《The Dark Lady’s Guide to Villainy [Dark Lord, School, Romance]》 Chapter 1. Villainy? No, Thanks, I鈥檓 Good Mo Nightshade had exactly three rules for surviving her totally ordinary life: She''d been doing fine. Great, actually. Until today. Mo took a slow breath, inhaling the mingled scents of aged paper, freshly ground beans, and the hint of cinnamon from today''s special. This cozy bookstore caf¨¦ was her sanctuary, where Edison bulbs cast honey-gold light over worn armchairs and shelves bent under the weight of a thousand worlds. Here, the only magic came from stories, not bloodlines. She ran her fingers across a worn counter, her gaze drifting over the familiar spines that lined every wall. She chose this place after a long deliberation and intense search, tucked away from the world. A place where she was just Mo¡ªthe friendly barista who gave great book recommendations and knew how to craft the perfect latte art. Returning from her reverie, Mo froze. The cup of latte she''d been preparing hovered a centimeter above the counter, spinning lazily counter-clockwise, foam swirling into intricate patterns no barista course had taught her. The cinnamon sprinkles arranged themselves into what looked suspiciously like ancient runes. "Damn it," she hissed, fingers clenching as she forced the cup down with a soft clink. "Get it together, Mo." Clinking softly, the cup dropped back on the saucer and stopped shifting. It was a tiny piece of magic, but even that wasn''t wise in a life she wanted to keep as ordinary as possible. Of course, books fluttering closed on their own or dishes floating for a second. Those tricks were easy to dismiss as imagination or coincidence. Mo knew she shouldn''t do that. She craved normalcy. But these little sparks of power were the only nod to a past she kept buried. Late-afternoon sunlight streamed through dusty windows, illuminating dust motes that danced in the warm air. Mo restocked the shelves with the latest arrivals, brushing her fingertips across the colorful spines. A young girl tugged at her sleeve, eyes wide with excitement. "Excuse me, do you have any books about dragons?" "Absolutely," Mo replied, guiding the girl to a shelf packed with fantasy novels. "You''ll find plenty of adventures here. If you want to test them first, you can sit in those cozy armchairs over there." Soon, the girl''s laughter rang like a bell as she flipped through the pages, enthralled by fire-breathing beasts and brave heroes. Mo couldn''t help but smile, seeing a child who had never experienced an encounter with a real dragon. In moments like this, she felt at peace¡ªno mention of her odd last name or reminders of the inheritance that loomed in the background. A gray-haired guy with a kind smile was waiting when she returned to the counter. Mo frothed the milk and poured it into a cup, shaping a perfect leaf on the surface. The man reached for his latte and gave her an appreciative nod. "Oh, it''s just perfect," the man said. "It''s like it was 3D-printed! Or..." he paused dramatically. "Made with magic!" "Ha-ha! Just my trained hands here," answered Mo with a smile, showing her open palms. The ease of these interactions. Absence of manipulative tactics. Ordinary chatter, friendly faces, no family secrets. Mo loved all of that. Soon after the man left, the brass bell above the door fell silent mid-chime. A sudden chill slithered across the floorboards, turning the cozy warmth brittle. Mo''s spine went rigid before she even turned. The espresso machine sputtered and died. Every light dimmed as if something were drinking the electricity. Perched on the window sill was a raven, its feathers so black they seemed to swallow the afternoon sunlight. Its eyes¡ªtoo knowing, too ancient¡ªfixed on Mo with unmistakable recognition. The dishcloth slipped from her fingers as memories she''d spent years burying clawed their way to the surface. The raven hopped onto a table, silent and still, a cold presence in a place meant for warmth and laughter. A place that Mo chose explicitly for its mundanity. Mo willed it to leave, but instead, the raven tilted his head and dropped a letter onto the tabletop. The envelope didn''t have a name or a return address on it. Instead, it was sealed with black wax. Mo''s stomach twisted. She recognized the crest pressed into that seal: a twisted, thorny emblem from a place she made so many efforts to forget. Taking a tremulous breath, Mo approached, snatching the letter before any of her customers noticed. Even if it was hard to hope that no one wouldn''t be surprised by a large black bird sitting on the table indoors. "Please go," she whispered, heart hammering in her chest. "You are starting to attract attention." The raven only cocked his head, black eyes reflecting the warm golden light of the caf¨¦. Then he spoke in a rasping croak that sent a tremor up her spine: "Alright, alright. I''m out of here¡ªhappy now?" Before Mo could reply, the bird fluttered his wings and vanished through the open door. She stared after him, the echo of that ragged voice lodging in her mind. Pressing the letter against her apron, Mo fought the urge to tear it up on the spot. But she knew better than to destroy the message. Surprisingly, no one else in the caf¨¦ seemed to notice anything unusual. It was as if the door had never opened, and the raven had never let itself inside. Mo went back to the counter. Nothing changed in the space around her. But now, she could see all the books that had been returned to the wrong places by the customers. All the cracks of the ancient counter. All the spots on the tables that she could never fully clean up. With forced composure, Mo slipped the envelope into a drawer beneath the register. She wasn''t going to open it. Not yet. Not ever, if she could help it. But her heart refused to slow, and a faint hum of dread settled over her day. Mo locked up the caf¨¦ that evening. Flipping the sign on the door to Closed, she prepared herself for the last chores of the late shift. She still had to prepare the place for the morning. The hush that fell over the store was usually her favorite part of the day, a time when the only sounds were the soft settling of books and the faint whir of cooling coffee machines. Tonight, though, the silence pressed on her like a weight. She glanced toward the drawer where the letter lay hidden. It felt like the letter pulsed with power she couldn''t ignore. Shaking off her nerves, Mo finished wiping down the tables. A flicker at the window snagged her attention. She turned, heart stuttering. Outside, a raven perched on the streetlamp, illuminated by the dim glow. He stared straight into the bookstore, straight at her. Her throat tightened. "Not tonight," she muttered. "Please, not tonight." But the raven didn''t leave until she shut off the lights. And even then, he lingered for a few minutes as if making sure that he wasn''t getting an answer any time soon. By the next afternoon, Mo had almost convinced herself it was all a bad dream. She greeted regulars with a cheery smile and recommended titles to curious newcomers. But tension coiled beneath her friendly demeanor. "Hey, Mo," a voice called from across the room, breaking the spell of her little moment. It was Mrs. Harlow, a regular who always came in for her afternoon tea and a chat. "I never paid attention to your last name. But, you know, I''ve been reading the schedule of the restroom cleaning shifts¡­ hm¡­ in the restroom. And saw it near your name. Nightshade? That''s a peculiar last name, isn''t it?" If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Mo forced a laugh. "My parents are goths¡ªsuper into spooky stuff," she said. "You haven''t yet heard my full first name. It''s all, uh, part of the family brand." Mrs. Harlow chuckled, picked up a book, and returned to her table, seemingly satisfied. Mo exhaled, grateful the conversation hadn''t gone further. Sharing too much of her family''s history was never a safe thing. She returned to organizing the shelves, smoothing out the covers. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw him again: the raven. He was perched on a ledge just outside the window. At least the raven wasn''t trying to sneak in anymore. But something had to be done about it. And done soon. Mo tried to focus on the caf¨¦ chatter, the hiss of the espresso machine, anything to distract herself. But every glance at the window revealed the same glossy black wings and those eerie, unblinking eyes. Refusing to give in to panic, Mo summoned a tiny flicker of magic to steady the pile of books in her arms. They floated gently from her hands onto the shelf. She never allowed herself to do this, afraid of rumors and misunderstandings. Still, it centered her and gave her a small opportunity to do something that was second nature to her. The sensation was so good that Mo almost took solace in its neatness. Both the magical action and the result. Until the raven fluttered his wings in what looked like a mocking response. He saw. Another shift ended, and Mo found herself alone. The lights dimmed, and the doors locked. She pulled open the drawer beneath the counter. The letter sealed with black wax looked at her ominously. Of course, it didn''t literally look at Mo. But she felt its pointed attention. After a moment''s hesitation, Mo set it on the countertop, staring at the elaborate crest pressed into the seal. Blackthorn Keep. It was a name that brought a storm of memories¡ªher parents, old halls echoing with spells, the claustrophobic weight of a legacy she never asked for. The darkness. Her throat constricted. And when she took it in her hands, the letter felt heavier than paper should be. "Just burn it," she whispered to herself. "No more nightmares, no more ravens." Yet her feet didn''t move. She didn''t go to pick up a pan or a pot in which she could safely destroy this envelope. She wrestled with indecision, the hush of the store closing in around her. Finally, Mo snatched the letter and headed into the kitchen. But as soon as she struck a match, the door at the back of the caf¨¦ flew open, hitting the wall with a dull thud. Mo spun around to find the raven standing in the doorway¡ª looming even larger than before, his feathers so black that it felt like they had absorbed the dim light. One moment, he stood there; the next, he beat his wings and vanished, leaving only a swirl of cold air and the feeling that something ancient was watching. The letter slipped from Mo''s fingers, landing on the floor before she could put it to flames. She gasped, heart thudding, and picked it up again. Magic tingled at her fingertips, an unwanted reminder of her true identity. This time, she took the letter home. The whole night, it lay on her small kitchen table, and Mo almost sensed whispers crawling into her dreams. She wasn''t even sure if it were really dreams or something else. But when the first light of the new day crept from behind the curtain, Mo felt like she hadn''t slept even a minute. *** Early next morning, Mo stood¡ªher hands on her hips¡ªin the entrance hall of her apartment. From this spot, she could see the letter still waiting for her on the kitchen table. She hoped it wouldn''t be there. A girl could dream, right? But, of course, it didn''t move even a millimeter. "A quick peek," she muttered. "Then I''ll decide." She took a few decisive steps, approached the table, and broke the seal with one quick motion. The letter''s script was ornate, almost archaic. Proper. At the top, it bore the crest of the High Council, along with an urgent summons: By order of the High Council, Morgana Nightshade is summoned to Blackthorn Keep. Your parents have gone missing. As the statutory waiting time has elapsed, your inheritance has to be claimed. Your presence is required immediately. Mo''s blood turned to ice. Missing? That couldn''t be right. They might have been distant and wrapped up in their own affairs. They left all the time for their weird projects and escapades. But her parents never just vanished. Anger welled in her¡ªwas this some twisted ploy to lure her back? Slamming the letter on the table, she paced the tiny apartment. She wanted her quiet life, her bookstore caf¨¦, her beloved, mundane routine. She wasn''t the wandering heir to a dangerous legacy; she was just Mo, the barista who recommended great reads. Yet the words on the page refused to fade. She thought of that unnatural raven. Of course, she knew him. She had known him well since her earliest childhood. Mo recognized him at first sight. And the creeping shadows in her apartment, and the faint hum of magic in her veins that had felt so alive since the letter arrived. In the pit of her stomach, she knew that ignoring the summons wouldn''t make them go away. Despite everything that was happening in her life, despite the ominous news about her parents, Mo went through the motions¡ªserving customers at the caf¨¦, chatting about novels, and restocking shelves. But she caught herself flinching at every slight movement of shadow. More than once, she saw a flicker of black outside the windows. Whether it was the same raven or her rattled imagination, she couldn''t say. Mr. Thompson, a regular known for his mystery-novel obsessions, noticed her mood. "You all right, Mo? You seem a bit on edge today. Do you need any help?" Mo mustered a tight smile. "Just didn''t sleep well, Mr. T. Everything''s fine." He nodded sympathetically. "Well, take care of yourself, kiddo. Sleep is important. When you don''t sleep, you start to see all sorts of strange things!" Eh¡­ What did he know about strange things? And it wasn''t like Mo didn''t try to sleep. But the pull of the letter buzzed at the back of her mind like a persistent wasp. Each hour that passed felt heavier as if time itself was thickening around her. She could almost feel the whole weight of Blackthorn Keep pressing on her, calling her name with a voice that echoed through centuries of her family''s lineage. That evening, she stood alone in her apartment, watching shadows gather in the corners. Mo couldn''t force herself to step into the kitchen and hadn''t even grabbed anything to eat yet. The letter lay on her kitchen table. Of course, where would it go from there? A small, half-packed suitcase sat by the door¡ªa grudging admission that she might have to leave. Slowly, she stretched her hand and turned on the light. It was as if the decision would have been easier if it hadn''t been made in darkness. Darkness. That was it. That was what the decision was about. Mo turned the letter over and over in her hands. Memories of the Keep overwhelmed her: the echo of ancient halls, cryptic incantations scrawled on stone walls, her parents'' aloof silhouettes gliding through corridors. Insane parties and affairs. Control and manipulation. She''d left that world because it had felt oppressive, stifling. Yet now, it reached for her again. Mo clenched her jaw. She struck a match and brought it to the letter. The paper didn''t burn¡ªit dissolved, black wax melting upward against gravity, letter crumbling into motes that hung suspended in the air. In their place, silence spread like spilled ink, so complete Mo could hear her own heartbeat echoing off the walls. For three breaths, she dared to hope. Then came the humming¡ªa sound that vibrated in her molars before reaching her ears, like thunder trapped inside her skull. The potted fern by the window withered. Her phone died with a plaintive beep. The shadows peeled themselves from every corner, slithering across the ceiling and walls to converge in her living room¡ªnot darkness, but absence, a hungry void that bent the light around it. A portal. The air crackled with ozone and possibility, that unmistakable metallic tang of raw magic that brought back memories of sneaking into her father''s study, of whispered incantations under moonless skies. "Of course," thought Mo. "They know me too well. They knew how to trigger it." Mo''s breath came in rapid gulps as she crept toward the roiling darkness. The half-packed suitcase sat next to her feet; she grabbed it on instinct. There was no point in taking much¡ªwhat use were clothes and toiletries in a place where spells reigned? "This is a terrible idea," she whispered. The swirling portal seemed to pulse in agreement, a silent heartbeat in the gloom. Mo squeezed the handle of her suitcase. She heard a distant croak in the stillness¡ªlike the raven was mocking her from without. Her throat tightened, and for an instant, she considered running. But where would she go? The Keep wouldn''t let her slip away, not if it had truly begun to seek for Mo¡­rgana. If it had started to attune itself to her. Mo stood at the edge of normalcy, her carefully constructed life behind her, the shadows of her birthright ahead. The half-packed suitcase held pitifully little¡ªa worn paperback, her favorite coffee mug, the ordinary talismans of a life she''d chosen. None of it belonged where she was going. "Just one look," she promised herself. "Just to make sure they''re really gone." Summoning every ounce of nerve she had left, Mo extended her hand. The portal''s surface felt cool and fluid, neither liquid nor gas but something ancient that predated such distinctions. It swallowed her fingers, recognizing her blood, her magic¡ªthe heritage she couldn''t escape. The darkness tugged at her with the familiarity of family, urging her to surrender. She clutched the suitcase until her knuckles ached. "Damn it," she muttered, closing her eyes. "Damn it all." Heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird, she stepped through. The apartment vanished in a rush of disorienting cold. In its place came suffocating shadows and the faint echo of distant bells tolling. Mo was caught between worlds for one breathless instant, her body weightless, her mind spinning. A single thought thundered through her: I was right¡ªthis is a terrible idea. Chapter 2. Apparently, I Have an Evil Empire Mo tumbled out of the portal with a soggy thump¡ªimagine a disgruntled cat spitting up a hairball¡ªand the brief flash of light dissolved into a sharp crackle of ozone. She swore under her breath, bracing a hand on the damp ground as she eased onto her aching knees. "Ten out of ten for that landing," she muttered, wincing. The stench of damp moss hung in the air, threaded with a faint metallic note¡ªold blood, if she had to guess. "Home, sweet home," Mo thought bitterly, eyeing the towering walls with a twist of unease. "Some things never change. I can''t say I''m happy to see these walls again." Around her, Blackthorn Keep loomed under a sickly red sky, its once-grand spires pointing like jagged teeth. Vines gripped the walls as if desperate to escape and finally find their freedom. Windows that weren''t broken had crooked planks nailed across them. The massive wooden doors sagged on rusted hinges, offering an awkward welcome. Mo brushed dirt from her hoodie and let out a low whistle. "So, the place is really living its best life, huh?" Her sneakers scraped against jagged gravel, each step echoing in the hush. She glanced down at her favorite hoodie and jeans¡ªher usual shield of comfort¡ªnow utterly wrong for a place that felt more haunted than home. Still, at least it grounded her a bit, as if the vibe of the life she had built for her on Earth could spread to the Keep, making Mo''s stay here tolerable. As Mo crossed the courtyard, wiry weeds snagged at her ankles, claiming every fracture in the worn stones. In the middle, a fountain squatted in eerie silence, its gargoyles chipped and sneering as if mocking any notion of welcome. Mo ran her hand over one grotesque face, feeling only the faintest tingle of ancient magic. "Yep, definitely not depressing at all," Mo said. "What did you do with this place? It wasn''t that long since I left." The gargoyle stared back, stone lips snarling. Mo knew a few like those. A bit more alive, though. Turning away, she steadied herself. Deep breath, Mo. This was your call. Several robed attendants crept out of the Keep, their cowls throwing uneasy shadows across pale faces. They almost looked dignified¡ªuntil the one at the head tripped on a broken step and pitched forward, sprawling at Mo''s feet with a gasp. The others stood in awkward formation like they had never practiced how to greet a Dark Lady who''d rather be anywhere else. The fallen person slowly gathered himself and raised his head, trembling slightly. Mo took a step towards him and stretched out her hand. But the man only drew back in alarm as if he was offered a vial of poison. She recognized each robed silhouette¡ªfaces from her childhood, grown gaunter with time. "Welcome home, Lady Morgana," croaked the one on the ground, voice shaking. "Welcome back to Blackthorn Keep." "Uh, thanks, guys," Mo said. "You know, for the top-tier hospitality. Any chance you have coffee? I didn''t have time to go to work today." The robed figures collectively froze. An uncomfortable cough followed. "We''ve, um, prepared the appropriate beverages," one said, shifting uncomfortably. "But we hoped you''d check your coronation schedule first. We made it very traditional, as it supposed to be." Not waiting for the robed figures any longer, Mo took a few steps toward the grand entrance. "Of course, that''s how it is," muttered Mo, approaching the entrance. *** Stepping into the great hall, Mo felt as though she''d entered a mausoleum for former glory: a crooked chandelier tottered above, its crystals lost in layers of soot; heaps of broken stone and splintered wood made each step treacherous, and the tattered banners drooping from the rafters reeked of mildew as if even the magic had begun to rot. Mo kicked a chunk of debris aside. "Home sweet home," she muttered, voice echoing in the cavernous space. She wandered deeper, the emptiness swallowing her footsteps. After walking through a series of passageways, halls, and chambers, she finally reached the place she''d been looking for. Everything was as she remembered. But different at the same time. Even correcting for the intensity of the childhood memories, the throne room seemed subdued now. Mo wouldn''t say that the color had left it. There was never much color here. But it just¡­ dulled. At the heart of the chamber loomed a colossal throne of ebony wood carved with serpents and gargoyles that seemed to twist under the flicker of candlelight. Mo tilted her head, studying it, and stepped closer, brushing her fingers over the surface. A thick layer of dust stuck to her fingertips, making her sneeze involuntarily. "Hmmmm¡­" a voice sounded in her head. "Yeah. You''ve definitely seen better days." As she leaned in, a jolt of cool energy curled through her like an echo of the Keep''s former might, hinting at the dark magic once beating here. Now, it felt like a heart forced into hibernation¡ªpowerful yet starved. Swallowing her nerves, Mo turned around and sat on the second to top step of the dais, hugging her knees. Why am I here? The welcoming committee was finally filing into the room, unable to keep up with Mo. They hugged the furthest wall, unsure how to proceed and if it was safe to approach. In the background, there was a constant noise. It seemed unfamiliar and entirely out of place. It surged and receded like a restless tide against jagged rocks, swelling with fury before pulling back into an uneasy lull. Yet beneath it all was a deeper, more ominous presence¡ªlike distant thunder rolling over the horizon, a low growl of discontent that never truly faded, only gathering strength for the next crash. But it was a faint shuffle behind her that made her jump. She turned to see Lord Aldric Thorne¡ªtall, polished, and radiating a vibe like he''d walked out of a gothic etiquette manual, and his condescending stare could slice steel. His white fur gleamed under the dim chandeliers of the grand hall, each strand perfectly in place, as though he''d been sculpted rather than born. And who knows, maybe that was precisely how he arrived in this world. It was so many centuries ago that no one could shed any light on his origin. The golden antlers that crowned his head seemed to glow faintly, casting an ethereal halo around him. His dark robes were embroidered with so many golden sigils that he looked less like a person and more like a living, breathing manifesto of villainous propriety. