My Demon Professors Are All Gorgeous Girls
Chapter 104: The Trial of Fire and Flesh

Chapter 104: The Trial of Fire and Flesh

Dawn’s first light seemed hesitant that morning, as though the world itself anticipated the next trial. The courtyard’s frost-lilies shimmered in the cold air, but no warmth reached their petals. Instead, an oppressive hush lay over the Academy, broken only by the distant hum of the Lightning Tower and the low murmur of the Origin Halo overhead. I met Seraphina, Yuria, Valmira, Astraea, and Zephira at the plaza, where Nilthria’s flame-form drifted beside the brazier.

"The Trial of Fire and Flesh awaits," Nilthria intoned, her eyes molten with solemnity. "It is a crucible of pure potential: raw magic stripped of its trappings, and the body made mortal. You must survive not as the Architect, not as a professor, but as flesh and bone. Only then will you prove that power and purpose can stand united against primal force."

Astraea’s gaze hardened. "We will endure."

Yuria cracked her knuckles. "Bring it on."

Seraphina raised her frost-staff. "We face it together."

I steadied my breath. "Then let us begin."

Stripping to Flesh

The Trial began with a pulse through the brazier—no flame erupted, only a shock that traveled through our bones. A veil of crimson mist spread across the plaza, thick and fragrant. One by one, Seraphina, Yuria, Valmira, Astraea, Zephira, and I felt a tug at our magic-core: the fiery runes of our powers faded, the stabilizing frost wards dissolved, and our weapons slipped from our grasp. We stood stripped of Codex, staff, blade, and gauntlets—only our clothes and our bodies remained. The plaza’s stones trembled as though breathing.

We exchanged glances. None spoke—we needed no words. Side by side, we stepped forward as the crimson mist parted to reveal a new arena: an amphitheater carved of obsidian and incandescent magma, its walls molten glass, its floor glittering hot black sand. Lava cascaded from above into a pit at the center, sending waves of heat that threatened to sear the air itself.

Yuria flexed her bare fists. "No magic? No problem."

Astraea placed a hand on her sword-hilt—only to find the weapon vanished. She straightened. "Then it’s our fists and wits."

Valmira’s hands trembled. "Be careful," she whispered. "This place shifts with every heartbeat."

Seraphina drew in a steadying breath. "Remember choice, unity, sacrifice, memory."

Zephira cracked her knuckles. "Let’s show this trial what we’re made of—literally."

Primal Combat

From the pit rose the trial’s first challenge: a creature of molten rock and living flame—three meters tall, its hide rippling like heated stone, veins of lava pulsing in time with its thunderous heartbeat. It roared—a sound like an erupting volcano—and charged.

We scattered, slipping over the hot sand. Yuria darted forward, fists raised, but the creature’s hand struck up in molten slag. She rolled beneath the arc, bursts of heat searing the ground where she had stood. Seraphina summoned a breath of frozen air—only to have it evaporate before reaching her. She ducked low, snatching a jagged black shard and slashing at the creature’s knee, where magma pooled like blood. The shard shattered, but it distracted the beast.

Astraea lunged, bare fists flying. She struck at its flank, where the lava hide was thinnest. The creature roared again, swinging a molten fist that pinned her to the ground. I dashed forward and grasped her wrist, pulling her free just before the molten blow melted her armor-fragments that weren’t there. We landed together on scorching sand.

Valmira huddled back, eyes wide. "We need a plan. Brute force won’t work."

Yuria spat dust. "No duh. But at least we know it bleeds."

Zephira nodded, forging steel in her mind. "We combine. Hit its joints. Force it to collapse."

Seraphina pointed at the pit: "Aim for its core. If we can wedge it off the edge..."

I gripped her shoulder. "Let’s do it."

Unity in Action

Our next assault was coordinated. Seraphina sprinted rings around the creature, slamming her shoulder into its side to draw its gaze. Yuria darted beneath, delivering rapid kicks to its molten knees. Zephira crouched, sweeping her leg to knock its other leg out from under it. As it staggered, Astraea vaulted onto its back from behind, digging her shoulders into the hot crust. I grabbed a broken obsidian column and swung with all my might—striking the side of its head and cracking molten rock.

