The Pursuit Of Catalyst: A Dive Into Another Verse

SHHK.

The glint of steel caught the lanternlight.

Sylves's dagger slid cleanly into Elas's stomach.

The prince staggered backward, eyes wide with disbelief.

"W-why…?" he whispered, blood staining his royal tunic.

Sylves's violet eyes burned with cold suspicion.

"…Who are you?"

Ashia froze mid-step. Serena gasped and reached toward Elas, but he didn't fall — he twisted.

Elas's face warped — his mouth stretched unnaturally wide, and his eyes turned pitch black. His skin rippled like melting wax.

Serena screamed — but her voice distorted as her own face cracked open into black sludge, limbs folding backward.

Ashia's body jerked — her eyes rolled back, and she, too, fell apart like ink spilled across the floor.

The three collapsed and merged, tendrils of black mass writhing and wrapping around one another until they formed a monstrous, towering entity — one that barely resembled anything human.

It loomed over Sylves, darkness radiating from it like heat from a furnace.

Then, it spoke, with a voice that sounded like a thousand whispers and screams layered into one:

"WELL DONE, SYLVES ELLESMERE… THE CATALYST SOVEREIGN… YOU'VE PASSED THE TEST."

The room seemed to darken further, walls bending inward.

Sylves stood his ground, breathing steady.

"What… are you?"

The shadow grinned — a mouth where none should exist.

"I AM ONE OF NINE…" it hissed. "ONE OF WHAT YOUR WORLD CALLS THE CATALYSTS OF DESPAIR."

Sylves's fingers tightened around his dagger, though he knew it would be useless here.

The monstrous form before Sylves twisted and writhed, a churning storm of darkness and rage. The merged illusion of Elas, Serena, and Ashia had become a towering horror — black tendrils pulsing, a hollow void in place of a face, and voices whispering from within like the murmurs of the dead.

"You shine so bright, little Sovereign… But all light calls to shadow. And I… I am one of the Nine Despair Catalysts."

The shadow lunged.

Sylves barely reacted in time — a thick, jagged limb came crashing down, and he rolled aside, the stone floor where he'd stood shattered like glass under the impact.

He leapt to his feet and hurled a burst of wind magic — the gale tore across the creature's side, but the shadows absorbed it with a hollow hiss.

Another strike — this time faster. A whip-like appendage cracked through the air and wrapped around Sylves's leg, yanking him off his feet. He slammed into the wall, pain blossoming across his back.

"Your instincts are good… but not enough," the Catalyst sneered, its voice warping the air.

Sylves coughed, his vision blurring — but the pain jolted his memory.

That feeling…

He had faced death before. Once, as a sixteen-year-old boy saving a child. And once again, in the arms of his mother, reborn into a noble world.

And once more — the same force that had awakened when an intruder tried to kill his mother.

He closed his eyes.

That light… that warmth…

A pulse of divine energy surged through him.

His body glowed faintly — and with a flash of white-gold light, a weapon materialized in his hand.

The Holy Lance.

The same ethereal spear that had once pierced the throat of a would-be assassin.

He stood tall now, the light from the lance pushing back the darkness around him.

The Catalyst of Despair paused, almost curious. "Oh...? You brought that with you... clever little Sovereign."

Sylves didn't wait.

He surged forward, his speed bolstered by wind magic, his lance arcing with radiant light. The creature swung a claw to intercept — but Sylves twisted midair and drove the weapon into its shoulder.

CRACK—!!

The lance burst with divine force on impact. The shadow howled as light exploded from the wound, a small part of its massive arm dissolving into nothingness.

"That HURT!!" it bellowed. The room trembled, shadows spilling like ink across the floor. A claw lashed out, striking Sylves square in the ribs and sending him crashing into a bookshelf.

Pain blinded him. He could barely move.

The lance clattered to the ground, dimming.

The creature loomed over him, arms ready to strike the final blow.

Then—

A burst of light tore through the room.

"⸺LUX VOLTAR!!"

"⸺IGNIA PURIFICA!!"

"⸺SACRUM REJECTUS!!"

Three voices chanted in unison, each word imbued with divine force.

A massive wave of golden light crashed through the walls like a tide.

The Catalyst screamed.

Sylves, half-conscious, looked up through blurred vision.

At the doorway stood Headmaster Gardinant Blackwood, robes flaring, magic burning like a sun around him. Beside him were Professor Alya Stephan, her palms aglow with dual light and void spells, and Professor Magreth, magic circles rotating around him like shields.

All three advanced, chanting in sync — their combined aura forming a dome of holy magic.

"You dare show your form inside my Academy?" growled Headmaster Gardinant, eyes glowing white. "Return to the abyss that bore you!"

The Catalyst flailed as the holy barrier closed in. Its body seared and peeled back in sizzling waves.

"You cannot stop what's coming!!" it shrieked. "This world is already bleeding… I am but the first drop of ink—!!"

With a final surge of light, the combined spell struck.