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, locked onto hers, and Mo felt the weight of his gaze like a physical force pressing against her chest. "Ah, the prodigal daughter." While his smile was polite, his voice dripped with sarcasm. "I trust your time among the rabble was¡­ enlightening?" She rolled her eyes. "You have no idea." Aldric cleared his throat with theatrical precision. "We face¡­ difficulties," he measured each word as if he had to give a gold piece to each of them. "The Keep''s resources are strained. Goblins refuse taxes. Minions want¡­ benefits. And someone cursed the kitchen bread to bite." "Sentient bread?" Mo repeated, every syllable loaded with disbelief. "Great. I''m not even crowned yet, and this place is already at Defcon Chaos." Aldric gave a thin-lipped nod. "Crowning. Yes. There''s also one matter I have to mention regarding your coronation. It''s¡­ provisional." "Excuse me?" Aldric pushed a scroll into her hands. "By order of the Council, you must attend Umbra Academy. Complete the Dark Lordship Mastery program. Only then is your coronation¡­ official." She gaped. "I have to pass villain school to officially be the Dark Lady? I never wanted it. But isn''t it supposed to be, you know, hereditary?" "Of course," Aldric said, unbothered. "That''s the tradition. But you know how it is nowadays. Bureaucracy. They hold all the power." Mo stood up and made those last few steps that separated her from the throne. But before she could reach it, Aldric stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder. There was no chance for Mo to shake off it or push against it. "No-no-no," Aldric said, shaking his head. "You aren''t allowed yet." "But who''s ruling in the absence of the Dark Lord?" asked Mo. "That''s a prudent question," said Aldric. "But I''m afraid I don''t have a good answer for you." "What''s that sound in the distance?" asked Mo. "Ah, that?" said Aldric. "It''s strange that you didn''t notice it when you were outside in the yard. But maybe it''s not that obvious on that side of the Keep." Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. "So, what is it?" "But why? It''s goblins, of course. They protest." "What!?" exclaimed Mo. "Even the goblins? What''s happening here? So, should we take a look?" "Nothing to lose," said Aldric. "Sure, why not?" He turned and headed away from the dais. Mo, however, paused before following him and touched the throne again. "Grrrr¡­ Unworthy¡­ Mediocre¡­" "What the?!?" exclaimed Mo. "Yeah, it got even grumpier since it couldn''t sense your father''s butt anymore," said Aldric. "Please, follow me. You wanted to see the goblins. The best viewing spot would be the grand balcony." *** A sea of green spread below the balcony. Here, finally, Mo was able to hear the source of that background sound that had been following her since her arrival at the throne room. The crowd shifted slowly, as if waves of goblins were probing the walls of the Keep. Still, it didn''t feel like a siege. More like a rally. A rally with thousands of people attending it. After a moment, Mo realized that the waves were constantly going over the crowd, like at a football match. Somehow, they seemed synchronized with the chants that spread over the crowd. "NO MORE TAX! WE WON''T RELAX! GOBLINS RISE¡ªWE ORGANIZE!" The crowd erupted in cheers and boos. And then: "WE DESERVE A BETTER DEAL, OR WE''LL MAKE THE EMPIRE KNEEL!" Mo looked at Aldric, her brow rising. "Seriously?" she asked. "Is there at least anything that works normally here?" "Well¡­" Aldric stepped back and spread his hands. "I guess the kitchen still makes a mean Sunday roast. When the bread isn''t biting." "DARKEST LADY HEAR OUR CALL, GIVE US RIGHTS OR LET YOU FALL!" After the last one, the crowd hushed. The goblins finally noticed two figures on the high balcony. From within the sea of green people, a person rose, supported by the hands of the others. "No more taxes!" he shouted. "Ahhh¡­" Aldric covered his face with his palms. "That''s Grimz, their leader. You don''t want to waste you time on him." "It seems that somebody would have to talk to him," Mo said. "Shouldn''t we at least try to solve the issue? I thought that goblin workforce is crucial for our operations?" "You are right," said Aldric. "But he''s completely unreasonable. He wants¡­" he lowered his voice to whisper as if afraid that the goblins would hear him. "He wants representation!" "Oh, that''s insane!" said Mo to Aldric. "How dare he!" She turned back to face the crowd and shouted. "We will arrange a date for negotiations," Mo shouted. "This will be one of the first things I''ll pursue after the coronation!" "No coronation without representation!" a voice sounded from the crowd. But somehow, it was promptly hushed down and lost in the murmur. Grimz looked directly at Mo and pointed his finger at her. A long, sharp nail made the gesture even more ominous. "I''ll wait! But we aren''t going anywhere!" Returning to the throne room, Mo massaged her temple. The crowd outside started roaring once again, shouting chants. "Right. So, the coronation''s a dumpster fire, the bread''s biting people, goblins are unionizing, and apparently, I need a diploma in evil." She turned to Aldric. "Anything else you forgot to mention?" In lieu of an answer, the throne decided to join the conversation once again. Its voice boomed directly into Mo''s head: "Unworthy." Mo jumped. "And the chair just insulted me. Again." Aldric''s expression didn''t flicker. "Of course, my lady. It is sentient, It can be rather¡­ opinionated." "I know that!" Mo snapped. *** This time, Mo explored the throne a bit longer. She remembered all its minute details since early childhood. When her father took her to his knees, and the sad, ancient thing would start whispering directly into her mind. Like it did right now. If anything, that was a great educational tool. It made Mo face most of her fears and insecurities very early. Earlier than most of the kids have to deal with that stuff unless they have an evil stepmother or something. At least Mo didn''t have to experience that. Her mother and father were happily married for centuries. They weren''t without their quirks. But any family of their stance has them. Mo traced her fingers along the throne''s carved serpents, and they seemed to slither under the dim light. She carefully stepped closer, reaching out until her palms touched the cold wood. The egotistic chair practically radiated scorn. "They must be desperate," it thought at Mo, each word steeped in contempt. She exhaled, trying not to snap. "What, I''m not tall enough for you? Sorry I forgot my platform boots in the mortal realm." Silence thickened. The councilors huddled, shooting her worried glances. While the goblins raged outside, Grimz was let into the throne room and now was standing with his hat in his hands, eyes burning with resolve. Only Aldric looked slightly amused. At last, Mo forced a smile, feigning composure. "Well, apparently I have to earn the right to sit here. Fine. Challenge accepted." Her bravado faltered when a ceremonial relic in the corner wobbled and crashed to the floor, shrieking like a banshee. Sparks of magic flared, and a stray candle shot off a candelabra, narrowly missing a councilor''s hood. "Perfect," she muttered. "Just when I thought we''d reached peak insanity." A swirl of dark energy snaked around the relic, crackling ominously. One councilor yelped as a floating candle tried to set his robe on fire. Mo''s eyes darted around the hall¡ªa swirling, chaotic circus. She raised her hands. "Alright, calm down. Everyone." Nobody calmed down. Amid the uproar, Mo felt an unexpected wave of determination. So what if everything''s bonkers? She had a choice: break down or break through. Mo stormed up the dais, clearing her throat until her voice ricocheted off the high ceiling. "Listen up!" she shouted. "I may be your brand-new Dark Lady, but guess what¡ªI''m on the hook for some fancy-pants villain school. And all of you have problems: goblins on strike, demonic loaf bread, haunted furniture¡ªpick your catastrophe. So do me a favor and don''t let this fortress crumble while I''m busy earning a diploma in Evil 101, okay?" She seized the relic, yanked it out of its crackling aura¡ªmagic sizzling across her palm¡ªand thunked it onto a nearby pedestal. Threads of scorching energy nipped at her hoodie, but she just hissed through clenched teeth and shook off the sparks. "It''s not hard to fix some of these things, see?" she asked, pointing at the pedestal. "We can do a million coronations if we have to. But right now, I need to make sure this place still stands by the time I graduate from Evil 101." Grimz lowered his hands, letting his hat almost brush the floor. "But what about the taxes?" "Here''s the deal," Mo said, looking from Aldric to her circle of jittery councilors. "I''ll kick off negotiations immediately, but the big fix has to wait ''til I survive my first semester of Dark Econ. Meanwhile, you lot will be granted a tax delay. Deal?" Grimz glared, then gave a reluctant nod. "That wouldn''t solve the issue right away, m''lady," he said. "But that''s better than what we had. If your advisers follow your ruling." He glowered at the group of people huddled on the other side of the hall. "So, is there anything else we have to figure out before we proceed with this charade?" asked Mo. "I want to go though with it as soon as possible and move on to figuring out the next steps." "There are things¡­" Aldric began explaining. "But they can probably wait. Having an actual Dark Lord¡­ hm¡­ Lady once again would allow us to postpone at least some of the troubles. And will fix the others." "What are we waiting for then?" asked Mo. "It''s not like I enjoy all of that stuff. I had a perfectly normal life before I came back here." One of the councilors stepped forward, his hands stretched before him, as he held a cushion of a deep black color. It seemed that it sucked in the light from its surroundings. For a brief moment, it felt like it became darker in the hall, which wasn''t illuminated too well in the first place. But it was the object levitating above the cushion that attracted everyone''s attention. A battered crown of white gold covered with chains of black symbols and runes. The symbol of the power of the Nightshade dynasty. Unlike the throne, Mo couldn''t say she saw this object very often. It was delivered from the treasury only for the most significant events. Like for a coronation. For a moment, she lost her breath and had to grasp the throne''s arm to stabilize herself. "Weak! Such a failure!". Mo drew back her hand as soon as these words resonated in her mind. The reality of the moment made her eyes water, and she looked around the hall with unseeing eyes. That was it. Mo''s parents were truly gone. It wasn''t some bizarre and cruel joke. It was happening. The crown slowly turned and shifted over the cushion but seemed perfectly synchronized with it otherwise. It moved with the person who brought it forward with all befitting importance. Even though Mo hadn''t visited the Keep since she was much younger, she recognized the face. "Ah, Phineas! Or, is it Lord Phineas now?" she addressed him. "I remember well that day when you tried to persuade me to steal those cupcakes from the kitchen only to get caught by the cook when I declined." For a brief moment, Phineas had lost his concentration. In a panic, he lost his footing over one of the not-so-perfect stones of the hall''s floor and almost fell. A series of emotions reflected on his face momentarily: fear, surprise, anger. However, the crown didn''t fall. It continued levitating exactly where it was when the young man sank. Slowly, Phineas gathered himself, recovered his stance, and continued the slow movement toward the dais. The crown picked up the same steady pace following the cushion. The assembled crowd again fell silent, gazing intently at the slowly walking figure. As soon as Phineas reached the steps of the dais, he knelt, offering the crown high above his head. Aldric stepped down and, to everyone''s astonishment, carelessly snatched it from about the cushion. He sniffed, glancing around to make sure that everyone and everything was in place. "As discussed, your coronation remains provisional until you complete the Dark Lordship Mastery program at Umbra Academy," Aldric said. "This," he motioned with a crown. "Is only a symbol. You''ll have to prove you have the power." Mo raised a skeptical brow. "So I don''t get to rule unless I get some dark college credits?" "You will rule. But your decisions will have to be confirmed by the High Council," Aldric said in that too-smooth tone. "We''re nothing if not a stickler for tradition. We have to be sure you have the goods. And the guts to make tough decisions." A swirl of rage burned in Mo''s chest. She considered snapping back or possibly hurling the throne through a wall. But instead, she plastered on a thin smile. "Fine. I''ll go. Umbra Academy, here I come. But when I get back, you''d better believe things are gonna change." Aldric''s face remained impassive. "Of course." He crossed the distance separating him from Mo. "Now sit on the throne!" "With the power bestowed upon me by the High Council and the Tradition of the Dark Rule," he began to recite in a grandiose voice. "Lady Morgana Elaris Vexaria Nyx Nightshade, you are pronounced Her Imperial Dread Sovereign, Mistress of Shadows, Warden of the Night, Dark Lady of Blackthorn Keep, Scion of the House of Nightshade, Bearer of the Cursed Seal, Chosen Heir to the Throne of Eternal Midnight." He placed the crown on Mo''s head and stepped back. "Provisionally," he said, his eyes locked on the crown. "Do try not to embarrass us further," a voice sounded in her mind. Mo spun in place, absorbing the sight of shattered windows, wilted banners, frazzled councilors trembling over their parchments, and a goblin ringleader practically brandishing a union contract. This was her legacy¡ªan empire in free fall¡ªand apparently, she had to salvage it after snagging a diploma in villain studies from Evil U. "Unworthy," the throne whispered, needling her pride. She rolled her eyes and punched the throne''s back with her elbow. "Bite me." Chapter 3. Great. My Rival Still Exists A wet, slurping echo clung to the air as Mo tumbled out of the portal. This time, she at least landed on her feet, fighting the wobble in her knees and forcing a shred of dignity into her posture. Before this day, the last time she had to use a portal was when her parents decided to enroll Mo in that dark arts middle school. And then¡­ she lived on Earth for several years, not even considering moving elsewhere. She stood there, adjusting to the strange, disorienting heaviness that always accompanied these portal jumps. Two times within a day, it was a bit too much. In her rogue years on Earth, the discomfort of the process had slipped her mind. The queasy churn in her stomach and the tingling in her limbs reminded her all too well of the sensation she definitely did not miss. Stepping through a portal felt like plunging into cold water¡ªunforgettable once you were in it again. But at least Mo was at her final destination now. Umbra Academy would be her home for at least a semester. She couldn''t help but feel a mix of excitement and dread at the thought. Mo lingered at the Academy''s iron gates, her grip on her ragged messenger bag tightening with each uneasy breath. Part of her wanted to return to the portal and run back to Earth¡ªanywhere but here. But she forced herself to inhale, reminding herself she had what she needed¡­and no real way out. The towering Gothic spires rose menacingly above her, their pointed silhouettes stark against the swirling, dark clouds of a sky that seemed forever on the verge of a tempest. The architecture reminded her of Blackthorn Keep with its eerie and foreboding design. Every arch and gargoyle seemed deliberately crafted to stir a sense of gloom. That was one of the reasons she ran from the previous school. That was one of the reasons she preferred serving coffee to studying the arcane arts. Mo swallowed hard, feeling a lump in her throat, as her ginger hair lashed wildly around her face, caught in the gusts of the chilling wind that whispered of approaching storms. Something was shifting within her. Things that she hadn''t explored for quite some time. "Well, Mo," she muttered, "you''ve really done it this time. Straight from cozy bookshop to villain boot camp. Don''t think they offer good lattes here." With a deep breath, she forced herself to take a step forward. The iron gates creaked open, seeming to welcome her with malicious glee. As she walked through the courtyard, her eyes darted from one dramatic scene to another. A group of students to her left were engaged in what appeared to be a cape-flaring competition, their dark fabrics billowing with unnecessary gusto. "Points for enthusiasm, I suppose," Mo thought, suppressing an eye-roll. "Though I''m pretty sure capes went out of style with Dracula." She was keenly aware of the sideways looks and quiet murmurs trailing behind her. Her laid-back jeans and worn band t-shirt were glaringly out of place amidst the crowd, clad in black leather and velvet. Still, she had no intention of altering her personal style just to appease some dark-lord wannabes. A boy with hair slicked so perfectly it looked shellacked paused mid-strut, his upper lip curling. "So that''s Earth''s idea of villain chic?" he drawled, tugging at his high collar as if to underscore how much better he looked. "Could they degrade even more?" Mo met his gaze head-on, her knuckles whitening around her bag strap as she offered a tight-lipped smile. "Oh, you know, I''m going for the ''wolf in sheep''s clothing'' look. Very avant-garde evil." The boy''s face contorted in confusion, clearly not catching the reference. Mo sighed inwardly. "Tough crowd. Note to self: brush up on my dark puns." A booming voice echoed across the courtyard as she approached the main entrance. "Behold, insignificant worms! I am Lord Obsidian, master of shadows and your new overlord!" Mo turned to see a late teenager no older than herself balanced on a gargoyle, arms spread wide like he auditioned for a gothic superhero flick. She couldn''t help it. A snort of laughter escaped before she could stifle it. Lord Obsidian''s eyes narrowed dangerously. "You dare mock the future ruler of all realms?" "Sorry," Mo said, not sounding sorry at all. "It''s just... ''insignificant worms''? Bit on the nose, don''t you think? Maybe try something more subtle, like ''valued citizens under new progressive management''?" A hush fell over the courtyard. Mo felt her cheeks flush as she realized she''d just critiqued the monologue of someone who probably knew fifty ways to turn her into a toad. "Right," she muttered, backing towards the entrance. "I''ll just... be going then. Lots of evil to learn, minions to recruit, you know how it is." As the heavy doors closed behind her, Mo leaned against them, her heart pounding. "Fantastic," she groaned. "First day, and I''ve already made enemies with the local megalomaniac. Mom and Dad would be so proud." She paused, raking her fingers through her tangled ginger hair, a flicker of defiance tugging at her lips. "Actually, they''d probably expect no less from me," Mo muttered. "They''re gone, but I''m still their legacy¡ªlike it or not," she thought. An unexpected grin surfaced on her face. "What would they say? Ah, yes. First, unsettle them. Then, take charge." *** Mo stood in a grand hall, surrounded by towering marble columns that reached up toward a ceiling shrouded in shadows, so distant it seemed to touch the sky. The moment she stepped inside, whispers slithered through the air, sharp and menacing, like poisoned daggers slicing through the silence. The sound ricocheted off the walls, bouncing from the ornate niches and hidden side chambers, creating an overwhelming symphony of eerie murmurs that pressed relentlessly against her ears. "Isn''t that Morgana Nightshade?" a voice hissed from somewhere to Mo''s left. "I heard she flunked out of dark arts school on Earth," another voice chimed in, dripping with disdain. "And left to live with normies¡­!" "How scandalous!" "Did she¡­ you know¡­?" "Of course she did!" Mo felt her shoulders tense, her fingers instinctively twirling a strand of ginger hair. She tried to look nonchalant, but her eyes darted around, taking in the sea of judgmental faces. "Is she even a real Dark Lady?" someone sneered loudly enough for her to hear. "Great," Mo thought. "My reputation precedes me. And it''s even worse than I imagined." She slowly moved forward, her footsteps barely audible on the polished marble floor, until she was at the center of the hall. Mo''s eyes flicked from one corridor to the next, uncertainty knotting in her stomach. There were plenty of people around her, but Mo didn''t feel like asking any of them after that first welcome she experienced just a few seconds ago. Without warning, a shimmering scroll appeared mid-air, hovering in front of her. It unfurled with a dramatic, electric crackle, revealing words that glowed in a menacing shade of crimson. The words seemed to pulse with an eerie life of their own. A deep, resonant voice, as if emerging from the very walls around her, began to read the message aloud: "MORGANA ELARIS VEXARIA NYX NIGHTSHADE, SUCCUBUS, DARK LADY. UMBRA ACADEMY WELCOMES YOU. HERE IS YOUR ORIENTATION LETTER!" Mo groaned inwardly. "Because blending in wasn''t already impossible. Do they have to announce not only your status, but also your race? What is it? Middle ages?" The scroll''s appearance, or, more probably, the words pronounced by the voice, seemed to amplify the whispers. Mo could feel the weight of countless sidelong glances, some curious, others openly hostile. She straightened her posture, trying to project an air of confidence she certainly didn''t feel. "Well," she muttered, "nothing says ''welcome to school'' quite like having one of your deepest insecurities broadcast to the entire student body." She swept her gaze across the crowd, meeting the stares head-on. "Happy? Your announcement system thinks I''m a Dark Lady," she exclaimed, exasperated. "Isn''t that enough for you? What else do you want of me? You can go now, spread the rumors. Whatever¡­!" Mo rolled her eyes, a sardonic smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Might as well lean into it," she thought. "What''s the worst that could happen? Oh