I Became a Kindergarten Teacher for Monster Babies!

Alina caught him.

"I’ve got you," she whispered, her arms wrapping around him, holding him upright.

Dante looked at her. His crimson eyes, usually so sharp, were dull with exhaustion.

"You’re bleeding," he said, his voice weak.

"I know," she replied.

"Your arm," he said, his gaze falling to the gash on her forearm.

"I know," she said again.

"You should sit down," he murmured.

"So should you," she said softly.

"Alright," he whispered.

King Orin watched them with something that looked like curiosity. His golden eyes moved from Dante’s pale face to Alina’s bloody arm to the way they held each other like the world had ended and they were all that was left.

"Interesting," he murmured.

Then he turned and walked away, shouting orders to his warriors.

Alina lowered Dante to the ground, propping him against the stone base of his chair. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow, but his hand held hers. Tight. Unwilling to let go.

"Don’t let go," he whispered.

"Never," she replied, and she meant it.

**

The sun had fully set by the time the Nightshade warriors arrived.

Shadows moved along the edges of the playground, darker than the coming night, and then figures emerged. Tall, armored, their eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. The Nightshade Court had answered their lord’s call.

Dante, still slumped against the stone base of his chair, opened his eyes. His eyes looked bloody, as if he had been holding back a storm of rage for far too long. His gaze was sharp, hungry, like a predator who had just caught the scent of prey.

"Finally," he said, his voice low and cold.

The lead warrior, a woman with cropped silver hair and scars across her cheek, knelt before her lord. She had served Dante for decades, had seen him angry before, had seen him ruthless. But the look in his eyes tonight made her blood run cold.

"My lord," she said. "We came as quickly as we could."

"You’re late," Dante said. His voice was flat. Emotionless. Dangerous.

"The worm clan blocked the mountain passes," she explained. "We had to cut through the forest."

Dante’s eyes didn’t blink. "The worm clan blocked the passages as well?"

"Yes, my lord," she confirmed. "They’ve been preparing for this. It wasn’t a random attack. It was coordinated."

Dante was silent for a long moment. The weight of her words hung in the air like a storm about to break.

Then he stood.

His body screamed in protest. His muscles ached. His shadows flickered weakly around him. But he didn’t fall. He wouldn’t fall. Not now. Not when there was blood to be spilled.

"Where are they now?" he asked.

"The worm clan? Scattered, my lord," she said. "But their king—"

"Their king," Dante repeated. "Where is he?"

The warrior hesitated, her eyes dropping to the ground.

"Underground, my lord," she said quietly. "Deep. Protected by his remaining soldiers."

Dante smiled.

It was not a kind smile.

It was the smile of a predator who had found its prey after a long, patient hunt.

"Good," he said.

Behind him, more figures emerged from the shadows. Other clans. Other allies. The dragon lords from the fire and snow domains had arrived, their scales gleaming in the torchlight. Count Vladimir stood with a contingent of vampire knights, their faces pale, their eyes red as blood. Alpha Ryker stood at the edge of the playground, his wolf eyes scanning the destruction, his pack gathered behind him.

They were angry. All of them.

Their children had been attacked. Their future had been threatened. And they would not forget.

"This is an act of war," Count Vladimir said, his voice cold as winter. "The worm clan has attacked our children. Our future."

"They will pay," Alpha Ryker growled, his canines lengthening.

"Not just pay," Dante said.

Everyone turned to look at him.

His eyes were dark. Hungry. The shadows around him had stopped flickering. They were still now. Waiting.

"They will be destroyed," Dante said. "Every last one of them. Every nest. Every egg. Every trace."

King Orin stood apart from the others, his golden eyes watching Dante with something that looked like curiosity. His serpentine form coiled lazily behind him, still recovering from the earlier battle.

"The worm king is ancient," Orin said. "Powerful. He won’t be easy to kill."

Dante’s gaze shifted to Orin, sharp and unwavering.

"I don’t care if he’s easy to kill," Dante said. "I don’t care if it takes all night. I don’t care if I have to drag him out of the earth myself."

His shadows grew, spreading across the ground like spilled ink.

"He attacked my kindergarten," Dante continued, his voice rising. "He terrorized my children. He made her bleed."

His eyes flicked to Alina. To her torn sleeve, her bandaged arm, her exhausted face. The sight of her, battered and bloody, made something inside him snap.

"I will tear him apart with my bare hands," Dante vowed.

The ground trembled.

Everyone froze.

The trembling grew stronger. Cracks spread across the playground. Not the small fissures from before, but deep, jagged gashes that split the earth open. The remaining structures—the snack table, the banners, the benches—collapsed into the darkness below.

And from the largest crack, something rose.

The worm king.

He was massive. Thicker and longer than any of the other worms, his body so wide that he blocked out the stars. His skin was dark as obsidian, covered in scars and ridges that spoke of centuries of killing. His circular mouth was large enough to swallow a dozen children at once, and his teeth—rows and rows of them, sharp as daggers—spun so fast they created a wind that knocked everyone back.

But it was his eyes that made everyone’s blood run cold.

They weren’t the empty, hungry eyes of the other worms. They were intelligent. Cruel. Ancient.

And they were fixed on the children.

"Fresh ones," the worm king hissed, his voice vibrating through the ground, through the air, through their very bones. "I smell them. So small. So soft."

Dante stepped forward, anger flashing in his eyes along with the howl of wolves echoing in the distance.

"Your fight is with me," Dante declared.

The worm king’s massive head turned toward Dante. Its teeth slowed, then stopped altogether.

"You," it said. "The shadow lord. I have heard of you."

"Then you know what I can do," Dante said.

"I know what you can do." The worm king’s body shifted, coiling, preparing to strike. "But you don’t know what I can do."

It lunged.

Not toward Dante.

Toward the children.

"NO!" Alina screamed.