BOOOOOM—!!

The entire room exploded in a burst of white.

When the dust cleared, the creature was gone — only scorch marks and torn shadows remained.

Sylves lay slumped against the wall, battered and bloodied, his lance returned to light.

Professor Alya rushed to his side. "He's alive. But he fought alone for too long."

Ashia, Serena, and Elas — the real ones — stood just outside the now-ruined hallway, pale and trembling after being retrieved from their rooms mid-chaos.

The headmaster knelt beside Sylves, his tone grave. "You fought bravely, boy. And now… the war has begun in truth."

Sylves looked up, barely whispering:

"Then I'll be ready."

The explosion had barely settled when thunderous footsteps echoed down the corridor.

Students poured out of their rooms, drawn by the light and force that had erupted from Room 142. The air was thick with the scent of charred magic and scorched stone. Faint traces of divine runes shimmered in the cracks that spiderwebbed across the hallway floor.

Gasps broke out as students arrived outside the shattered doorway.

"What in the gods' name happened here?!"

"Is this… Room 142? Isn't that the room of Claude—?"

"No! They say Sylves Ellesmere was in there!"

The news spread like wildfire.

"Sylves? The Duke's heir? He was attacked?!"

"Was it a duel gone wrong?"

"Don't be stupid! That was not a duel. That was something else."

They crowded the hallway, a sea of curious, anxious faces. Some pressed against the walls to get a look inside, but a shimmering barrier pulsed across the threshold — a holy ward erected by the professors to keep onlookers out.

Inside, Professor Alya stood near the door, her hands glowing with faint white light, monitoring the weakened barrier. Headmaster Gardinant Blackwood turned to face the murmuring crowd.

"Enough!" he bellowed, voice carrying the weight of command. "What occurred here tonight is under the jurisdiction of the Academy's highest order. You will all be briefed in the morning. Until then — return to your dorms. That is a direct order."

Students hesitated.

But the look in the Headmaster's eyes was not one to challenge.

As they dispersed — reluctantly, nervously — whispers trailed in their wake.

"Room 142… That's where it happened…"

"If he was attacked inside the Academy walls… we're not safe."

And long after the hallway emptied, a single truth remained.

The Academy had been breached.

And the Catalyst Sovereign had survived his first true encounter.

Morning — North Grounds, Imperial Asphalia Academy

The northern grounds of the Academy were abuzz with tension, the usual morning tranquility replaced by hushed voices and stiff expressions. Nearly a hundred students from each academic year stood in orderly rows beneath the pale morning sun, their gazes fixed on the stage erected at the forefront.

Moments later, Headmaster Gardinant Blackwood ascended the platform, his presence immediately silencing the murmurs. Beside him stood Professor Castra Klint, her arms folded behind her back, her expression unreadable.

Blackwood's deep, commanding voice echoed across the field.

"Students of the Imperial Asphalia Academy," he began, "as many of you are already aware, a significant incident took place last night."

The crowd stilled further. Some held their breath.

"There was an attack—an infiltration—by a Catalyst of Despair. The intrusion occurred in Room 142 of the first-year dormitory."

Gasps rippled through the students, followed by frantic murmuring.

"The threat, I assure you, has been driven away. The professors and I acted swiftly to repel the enemy, and the Academy's magical barriers have since been fully restored. You are safe."

A wave of tentative relief passed through the younger students.

"However," the Headmaster continued, his voice grave, "I must inform you that the events of last night were not coincidental. The attack was calculated. And one of our students, Mr. Sylves Ellesmere, knowingly stepped into the jaws of that trap."

A collective murmur surged as all eyes turned toward the silver-haired heir of House Ellesmere.

"Yes," Blackwood confirmed, "he acted against sound judgment—some may say recklessly—but did so in defense of his friends. He suffered only minor injuries, thanks to the Academy's swift response and healing protocols."

Sylves stood still among his peers, Ashia close at his side, her expression calm but alert.

"And now," Blackwood said slowly, "we come to a matter even more troubling."

He paused, letting the anticipation coil like a spring.

"We have discovered that all traces of Calista Vermielle, fourth-year student, have vanished—completely. No record, no magical signature, no belongings. It is our conclusion that Calista was either an ally of the Despair Catalyst, or one of them herself."

Outcry burst from the crowd.

"What?!"

"She was in our dueling class!"

"She fought like one of us!"

Blackwood raised a firm hand and the students fell into uneasy silence once more.

"There's more," he said. "Room 142, where the attack occurred, was believed to be occupied by Claude Meredin, the son of Count Meredin of the Western Borderlands. Several of you may have seen or spoken with him."

A few students nodded hesitantly, confused.

"But this morning," the Headmaster continued, "when we reached out to the Meredin estate, we learned something most disturbing—Claude Meredin has not yet departed from their home. He never arrived at the Academy."

The effect was instantaneous—pure shock radiating from the assembly. Some students turned to each other in disbelief; others stared blankly, too stunned to react.