right, everything." As if on cue, the sea of students parted, revealing a figure that seemed to embody everything Mo despised about villain society. Valerius Crowe strode forward, his cape billowing dramatically behind him despite the distinct lack of wind. His perfectly coiffed hair gleamed under the Academy''s eerie lighting, and a smirk of pure condescension twisted his lips. "Of course," Mo thought, suppressing a groan. "It wouldn''t be a proper villain school without the resident mean girl. Or boy, in this case." She squared her shoulders, bracing for the inevitable confrontation. Valerius glided to a halt an arm''s length away, tilting his head just enough that his dark hair caught the torchlight. His gaze flicked over her battered sneakers, and a smug grin curved his mouth. "Well, well," he said softly, his voice like a cat''s purr. He stood at a slight angle, half-blocking her path, as though to show off his perfect posture¡ªand her apparent lack of it. "If it isn''t the prodigal failure. Returned at last." he increased the volume of his voice, playing for the crowd. "I''ve heard some interesting stories about your¡­ adventures on Earth." The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. He scanned the hall with a playful smirk, his eyes darting mischievously from one person to another. With each exaggerated raise and wiggle of his eyebrows, he silently communicated his intent, ensuring everyone understood the poisonous message behind his expression. Mo felt her cheeks flush with anger, but she forced a bored expression onto her face. "Valerius," she acknowledged flatly. "Still practicing your dramatic entrances, I see. You know, in the human world, we just say ''hello'' like normal people." A ripple of shocked gasps ran through the onlooking crowd. Valerius''s eyes narrowed dangerously, but his smirk never wavered. "Oh, Morgana," he said, his tone mock-sympathetic. "That''s exactly what I''ve heard! I never thought you''d fall so low. Consorting with humans. Serving them¡­" The crowd gasped. But that didn''t stop Valerius. On the contrary, he had more to say. "Still clinging to those quaint human notions? How¡­ pitiful. How¡­ weak." Mo''s fingers twitched, itching to fidget with her hair, but she forced them still. She wouldn''t give Valerius the satisfaction of seeing her nervous tell. "At least I''ve experienced something beyond these stuffy halls," she retorted, injecting as much confidence into her voice as she could muster. "Tell me, Val, have you ever even seen a sunset that wasn''t magically enhanced?" Valerius''s smirk twisted into a sneer. "Why would I bother with such mundane spectacles when I could be honing my powers?" He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a stage whisper that carried to the eager audience. "Unlike some of us who''ve been¡­ such a disgrace¡­ what was it again? Ah, yes¡­ stocking shelves and serving coffee to pathetic mortals." His eyes scanned the crowd once more. He locked gazes with individuals whose eyes gleamed with curiosity, eager for the next juicy tidbit of scandal to unfold. "Maybe even something else?" he continued. "Knowing your¡­ race." The throng of people swayed in a frenzy, a mix of murmurs and shouts echoing from all directions. Mo''s name was shouted repeatedly, each call piercing through the air like a sudden clap of thunder. Laughter and giggles rippled through the gathering, cascading over Mo like a tidal wave, leaving her feeling engulfed and disoriented. Mo felt a pang in her chest. Her time at the bookstore had been a sanctuary, a place where she''d felt genuinely happy. But what was even worse was Valerius''s comment, which hit at the center of her insecurity. The cafe was a refuge where she could forget about all the baggage that came with her birthright. Not only as a heiress of a Dark Lord but also as a person who was supposed to seduce her underlings and enemies into complete obedience. Framed by Valerius''s contempt, it sounded like a dirty secret, not an attempt to find her own path. "Don''t let him get to you," she told herself fiercely. "He knows you too well. He knows which buttons to push, which lies to spew. Those humans showed more kindness than this lot ever has." "You know," Mo said, adopting a casual tone, "I learned more about true villainy from a few months of retail work than you probably have in your entire time here." The crowd''s attention ping-ponged between them, hungry for more drama. Valerius''s eyes glittered dangerously, and Mo braced herself for his next verbal assault. A voice cut through the tension, dripping with sarcasm. "Woooow. That was embarrassing. For him. Publicly blurting out his midnight fantasies. Bold move." Mo''s head snapped towards the source, her eyes landing on a figure that seemed to shimmer at the edges. One moment tall and imposing, the next lithe and graceful. Obsidian skin swirled with smoke-like patterns, and eyes that glowed like embers fixed on Valerius with undisguised amusement. "Who in the nine hells is that?" Mo wondered, a mix of curiosity and relief flooding through her. The newcomer strolled in, cloak swirling around them with effortless flair. Valerius''s attempt at drama seemed kindergarten-level by comparison. "I mean, really," they continued, their voice taking on multiple harmonics that sent a shiver down Mo''s spine. "Mocking someone for having real-world experience? That''s like bragging about never leaving your crypt." Mo felt a smirk tugging at her lips. She couldn''t help but admire the stranger''s audacity, even as she worried about the consequences of challenging Valerius so openly. "And you are?" Valerius sneered, his perfect composure finally cracking. A new shimmering scroll materialized in the air, this one edged in flickering violet fire. Unlike Mo''s, which had been grand and theatrical, this one hummed with restrained aggression¡ªas if it was personally offended by its own existence. The same booming disembodied voice that had announced Mo''s status earlier returned, only this time, it carried a distinct note of frustration. "NYXIR OBSCURIS, TITANBORN DEMON, SCION OF HOUSE OBSCURIS. UMBRA ACADEMY WELCOMES YOU. HERE IS YOUR ORIENTATION LETTER." A collective hush fell over the students. Heads turned toward the source of the announcement, eyes flickering with curiosity, judgment, and, in some cases, pure delight. Nyx sighed loudly and rubbed their temples. "Yeah, yeah, we get it. I exist. Move on." With a lazy flick of their wrist, Nyx sent a pulse of violet energy toward the scroll. It immediately exploded into harmless sparks, cutting itself off mid-title. A gasp rippled through the crowd. Someone clutched their pearls. Someone else took notes, repeating the gesture. Mo was equally impressed. A slow single clap echoed across the hall. Mo didn''t even need to turn around to know who it was. "Ah, the great Nyxir Obscuris graces us with their presence," Valerius drawled, stepping forward, eyes gleaming with amusement. "Or should I say, themselves? Or do you still need a moment to decide?" A few students snickered. Nyx tilted their head, their form flickering for half a second. A subtle shift in height, in build, in the sharpness of their jawline, before settling again. They turned to Valerius with the laziest smirk imaginable. "Aw, Val, I didn''t realize you were so invested in my personal journey," they cooed. "What''s wrong? Feeling a little insecure about all that ''unwavering masculinity''?" Mo choked back a laugh. The snickering turned into outright laughter. Valerius''s smirk twitched ever so slightly. Nyx stepped closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "If you ever need to talk about it, I''m here for you, babe. No judgment." Valerius''s jaw clenched. His fingers twitched at his sides as if debating whether or not to hex Nyx on the spot. Mo was officially a fan. "Good talk," said Nyx. Without waiting for a response from Valerius, they turned to Mo and gently threaded their arm through hers, their movement fluid and smooth. In an instant, the shapeshifter subtly altered their appearance once more, softening their hard features and relaxing their posture. The once sharp gaze now held warmth, and the tension in their shoulders melted away, all signs of aggression dissipating. "Nyxir Obscuris," they said, their voice a melodious blend of tones. "But you can call me Nyx. If that wouldn''t be too much of a mess for us sharing a name. It''s a pleasure to meet the infamous Morgana Nightshade in the flesh." Mo hesitated momentarily before shaking Nyx''s hand, feeling a tingling warmth where their skin touched. "Infamous? Great. Just great." "Please, it''s Mo." "So," Nyx continued, leaning in conspiratorially. "Mo¡­ Let me guess, he''s been listing your failures alphabetically?" Mo couldn''t help but snort, her earlier tension easing slightly. "Is it that obvious?" Nyx''s form rippled again, briefly taking on an exaggerated imitation of Valerius''s pompous stance. "Oh, darling," they drawled in perfect mimicry of his voice, "it''s written all over his insufferably smug face." "I shouldn''t laugh," Mo thought, fighting to keep her expression neutral. "But damn, that''s spot on." Mo quirked an eyebrow, her lips twitching with suppressed amusement. "We just got to ''D'' for disgrace," she quipped, her voice dripping with mock solemnity. She tucked a strand of ginger hair behind her ear, a nervous habit she couldn''t quite shake. Nyx opened their mouth to respond, but a cold voice cut through the air like a blade. "Speaking of disgrace," Valerius sneered, his perfect features twisted into a mask of disdain. He glided towards them, his cape billowing dramatically despite the lack of wind. "I nearly forgot to mention that you aren''t a even real Dark Lady. You have a full council controlling you. You know, provisional." He spat the last word as if it tasted foul. Mo''s stomach clenched. "Of course he''d bring that up," she thought, fighting to keep her face neutral. "Stay calm. Don''t let him see he''s getting to you." Nyx''s eyes gleamed with something dangerously close to glee. "Oh, Val," they purred, tilting their head in exaggerated thought. "You''re really leaning into that provisional insult, huh? I mean, sure, Morgana¡­ Mo has a whole council watching over her, but you, oh, you''re completely independent and mature, right?" Valerius''s smirk froze for just a fraction of a second before returning. "Because if I recall correctly," Nyx continued, casually inspecting their nails that were even brighter than their attire, "at Crowhurst High, our esteemed top student had a few¡­ what do they call it? Provisional permissions? Oh, right¡ªbecause they weren''t fully cleared for some magic courses yet." A ripple of whispers spread through the crowd. "What are you blabbering there, Obscuris?!?" Mo blinked. "Wait. What? I didn''t know that was even a thing!" Nyx leaned in conspiratorially. "You didn''t know? Oh yeah, darling, during his first year, Mister Honors Student had to petition for special clearance in high-level dark arts. Apparently, certain instructors weren''t convinced he had the, what was it? Oh¡ª''properly developed prefrontal cortex to be a responsible unsupervised wielder of high-risk magic.''" Valerius''s gaze darkened. "Careful, Obscuris." His hand twitched as if he was ready to cast a spell. Nyx grinned. "Oh, it seems that your brain has still not fully developed. How''s your impulse control?" they glanced at Valerius''s jittering hand. "And you know better than confronting me. I am always being careful. Unlike the professors who had to clean up your ''unintentional'' spell feedback loops." Mo covered her mouth to hide a laugh. "Wait¡ªValerius? The perfect student? Had restrictions?" Nyx nodded, delighted. "It was tragic, really. He had to get written approval every time he wanted to practice ''unstable ritualistic blood incantations.''" They sighed theatrically. "Such an oppressive system, limiting our dear Valerius''s genius." A few students stifled their laughter, their shoulders shaking with amusement. One student leaned over to a friend and loudly whispered, "Wait, seriously?" The room fell silent for a moment as all eyes darted nervously toward Valerius, checking to see if he had marked the culprit. Valerius remained oblivious, though. His eyes locked intently on Nyx, his expression stern and unwavering. "And yet, unlike you, I was able to finish the school with honors," he said. "You¡­ Wretched thing! Unlike you, whose shifting was considered ''unpredictable and unrefined'' during advanced battle simulations." Nyx shrugged, completely unfazed. "Oh, absolutely. I''m a disaster. That''s why I didn''t throw a tantrum and demand exceptions to the rules." Valerius''s eyes flashed dangerously. Mo suppressed a grin. "That''s the first time I''m beginning to regret I flunked that school on Earth and left, you know¡­" she looked at Nyx with a wide grin. "¡­to consort with all these strange humans." She looked at Valerius again. "You should have led with this, Val. So tell me¡ªwhen you''re not judging my status, does it ever bother you that you had to beg for special permissions back in the day?" Valerius stiffened, then spun on his heel with a dramatic flick of his cape. "Enjoy your first week, Nightshade. I doubt you''ll last past that. I''m sure you''ll run away like you did last time. I won''t even need to make it hard for you." Nyx grinned after him. "And yet, here she is." Mo exhaled, turning to Nyx. "I could kiss you right now." "Dear, you''ll have to buy me dinner first," said Nyx and winked. Chapter 4. Technically, a Dark Lady. Still Begging a Dorm Clerk "Well," Mo said as soon as they left the main hall, "I''d call that a roaring success. Because nothing screams ''welcome to Evil Academy'' more than a public showdown with my old arch-nemesis." Nyx''s form shimmered, growing a few inches taller as their expression became thoughtful. "I''ve heard about you, you know. You were kinda legendary back at Crowhurst High. Students told all kinds of weird stories about you and your escape to the human world." Suddenly, an icy chill settled in Mo''s core, spreading through her veins. She wondered if this was why Nyx had chosen to ally with her, the reason behind her bold confrontation with Valerius. Doubts began to gnaw at her mind¡ªdid they seek to attach themselves to her reputation as a ''legend,'' or was there some hidden agenda, a way to gain something from their association? "You know what?" Mo said. "Thanks for jumping in with Valerius. I hate sparring words with that creep. But, uh, I''m guessing you''ve got your own schedule to figure out, so I''ll just¡­ see you around. Great meeting you, Nyx." "Huh?" mumbled Nyx, their voice tinged with confusion as they shrunk slightly. Not just because their shoulders slumped and posture diminished but also because their stature lost a few centimeters. "What just happened?" Mo glanced back one last time at Nyx''s bewildered expression before hastily turning a corner. She had barely managed to slip away from Nyx when the pressure in her chest tightened like a vice. Mo needed space. She needed air. But Umbra Academy wasn''t precisely the comforting type of place. The stone halls seemed to lean in closer with every step, wild cackling sounding from the dark corridors and shadows thickening along the walls as if the school itself enjoyed watching her unravel. Mo stumbled into the first door she found¡ªan empty classroom¡ªand slammed it shut behind her. The air inside was cold and thick with dust and magic, the smell of old parchment and stale incense suffocating her before she could take a breath. The pressure didn''t stop. If anything, it worsened. Mo''s heart hammered against her ribs, her hands shook violently. No. No. Not here. Not now. Her body screamed for release, for an escape from the invisible hands clawing at her lungs. Mo pressed herself against the door, sinking to the ground with her knees drawn tight to her chest. Breathe. Just breathe. Mo''s eyes darted around the room, desperate for something... Anything to ground her. A flicker of movement caught her attention: quills, floating mid-air, scribbled endlessly across parchment that shimmered with an unnatural glow. Nearby, a chalkboard shifted and writhed as if alive, runes twisting and curling into patterns that glimmered before vanishing. A shelf cluttered with oddities loomed in the corner, and her gaze locked onto a jar of pickled eyes. They blinked lazily, each movement deliberate, tracking her with disconcerting focus. Not the most pleasant sight. Five. Her breath hitched. No, stay here. Don''t spiral. She reached out blindly, fingers grasping for anything real. The rough fabric of her messenger bag met her hand first, worn and familiar beneath her grip. She brought it here from Earth. Her palm landed on a nearby desk''s cold, obsidian surface, its pulse of dark energy thrumming beneath her fingertips. The weight of her familial ring offered a different sensation¡ªcool, smooth, and sharp enough to remind her that she was still here, still in control. Her other hand found the frayed edge of her T-shirt¡ªanother simple connection to Earth''s normalcy stitched into this chaos. You''re okay. You''re okay. Just keep going. Sound rushed back, fragmented but grounding. The groan of ancient bookshelves weighed heavy in the air, thick with the burden of forgotten spells and unsaid words. A soft and unsettling whisper curled through the room in an unfamiliar language, wrapping around her like smoke. The steady scrape of quills against parchment continued, repetitive and constant. Not stopping because of a random person entering the room. Anchoring her to something mundane amidst the madness. Three. Mo''s heartbeat slowed¡ªbarely, but enough. The air carried with it the sharp tang of burnt incense and sulfur, Umbra''s signature scent of oppressive tradition and dark ambition. Beneath it, the softer, grounding aroma of old leather and dust. Something that hit very close to home. Something reminiscent of the things from her bookstore sanctuary filled her lungs. And then, the taste. Sharp and metallic. Anxiety sitting bitter on her tongue. It was a taste she knew all too well, but familiarity offered a strange comfort. She was still here. Still breathing. The crushing weight on her chest began to ease, not vanishing but pulling back far enough for her to wipe her eyes. You survived this long. You made the right decision on Earth. You can survive this place too. And you''ll make Blackthorn Keep better. After you gain full control. A weak, bitter laugh escaped when she leaned back against the cold wall. "Great first day, Mo. Really crushing it." But for the first time since stepping into Umbra Academy, she wasn''t entirely drowning. The fear had loosened its grip, leaving behind a hollow determination. Exhausted, but not broken. From beyond the heavy wooden door came a muffled voice. "Morgana? Mo? I don''t have my orientation letter with me!" Footsteps. Moving away from her. "I''m sorry Mo! I shouldn''t have said that!" Mo slowly opened the door and peeked out into the corridor. Nyx slowly walked away, trying to figure out how Mo disappeared so fast. She took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and let her eyes roam over the rows of vacant desks and scattered papers in the silent classroom. With a final glance at the chalkboard filled with notes, she turned and walked into the corridor. "Hey! I''m here!" Nyx jumped, startled. They looked differently now. The shift was almost imperceptible, but there was something there. Something that was hard to pinpoint. "I needed¡­ a moment," Mo said, gesturing toward the empty classroom. Nyx stepped toward Mo and extended their hand. "I''m sorry," they said softly, stepping closer with a hesitant shrug. "I got way too excited and pushed too hard." "That''s fine. I forgot you didn''t have that orientation letter anymore. You dealt with it quite spectacularly, I should say." Mo looked around her, trying to get her bearings and figure out where to go next. "So, where do we go now?" she asked. "Do you have any idea." "We need to figure out our schedules," Nyx said, uncurling their fingers to count the tasks. "Next, there are workbooks. And we should figure out where our dorm is. So, how do we do this? Head for the Academic Office first or secure our dorm before the next magical catastrophe?" Mo unfurled her scroll and found a map halfway to the end. She traced her finger over the magical parchment, sections of the scroll lighting up and fading out following her movement. "We just left the entrance hall," she said, showing the parchment to Nyx. "That''s here. We need to get to the Registrar''s office. And they should fix all the issues for us. That''s here," she pointed to the first location and then the second. The shortest route began to glow on the map. "Nice! That''s almost like Google Maps!" Mo exclaimed. "What maps?" asked Nyx. "I thought you studied with Valerius on Earth?" "Ah, no¡­" said Nyx. "The school you left was on Earth. I went to the high school with Valerius. Completely different place." With a theatrical flair, they pressed their hand firmly against their chest, eyes widening as if to emphasize the gravity of their words. "I?" they exclaimed, voice dripping with exaggerated disbelief. "On Earth? Such a daunting adventure would demand more courage than I could ever muster!" If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. "Oh, stop it!" exclaimed Mo. "It''s not that adventurous there." "Not if you listen to some of the stories they tell about you," Nyx said and looked at Mo. They obviously saw something shift in Mo''s gaze as they extended their hands in front of them and exclaimed. "Not that I believe them! But I would definitely have to tell you all of them. So that¡­ you know¡­ you''d be prepared." "Right¡­ right," muttered Mo. "Forewarned, forearmed." She looked at Nyx, taking the measure of the shapeshifting person. "Tell me about yourself," she said. "I''ll be frank with you. A dark academy is not the best place to get friendly with the first random person you meet. Even if you seem to click with them." "So, we clicked, huh?" Nyx grinned. "But you are right. Let me introduce myself. As you had already heard, I''m Nyxir Obscuris, Titanborn Demon. But please call me Nyx." Nyx swept into a graceful bow, their cape unfurling like a dark, dramatic wave behind them. The fabric whispered against the floor as it fluttered and settled back into place, adding a touch of theatrical flair to the gesture. "Obscuris¡­ Titanborn¡­" muttered Mo. "I think I remember something from old council meetings my father made me to endure. I never thought your family had anyone as spectacular as you are." For a brief moment, Nyx''s shoulders slumped, their posture collapsing like a punctured hot air balloon losing buoyancy. A sigh escaped their lips as they took a step back from Mo, needing to create a little more distance between them. "Oh¡­ Now I said something wrong," Mo tried to close the distance between them, but Nyx stepped back again. "I''m sorry. There''s some family history there, right? I have plenty of it if you didn''t guess that already." "Well¡­ At least you put it very gracefully," Nyx said, not looking at Mo. "My father would use the words like ''abomination,'' ''fluxspawn,'' or ''shift-wretch.'' And those are the softest he''d choose." "I''m sorry to hear