brightness.

"Light Magic: Solar Purge," Ardan intoned, his voice trembling with the weight of the spell. "I'll burn you to ash, Draven. You can't escape this."

But Draven remained unfazed, his eyes locked onto the glowing sphere as it hovered above Ardan. His pens hovered around him, the dark energy of the devil pen swirling ominously.

"I've seen this before," Draven said quietly, his voice cutting through the brightness like a knife. "Light Magic: Solar Purge. It's powerful, yes. But it's unstable. You've overcharged it."

Ardan's eyes widened, a flicker of doubt crossing his face.

"The key to light magic," Draven continued, stepping forward, "is balance. Too much energy in one place, and the spell collapses under its own weight."

As Draven spoke, the fire pen surged forward, cutting through the air with a trail of searing heat. It struck the base of the glowing sphere, igniting the unstable energy within.

Ardan's eyes widened in horror as the sphere began to flicker, its brightness dimming as cracks spread across its surface. "No… NO!"

"You've lost control," Draven said, his voice soft but final.

The sphere of light collapsed in on itself with a deafening explosion of energy. The shockwave sent Ardan flying backward, crashing into the far wall with a sickening thud. The room was engulfed in blinding light for a moment before it faded, leaving only the faint crackle of residual energy in its wake.

Draven stood at the center of the room, untouched, his pens slowly circling around him in calm, controlled arcs.

Amberine, Elara, and Maris stared in stunned silence, the weight of what they had just witnessed settling over them like a heavy fog. Draven had not just defeated the three most powerful professors in the Magic Tower—he had dismantled them, piece by piece, as though they were nothing more than pawns in his chess board.

"Lesson done,"