Ch. 137

Ch. 137
Perris pushes himself up, wincing slightly as he puts weight on what must be a bruised wrist. When he offers his hand to help me up, I take it without hesitation, my world view shifting beneath me as surely as the ground continues to shake.
"Thank you," I manage, the words inadequate for what just happened. “You’re bleeding.”
Blood continues to trickle down his cheek, and without thinking, I reach up to wipe it away. He flinches hard and swipes a hand across his cheek, smearing the blood into obscurity. “Don’t worry about me. Worry about the giant fucking lizards that are about to get us killed.”
Another impact rocks the barrier, shattering the moment as Professor Bellamy staggers, nearly falling as he channels more power into the failing shield.
"How long are we going to stand here and hope they work things out?" Perris says, his hand closing around my wrist. "This whole place is coming down."
As if to punctuate his words, another section of ceiling crashes down outside our bubble, narrowly missing Coach as he dodges both falling debris and Walderon's renewed attack. The wound on his side pulses with malevolent energy, the corruption now visibly affecting his movements. Each step seems to cost him more effort; his massive body no longer moves with its usual grace.
"We can't leave him," I say, watching as Coach roars in defiance, pushing back against his brother despite his worsening condition.
Perris follows my gaze, his expression unreadable. "We might not have a choice."
Professor Bellamy staggers as another impact rocks the barrier, blood now flowing freely from his eyes as well as his nose and ears. The protective dome flickers like a dying lightbulb, sections going completely transparent before rematerializing with each new runic sequence his trembling hands manage to trace. He looks at me, then at Coach still battling Walderon amid the ruins, and I see a decision crystallize behind his pain-clouded eyes. Whatever he's about to do, I already know I won't like it.
"Desdemona, you’re not going to like hearing it but Perris is right," he says, his voice barely audible above the continuing destruction. "You need to leave. Now."
I shake my head, taking an instinctive step back from him, closer to the barrier's edge where I can still see Coach fighting for his life. "I'm not going anywhere. Not without Coach."
The Professor's expression hardens, the scholarly mask giving way to something more primal, more commanding. "This isn't a debate. This vault is collapsing, and those drakes will bring the entire structure down around us if they continue."
As if to punctuate his point, Coach and Walderon slam into each other again, their massive bodies creating a shockwave that dislodges another section of ceiling. Walderon's ice breath catches Coach's already wounded flank, and the black corruption there pulses violently, spreading further across his crimson scales. Coach's roar of pain hits me like a physical blow, making my chest ache with helpless empathy.
Professor Bellamy turns to Perris, who stands beside me, his normally immaculate appearance now a disaster of dust and blood. "Mr. Lanore! Get her out of here! Take the eastern corridor—it should lead to higher ground!"
Perris nods grimly, his hand closing around my upper arm with surprising strength. "Come on, Carlisle. We need to move."
I wrench my arm free, anger flaring hot and bright in my chest. "No! I'm not leaving him!" I gesture toward Coach, who staggers under another of Walderon's attacks. "Look at him—he's hurt! The corruption is spreading! He needs our help!"
"And what exactly do you propose to do?" The Professor snaps, his patience finally fracturing under the strain. Blood drips from his chin as he speaks, splattering the stone at his feet. "You're human, Desdemona—mostly human, at any rate. Some battles are simply beyond us."
"I don't care!" I shout back, tears burning hot tracks down my dust-covered face. "I can't just leave him!"
Coach's head turns at the sound of my voice, his amber eyes finding mine across the chaos of the collapsing chamber. Even at this distance, I can see the pain in them, the struggle to keep fighting despite the corruption spreading through their bodies. Another section of the ceiling crashes down, forcing him to leap aside, his movements visibly slower than before.
"I'll help him," Professor Bellamy says, his voice dropping to something gentler, more persuasive. "I promise you. But you need to be safe." His bloody hand grips my shoulder, forcing me to meet his gaze. "Do you understand what it would do to him if you were hurt? If you died here? Everything he's fighting for would be meaningless."
The words hit with the force of truth. Coach is fighting for me—has always been fighting for me, from the moment he recognized what I am to him. The mate-bond between us, still undefined and unexplored, nevertheless forms a connection that runs deeper than conscious choice. If I die here, whatever slim chance he has of survival dies with me.
"I can't just—" I begin, but Professor Bellamy cuts me off.
"You can and you will." He releases my shoulder and turns back to the failing barrier. His hands begin a new sequence of runes, different from the protective patterns he's been maintaining. These symbols glow brighter, with a sharper edge to their light. "I'm creating a path for you. When I give the signal, run. Don't look back, don't hesitate, just run."
Perris positions himself at my side, ready to pull me along if necessary. His face is set in grim determination, all trace of his usual aristocratic disdain erased by the reality of our situation.
"What about you?" I ask the Professor, already knowing the answer.
"I’ve been around a while, Desdemona," he says simply, not looking away from his work. "I’ll be fine."
The runes flowing from his fingers accelerate, spiraling outward to form a tunnel-like extension to our protective bubble. It stretches toward the eastern passage Professor Bellamy mentioned, creating a shielded path through the continuing destruction.
"Ready?" he asks, glancing at Perris, who nods once, sharply.
"Wait!" I cry, grabbing the Professor’s sleeve. "What about the Cartographer's Collection? The way home? We can't just—"
"Home will have to wait," he cuts me off, his voice softening slightly. "Survival comes first."
With a final, complex gesture, Professor Bellamy completes whatever spell he's been weaving. The runes surrounding his hands flare with blinding intensity, then shoot outward toward the battling drakes. The light strikes Walderon directly in the eyes, causing the massive blue drake to rear back, roaring in pain and disorientation.
Professor Bellamy shouts, and the protective tunnel solidifies, creating a clear path to the eastern corridor. "Now!"