that," said Mo. "I didn''t really speak to my parents in the past few years. Not that they tried a lot to reach out to me." "Hug?" asked Nyx. Now, it was Mo''s turn to step back. "Maybe a bit later," she said. "I''m not sure I''m ready for close contacts yet." "Am I wrong that a few minutes ago you said you''d kiss me?" "That was said in the heat of the moment!" exclaimed Mo, faking outrage. "I was sure it was obvious!" "Uh-huh¡­" Nyx said, a smile returning to their face. "Let''s table it for now. So, Registrar''s office?" She glanced at the map, then back at Nyx''s expectant face. With a sigh that seemed to come from the depths of her very soul, she squared her shoulders. "Right. I suppose that makes me your unofficial tour guide through this labyrinth of lunacy." "You''re a gem, Mo," Nyx grinned, their teeth momentarily sharp and gleaming. "I promise to be the most perfectly unperfect student you''ve ever had the misfortune to shepherd." As they set off down the corridor, weaving between the groups of students and teachers, Mo couldn''t help but think, "What have I gotten myself into?" But beneath the exasperation, there was a tiny spark of excitement. For the first time since arriving at Umbra Academy, she felt a glimmer of hope. *** The rest of their walk to the Registrar''s office flowed smoothly, without any surprises. As they navigated the bustling corridors, they passed clusters of students animatedly discussing their aspirations to become the most formidable and enigmatic dark magic beings across all realms. These earnest declarations, however, drew amused smirks and eye-rolls from older students, who leaned casually against the walls, whispering sarcastic remarks to one another. Meanwhile, the teachers, engrossed in their own conversations or with eyes glued to their notes, seemed to turn a blind eye to the youthful bravado and the teasing that followed. Just outside the office, Mo and Nyx found a large, intricately designed chart. Its heavy, dark frame and ornate lettering gave it a distinctly Gothic feel. The list displayed the names of all the first-year students in an elegant, old-fashioned script. Next to each name, neatly printed in ink, was some additional information about the students. But also, what was more important, the classes they were enrolled in. Mo sighed, looking at the word beside her name: ''succubus.'' Nyx noticed what grabbed Mo''s attention and sighed as well. "I don''t think you''ll be able to avoid that fame here," they said. "Not like it was any secret. Your family is well known in all realms, you know." "Arrrgh¡­ Let''s see what fresh hell awaits us," Mo muttered, her finger tracing down the list of classes. "Diabolical Ethics 101, Minion Management, Advanced Cackling... oh joy." Nyx leaned closer, their breath tickling Mo''s ear. "Any chance we''re stuck together at least partially in this academic nightmare?" Mo''s eyes darted between her schedule and Nyx''s eager face. "Actually, it looks like we might be cellmates in most of these classes. Apparently, the universe has a twisted sense of humor." "Or impeccable taste," Nyx quipped, grinning. Mo rolled her eyes but couldn''t entirely suppress a smirk. "Don''t get too excited. We still have to survive ''Dramatic Entrances and Exits: A Practical Guide.''" "Oh, I excel at dramatic," Nyx said, striking a pose that was equal parts ridiculous and oddly graceful. Mo snorted, her ginger hair falling into her eyes as she shook her head. "I don''t doubt it. Just promise me you won''t set anything else on fire. It was enough that you destroyed your orientation letter seconds after it manifested." As they continued examining the schedule, Mo''s mind wandered. "This is absurd," she thought. "I should be arranging books by genre, not learning how to monologue with more flair. What would my regulars at the bookshop think if they could see me now?" Nyx''s smoky form shifted, coalescing into a caricature of a stuffy professor. "Now class," they intoned in a comically pompous voice, "today we''ll learn the proper way to cackle while twirling your mustache. Remember, it''s all in the wrist!" Mo couldn''t help but laugh, the sound echoing off the stone walls. "Oh god, can you imagine? ''Villainous Facial Hair 301: Advanced Mustache Maintenance.''" Nyx''s form changed once again. Now, they looked like a middle-aged lady with a long handlebar mustache. Mo snorted unexpectedly, the sound sharp and uncontrollable. "Oh, stop it!" "Don''t give them ideas," Nyx said, curling their newly appeared mustache around the finger. "Though I''d pay good money to see you try to grow a handlebar mustache, Mo. Ginger, it would be quite striking!" Mo ran a hand through her disheveled hair, her expression a mix of amusement and exasperation. "I think I''ll stick to my nerdy charm, thanks. Besides, how exactly does one teach villainy? ''Step one: acquire lair. Step two: laugh maniacally. Step three: profit?''" Nyx''s eyes glowed brighter, their voice taking on multiple harmonics as they warmed to the topic. "It''s all so... formulaic. As if true chaos could ever be contained in a syllabus." "Exactly!" Mo exclaimed, her earlier nervousness giving way to passionate indignation. "Villainy isn''t something you learn from a textbook. It''s... it''s..." "An art form?" Nyx supplied, a sharp-toothed grin spreading across their face. Mo nodded, surprised to find herself genuinely connecting with the shapeshifter. "Yes! It''s creativity, it''s innovation. Not... whatever this is," she said, gesturing at the schedule with disdain. "Not that I ever wanted to study it¡­" She looked at Nyx, who suddenly shifted back to their more habitual shape and was watching Mo intently. "Right, let''s get you a new orientation letter before they decide villainy requires a dress code and throw me out of here," Mo sighed. *** As they neared the counter, Mo''s eyes were drawn to Nyx, whose image seemed to shimmer and shift like a mirage. Nyx''s fingers danced restlessly, pressing each fingertip against the opposing thumb in a rhythmic, anxious pattern. "Are you¡­?" Mo whispered. "Are you alright?" "What?" asked Nyx, suddenly taken out of their reverie. "You''re doing well?" "Ah¡­ Yes¡­ Don''t worry," Nyx said. "Everything''s going to be fine." Mo shrugged and stepped forward, looking directly at the clerk. "Replacement schedule for Nyxir Obscuris, please," Mo announced to the bored-looking demon behind the desk. "We had¡­ an accident." The clerk''s eyes narrowed as they looked at Nyx, then back to their parchment. "Nyxir Obscuris¡­ Let me see¡­" The demon opened a large archaic file cabinet and browsed the documents inside. "M¡­ N¡­ O¡­ Ah, yes, here it is." The demon looked at Nyx and then went back to the file. Then he snapped his fingers, and a new scroll manifested in the air before Nyx. "Thank you," Nyx said. "We also wanted to check what''s the status with our dorms." Mo caught Nyx''s eye, hesitating for a breath. The words tumbled out before she could stop them: "We were hoping to share a dorm." So much for staying cautious, she thought as her heart kicked in her chest. Why was she doing this, anyway? Her every instinct yelled slow down, reminding her how ''allies'' in villain schools could be double-edged. In the end, that was one of the reasons she ran away from her middle school. Loyalty always seemed to come with strings attached. But Nyx had stepped up for her, revealing flashes of sincerity behind that shapeshifting bravado. The strangest part was how that sincerity felt¡­ genuine, even if it was still tinted with sarcasm and flair. Mo''s fingers clenched around her messenger bag. She was the Dark Lady. Even if only provisionally. And trust was something she was supposed to ration, not give away. But for now, she decided to ignore the voice in her head telling her to bolt. The clerk squinted at Mo, his eyes narrowing as if trying to decipher a puzzle. Slowly, his gaze drifted to Nyx, studying their face with a hint of curiosity. After a moment, he shifted his eyes back to Mo as if comparing the two. With a slight nod, he quickly picked up Nyx''s file, flipping through the pages with deliberate care. "It is stated in your file that you are male. And¡­" he looked at Mo once again, waiting patiently. "Morgana Nightshade," she prompted. "M¡­ N¡­" the clerk browsed through the files again. "I''m sorry, but in you file it''s clearly stated that you are female. You are¡­ a succubus, right? Not an incubus?" "That''s correct." "Sorry, but it''s absolutely out of question. Quite impossible." Chapter 5. World Domination Starts with Tricking the System (Literally) The clerk gave them both a long, condescending once-over, then let out a clipped sigh. "As I said, absolutely impossible. The dorm rosters are divided by¡­ time-honored parameters." Mo''s brow furrowed. "Parameters? You mean you''re separating housing by illusions of gender? It''s a demon-run school with, I don''t know, shapeshifters and spectral entities. Why would any of that matter?" The clerk stiffened, adjusting his tiny spectacles. "Umbra Academy still adheres to time-honored traditions. We must avoid¡­ incidents." Nyx tilted their head, their form flickering in annoyance. "Incidents? Like what¡ªsomeone conjures a pillow fight demon if we share a room? Are you genuinely worried I''ll shift into a unicorn at midnight?" The clerk gave a dismissive wave. "You know perfectly well what kind of incidents I mean. Anyway, rules are rules. We keep records of each student''s documented form, as provided by their House, parents, or caretaker at birth." Mo felt her jaw tense. "You''re telling me you can handle an entire realm''s worth of curses, yet can''t manage a dorm setup that accommodates a person who might not fit your neat little categories?" The clerk lifted an eyebrow, rifling through the battered file folder before him. "I''m telling you your forms list you as ''female succubus'' and ''male demon.'' Therefore, separate dormitories. Unless you have official documents stating otherwise." Nyx tried to smile, but it looked more like a snarl. "Official documents, huh? Should I supply a live demonstration that I''m not male, or¡­ would that be frowned upon?" Their silhouette stretched upward by an inch, then shrank again as though proving a point. The clerk pursed his lips. "Don''t you make a scene, Nyx Obscuris." He looked at Mo as if she was the more sensible one. "If you want to challenge the dorm assignment, you may file a request with the Housing Committee. It''s typically a four-to-six week deliberation, depending on the complexity of the forms." The air thickened around Mo as if the walls leaned closer with every heartbeat. The clerk''s stubborn expression crystallized behind his absurdly tiny spectacles, like granite set in place by centuries of pointless tradition. The mention of a "four-to-six-week deliberation" echoed in her head like nails on glass. Beside her, Nyx let out a bitter laugh that barely masked their frustration. "Four to six weeks?" Their form flickered in irritation, shifting just enough to catch Mo''s eye. "We''ll have burned down half the campus by then¡ªstrictly theoretical, of course." The tension in the air was thick, almost suffocating. And suddenly, Mo realized something undeniable: logic wouldn''t work here. Not with a system so tangled in outdated traditions it couldn''t recognize reality if it slapped it across the face. Her hand clenched tighter around the strap of her bag, nails biting into the worn fabric. She felt the familiar, unwelcome heat rising from deep inside her, pressure coiling like a snake ready to strike. A part of herself she had buried for years, kept at bay out of fear and stubbornness. But this wasn''t about her discomfort. This was for Nyx. Mo often felt this compulsion to defend somebody else, while in other situations, she may retreat to her shell when someone attacked her. Like it was when she was sent to study on Earth. Like it was in this earlier encounter with Valerius. Mo drew a breath. Deep, slow, deliberate. No cracks. No panic. Not here. The air around her seemed to shift. Growing warmer, heavier. Not limiting her. On the contrary, waiting for her actions. A pulse of energy stirred beneath her skin, a low, humming awareness that sent a shiver across the room. The clerk''s eyes snapped back to her, his smug confidence wavering just a bit. Even though Mo hadn''t shifted a muscle, he also seemed to feel the minute change. But he didn''t yet know what was going to happen. "Look," Mo began, voice dropping just enough to smooth over the air like silk, gaining overtones that Mo rarely allowed to surface. Not sultry, not seductive. Compelling. Unavoidable. "I get it. You''re following rules. Outdated, irrelevant, but ancient and persistent rules." The clerk shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "But let''s be practical," Mo continued, stepping closer. "We''re in a school where reality can be rewritten by sheer will. And we''re seriously clinging to a crusty old parchment written by someone who probably thought female demons should be kept busy sewing hexes into curtains." Her voice wrapped around the words like velvet. Soft, but impossible to ignore. "Especially when these female demons are the ones bringing in gold and making sure this circus keeps running?" The clerk blinked, hand hovering near his folder like a drowning man reaching for a lifeline. "It''s¡­ tradition." His voice wavered as if the certainty behind it was draining away. "Tradition," Mo echoed, drawing out the syllables until they dripped with quiet accusation, dressed up as gentle understanding. "I''m sure you''re just doing your job. Following the script. But¡­" She leaned in slightly, not close enough to invade space¡ªjust close enough to pull him in. "Wouldn''t it be easier if you just¡­ handled this? Quietly? Efficiently? No paperwork delays. No reports. Just done." The clerk swallowed audibly, his spectacles slipping down his nose like they, too, wanted to escape this confrontation. Inside, Mo''s gut churned, the old familiar weight of guilt twisting tighter with every breath. Every second she let that magic seep into her voice felt like stepping back into a cage she thought she''d escaped. This isn''t me. This isn''t what I want to be. This is what they wanted me to be. But Nyx had helped Mo without any hesitation earlier today. They deserved better than to be boxed in by ancient rules written by people who didn''t understand them. And Mo had the perfect tool to fix the problem. So she kept going¡ªjust a little longer. "Imagine how much simpler your day could be," she whispered, each word drifting through the air like thick, cloying smoke¡ªimpossible to ignore, harder still to resist. "One simple approval. No complications." The clerk''s breath hitched. He looked like he could faint at any moment. With a jerky motion, he reached for the housing forms. "Fine," he muttered, stamping the paperwork with a heavy, reluctant thud. "One exception. But if anyone asks, I was hexed into doing this." Mo let out a breath she hadn''t realized she was holding, the magic snapping back inside her like a door slammed shut. Nyx blinked, their form rippling ever so slightly as if sensing an unseen current shift in the air. "Okay, what was that?" Their voice cut through the tension, edged with suspicion¡ªand something that felt dangerously close to concern. Mo forced a tight smile. "We got the room. That''s what matters. Let''s talk later. Not here." "That was¡­" Nyx narrowed their eyes. "You did something, didn''t you?" "Seriously? Is it later already?" Mo''s voice was flat. She turned toward the hallway, feeling the weight of what she''d done pressing against her shoulders. Nyx stopped just long enough for the silence to sting. "You didn''t have to do that, you know." "Yeah," Mo muttered. "But I did anyway." They walked silently for a moment, the buzz of magic lingering faintly on Mo''s skin. Every step felt like dragging guilt behind her. "Hey," Nyx said, hurrying to step in front of Mo and block her path. Suddenly, their voice sounded softer. "Thanks. Really. I mean it." Mo didn''t respond. She couldn''t. Because deep down, all she could think was: What did I just unlock? And what will happen the next time I have to use it? If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. *** Mo followed Nyx in a haze, her footsteps automatic. The shapeshifting demon unrolled the new copy of their orientation letter and traced the path on the map, following the highlighted route. But for Mo, everything that was further away than her new friend faded into the background. Around them, the chaos of Umbra Academy unfolded like a carnival of madness. Students hexing each other mid-laugh, shadows slithering along walls, and a shriek from somewhere deep within the halls. But it all faded into white noise. All Mo could focus on was the heaviness clamped around her chest and the faint, lingering taste of power on her tongue. Mo blinked back into awareness as Nyx swung open the heavy door of their room with a theatrical flourish. The creak echoed like a warning¡ªor maybe a welcome, depending on how much doom and gloom one expected. Mo''s breath hitched, surprise flaring in her chest. "Well¡­ that''s¡­ not what I was expecting." The room before them was a study in contrasts. Plush velvet curtains framed windows that offered a view of a sky torn apart by endless storm clouds. Overstuffed armchairs lounged near a crackling fireplace, the flames casting golden reflections against the glossy mahogany bookshelves lining the walls. They stood ominously empty for now, waiting for the repositories of knowledge to fill them, if not the students'' minds. Somehow, there were no grotesque gargoyles or leering demon heads anywhere in the room. It was just unsettlingly cozy normalcy that felt more like a trap than comfort. "It''s like someone mashed together evil overlord chic with grandma''s Sunday tea room," Mo mused, coming out of her reverie, running a hand along a nearby desk''s smooth surface. "If only I had a normal human grandmother¡­ But I''m half expecting to find doilies under the skull-shaped paperweights." She shuffled towards one of the doors that led to the adjoining rooms. Both were bedrooms, one for each of the students. A thought swiftly passed through Mo''s mind that she''d probably have to discuss which bedroom was for whom. But when she got to the nearest bed, her legs suddenly felt like lead. The day''s events crashed over her like a wave, and Mo found herself collapsing face-first onto the silken comforter. "I can''t believe this is real," she mumbled into the fabric, her voice muffled. "Villain school. Actually villain school. With seminars on cape-twirling and¡­ and whatever else. My parents would be having a field day if they could see this." Mo rolled onto her back, eyes fixed on the ceiling''s intricate carvings¡ªtwisting vines that seemed to writhe if she looked too long. "I thought I left all this behind. The posturing, the legacy, the stupid expectations. But here I am¡­ already doing the thing again." She let out a bitter laugh. "And the worst part?" Mo continued, looking at Nyx, who appeared in the door frame. "I can''t even bring myself to hate it completely. It''s just so... so..." "Absurd?" Nyx offered, entering the bedroom and settling into one of the armchairs with fluid grace. "I hope you don''t mind me entering your bedroom. Is it your bedroom? Should we discuss it? Ah¡­ Never mind, we''ll figure that out." "Exactly," Mo sighed. "I mean, don''t get me wrong, I still think it''s completely stupid. But there''s a part of me that''s almost... curious? Like, how bad can it really get?" She groaned, throwing an arm over her eyes. "Oh no. I''m getting sucked in, aren''t I? Quick, Nyx, remind me why this is all terrible before I start taking ''Maniacal Laughter 101'' seriously." Nyx''s lips curled into a sardonic smile as they gazed out the ornate window, watching lightning crackle across the turbulent sky. Their form began to shift. The only constant was the obsidian skin that flowed like liquid shadow. Until a few moments later, Nyx adopted an androgynous form. Something in between all the shapes Mo had a chance to see during that hectic morning. The clothes also changed. In a way, they were mimicking Mo''s attire now, with a nerdy T-shirt and a pair of jeans torn on the knees. "Oh, darling," Nyx purred, their voice a melodious contralto, "this is only the beginning." They turned to face Mo, eyes glowing with mischievous fire. "We haven''t even scratched the surface of this delightful cesspool of villainy." Mo pushed herself up on her elbows. One brow arched with genuine disbelief. "You''re actually enjoying this circus? Also¡ªseriously, teach me how you do that clothes-shifting trick. I pack light, but that is next-level survival magic." "Oh, thank you, I''m glad that you find my transformations entertaining," Nyx said. "But I''m not sure if this skill is for everyone. There are some¡­ downsides to it." "I''m sorry, Nyx," Mo said. "I didn''t mean it that way." She paused, winding a strand of her ginger hair around her finger. And then glanced at Nyx mischievously. "Whatever the downsides, it''s a handy skill, there''s no denying that!" "Oh, well¡­" Nyx laughed, the sound reminiscent of tinkling glass. "As for enjoying this mess? Perhaps. But more importantly, I see... potential." They stood up and walked across the room to the large window that opened to the outer territory of the Academy, giving a view to a bizarrely planned park. "Think about it, Mo. All these rigid structures, these absurd expectations¡­ They''re begging to be shattered." Abruptly, Nyx turned back to Mo. "And you have already started doing that!" they said. "I was ready to comply¡­ When the clerk misgendered me¡­ I didn''t expect this to happen here. You were right, it''s a school full of shapeshifters and even people who are non-binary or couldn''t be gendered at all. I just¡­ I didn''t expect the same old mess to follow me from my parent''s home here¡­" Mo frowned, her brow furrowing. "I''m not sure I fully follow." "This thing with Valerius?" Nyx said. "It was nothing. Just some banter between two students that happened to go to the same school. But what you did with that clerk¡­ You''ve already started doing something I had only dreamt about. You inspired me! Now I want more!" "And what exactly is that?" a chill went along Mo''s spine. She could probably guess where all that was heading. But it wasn''t for nothing that she decided not to use her powers during her extended stay on Earth. "We''ll use their own methods to subvert this institution," Nyx said, their eyes sparking with anticipation. "Just you wait! You showed some skills there, at the Registrar''s office. I¡­ I have some stuff as well." Nyx swirled as if to show off their look. Then stopped and noticed Mo''s appraising look. "Not only that. I have other skills as well!" Mo''s laughter bubbled up, sharp and unexpected, slicing through the heaviness that had been clinging to her all morning. The dark cloud of suspicion dissipated, and she thought she saw Nyx for what they really was. She saw the person beneath the defiance and dramatic flair¡ªsomeone who understood what it felt like to be out of place, forced into a role that didn''t fit. Nyx''s laughter soon joined hers, bright and clear like cracked glass catching the sunlight. They spun in a lazy twirl