The air grew thick. The murmurs ceased. William could take no more.
The plate in front of him trembled slightly on the table. Knuckles white, eyes fixed on the noble who had just struck a commoner with a tray.
Angel's voice, almost distant:
"Warning: elevated cortical activity. Response threshold exceeded."
"Eternal Mode," William whispered, and the world slowed.
Time fragmented like glass. Each foreign breath seemed an eternity. Each blink, an opportunity. He rose, legs flexed like a spring, and in a second he was on the first noble.
A fist to the jaw. Another to the stomach. A kick to the chest that sent him against the wall.
The others reacted late.
"Calculating enemy trajectories."
William lunged at the next. He narrowly dodged an improvised stab with a silver fork. He broke the attacker's nose with his elbow. He spun. A third came with a chair.
CRACK!
The wood exploded against his shoulder. Pain tore through him like fire, but he kept going. The attacking boy became the next target. A knee to the side, a hand to the neck, and he slammed him against the table.
"Structural damage detected in right scapula."
It did not matter. He kept going.
Another noble screamed, raising a kitchen knife. William narrowly dodged, but not entirely. The blade grazed his cheek and left a red line. Another hit him in the back with a metal tray.
Sweat and blood mixed on his forehead. He could barely see with one eye.
"Warning: muscular system exceeding operational capacity. Dangerous cumulative damage."
He did not stop. He could not. Every blow was a response to hatred, a response to oblivion, to contempt, to humiliation. To the death of the Roseharts.
After ten had fallen, panting and staggering, an older, brawnier noble charged with a chair over his head.
William did not manage to dodge it. The blow shattered his left shoulder. Something crunched.
"Fracture detected in left humerus!"
The pain stole his breath. Then came another blow, direct to the face. He felt his nose break. And another to the ribs. A kick to the legs threw him to the ground.
But even there, he kept fighting.
With broken arms, he used his legs. He rolled onto his back and kicked with all his might, knocking down two more. Then he pushed himself up with a single good arm, staggering.
He was bleeding. He could not see clearly. Every movement was an explosion of pain.
A last noble, tall, blond haired, and arrogant eyed, grabbed him by the neck and lifted him into the air.
"Is that all?" he spat with disdain. "Beg. Beg and maybe I won't leave you a vegetable."
William gasped. His body trembled. And then he smiled, his lips covered in blood.
"Rot..."
And he spat blood directly into the noble's eye.
The boy instinctively let him go, blinded by the sting. In that instant, William fell to the ground and spun with an upward kick that slammed into his stomach. The noble doubled over, groaning.
William lunged at him, and with a scream of fury and desperation, he bit his neck. Hard. Like an animal.
"DANGER: severe damage detected! Cease immediate physical activity."
He did not listen. He just roared. He just bit. He just fought.
Until the instructors arrived.
Captain Irven and Master Elric burst into the cafeteria, shouting. Irven forcibly separated him, holding him by the torso in a brutal restraint hold. William growled one last time and then simply passed out.
His body fell like a broken doll.
Chaos turned into silence. Cadets lay everywhere, wounded nobles, commoners in shock. The cafeteria was in ruins.
Master Elric observed the scene with wide eyes.
"He's lost his mind! That commoner attacked the sons of six noble houses!" he roared.
"And those sons of nobility almost killed one of their own like animals," Irven responded, cold as steel. "If I hadn't intervened, they would have lynched him."
"You cannot justify this!"
"Nor can I ignore it. He fought for something bigger than himself."
Elric gritted his teeth, but did not respond. Irven was already giving orders:
"Everyone to the infirmary. Commoners to the west wing. Nobles to the east wing. No one talks to anyone until we investigate this."
Aides dragged bodies. Some nobles cried. Others cursed. But the commoners... the commoners looked at William with reverence and fear.
Dixon, the same one who had ambushed him days earlier, approached the group.
"I... I thought he was crazy. But now I understand. No one would have dared to do that. No one."
"He's a bloody monster," Theo murmured.
"Yes," Dixon replied. "But he's our monster."
The others nodded in silence.
Meanwhile, in the shadow of a column, two young men observed the scene with contained expressions.
Cassian Draymor and Vayne Redvale.
"Are you sure it's him?" Cassian asked.
"I saw his eyes. I have no doubt. That bastard is a Rosehart."
Cassian frowned.
"We thought we had exterminated them."
"Well, one survived. And now they adore him. If we let him grow, he will be a symbol. And then we won't be able to kill him."
"What do you propose?"
"We'll make it look like an accident. Like we did with his father."
And they disappeared into the shadows.
Hours later, in the infirmary of the west wing, William slept. His body bandaged. His face almost unrecognizable. A tube injected him with serum, and over his left eye, a data lens projected unstable readings.
"Stabilizing vital signs. Severe damage in 37% of muscular system. Multiple fractures. Temporary ocular damage. Estimated recovery time: 72 hours."
William did not respond. But on his face, even at rest, something remained present: fury. Will. Instinct.
From the doorway, Dixon watched him in silence.
"You earned our loyalty... though perhaps you also signed your death warrant."
And he closed the door behind him.
Upon leaving, as if a shadow slipped in, Commander Anthon entered and stared intently at the unconscious William. He took a small bottle from his pocket and, without hesitation, forced the liquid into his mouth.
As soon as the content entered, William's body began to heal at an improbable rate. In less than five minutes, all his wounds had completely disappeared.
Without uttering a word, Captain Anthon left the room, leaving not a single witness... save for an always vigilant artificial intelligence.
"Analyzing healing fluid..."