"Who was he, then…?"

"That's impossible…"

"It was one of them... A shapeshifter? A Despair Catalyst in disguise?"

Professor Castra stepped forward. Her voice rang with iron authority. "The enemy can wear any face. Let this serve as a lesson—do not be deceived by appearances, no matter how familiar. Trust the security wards, and report any odd behavior without hesitation."

The Headmaster concluded. "You are safe. The threat has passed. But vigilance is now your greatest shield."

His eyes passed over the crowd once more before he stepped back.

"You are dismissed to your classes."

As the crowd began to disperse, whispers followed Sylves's every step.

Some called him reckless. Others called him brave.

But all now understood one thing clearly:

The war with the Despair Catalysts had already begun.

Imperial Asphalia Academy — Staff Headquarters, Council Room

The golden sun had barely reached its midday peak when four students were summoned to the Council Room of the Staff Headquarters. The air inside was heavy, not with hostility, but with the weight of scrutiny. The long obsidian table gleamed under the enchanted ceiling lamps, and seated around it were the Academy's most senior faculty members—Headmaster Gardinant Blackwood, Professor Alya Stephan, Professor Magreth, Professor William Whites, and the imposing Professor Castra Klint.

Sylves Ellesmere walked at the front, calm and composed despite the residual bruising on his knuckles. Ashia, Elas, and Serena followed close behind. The four bowed in unison, a formal gesture of respect toward the Council.

"Please be seated," said Headmaster Blackwood, his gravelly voice echoing slightly within the high-ceilinged chamber. "We would like a full and detailed account of the incident."

Sylves nodded. "Of course, Headmaster."

And so, the truth began to unfold.

Sylves explained how Calista Vermielle, a seemingly warm and curious upper-year student, had grown suspiciously close in recent weeks. He recounted her attempts to isolate him, her persistent visits, and how her behavior raised alarms for both Prince Elas and Serena. When Sylves refused her late-night request to meet privately in his room, her true intentions had begun to unravel.

Elas continued from there. "We suspected she was manipulating her way into Sylves's trust. That's why Serena and I went to warn him that night. Just as we did, someone knocked at the door—it was Claude Meredin… or so we thought."

Ashia, speaking softly but with clarity, said, "He claimed he needed Sylves's help. That he wanted to show him something important, something he couldn't tell anyone else about."

Serena added, "But after he left, Sylves realized something chilling—how did Claude know which room was Sylves's? That information had only been shared among the four of us and the academy's staff."

The professors exchanged glances, tension tightening the room.

Sylves took a breath before continuing. "Knowing it was a trap, I still went… not because I trusted him, but because I needed to confront whatever waited inside that room. If we didn't face it, someone else might have."

Professor Magreth's brows furrowed as he leaned forward. "And what exactly did you encounter?"

Sylves's tone darkened. "When I entered Room 142… everything was silent. But when I turned, Claude was there—or what I believed was him. I was about to ask him to leave when he stepped forward and said something was wrong. I felt it in my core—that wasn't the real Claude."

Professor Castra clenched her jaw. "A mimic…"

Sylves nodded grimly. "When I challenged him, the illusions broke. He tried to scare me... but then it vanished when I broke the crystal. Suddenly Elas, Ashia and Serena entered the room and Elas closed his distance with me... I had told them not to leave until it's safe so I knew they are fake... I satbbed the fake Elas.Ashia, Sefena, and the Elas, all fake, merged into a black entity—a creature of living shadow. It called itself a Catalyst of Despair. One of the Nine."

Gasps escaped from Professor Alya and William Whites.

Sylves added, "It tried to overwhelm me emotionally, using his fears and memories… but he fought back. I summoned the same Holy Lance I once used during the assassination attempt at my mother... in my home."

Professor Alya murmured, "He manifested a Divine Armament again…"

Sylves looked at his right palm. "The lance wounded the creature—barely. But it bought us enough time. That's when the professors arrived."

The Headmaster nodded. "We arrived moments before the Catalyst could consume the room. Using holy incantations, we forced it to retreat—though not without resistance."

Serena asked, "Do you believe it's gone for good?"

Blackwood shook his head slowly. "No. Despair Catalysts don't vanish. They regroup. They adapt. They remember their enemies."

Castra spoke then, her voice firm. "You four handled yourselves beyond your years. But make no mistake—this was no random strike. This was targeted."

Sylves narrowed his eyes. "Then I'll be ready. If they come again, I'll face them."

Blackwood offered a rare, almost imperceptible smile. "You already did. And you lived. That, Mr. Ellesmere, is a feat few can claim against a Catalyst of Despair."

He rose from his seat. "This meeting is concluded for now. Remain vigilant. We'll be doubling protective measures, warding the dormitories, and reassessing student security."

As the four stood and bowed again, the weight of what had happened—and what was yet to come—settled deeper into their hearts.

War had begun.

And the Academy was now its first battlefield.

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