and landed back in the armchair with a flourish that felt less like a performance and more like a release. "So," they said, suddenly becoming very serious. "Back at the Registrar''s office¡­ what was that? You used your magic, didn''t you? Something deeper than charm or persuasion. Ancestral power?" The smile drained from Mo''s face as swiftly as the warmth left the room. That old instinct roared back louder than before. This was a mistake. You can''t trust anyone here. Not in this place. Not ever. Her heart clenched, and the familiar armor slammed back into place, shutting the door on vulnerability before it could even crack open. "Ah¡­" said Nyx. "I''m sorry¡­" They stood up, and the armchair creaked softly as if complaining. Mo''s only response to Nyx''s words was subtle; she shifted to her side, her back now facing Nyx, and fixed her gaze on the blank wall across from her. Nyx hesitated in the doorway for a brief moment. "Do you want to learn a secret of mine?" they said, not looking at Mo. "It would be only fair, I think. As I learned yours. Even if it didn''t seem to be a secret. As, you know, you are a succubus." Mo shrugged off the question, still not looking at Nyx. "This form¡­" Nyx said. "It''s my favorite. It feels the most¡­ me. But in public? I shift¡ªmale, female, in-between. Depending on the reaction I''d like to get from other people. From my¡­ opponents." Nyx turned their head back, glancing at Mo. "That''s not the real secret," Nyx continued, voice barely more than a whisper now. "The truth is¡­ none of my forms were ever enough. Not the graceful, delicate ones. Not the strong, unbreakable ones. My parents¡ªTitanborn royalty¡ªexpected rigidity and absolutes. No¡­ aberrations. That''s what they called me. An error in the bloodline. A glitch in their perfect system. They paused. "Our archivist told me it had never happened before in the whole history of our clan. I have my thoughts about that, though." Finally, Mo sat up on her bed and looked at Nyx. Her hand stretched toward the shapeshifter, but it was too late. Nyx had already turned away, slipping through the door with a soft click that felt louder than it should have. The silence in the room felt heavier now, thick with all the uncomfortable moments that filled their lives, which were so different but somehow felt so similar at the same time. Mo''s fingers twitched against the comforter, restless, drawn to the lingering warmth left in the air from where Nyx had stood moments before. And then she felt it. The pulse¡ªfaint at first, like a whisper under her skin. A seductive thrum of power stirring deep inside her, hungry and sharp, coiling through her veins like smoke made solid. It reached for the memory of Nyx''s voice, their vulnerability laid bare mere minutes before. You could help them, it murmured, slick and persuasive. Ease their pain. Just a touch¡­ a suggestion¡­ You could help yourself¡­ Mo''s hand drifted forward before she even realized it, fingers curling slightly, the heat of compulsion sparking behind her ribs. Like slipping into something too familiar, too easy. She could feel the connection sparking in the air, like reaching across the gap between them wouldn''t just comfort Nyx¡ªit would bend them ever so gently. Fix the connection they started to build today. Make it the way it should be. Her breath hitched. No. Her hand snapped back as if burned. The power recoiled, leaving a hollow ache in its wake. An echo of temptation she couldn''t afford to answer. Mo clenched her fist tight, nails digging into her palm until pain grounded her again. "I won''t let that happen," she whispered. But as she sat alone with the weight of everything she had almost done, the truth settled over her like a storm cloud. The power was still there. It would never go away. Chapter 6. Monologuing 101: Academias Dark Side A banshee alarm clock''s wail sliced through Mo''s consciousness, its otherworldly shriek turning her peaceful sleep into shredded silk. She yanked her pillow over her head with a groan that came from the depths of her soul. "Make it stop," she groaned into her pillow. "Even the eternal void sounds better than morning classes at villain school." Mo stumbled into the shared hall, where a writhing mass of midnight shadows twisted and coalesced into Nyx''s form. Their smoke-like hair danced upward in tendrils, defying not just gravity but any semblance of what Mo had considered ordinary in the past few years. The dorm they''d somehow managed to secure despite the registrar''s protests was a bizarre blend of luxury and menace. Two bedroom doors flanked the shared living space¡ªMo''s carved with twisting vines that occasionally bloomed toxic-looking flowers, Nyx''s decorated with shifting runes that rearranged themselves into different demonic prophecies each day. Between them stretched an unexpectedly comfortable common area: plush velvet couches positioned before a fireplace where flames burned in unnatural colors, bookshelves lined with grimoires that whispered their contents when you passed too closely, and a study table that helpfully adjusted its height depending on who sat at it. The ceiling was the most unsettling feature¡ªa perfect replica of the night sky that shifted with actual constellations, occasionally revealing glimpses of realms beyond their own when certain stars aligned. Mo had already caught herself staring at it more than once, mesmerized despite herself by celestial patterns that seemed to form and dissolve like fragmented memories. "You say that," Nyx replied, their voice resonating with multiple harmonics, "but dying is just so pedestrian. Besides, traditional death doesn''t really apply to most students here anyway. Does it apply to you?" Mo looked at Nyx intently." Yeah, I thought so." Mo squinted at the gothic architecture of their dorm suite, still disoriented by the permanent twilight that seemed to envelop Umbra Academy regardless of the actual time of day. "What in the seven hells was that?" she asked. "I was prepared for stupid villainous monologues when I portaled here. But not for that!" "Ah¡­ The buzzer?" asked Nyx. "Just a souvenir from my cousins. It made its job, didn''t it? We are ready for our first class. Well¡­ almost¡­ I need some coffee! " That simple comment hit Mo like a bucket of icy water, freezing her from the inside out. Homesickness crashed over her¡ªthe phantom scent of freshly ground coffee and crisp new pages, the memory of customers who smiled without plotting your demise. Her sanctuary, stolen away. Just days ago, that had been her reality. Now, that sanctuary felt like a dream slipping through her fingers with every passing hour in this nightmare school. "I spent two years waking up to sunlight streaming through my apartment window," she said, staring longingly at the stained-glass windows that depicted various methods of torture. "Now I''m back to..." she gestured vaguely at the room, "...this." Moving back to their bedroom, Nyx shifted again, their form compressing slightly as they rummaged through a wardrobe filled with clothing that seemed to move on its own. "You could have stayed in your little human bookshop forever if that''s what you wanted." Mo''s fingers twisted into her tangled ginger hair¡ªher nervous tell betraying her. "You know it wasn''t that simple. Not with my parents missing." "Nothing ever is simple for the great Nightshade lineage, is it?" Nyx''s tone was deliberately provocative as if inviting Mo to spill the beans, but their eyes¡ªcurrently resembling burning coals¡ªavoided Mo''s gaze. "Let''s not," Mo said quietly, pulling herself out of bed and grabbing the least villainous outfit she could find¡ªblack jeans and a faded t-shirt from a human band that would horrify most of the faculty just because the band had the word ''Demon ''in its name. Such a cultural appropriation. "Same agreement as yesterday," Mo cut in, raising her hand. "Your family trauma stays your business, my dark inheritance stays mine. Deal?" Nyx''s form rippled slightly¡ªa tell Mo had already learned signaled discomfort. "Fine by me. The past is boring anyway. So predictable." They pulled on an outfit that seemed to be made primarily of buckles and smoke. "Today is for making new, more interesting mistakes." Mo snorted, pulling her hair into a messy bun. "I think enrolling here was mistake enough for one lifetime." She grabbed her schedule from the nightstand and groaned. "First class is ''Villainous Monologuing 101.'' Please tell me that''s a joke." "With Professor Mortis? Absolutely not." Nyx''s mouth split into a grin that was literally too wide for their face. "He''s been perfecting his own monologues since before the first human empire fell." This is real, Mo thought, the weight of her family name pressing down on her shoulders. This is my legacy. Not cozy reading nooks and the smell of old books, but... this. "You coming?" Nyx stood by the door, their form now fully solidified and ready for the day. *** Mo followed Nyx into the corridor, trying to memorize their route¡ªa futile effort at Umbra Academy. Yesterday, the hallway had stretched for nearly a quarter mile before branching; today, it split into three paths after just twenty paces. Portraits that had hung on the left wall now adorned the right, watching with painted eyes that tracked their movements. "Does the school... rearrange itself?" Mo asked, hurrying to keep up with Nyx, who navigated the shifting layout with practiced ease. "Only when it''s bored," Nyx replied, casually sidestepping a patch of floor that briefly turned transparent, revealing an abyss of swirling mist below. "Or when it wants to make a point. The Necromancy Department was late to a faculty meeting last month, so their entire wing relocated to the dungeons for a week." They gestured toward a staircase that definitely hadn''t been there moments before. "This way. The staircases may move, but they''re generally more reliable than the hallways. They have a sense of direction, at least." "You''re suspiciously chipper about all this," Mo said, eyeing them sideways. Nyx''s smile stretched to their ears. "Because it''s absolutely ridiculous. Have you read the syllabus?" They pulled out a scroll that unfurled dramatically to the floor. "Week three: ''The Art of the Villainous Pause.'' Week five: ''When to Reveal Your Master Plan (and When Not To).''" "And you''re... happy about this?" "Happy? I''m ecstatic." Nyx shifted form slightly, adding dramatic shoulder spikes that nearly impaled a passing student. "Sorry!" they called, not sounding sorry at all. "Do you know how many stuffy Titanborns I can mock with a properly executed villain monologue? This is professional-grade ammunition against every elder who ever told me to ''just pick a form and stick with it.'' Not to mention¡­" Nyx wiggled their insane eyebrows and loudly whispered into Mo''s ear. "Our plan!" Mo frowned. "So you''re... weaponizing the curriculum? And what plan? We don''t have any plan! At least yet. The only thing I plan is to survive this school year and try to figure the way out without having the Council decline my inheritance." She covered her face with her hands and nervously laughed. "I don''t even know why I bother. I never wanted this fate!" Her voice cracked, a mixture of frustration and resignation echoing from the walls of the narrow corridor. "Precisely!" Nyx''s eyes flashed with multiple colors. "But I thought you didn''t want to talk about it. Never mind! Even if you do, I won''t! And if they forced me into this ridiculous school, I might as well become exceptionally good at being bad. Or mad. On my terms." As they neared the Monologuing classroom, the student traffic thickened. A trio of wraith-students drifted through the solid stone wall, their translucent forms trailing wisps of ectoplasm. Nearby, a group of junior necromancers huddled over a chattering skull, frantically comparing notes while their animated bone familiars scurried around their ankles like macabre pets. Mo stepped quickly aside as a dryad hurried past, trailing autumn leaves despite the absence of seasons within Umbra''s walls. Two vampire upperclassmen glided by with imperious expressions, their skin so pale it seemed to glow against their immaculate uniforms. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. "Get a look at the blood-bags," Nyx whispered, nodding toward a cluster of demon nobility hovering¡ªliterally floating six inches above the floor¡ªnear the classroom entrance. "Too precious to let their feet touch stone walked on by commoners." One of them, a horned figure wearing more jewelry than seemed practical for an educational setting, caught Nyx''s glance and sneered. "Obscuris. Still... fluctuating, I see. How disappointing for your family." Nyx''s form rippled dangerously, fingers momentarily lengthening into claws before they forced a too-wide smile. "Bloodworth. Still pretending your great-grandfather didn''t marry a swamp hag? The webbing between your fingers is showing." The demon''s hand immediately clenched into a fist, hiding his fingers as his companions exchanged glances. The classroom door loomed ahead¡ªa massive slab of ancient wood carved with scenes of historic villain speeches. As they approached, the carved figures began moving, silently mouthing famous villain quotes. "That is... deeply unsettling," Mo muttered. "That''s Professor Mortis for you. I had an honor attending his lecture Crowhurst High. It. Was. Pure madness! He''s been perfecting the art of unsettling for approximately four thousand years." Nyx straightened their spine, adding at least three inches to their height. "Time to shine, roomie." The door swung open on its own, revealing a cavernous amphitheater. In the center stood a withered figure draped in midnight robes, gesturing with skeletal hands as students settled into their seats. *** Professor Mortis hovered with menacing precision inches above the floor as if even gravity knew better than to lay claim to him without permission. His midnight robes billowed outward in impossible directions, defying physics in a way that made Mo''s eyes hurt. Beneath his hood, a skeletal face leered at the class, twin orbs of blue flame flickering where eyes should be, somehow conveying both ancient wisdom and contemptuous amusement at their mortal limitations. "Monologuing," he announced, the word reverberating throughout the chamber, "is not merely an indulgence, but the very cornerstone of a villainous identity, the defining essence of those who embrace the shadows. It is in these carefully crafted soliloquies, these dramatic declarations, that the true art of villainy is revealed, elevating you above the ordinary and into the realm of the unforgettable. Without the eloquent articulation of your grand intentions, the meticulous airing of your grievances, and the vivid proclamation of your inevitable triumph, what truly distinguishes you from a mere common thug?" Mo slid down further in her seat, pulling her hoodie tighter around her face. "Basic decency?" she muttered. "Your victims deserve to understand the intricate reasons behind being subjected to your unparalleled brilliance," the professor continued, conjuring ghostly images of famous villains mid-monologue. "They should be able to grasp the complex web of circumstances that have led to their current predicament. Your enemies, on the other hand, must fully comprehend the vast scope and depth of their impending defeat, recognizing every strategic maneuver and tactical advantage you hold. And most importantly," his flaming gaze swept the room, "the annals of history demand your eloquent words to ignite a spark of inspiration in the minds of the next generation, guiding them with the lessons and wisdom distilled from your experiences." Nyx was frantically scribbling notes, their obsidian skin pulsating with excited patterns. "This is magnificent," they whispered. "Did you hear that bit about ''inevitable triumph''? Pure poetry." "Pure delusion," Mo replied but kept her voice low. Something about Professor Mortis suggested interruptions wouldn''t end well. The professor raised a bony finger, and twelve ornate floor-length mirrors materialized around the classroom. "Today, each of you will embark on the challenge of crafting a compelling monologue that articulates why you are worthy of ruling, destroying, or otherwise dominating your chosen realm," his lipless mouth somehow formed a smile. "You will stand before these enchanted mirrors, their surfaces shimmering with an ethereal glow, as they listen intently to your performance. With eyes that seem to peer into your very soul, these mirrors will offer critiques as sharp and unrelenting as a winter''s chill. For centuries, they have been imbibing the essence of theater critics, their glassy depths teeming with the accumulated wisdom and harshness of countless reviews. Prepare yourself, for their judgment will be as impartial as it is merciless." Mo''s stomach dropped. "Public speaking and public humiliation. My two favorite things." "Pairs will be assigned," Professor Mortis continued. "One to perform, one to witness. Your grade depends on improvement, not initial talent." Names began appearing in fiery script beside each mirror. Mo scanned for hers, praying to be paired with Nyx. At least they''d make it entertaining. Instead, she found her name glowing next to "Lucian Frostbrook." "Who the hell is Lucian Frostbrook?" she whispered. "Heir to the Frostbrook dynasty," Nyx replied, already gathering their things. "Ice demons. Absolutely ruthless. Rumor has it they once froze an entire kingdom just because the prince didn''t compliment the queen''s new crown." "Great," Mo sighed, trudging toward her assigned mirror. "Just great." "Oh, and heads up," Nyx called after her. "You got Lady Waxworth. She once made the Duchess of Eternal Midnight cry for three days straight after critiquing her villain laugh. Psychology Department had to intervene." Mo turned back in alarm, but Nyx had already sauntered toward their own mirror, whistling cheerfully. As she approached, the mirror''s surface rippled like disturbed water. Her reflection distorted¡ªstretching, compressing, and finally shattering completely¡ªbefore reforming into a severe-looking woman with steel-gray hair pulled into a punishing bun, lips pursed so tightly they''d turned white, and a monocle that somehow managed to look judgmental on its own. "Well?" the mirror sniffed, her voice dripping with centuries of theatrical disdain. "I haven''t got eternity." Her eyes flicked toward Professor Mortis. "Only he does." The monocle glinted maliciously. "And neither of us is getting any younger waiting for you to begin." "I''m waiting for my partner," Mo said, crossing her arms defensively. "Excuses already? Not promising." The mirror''s reflection tapped its foot impatiently. A quiet voice spoke from behind her. "I believe I''m your partner. Lucian Frostbrook." Mo turned to find herself facing a slender figure with pale blue skin and hair like fresh snow. Tiny ice crystals formed in the air around him as he offered an apologetic smile. "Sorry to keep you waiting," he said softly. "I was, um, hoping to avoid this class entirely." For once, Mo felt an instant kinship with someone at this bizarre school. "Join the club," she replied. "I''m Mo¡ªMorgana Nightshade." "Nightshade?" His eyebrows rose slightly. "I''ve heard of your family. Impressive lineage." "Yeah, well." Mo shrugged. "Don''t believe everything you hear." "Enough pleasantries!" the mirror barked. "One of you, begin your monologue. Convince me you''re worthy of fear and respect, or I shall eviscerate your performance with such cutting remarks that your great-grandchildren will feel the sting." *** After earning a grudging ''Passable'' from the woman with the judgmental monocle, Mo turned her attention to Nyx a few mirrors down, who was clearly mid-performance with no intention of letting their mirror critic get a word in. "Silence!" Nyx commanded. "How dare you interrupt my meticulously crafted exposition! As I was saying, I have mastered the art of the seventeen traditional cape-swishes, each one a symphony of movement and grace. With a flourish, I can make the fabric billow like a stormy sea or snap crisply like a banner in the wind. These swishes are not mere gestures; they are an elegant dance, a performance honed to perfection through countless hours of practice, each twist and turn a testament to my dedication and skill." They demonstrated with an invisible cape, each movement more ridiculous than the last. Mo bit her lip, recognizing precisely what Nyx was doing. "Furthermore," Nyx continued, now adopting the professor''s exact tone, "I have meticulously mastered the time-honored craft of detailing my entire master plan to the hero, weaving an intricate tapestry of my intentions and strategies. Each word is chosen with precision, revealing my grand scheme in all its glory. Yet, I always leave just enough of a window, a sliver of time, for the inevitable twist¡ªtheir daring escape." From the back of the room, someone snorted with laughter¡ªa thin, pale student with spectacles who immediately clapped his hand over his mouth in horror. Too late. The lich professor whirled, bone fingers weaving a complex pattern. "Disrespect the sacred traditions, will you? Perhaps a lesson is in order!" A sickly purple light erupted from his skeletal fingers, slithering through the air like a venomous serpent before striking the laughing student square in the face. The student''s scream died in his throat as his lips rippled and sealed together¡ªflesh melting like wax in reverse until nothing remained but smooth, unbroken skin where his mouth had been. His eyes bulged with primal terror as his fingers desperately clawed at the seamless flesh, his muffled screams trapped forever behind a prison of his own face. "The Silence of Shame will wear off in twenty-four hours," the professor stated coldly. "Perhaps next time you''ll appreciate the gravity of proper villain education." The classroom fell into silence. Nyx''s form shrank slightly, though their expression remained defiant. Mo scanned the room, reading the varied reactions. Horror in some eyes, but¡ªmore disturbingly¡ªcalculation in others. She could practically see their mental notes forming: Professor Mortis''s hex¡ªperfect for silencing rivals. Must learn how to trigger it against enemies. Mo stared at the student, then at the professor, her stomach churning. They actually hex students for laughs. This isn''t just ridiculous¡ªit''s cruel. The man in the mirror, apparently oblivious to the tension, finally had an opportunity to give his remark. "While unorthodox, the delivery showed genuine commitment to performance. Seven out of ten for dramatic presence, though the content leaves much to be desired." Mo''s hands trembled as she gathered her books. The image of that student¡ªface smooth where a mouth should be¡ªburned in her mind. She''d expected ridiculous at Umbra Academy, maybe even challenging, but not this casual cruelty masquerading as education. The worst part was how quickly everyone just... accepted it. Just another day at villain school. She caught Nyx''s eye, searching for any sign that they found this as disturbing as she did, but their expression had become unreadable, their form unnaturally still. The dissonant bell chimes broke the silence, signaling the end of class¡ªbut Mo knew with cold certainty