The beast reeled, lava dripping from its wounds. It raised both arms to crush us—or rather, to pinch us between molten fingers. That’s when Valmira moved: she stepped into the fray, hands trembling but raised. She spoke words I did not know she knew—ancient syllables she had memorized for this very purpose. The magma in the creature’s veins pulsed and glowed dimmer, as though lured by her voice. She held the words aloft, weaving a fragile barrier that quelled its rage long enough for Seraphina’s next strike.

With a mighty roar, Yuria seized the beast’s wrist, twisted, and hurled it toward the lava pit. The creature slipped off balance—its limbs thrashing—but did not fall. We pressed the advantage: Zephira vaulted over its shoulder and drove a foot into the small of its back; Astraea struck its elbow, bending the joint backward; I rammed the obsidian column into its chest.

Together, we pushed. With a final heave, the creature slid over the pit’s edge and tumbled into the molten abyss. The impact resounded like rolling thunder. A geyser of flame shot skyward, then subsided. The pit’s rim cracked and closed, leaving only cooling lava below.

We staggered apart, chests heaving, breaths ragged, bodies scorched but alive. The trial’s first stage ended. No applause echoed—only our collective exhale as the arena shifted.

The Forge of Flesh

The molten sand gave way to a flowing river of flame, forming a bridge of living heat across the arena. On the other side lay the second stage: a simple slab of obsidian veined with ice. Carved upon it was a single rune: the Architect’s mark, glowing in blood-red. A voice echoed through the arena: "Forge your flesh. Prove your worth."

Astraea limped over, blade still vanishing. She placed her hand on the rune, and frost forged along her palm—pain lanced, but she withstood it. Seraphina approached next, resting her staff-hinted hand against the rune’s edge. The frost ignited into a cold glow, burning her fingertips with painless fire. Yuria charged the rune, lightning flaring, shock radiating through her fists. Zephira knelt, pressing her blade’s hilt against the rune, forging frost and steel into an apparition of unity. Valmira traced the Codex’s quill along the rune’s border, inscribing memory and intent. Finally, I placed my hand atop the other marks—flame, frost, lightning, steel—binding them with choice.

The rune flared brighter than the Origin Halo, then collapsed into a single ember: a living seed of our collective essence. The arena’s walls slid away, replaced by the familiar plaza.

We stood in a circle around the brazier, each of us bearing fresh burns and bruises—but also a fierce glow in our eyes. Nilthria hovered above, her flame form flickering in recognition.

"You have faced primal force," she declared. "You have forged flesh with fire. Trial Three: complete."

After the Crucible

We walked through the courtyard, weary but resolute. Students and professors emerged, drawn by the commotion. No one cheered; awe replaced the usual excitement. They saw our scorched skin, our singed hair, and understood the trial’s gravity.

Seraphina led us to the Forge Chapel. There, we tended to wounds, using wards and wards of healing crafted from earlier trials. The process was slow—fire scars would remain for days—but each burn we cleansed was a reminder of what we endured.

Valmira recorded the Trial’s outcome in the Codex:

Trial Three: Fire and FleshOutcome: Primal force bested through unity of flesh and spirit. Power reclaimed through coordinated sacrifice and unwavering choice.

Yuria flexed her singed knuckles. "Never thought I’d be so happy to see frost wards."

Zephira nodded. "Flesh hurts."

Astraea laced ice on her bruises. "But we’re stronger for it."

Seraphina wrapped her cloaks around us. "Our magic is reborn in every scar."

I touched my chin, burned by the arena’s heat. "And our unity forged in every strike."

Epilogue: Embers Carved in Flesh

That evening, we convened beneath the Haven of Mists—an open-air sanctuary filled with swirling fog and golden lanterns. We stood in a circle, each bearing our Trial’s scars as badges of honor. Students and professors circled around us, laying flowers and warded offerings at our feet.

I addressed the assembly. "Today we proved that power is not just spells or runes. It is flesh and heart. We stood naked of magic—and found that our bonds, our choice, and our resolve are the greatest flames we wield."

The crowd erupted into a hush of reverence. Then, in unison, they laid their hands upon our shoulders, sharing warmth, empathy, and unity. The origin Halo pulsed overhead, as though echoing their touch.

Under that gentle glow, I realized that Trial Three’s lesson would live on: that flesh carries fire, and fire carves flesh—and together, they forge the Architect’s path forward.