that this was just the beginning of Umbra Academy''s horrors. Chapter 7. So, Your TA is Being Hexed for Science The dissonant bell chimes scraped against Mo''s nerves like fingernails on glass, each note reverberating through her skull as students gathered their things. Several were still muttering dramatic speeches under their breath, perfecting their villainous cadence. "What''s next?" she asked, massaging her temples and desperately hoping for something¡ªanything¡ªmundane. Nyx''s eyes lit up with mischief. "We have to split, darling." Nyx''s eyes twinkled as they twirled, their cloak billowing outward in a perfect arc that defied the still air. "I have Traditional Villain Aesthetics and Decorum¡ªwhere one learns the proper angle for cape flourishes and the exact degree to which one''s eyebrow should arch when pronouncing doom." They spun dramatically, their cloak whipping around with practiced precision. "That''s where I got the inspiration for the previous class! I just looked at the workbook''s cover and it clicked. But you have something different, I think." "Let me check," said Mo, unfurling her orientation scroll. "Ah, yes¡­ I have Minion Mismanagement. The Council demanded I choose it. Maybe it was their reaction to my demand to give the goblins a tax break." "You did what?" Nyx exploded with laughter, their form momentarily losing cohesion at the edges from sheer amusement. "A TAX? BREAK? To goblins?" They clutched dramatically at their chest. "Oh, that''s positively revolutionary! The Council must have collectively choked on their ancient wine. And what glorious chaos ensued?" "I don''t know," said Mo. "I''m here and they''re there." "So, when''s our next class together?" asked Nyx. "Ah, yes. It would be the last class of the day. Not a single demon should miss Hexes & Curses. That''s what my father always said. I wonder what attracted him to this class so much." Mo nodded and watched Nyx vanish down the passageway. On her way to Minion Mismanagement, she navigated Umbra''s shifting corridors, each one more unsettling than the last. She passed an open classroom door where the acrid stench of brimstone made her eyes water¡ªinside, a student stood over a summoning circle while their creation, a minor demon with its head twisted backward, spewed curses at the ceiling. In the next hall, students gathered three-deep to watch an instructor whose extra limbs moved with precision, demonstrating how to strangle enemies "with the appropriate theatrical timing." The instructor''s voice drifted out: "Remember, allow them just enough breath for final words¡ªthe audience expects it." Mo slowed as she passed an alcove where senior students huddled like conspirators, their voices dropping to whispers at her approach. The words "Midnight Trial" floated toward her, wrapped in tones of both excitement and unmistakable dread. One student caught her looking and narrowed six pupils at once. She quickened her pace, wondering if she''d ever feel anything but out of place in these halls. During her hours away from Nyx''s irreverent company, Mo endured Minion Mismanagement with clenched teeth. The instructor droned on about "optimal fear-to-loyalty ratios" and "the art of selective punishment," while Mo''s mind drifted to her bookstore. There, leadership had meant remembering everyone''s coffee preferences and lending an ear when Ellie, her part-time assistant, needed relationship advice. Not... this calculated cruelty disguised as efficiency. Her pen hovered over her notes as the question that had haunted her since accepting the provisional crown resurfaced: How could she transform Blackthorn Keep without becoming her parents? They''d ruled through fear and manipulation, traits seemingly baked into the very stones of the fortress. Even now, with them gone, their absence left a void that expected¡ªdemanded¡ªto be filled with the same darkness. Mo caught herself sketching a latte art design in her notebook and quickly covered it with her hand. She''d fled to humanity and built a life where kindness wasn''t a weakness, yet here she was, back in this twisted world. But if not me, then who? The thought surfaced unbidden. Someone would take Blackthorn Keep¡ªsomeone who wouldn''t hesitate to squeeze the goblins dry, who wouldn''t question the old ways. She''d seen the gleam in Aldric''s eyes, the barely concealed ambition. The Keep might not be what she wanted, but perhaps it was where she needed to be¡ªif only to ensure it didn''t fall into worse hands. As the bell finally released her from class, Mo found herself counting the minutes until she could see Nyx again¡ªthe one person whose outlandish defiance of tradition made her feel less alone in this madness. *** Mo leaned against the stone wall outside the Hexes & Curses classroom, her ginger hair falling over one eye in what she hoped was a "couldn''t care less" fashion but probably just looked messy. The corridor, with its dark walls and flickering torches, was meant to inspire dread¡ªbut it only triggered a dull headache and the overwhelming desire to be back shelving novels in her human bookstore. A ripple disturbed the air at the end of the hallway like heat rising from summer pavement. And then, there was Nyx, their obsidian skin shifting between crystalline forms as they approached. Eventually, they''d settled on a tall, angular body with shoulders that tapered to impossible points. "So, what else did you have?" Mo asked, pushing herself away from the wall and trying to ignore how it seemed to pulse slightly beneath her fingertips. "Demonic Histories? How was it?" "Barely survived," Nyx''s voice rippled with multiple tones. "Professor Grimshade¡ªaptly named, I might add¡ªspent two excruciating hours recounting how his great-grandfather disemboweled an entire village. With visual aids. He called it ''inspiration for ambitious young villains.'' I call it ''how to lose your appetite for the next century.''" Their form shifted briefly into something smaller before snapping back. "You?" "After that complete fiasco they quite reasonably called Minion Mismanagement I had Infernal Etiquette. We practiced the proper way to laugh when your enemies are consumed by hellfire." Mo demonstrated with a lackluster "Mwah-ha-ha" that earned her a stern look from a passing senior student. "Apparently, I lack proper villainous conviction." "Shocking," Nyx replied. Their conversation halted as a cool draft wafted through the corridor. Approaching them was a tall figure that seemed to radiate winter itself. His frost-white hair caught the torchlight, sending prismatic sparks dancing across the ceiling. The guy''s skin held a pale blue tint, and tiny ice crystals formed around him with each exhale. When he caught them watching, his silver eyes widened, and frost spread across his cheeks in what Mo realized was the ice demon equivalent of a blush. She recognized him immediately¡ªher reluctant partner from Monologuing class, whose subdued demeanor had made the mirror critic''s harsh judgment slightly more bearable. The frost-haired boy gave a slight bow that radiated rebellion in its subtlety¡ªnot the deep, groveling obeisance required by Infernal Etiquette, as Mo had recently learned, but something graceful and efficient that spoke of self-respect. As he straightened, tiny ice crystals formed and cascaded from his fingertips like diamond dust catching the torchlight in prismatic explosions. The temperature around him seemed to dance between winter''s kiss and spring''s gentle touch¡ªcontrolled power rather than intimidation. "Pardon the intrusion," he said, his voice soft as new-fallen snow. He inclined his head toward Mo. "I''m pleased our paths cross again after that... theatrical assessment." His gaze shifted to Nyx, silver eyes reflecting the flickering torchlight. "And I don''t believe we''ve been properly introduced. Lucian Frostbrook, at your service." A rueful smile touched his lips as frost patterns spiraled across his collar. "They claim in villain halls that blood runs cold, but mine''s merely frozen outright¡ªwinter''s gift, ensuring I never truly warm to the family business of turning heartbeats to silent clockwork." Mo blinked. She''d never expected anyone at Umbra Academy to introduce themselves with what sounded like a line from a melancholy poem. Beside her, Nyx''s form rippled slightly, their shoulders losing their aggressive points as curiosity overtook performance. A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. "You''ve been my partner during monologuing," Mo said. "And this is Nyx." "Obscuris," Nyx added with a sharp-toothed grin, "But only when it annoys my parents." Lucian''s silver eyes widened slightly, recognition flashing across his face at both names, but he merely nodded, a tiny ice crystal forming at his collar. "A pleasure. I believe we share the next class." His formal diction seemed both natural and practiced, like someone raised on etiquette manuals but who genuinely preferred their rules to chaos. "The Frostbrooks¡­" Nyx said, voice pitched like a blade balanced on its edge¡ªboth curious and accusing. "The ice dynasty that turned the Emerald Kingdom into an eternal winter sculpture during the Midnight Wars?" Lucian winced, a small flurry of snowflakes cascading from his hair. "My great-aunt, actually. The family celebrates that anniversary with ice sculptures of the victims," his voice dropped to a whisper. "I''m supposed to be carrying on the tradition." "But you''d rather not?" Mo asked, recognizing the familiar tone of someone dodging familial expectations. She''d perfected that particular dance at the age of seven. "I¡­" Lucian hesitated, then, with a subtle flick of his wrist, created a perfect miniature rose made of ice in his palm. "I see beauty where they see weapons." The rose gleamed with impossible detail¡ªeach petal translucent and delicate. "My father can create ice spears that pierce dragon hide. My mother''s frost can stop a heart. And I..." He closed his fingers but gently placed the rose in his pocket instead of crushing it. "Make art," Mo finished for him. "A waste of Frostbrook potential," he said, echoing what was clearly a frequent criticism. "They sent me here hoping I''d toughen up. Convert..." Nyx''s form shifted slightly, growing an inch taller. "Parents and their delightful expectations. How familiar. Isn''t there a more appropriate place to put their offsprings than this circus of a school?" Their multiple-toned voice carried layers of bitterness. *** The Hexes & Curses classroom resembled a theater more than a traditional classroom¡ªcurved tiers of stone desks facing a central pit where a single chair sat ominously empty. Stains of various colors and viscosities marked the floor around it, telltale evidence of experiments gone either very right or very wrong. Depending on your perspective. Mo slid into a seat in the middle tier, and Nyx joined her. After a moment of visible internal deliberation, Lucian approached and asked if he could sit with them. Professor Malvolia swept in seconds later, her robes trailing green smoke that smelled faintly of sulfur and overripe peaches. Behind her shuffled a figure Mo hadn''t expected to see here. He was unmistakably human with the kind of pallor that came not from supernatural heritage but from extended time away from sunlight. Dark circles nested beneath eyes that seemed too large for his gaunt face. His brown hair hung limp, and his movements suggested someone conserving energy with every step. The white button-down shirt he wore hung loose on his frame, sleeves rolled to reveal forearms crisscrossed with faded marks in various stages of healing. "Today," Professor Malvolia announced, her voice sharp enough to draw blood, "we begin with practical application." Her smile revealed teeth filed to points. "You were supposed to memorize the incantations and study the hand positions before this class began. Now¡ª" she flicked her wrist, and the lights dimmed, focusing on the central chair like a spotlight on an execution block, "¡ªyou''ll see the effects firsthand on living tissue." She gestured to the young man with theatrical flair. "This is Julian Fennar. He has... kindly volunteered to assist in our demonstrations." Her emphasis on ''volunteered'' hung in the air like a threat. Julian''s hollow-eyed stare and mechanical movements seemed to tell a very different story. The volunteer''s expression didn''t change at the professor''s choice of words. He simply moved to the central chair with the practiced resignation of someone who had sat there many times before. His eyes swept across the classroom without really seeing any of them as he shifted his butt on what seemed to be a very uncomfortable surface. Mo felt her stomach turn. Beside her, Lucian had gone even paler, frost forming rapidly on the desk beneath his trembling hands. Nyx had gone completely still on her other side¡ªa rarity for the shapeshifter whose form usually rippled with every emotion. "A human," Nyx whispered. "They''re using a human as a test subject." Their form contracted slightly, edges becoming less defined. "Now I understand why my father spoke of this class with such... anticipation." Their voice dropped even lower. "I think I''m going to be physically ill." They looked around as if to check that Mo and Lucian concurred. "Don''t look at me like that!" they said defensively. "I understand that humans are a major part of the workforce in many demon empires, but this is just sick. Why would anyone use a human, or a goblin, or anything that thinks as a test subject when you can conjure¡­ something?" Their skin rippled with waves of midnight blue, betraying their disgust. As if hearing Nyx''s comment, Professor Malvolia clarified: "Mr. Fennar is not merely a test subject. He is my research assistant, specializing in documenting and classifying hex effects on the human nervous system." She spoke with the detached pride of someone discussing a handy laboratory instrument. Julian nodded slightly, his eyes fixed on the middle distance. "I record the subjective experience of each hex," he explained, his voice surprisingly steady. "Pain levels, sensory distortions, duration of effects¡ªdata that can''t be gathered from demonic subjects, whose physiology differs significantly from humans." Professor Malvolia drew a complex symbol in the air, her fingers leaving traces of that same green smoke. "Today we''re examining the Trembling Veil hex. Pay attention to the progression of symptoms." The symbol floated across the room¡ªglowing sickly green against the shadows¡ªbefore sinking into Julian''s chest like a phantom dagger. For a moment, nothing happened. Then his pupils dilated, darkness swallowing the warm brown of his irises until his eyes resembled bottomless wells. A fine tremor began in his hands, his fingers twitching as if trying to play a silent, frantic melody. The tremors crawled up his arms like invasive vines, seizing his shoulders in violent spasms. Sweat beaded on Julian''s forehead, glistening under the harsh magical lights. Still, his voice remained unnaturally clinical, as he reported: "Visual distortion beginning. Objects appearing to vibrate. Tactile hallucinations¡ªsensation of insects beneath the skin." His throat bobbed with a swallow. "Discomfort level at four, approaching five." Mo gripped the edge of her desk, fighting the urge to stand up and stop this grotesque demonstration. Julian continued his self-narration as the tremors intensified, his body jerking while his face maintained an eerie composure. Some students were taking notes with ghoulish enthusiasm, whispering excitedly when Julian''s tremors intensified. A girl with scaled skin sketched the progression of symptoms in her journal, tongue flicking between pointed teeth. Others looked away, uncomfortable but unwilling to object¡ªtheir discomfort itself viewed as a weakness to be hidden. One boy with antlers accidentally snapped his quill in half when Julian''s voice cracked. Next to Mo, Nyx''s carefully constructed form began to lose coherence. Their edges blurred, skin rippling between textures¡ªobsidian to smoke to something like crushed velvet and back again. Their face stretched and contracted as if their features couldn''t decide on a configuration that could adequately express their disgust. "This is¡­" Nyx''s voice splintered into multiple tones, each pitched differently, "¡­this is wrong." Coming from Nyx, who had spent lunch describing how they''d enjoyed their Demonic Warfare class with unsettling enthusiasm, the statement carried weight. They''d embraced most aspects of Umbra Academy with rebellious glee, but this demonstration had clearly crossed a line even they recognized. Mo''s stomach twisted into a knot of revulsion that went against everything related to her succubus heritage. Three years of morning rush coffee orders and late-night poetry readings had rewired something fundamental in her. She''d gone to Earth to hide from her legacy, and somewhere between alphabetizing romance novels and perfecting heart-shaped latte art, she''d absorbed humanity like ink into parchment. Her fingers itched to reach for the counter bell she used to ring when a customer needed help. But Julian wasn''t a customer. This wasn''t her bookstore where she could fix problems with a smile and the perfect book recommendation. Mo had believed humans were better off without creatures like her interfering in their lives. And Earth was one of the few sanctuaries where that was possible, with only a few areas that were exceptions to that rule. But this¡ªwatching a human methodically tortured in the name of education¡ªmade her question whether she''d be able to brave through this study. "Can they do this?" she whispered to no one in particular. Lucian''s reply came with a small cloud of frost. "My family has a saying: ''Rules are for those without the power to break them.''" His silver eyes remained fixed on Julian, whose tremors finally subsided as the professor ended the demonstration. "I always thought it justified cruelty. Perhaps it should inspire protection instead." "That said, there are no rules preventing anyone from experimenting on live subjects here in the Academy," said Nyx. "If anything, it is encouraged. As for outside the Academy. Well¡­ You know that better than I do, Dark Lady." Mo looked daggers at Nyx. "I hope you never use this title seriously," she said, her face a cruel mask. "Or I may show you how experiments on live subjects were performed in the flavor of Nightshade family." Chapter 8. Study Groups, Shared Trauma, and Tomorrows Humiliation As Professor Malvolia dismissed the class, a collective exhale rippled through the room. Students gathered their grimoires and scattered like bats at sunrise. Some were eager to distance themselves from what they''d witnessed, others whispering in anticipation about the next opportunity to experiment on a live human. Mo remained rooted in place, her stomach still knotted, as Nyx hovered at her side. Their obsidian form hadn''t settled since Julian''s demonstration, rippling between solid and smoke like a reflection in troubled water. "Coming?" they asked, eyebrows drawn together in concern. Mo shook her head, her gaze fixed on Julian as he organized his notes despite the occasional tremor still coursing through his hands. "I''ll catch up. There''s something I need to do first." Nyx followed her line of sight, and their eyes widened with understanding. "Want me to create a distraction?" they whispered, leaning close enough that their shifting aura brushed cool against Mo''s skin. "I could accidentally¡­" their fingers sparked with violet energy, crackling softly between syllables, "¡­set the professor''s desk on fire." "And by accidentally, you mean extremely deliberately," Lucian interjected, frost crystallizing around his collar. Mo pushed them both gently toward the door. "No, thanks. I''m afraid it will only be an additional burden for this poor chap. I''ve got this. Save me a seat at dinner?" Only when they''d reluctantly departed did Mo approach Julian. "Hi," she said, then immediately regretted the casual human greeting. Three years in a bookstore had rubbed off on her in ways that would horrify her aristocratic ancestors. Julian looked up, mild surprise registering in his tired eyes. "Hello." His voice had lost the clinical tone from the demonstration, revealing something softer beneath. "I''m Mo¡ªMorgana Nightshade." She hesitated. "Are you... okay?" A small smile touched his lips. "Relatively speaking. The Trembling Veil hex isn''t among the worst." He tapped his notebook. "The effects will fade completely within an hour." "But why would you..." Mo stopped herself. "I mean, you''re human." "I am aware," he replied, a hint of dry humor in his voice. "And you voluntarily let them use you as a magical guinea pig?" "The research has value. Humans who encounter hexes accidentally have no preparation, no understanding of what''s happening to them. My work helps develop counter-hexes, treatments." He spoke with practiced conviction, but Mo caught something else beneath his words¡ªa careful evasion. "That''s the official answer," she said. "What''s the real one? And would the humans even benefit from that data? Are they getting access to it?" Julian studied Mo''s face, his expression shifting from polite distance to cautious assessment. "You''re not what I expected from a Nightshade," he finally said, neatly sidestepping her question. Julian waited for a moment as if expecting Mo to leave. "I was born in the human world, on Earth," he said after a pause. Julian leaned against the desk, wincing as another aftershock of the hex rippled through him. The confession seemed to hang in the air between them. Mo stepped closer, accidentally kicking an empty vial across the floor. The glass clinked against the stone as her mind raced to make sense of the strange duality she''d sensed in him. "Human with magic? But not..." Julian flexed his trembling fingers, watching them as if they belonged to someone else. "Not demonic, not fae," he said quietly, "not anything but human with a few extra sparks in the blood." When he looked up, his eyes momentarily reflected the light like a nocturnal animal''s before returning to their ordinary brown. "There are more of us than your people realize. Families who''ve known about the wider worlds for many generations. We exist in the footnotes of your histories." Mo felt a jolt of recognition. While she had fled from her demonic heritage to find refuge in humanity, here was someone born human who carried magic in his veins¡ªmoving in the opposite direction but ending up in the same in-between space. She''d never considered that such people might exist, humans with just enough magic to be noticed but not enough to belong. "How?" Mo asked. Julian''s fingers idly traced a pattern on the desk''s scarred surface. Mo recognized it instantly¡ªa protection sigil, small but powerful. The wood grain seemed to shift beneath his touch, responding this minor magic. "Ancient pacts. Chance encounters." He paused to clear his throat as the classroom''s lights flickered overhead, casting shadows across his face. "Cosmic accidents. My great-great-something-great-grandmother stumbled through a portal during a storm." He turned away to collect a fallen quill, his movements still unsteady. "Came back changed, knowing things. It''s not that we are hiding, really. It''s that the demons like you don''t usually spend any time thinking abut us. A footnote, as I said." A distant scream tore through the academy''s corridors¡ªhigh and inhuman, before dissolving into what might have been wild laughter. Mo flinched, her body still wired to respond to sounds of distress. Probably just some routine classwork, she reminded herself, but her heart hammered anyway. Julian didn''t even blink. The horrors of Umbra Academy seemingly had become his white noise a while ago. "We''re the in-betweens," he continued, his voice softening as he ran his thumb over a small scar on his wrist that looked suspiciously like a binding mark. "Never fully part of the human world, never accepted in yours." The words struck Mo with unexpected force. She staggered back, nearly toppling a shelf of potion ingredients¡ªcreatures and parts suspended in liquids that shifted as if still alive. For a moment, she couldn''t breathe. Not because Julian had said anything shocking, but because he''d articulated the ache she''d carried for years: too demonic to truly belong on Earth, too steeped in humanity to fit within these twisted halls. "My family is one of the few who maintain... diplomatic relations with the arcane realms. We serve as intermediaries, sometimes." Julian''s careful phrasing suggested layers of politics and history. "It''s why I''m allowed here, documenting what your magic does to human physiology. Knowledge is power." Mo studied him with a new understanding. "You don''t belong fully in either world." "It seems that you don''t belong either," he replied, surprising her. "I recognize the signs. The way you hesitate before using formal titles. Your discomfort during the demonstration. You''ve lived among humans recently." For the first time since arriving at Umbra Academy, Mo felt truly seen. All the camraderie she experienced with Nyx and now Lucian... it was different. "I managed a bookstore," Mo confessed, the words tumbling out before she could reconsider. "For three years. In a small town where no one knew what I was. I started when I was sixteen. But with my powers¡­ it wasn''t hard to persuade humans that I was a bit more¡­ mature. So, that what I was doing, shelving novels, recommending romances to retirees, organizing an occasional poetry reading, and serving lattes." Julian''s eyes brightened with genuine interest. "A bookstore? With paperbacks and coffee and those little reading nooks?" "Exactly that. Mismatched armchairs and a cat that knocked over the displays." Mo smiled at the memory. "Not very villainous." "Sounds wonderful." There was honest longing in his voice. "I haven''t been to Earth since I was a child. My family keeps mostly to our compound now¡ªsafer that way." "You miss it," Mo realized. "How can I miss what I barely remember?" Suddenly, Julian''s tone was much more guarded, as if he had realized he had shared too much. "I dream about my bookstore," Mo admitted, tracing a non-existant stain on the desk. "It''s been only a couple of days. But it feels like I''ve lost that life forever. Like I completely abandoned the person I''d worked so hard to become." You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. They stood in silence for a moment, two people stranded between realities, recognizing in each other a shared displacement. Julian looked away, waiting as if hesitating to spill too much. But then he shrugged and looked directly into Mo''s eyes. "Would you tell me about it sometime?" he asked. His fingers instinctively touched his experiment logbook before pulling away as if catching himself in a habit. "Your life there? The human world through the eyes of someone who chose it rather than being born to it?" Mo tucked a strand of ginger hair behind her ear, her signet ring catching the light. "Only if you''ll tell me about your family," she countered. "How you navigate being human with magical knowledge without getting crushed between worlds. Without ending up as someone''s... research assistant." Their eyes met, and Mo felt something shift between them¡ªnot a magical connection, but something rarer: understanding. "It''s a deal," Julian said, offering his hand. When their fingers touched, Mo felt a slight jolt¡ªnot the familiar surge of her succubus power seeking to ensnare, but something simpler, more human. Static electricity, perhaps. Or possibility. Behind them, a shadow shifted by the door¡ªsomeone watching, listening. But in this moment of connection, Mo couldn''t care less. The academy bells tolled, their dissonant melody announcing the dinner hour. Mo withdrew her hand, suddenly aware of how long they''d been talking. "I should go before Nyx organizes a search party." Julian nodded, slipping his notebook into his satchel. "Until next time, Morgana Nightshade, barista extraordinaire." *** Mo slammed her spellbook shut with enough force that Nyx''s budding collection of stolen laboratory specimens rattled on their makeshift shelf. A jar of something with too many eyes blinked rapidly in protest. The three of them had retreated to Mo and Nyx''s dorm after dinner, barricading themselves against Umbra''s homework demands. Outside, the academy''s twisted spires cut into the perpetual twilight sky, but in here¡ªwith candlelight warming their faces and the faint scent of contraband Earth coffee Mo had smuggled in¡ªthey could almost pretend they were somewhere else entirely. The room itself was a testament to their first days of awkward cohabitation. Mo''s room remained sparse and practical¡ªa few paperbacks stacked on her nightstand, her barista apron hung as a defiant reminder of her Earth life. Nyx''s side, meanwhile, had exploded into chaos¡ªfabrics in impossible colors draped over furniture, jars of strange substances labeled with codes only they understood, and a collection of small trinkets that seemed to change position when no one was looking. "I really thought villain school would have more¡ªI don''t know¡ªcreativity?" Mo said, tugging at her ginger hair. "Not just ''torture this,'' ''hex that,'' ''monologue until your victim dies of boredom.''" Nyx sprawled across their bed, their form shifting in subtle waves¡ªnow a few inches taller, now with slightly sharper features, now back again. They''d been unusually quiet since returning from dinner. Despite their enthusiastic descriptions of Demonic Warfare class to anyone who would listen, something about the day had clearly gotten under their skin. "Did you see how excited Professor Dreadmire was about our Calculated Cruelty project?" Nyx''s voice carried from their bedroom with a hint of forced brightness that didn''t match their restless shifting. "Two thousand words on innovative torture techniques. He actually used the word ''innovative''¡ªas if there''s anything creative about causing pain." "You don''t have to pretend with us," Lucian said quietly. "Not here." He hesitated, frost forming at his fingertips before he brushed it away. "Though my father would say there''s much ''innovation'' in pain techniques." His mouth twisted around the word as if repeating a lesson he''d heard countless times but never fully believed. "It''s what they drill into us at home." Nyx''s form stuttered, then settled into something smaller, more vulnerable than Mo had seen before¡ªshoulders slightly hunched, colors muted, sharp edges softened. They slowly walked into the shared space and dropped on the couch. "You know, some part of me wanted to be absolutely brilliant at this," they admitted, their voice shifting. "To be so spectacularly villainous that my family would choke on their precious traditions." Their form flared dramatically, briefly taking on sharper edges. "To shove it in my father''s perfectly symmetrical face that changing shape doesn''t mean I''m weak¡ªit means I''m everything he fears: unpredictable, uncontainable," they grinned suddenly, dangerously, "and far more interesting at dinner parties." Their fingers twisted a small piece of obsidian, turning it over and over. "But watching Julian today, cataloging his own pain like it was just¡ªjust data... I don''t know if I can be that." Mo didn''t need much of a reminder to see Julian''s trembling hands as if she just left him. To hear the clinical detachment in his voice as he narrated his own suffering. "We have to pass these classes if we want to graduate. And if¡­ If I want to get the full control of Blackthorn Keep." "I''ve been wondering..." Nyx began, their voice softer than usual, form shifting slightly as if testing the waters of a more vulnerable conversation. "With everything you''ve built on Earth, with your powers... couldn''t you just go back? Create a new identity if needed?" They traced a pattern in the air that briefly glimmered. "Is Blackthorn Keep really worth all... this?" The question hung in the air, tentative rather than challenging. "You think I don''t ask the same question myself?" said Mo. "But now, with the council and their pestering¡­ It is like they''ve challenged me. And I have to win!" "Even if so, do we really have to become what they want us to be?" Lucian asked, his breath frosting in the air despite the room''s warmth. He pulled a folded paper from his pocket, the edges worn as if he''d unfolded and refolded it hundreds of times. "I found this in my family archives," he said. "Written by a village elder whose people were caught in my great-grandfather''s territory dispute. Her hands were already freezing when she carved these words into bark. It was copied later." The dense paper crackled as he carefully unfolded it. The handwriting was cramped, hurried: When ice comes for the innocent, There is no prayer warm enough to save. No hearth fire burns as cold As the heart of the one who commands the frost. Yet remember this, frozen one: We who die with eyes still seeing Become ghosts in your mirror, Witnesses to the chill in your veins. Silence fell over the room. Mo thought of the §³ouncil at Blackthorn Keep, who expected her to return as a proper Dark Lady¡ªruthless, cunning, cruel. She thought of Julian''s careful eyes, watching her as if trying to determine which world she truly belonged to. "My family has been freezing people for centuries," Lucian continued, refolding the poem. "They call it ''ice-spiking''¡ªvery traditional, very elegant. There''s a specific spell for it, passed down through generations. I''m supposed to master it this year." "Will you?" Mo asked, looking directly at his silver eyes. "I don''t know," he admitted. "But I keep this poem to remind myself that I have a choice. That legacy isn''t destiny." Nyx shifted again, their form elongating as they sat up straighter. "So we just, what? Pretend? Put on a show for the professors while secretly planning to be... not villains?" "Is that what you''re doing?" Lucian wondered aloud. "Planning to be not-villains? Is it even a worthy goal, to try not to be something?" They looked at each other, none willing to answer directly. "Well, whatever we decide," Nyx said finally, their form shifting back to something more recognizable, more like their public self, "we still have to survive tomorrow." Lucian nodded grimly. "Combat Applications class." Mo groaned, her head falling back against the wall. "Don''t remind me. I haven''t used offensive magic in years. I''ve been too busy making heart-shaped latte art." "Talking about offensive magic, do you know who you are paired with?" Lucian asked, his expression shifting to something like pity. "Who?" Mo demanded. "Who am I paired with?" Nyx and Lucian exchanged glances. "The class roster went up during dinner," Nyx said carefully. "You were still talking to Julian, so we checked for you." A cold weight settled in Mo''s stomach. "Tell me." Lucian''s breath frosted again as he exhaled. "It''s Valerius." Of course, it was. Because villain school couldn''t just be about learning evil¡ªit had to be a special kind of hell explicitly tailored to each student. "Great," Mo muttered, flopping back on her bed. "Tomorrow I get to duel my teenage nemesis, who''s had years of practice while I''ve been alphabetizing romance novels." *** The crimson moon cast blood-red light across Mo''s trembling hands¡ªhands that had crafted perfect lattes but forgotten how to weave deadly magic. In less than twelve hours, those hands would be all that stood between her and public humiliation... or worse. "You know what they''re saying in the halls, right?" Nyx asked, their voice unusually somber. "Combat Applications isn''t just about grades. It''s where reputations are made. Or destroyed." Lucian nodded, frost creeping around his collar. "First-years who fail spectacularly become walking targets. Every student with something to prove will challenge them, again and again." "And with your family name..." Nyx didn''t finish the sentence. Mo didn''t need them to. A weak Nightshade would draw predators like blood in the water. Her provisional status at Blackthorn Keep would be the least of her worries if she couldn''t hold her own against Valerius. "Guys, guys¡­!" she exclaimed, pulling her spellbook back into her lap with newfound determination, "I understand, I''m doomed! So, I guess we''d better make sure we used every remaining hour to train!" Nyx''s form sharpened with resolve. "Right. We''ll practice. Right now." But even as Lucian began demonstrating a particularly effective shield charm, Mo couldn''t silence the voice in her head that whispered: what if all the coffee grinding and book sorting had dulled something essential within her¡ªsomething dark and powerful that couldn''t simply be switched back on with a few hours of practice? Announcement Hey everyone! I''m happy to see more and more readers enjoying this story. Initially, I mentioned that it would evolve on a one-chapter-per-week basis. However, as I''m getting closer to posting the last chapters of Book 1 of my other series, it seems to me it would be fair to give the readers a bit more. So, I''m going to try to switch posting twice per week. A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. As Book 1 of Dark Lady was planned to have around 25 chapters, that schedule change means that it would end at some point in May or early June. After that, there would be a break before I start posting the chapters of Book 2. At the same time, as it was with Worlds of Ascension, I''ll take a break every couple of months. As the book is currently on the Rising Stars, I''ll probably have the nearest break after the book leaves the list. Thanks for exploring this story with me! Stepan Chizhov Chapter 9. FYI: Combat Magic Isnt Like Riding a Bike Mo jerked awake before dawn, her fingers still tracing phantom sigils in the air. Her nightshirt clung to her skin, damp with cold sweat. Sleep had been a battlefield of its own¡ªher dreams a chaotic blend of botched combat spells, Julian''s trembling hands beneath cruel hexes, and the smug curve of Valerius''s smile as he prepared to destroy her. The memory of Lady Thornheart''s interruption crept into her thoughts¡ªhow the Dormitory Sentinel had materialized through the wall hours earlier, her severe face etched with disapproval. The ancient guardian''s eyes had narrowed to slits at the sight of Lucian demonstrating an ice shield formation in their common room. "Mr. Frostbrook," she said, "male students are expressly forbidden from female dormitories after the Witching Hour, as decreed by the Umbral Code of Conduct, Section VII, paragraph iii." Her spectral form had flickered with indignation. "Even if said male is an heir to the Frostbrook Dynasty." Lucian had bowed with perfect, frost-edged formality before gathering his books. "Time, the thief of practice, steals away my chance to help," he''d murmured to Mo. "Remember¡ªdeflect, ground, redirect. The pattern is the power." Without Lucian''s calm precision guiding her through the more complex defensive spells, Mo had struggled through another hour of preparation with Nyx before collapsing into bed. "Deflect, ground, redirect," Mo muttered, repeating Lucian''s instructions as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Her muscles screamed in protest, magical burnout throbbing bone-deep. Each sigil they''d practiced, each spell they tried, had left invisible brands on her soul. Reminders of how long she''d let her powers lie dormant. Outside the window, the Academy''s perpetual twilight was just beginning to brighten to something resembling morning. Mo stretched, wincing as her shoulders protested. Who knew magic practice could leave you feeling like you''d been hit by a truck? A tap at the window made her jump: a raven perched on the sill, its feathers pitch black against the gray light. A letter was clutched in its beak, sealed with something that vaguely resembled the crest of Blackthorn Keep. "Seriously?" Mo groaned. "Now what?" She cracked the window, allowing the bird inside, dropping the letter onto her nightstand before fixing her with an expectant stare. Unlike the messenger that visited her on Earth, this one clearly wasn''t leaving without acknowledgment. "Fine," she muttered, breaking the seal. "But I don''t have any treats for you." The letter unfolded itself, the parchment crackling with faint energy. The handwriting was cramped, angular, and oddly formal: To Her Imperial Dread Sovereign, Lady Morgana Elaris Vexaria Nyx Nightshade (Provisional), I am writing to inform you of urgent news concerning our agreement. The Council has moved to nullify your decree regarding tax relief for goblin workers, citing your "provisional" status as grounds for overruling economic decisions that "impact the long-term stability of Blackthorn Keep." My people grow restless. Already, there is talk of more aggressive action¡ªtotal work stoppage, blockades of essential supply routes, and even infiltration of the Keep''s underground passages. I have urged restraint, reminding everyone that you gave your word. But words grow thin when bellies remain empty and burdens heavy. We require your intervention, Dark Lady. We cannot guarantee peace if you cannot honor your promise. ¡ªGrimz, Elected Representative of the United Goblin Workers P.S. Lord Aldric seemed particularly pleased about this development. Thought you should know. Mo crumpled the letter, then immediately smoothed it out again, her fingers leaving faint scorch marks on the parchment. Of course, the Council would undermine her the moment she left. Of course, they''d use her ''provisional'' status against her when it suited them. And, of course, Aldric would be behind it. "Problems?" Nyx''s sleepy voice came from their bedroom. "A bird in the morning. Couldn''t be anything but problems." "Council politics," Mo sighed, tossing the letter onto her bed. "They''re blocking the goblin tax relief I promised, and now there might be a full-scale rebellion at home." "Mmm, rebellions before breakfast? Absolutely dreadful timing, darling." Nyx''s form solidified as they entered the common room, stretching dramatically with limbs elongating several impossible inches. Their hair cycled through a spectrum of blues and purples before settling. "Want me to turn someone into a particularly warty toad for you? I''ve been perfecting the most delightful lime-green shade¡ªvery fetching with bloodshot eyes." Despite everything, Mo snorted. "Thanks, but I think that would just make things worse." She rubbed her temples, where a headache was beginning to form. "Also, isn''t it a bit stereotypical and racist offering to turn someone into a toad while I''m dealing with a goblin rebellion?" "Ah, yes, you are right, let''s avoid that." "Anyway," said Mo, setting the letter aside. "First, I need to focus on surviving today''s duel. I can deal with everything else after I avoid being publicly eviscerated by Valerius." The memory of last night''s practice session flashed through Mo''s mind¡ªNyx demonstrating offensive spellcasting with fluid, ever-changing gestures; Lucian creating intricate ice shields that refracted magic back at its caster; Mo struggling to keep up with both, her own powers rusty and uncooperative after years of disuse. She''d finally managed to produce a passable protection sigil sometime just before midnight, collapsing onto her bed shortly after. But even that small victory felt hollow now. How was she supposed to duel someone who''d been training for years when she could barely remember the basics? Worse, how could she focus on magical combat when her realm was falling apart in her absence? "I swear, they''re doing this on purpose," she muttered. "Waiting until I''m gone to pick apart whatever authority I have left. Why did they even bother to notify me in the first place?" Nyx was fully awake now, their form settling into something with slightly sharper edges than usual. "So what''s the plan? Emergency portal home? Assassination? Strongly worded letter?" "Focus!" Mo said, reaching for her spellbook, "The plan is to not embarrass myself in front of the entire Academy first. Then figure out how to stop a goblin rebellion from another dimension." She glanced at the clock¡ªstill two hours before Combat Applications class. Two hours to prepare for a magical duel with her teenage nemesis. Two hours to somehow become the Dark Lady she''d spent years avoiding. The raven, still perched on the windowsill, cawed impatiently. "Tell Grimz I received his message and am working on a solution," she said. The bird tilted its head, clearly wanting more. "That''s all I''ve got right now. Go on. Shoo!" With what seemed like an avian shrug, the raven took flight, disappearing into the gloomy morning sky. Mo turned back to her spellbook, flipping to the section on defensive magic. She had two hours. It had to be enough. *** Mo stopped dead in her tracks as she entered the Combat Applications classroom alone. The iron-tinged smell of old magic and something disturbingly like dried blood hit her nostrils. Instead of the expected rows of desks and lecterns, she faced a sunken circular arena ringed with tiered seating that resembled an ancient gladiatorial colosseum in miniature. Obsidian tiles covered the floor, each etched with protective runes that glowed faintly purple in the dim light. Four ornate pillars carved with twisted, snarling faces marked the cardinal directions, crackling with containment magic that sent shivers down Mo''s spine¡ªmagic clearly designed to keep spectators safe and combatants trapped until a victor emerged. "The Pit," a voice whispered behind her. "Where Umbra Academy''s finest attempt to murder each other for extra credit." Mo turned to find Lucian. "You''re alone," he said. "Where''s Nyx?" "Still at the dorm when I left," Mo answered. "Said something about ''making an entrance worth remembering'' and practically pushed me out the door." Students were already filling the stands, an excited buzz of conversation punctuated by the occasional laugh or shout. Near the entrance, a girl with six arms was taking bets, writing names and odds on several floating scrolls simultaneously. "What are the odds on the Nightshade match?" a student with antlers asked, dropping several coins into one of the girl''s outstretched palms. "Five to one against," she replied without looking up. "Valerius is heavily favored." "Make it ten coins on Nightshade then," the antlered boy said, surprising Mo. "I like underdogs." Lucian steered Mo away before she could hear more. "Ignore them. Betting is half the entertainment around here." This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. "Great," Mo muttered. "Nothing like knowing everyone expects you to fail." Her eyes nervously scanned the room. "Any sign of Valerius?" "Not yet, but..." Lucian began, then froze mid-sentence. A side door opened, and Professor Ossian swept in, his robes the color of dried blood. "Aspirants of the Dark Arts," his voice boomed, magically amplified to fill the chamber. "Welcome to Combat Applications." The gathered crowd roared at the professor''s words and he waited for a moment while the noise subsided. "We have a tradition of starting the year with some healthy competition," professor continued. "Today''s matches will show us your practical ability to channel offensive and defensive magic under pressure." His gaunt face swept across the gathered students. "Victory comes through submission or incapacitation of your opponent." An assistant stepped forward, unrolling a scroll. "Standard safety protocols are in effect," he announced. "Permanent physical damage is discouraged but not prohibited. Mental manipulation lasting beyond match parameters is forbidden. Death results in automatic failure of the course." A ripple of laughter passed through the crowd. Mo couldn''t tell if they found the death penalty funny or just the idea that anyone would care. "First match," Ossian continued, consulting the scroll. "Nyxir Obscuris versus Damien Ravencroft." "But of course," said Lucian. "It''s their turn and they are nowhere to be seen!" The crowd erupted in excited whispers. Mo''s head snapped toward the entrance, but there was still no sign of Nyx. "Where are they?" she hissed to Lucian. "They can''t miss their own duel!" Lucian''s expression remained calm, though a delicate frost pattern spread across his collar. "I agree, that''s odd. But I''m sure, Nyx wouldn''t miss an opportunity for drama." As if summoned by his words, the main doors burst open with a bang. The torches on the walls flickered wildly, some of them extinguishing completely. In the momentary darkness, a figure stood silhouetted against the corridor''s faint light. Nyx glided into the room, their form a masterpiece of calculated rebellion. They wore what at first glance appeared to be a formal battle gown, but convention shattered with each step. The high-necked bodice of midnight blue seamlessly transitioned into a flowing skirt that rippled like liquid shadow, defying gravity as panels shifted to reveal glimpses of deep purple underneath. Silver sigils crawled across the fabric like living things, occasionally pulsing with inner light that matched the rhythm of Nyx''s movements. Instead of the traditional flowing sleeves, the gown featured sharp, angular shoulder pieces that morphed subtly in shape whenever anyone stared too long. Nyx''s hair had been styled into an impossible crown of obsidian spikes that occasionally liquefied and reformed in different patterns. The crowd fell silent, captivated. Even Professor Ossian seemed momentarily at a loss for words. "Apologies for my tardiness," Nyx announced. "I simply couldn''t decide which face to wear for my debut." As if to emphasize the point, Nyx''s features briefly melted and reformed, cycling through three different appearances before settling back into their current form. Damien Ravencroft, a lean vampire with aristocratic features, sneered from his position at the arena''s edge. "I''ve heard about you, Obscuris. Theatrical, as always. Flashy." He looked around, playing for the audience. "You see, he is just playing mind games with his father. From a safe distance." Nyx''s smile was shark-like. "Flash is merely the warning before the strike, darling." They descended into the arena with fluid grace. "But¡­ I thought even your small brain filled with borrowed blood would understand that on this occasion, ''she'' would be a much better pronoun. Still, I''ll make it even simpler for you. From now on, just use ''they.''" The audience gasped at the barrage of insults coming from both sides. However, some students giggled, and Professor Ossian''s assistant was already scribbling notes. It was all part of the arrangement. It was the first act of the duel. Mo leaned closer to Lucian. "Is Nyx going to be okay? They didn''t practice with us as much as they should have focusing on helping me." "Watch," Lucian said simply, his eyes tracking Nyx''s movements with analytical precision. "We haven''t had a chance to study together. But I know a thing or two about each worthy opponent here. And Nyx¡­ they are worthy." The bell tolled, and Damien wasted no time. His hands moved in rapid, practiced motions, launching three blood-red sigils that spiraled toward Nyx. Instead of dodging, Nyx attempted to spin directly into the attack''s path, their body partially shifting to incorporeal smoke. Two sigils passed through harmlessly, but the third caught their shoulder, causing them to wince as they absorbed and contained its energy within their shifting form. Damien''s confident expression faltered. "What¡­" Nyx''s body solidified with glowing red patterns pulsing beneath their obsidian skin¡ªthe vampire''s own attack, repurposed. "Titanborn demons are supposed to be rigid, unchanging," Nyx said conversationally, advancing with predatory grace. "But change is my greatest strength." They thrust both hands forward, struggling momentarily with the unfamiliar energy before releasing Damien''s magic back at him¡ªpartially amplified but noticeably unstable. The vampire, caught off guard by the unconventional counter, managed to deflect most of it, though the backlash still scorched the sleeve of his uniform and left him grimacing. The crowd roared. Mo watched, transfixed, as Nyx continued to fight. Part dance, part shapeshifting miracle. When Damien unleashed a blast of darkness, Nyx''s body split into three forms before recombining behind him. Trapped in a binding circle, they simply became something the spell couldn''t recognize. It was beautiful chaos¡ªpure Nyx: adaptable, unpredictable, authentic. The end came suddenly. Damien, growing desperate, attempted a deadly blood-draining hex. As the crimson tendrils reached for Nyx, they simply opened their arms in welcome. The magic connected, but instead of draining Nyx, it created a feedback loop. Damien gasped, staggering backward as his own energy was pulled into Nyx''s ever-shifting form. "I mentioned the borrowed blood, haven''t I?" Nyx asked loudly enough for everyone to hear, "I warned this poor chap right from the start. He just had to listen to the words I pronounced." They stepped closer to the collapsed form of their opponent. "The thing about young vampires, is that they never consider what happens when something drinks from them." Damien dropped to one knee. "I yield," he gasped. The crowd exploded in cheers and exclamations. Nyx took an elaborate bow, their battle gown momentarily transforming into enormous, feathered wings before settling back into fabric. Near the entrance, the six-armed bookie was suddenly surrounded by students frantically trying to adjust their bets. "Odds on Nightshade improved to three-to-one!" she announced, her multiple hands working furiously to update the floating scrolls. "Frostbrook now even money after that display!" Mo noticed the antlered student from earlier grinning as he pushed more coins toward one of the bookie''s hands, pointing in her direction. The pressure in her chest tightened¡ªNyx''s unorthodox victory had made people believe she might have surprises of her own. As Nyx climbed the steps out of the arena, they caught Mo''s eye and winked. "Just be yourself," they mouthed before collapsing dramatically into a seat beside her. "That was..." Mo began. "Completely improvised," Nyx finished, grinning. "Father would be horrified. A proper Titanborn never displays their true nature so... fluidly." "Second match!" Professor Ossian announced, his voice cutting through the excited chatter. The words were followed by a pair of names neither Mo nor her friends recognized. And if Mo believed Lucian''s earlier comment, that only meant those students weren''t worthy opponents. The duels continued for an hour or so, with a few injuries but no dramatic endings, until another familiar name was mentioned. "Lucian Frostbrook versus Helena Thornblood," Professor Ossian said, getting the attention of the trio of friends. Lucian rose gracefully, frost patterns spreading from his feet as he stepped forward. Unlike Nyx''s dramatic entrance, he moved with quiet, understated elegance. His opponent¡ªa tall girl with thorny protrusions along her arms¡ªwas already descending into the arena, her expression hungry for victory. "Frost demon versus blood thorn witch," Nyx whispered to Mo. "Traditionally, he should be using his family''s signature ice-spears by now. Watch how he doesn''t." Lucian entered the arena with a formal bows to his opponent, the professor, and the assistant. While Helena immediately took an aggressive stance, Lucian stood perfectly still, his posture relaxed but alert. Frost gathered around him, but not in the jagged, weapon-like formations Mo had expected from earlier stories about the Frostbrooks¡ªinstead, it formed delicate patterns that spread across the floor in elegant filigree. The bell tolled, and Helena attacked immediately, sending a barrage of thorny projectiles toward Lucian. He responded with a subtle gesture, creating not a shield but a series of graceful arcs of ice that reminded Mo the paths of bobsleigh and redirected the thorns around Lucian and above him. "He''s treating combat like a dance," Mo realized aloud. Lucian moved with studied economy, each gesture creating beautiful formations that, despite their fragile elegance, mostly served their purposes. When Helena unleashed a whip of thorns aimed at his face, he hastily crafted an ice mirror that cracked upon impact but still managed to reflect not just the fragments of her attack but also the light from the multiple torches placed around the hall, momentarily disorienting the young witch. Where Nyx had been chaos and adaptation, Lucian was precision and transformation¡ªturning each attack into something beautiful rather than brutal. He never struck directly, instead creating intricate ice structures that gradually limited Helena''s movement, redirected and limited her attacks, or sapped her energy and warmth. The crowd watched in confused fascination. This wasn''t how a Frostbrook was supposed to fight. Where were the impaling ice spears? The instantly frozen blood and shattered limbs that had made his family infamous? Helena grew increasingly frustrated, her attacks becoming wilder and less controlled. Finally, she slammed her palms against the obsidian floor, causing emerald vines laced with poisonous blooms to erupt from the ground. The plants writhed with malevolent intelligence, forming a cage of deadly flowers around Lucian as they reached hungrily toward him. Each blossom released a shimmering cloud of hallucinogenic pollen¡ªa signature spell of the Thornblood family meant to trap opponents in their worst nightmares while the vines constricted them. In response, Lucian closed his eyes for a moment, his brow furrowing with concentration. Frost spread unevenly from his hands, and he bit his lip as he struggled to maintain focus. Instead of forming weapons or shields, the ice gradually took shape as a sculpture of himself¡ªnot perfect, but recognizable enough that several students gasped at the ambitious attempt. The plants immediately sensed the object and tightened around it. The blossoms turned toward the ice sculpture, releasing their full payload of hallucinogenic pollen, which swirled uselessly around the emotionless ice figure. As the vines squeezed, the sculpture began to fracture¡ªbut instead of shattering completely, each crack released a burst of freezing air that crystallized the pollen and spread frost along the vines. Helena''s creation withered as its energy was absorbed into Lucian''s ice, the magical backlash draining her own reserves. Her flowers drooped, and the vines crumbled into frozen fragments. "What is this trick?" Helena demanded, her voice cracking with exhaustion. "Not a trick," Lucian replied. "Just redirection." Helena staggered, her magical reserves depleted by the backfired spell. Lucian stepped forward and touched one finger to her forehead. Frost spread across her skin¡ªnot harmful, just enough to make his point. Still, she was too overwhelmed to continue. "I yield!" she cried, more from shock than pain. As the frost receded, Lucian bowed again and spoke clearly enough for everyone to hear: "Ice need not always pierce to prevail; sometimes it simply shows truth''s cold reflection." The silence that followed was profound, broken only when Professor Ossian cleared his throat. "Victory to Frostbrook," he announced, sounding slightly perplexed. Lucian returned to his seat beside Mo and Nyx, seemingly unaffected by the stares following him. "Not exactly the Frostbrook way, is it?" Nyx teased, though their eyes showed genuine respect. "My family freezes hearts in fear," Lucian replied quietly. "I''d rather freeze moments in beauty." Chapter 10. Just Perfect. My Magic Has Performance Issues Several more matches blurred together as Mo''s anxiety mounted. Each victory seemed to involve increasingly violent displays of magic, as if students were competing to outdo one another with brutality rather than skill. Mo noticed whispered conversations and pointing in their direction¡ªNyx and Lucian''s unorthodox approaches had clearly stirred controversy among their classmates. The knot in Mo''s stomach tightened with each passing duel. She found herself calculating the remaining pairs, desperately hoping her turn wouldn''t come before lunch when she might have more time to prepare. But just as she began to convince herself she might be spared until afternoon, Professor Ossian''s voice cut through her thoughts: "Morgana Nightshade versus Valerius Crowe." The moment she''d been dreading had arrived. The crowd''s excitement reached a fevered pitch as Valerius made his entrance, cape billowing dramatically despite the still air. Behind him trailed three students Mo recognized from their encounter on the first day, each trying to match the confident stride of their leader. "And look¡ªhe brought his adoring sycophants," Nyx muttered. "How utterly, boringly predictable. Next he''ll be autographing their textbooks with ''Evil Wishes, Your Future Overlord.''" Valerius caught sight of Mo and smiled, the expression never reaching his eyes. He made a show of examining his perfectly manicured nails before whispering something to his companions that made them snicker. Mo stood slowly, her mouth suddenly dry. Despite seeing her friends triumph, self-doubt clawed at her insides. "Remember what we practiced," Nyx whispered, squeezing her shoulder. "Ground yourself before each cast. Your power''s been dormant, not gone¡ªlet it flow naturally." "And if all else fails," Lucian added quietly, "ice shield, third form. It''ll give you time to regroup. You can do that!" Mo nodded, unable to form words. "Combatants, enter the arena," Ossian commanded. Then he looked at Valerius''s lackeys. "It''s a duel, Crowe. You don''t need your¡­ entourage here." The professor''s face contorted in disgust. Valerius dismissed his followers with a shrug and was already gliding down the steps into the pit, each movement calculated for maximum dramatic effect. The runes beneath his feet glowed brighter as he reached the center. Mo took a deep breath that caught halfway in her throat. Heartbeat pounded in her ears, drowning out the whispers as she forced her legs to move. Each step down felt like walking toward an executioner''s block. The crowd seemed to hold its breath, the silence pressing like a physical weight. Dozens of eyes tracked her¡ªcurious, judgmental, hungry for entertainment at her expense. Someone in the back row licked their lips, actual forked tongue flicking out in anticipation. The six-handed girl was accepting the final bets. As Mo''s foot touched the bottom step, the obsidian tiles hummed beneath her, sending vibrations through her bones like a tuning fork struck against her soul. Something ancient stirred inside her chest¡ªa hot, electric sensation she hadn''t felt in years, a power she''d kept caged so long it clawed at her ribs like a feral thing scenting freedom. Professor Ossian''s voice cut through her thoughts. "Positions." Valerius bowed with exaggerated formality, never taking his eyes off Mo. "I''ve been looking forward to this, Nightshade," he said, voice pitched to carry. "Let''s see what humanity has done to your magic." Mo said nothing, focusing instead on centering herself the way Nyx had taught her. Ground, breathe, connect. "Begin on the bell," Ossian said, stepping back. The arena fell silent. Mo could hear her heart pounding in her ears. The air felt charged, heavy with anticipation and unspoken history. Valerius''s smile widened, predatory and confident. The bell tolled. *** The moment the bell''s echo faded, Valerius sprang into motion, gliding sideways with practiced grace. Mo mirrored him cautiously, maintaining distance as they circled each other like predators. She may have shirked her magical training for years while integrating into the human world, but she still had years of education before that. It was just that she didn''t want to touch that stuff. The magic-resistant tiles hummed beneath her feet, responding to the tension building in the air. Ground yourself. Remember the basics. Don''t let him get in your head. Valerius struck first, his fingers weaving an elaborate pattern that sent three orbs of crimson light spiraling toward Mo. They moved erratically, leaving trails of sparks that momentarily blinded her. Distraction spell¡ªjust like Nyx and Lucian warned her. Mo threw herself sideways, narrowly avoiding the actual attack¡ªa ribbon of dark energy that sliced through the space where she''d been standing. The crowd gasped, then cheered at the near miss. "You''ve grown slow, Nightshade," Valerius called, his hands already crafting another incantation. "Too much time pouring coffee for humans? Not enough exercise?" Mo''s response was a hastily formed shield spell that sputtered into existence just as Valerius launched a barrage of shadow bolts. Each impact sent painful vibrations through her arms, but the shield held. Barely. Deflect, ground, redirect. Her counter-attack was clumsy¡ªa basic energy discharge that Valerius swatted away with contemptuous ease. He responded with a flourish that made the floor beneath Mo suddenly slick with illusory ice. She slipped, catching herself just before falling, and had to roll awkwardly to avoid the follow-up attack. The crowd''s laughter stung worse than the magical backlash tingling through her body. Valerius was putting on a show, each spell more visually impressive than the last. Swirling vortexes of darkness. Serpents crafted of emerald flame. A murder of shadow crows that dissolved into razor-edged feathers as they dived toward her. His magic was crisp, precise, honed by years of dedicated practice. Mo''s responses were increasingly desperate. She managed to dispel the crows with a counter-wave of energy, but one feather sliced across her cheek, leaving a thin line of blood. Her shield flickered as she tried to maintain it. Her unpracticed magic straining under the assault. "The great Morgana Nightshade," Valerius taunted, casually deflecting her feeble counter-attack. "Dark Lady Nightshade. Hiding among humans, pretending to be one of them. Maybe your family just needed a Dark Lord, like your father? And not¡­" Valerius made a vague gesture with his hand in Mo''s direction. "Not whatever that is? Tell me, did you enjoy serving your natural prey? Did you bow and scrape for their meager tips?" Mo gritted her teeth, trying to block out his words. But other thoughts intruded¡ªGrimz''s letter about the goblin rebellion, the Council undermining her authority, Julian''s eyes watching her from the sidelines. Her concentration slipped, and Valerius''s next attack shattered her shield completely, sending her staggering backward. "I heard you recommended romance novels," he continued, each word dripping with disdain. "How delightfully domestic. The mighty Nightshade bloodline reduced to suggesting bodice-rippers to bored housewives." Something hot and angry flared in Mo''s chest. Her next shield formed faster, stronger, the energy pulsing with her heartbeat. "At least I''ve experienced something real," she shot back, finding her voice at last. "What have you done besides practice the same tired spells for instructor approval and enjoying lunches behind the safety of the school''s walls?" A flicker of annoyance crossed Valerius''s face. His next attack came faster, less controlled¡ªa straight blast of energy rather than his usual elaborate constructions. Mo saw her opening. Instead of blocking, she sidestepped and caught the edge of his spell with a redirecting sigil Nyx had shown her, sending the energy back toward its caster. This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. Valerius''s eyes widened in surprise as he was forced to throw up a hasty shield of his own. The redirected magic collided with his defenses in a shower of sparks that briefly illuminated the entire arena. The stands froze in collective shock¡ªa heartbeat of utter silence¡ªbefore erupting into a storm of excited whispers that rushed through the sitting area like wildfire. Betting scrolls fluttered as odds were hastily recalculated. Someone in the back row shouted, "The barista has teeth!" Mo didn''t wait. Following Nyx''s advice from last night, she pressed her advantage with a quick combination¡ªa feint to his left followed by a compressed energy bolt aimed at his right side. The feint missed, but the bolt connected, staggering Valerius slightly. It wasn''t enough to cause real damage, but he looked at her with something other than contempt for the first time since the duel began. "Perhaps you''ve picked up some tricks after all," he said, adjusting his stance. "Though I wonder where a barista learned to redirect combat magic." Mo felt a surge of confidence. Her magic flowed more naturally now, responding to her will rather than fighting against years of suppression. She crafted another shield, which formed instantly, its surface rippling with barely contained power. "I''ve had excellent teachers," she replied, thinking of Nyx''s demonstrations and Lucian''s instructions. For a brief moment, as she settled into a more confident stance, Mo thought she might actually have a chance. The magic humming through her veins felt more potent with each passing second, awakening after its long dormancy. Valerius sensed the shift. His expression hardened, all pretense of casual superiority vanishing. "Enough warming up, then," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous register. His hands moved in complex patterns, drawing sigils that burned black against the air. The temperature in the arena plummeted, frost forming on the flooring tiles. Mo drew a deep breath, centering herself for what was coming. For a fleeting moment, her eyes found Julian in the crowd. He was watching intently, his expression tense but encouraging. She could do this. She had to. Valerius completed his incantation, and the real duel began. *** Valerius''s attack came in waves of increasing intensity¡ªfirst, a barrage of spectral daggers that Mo deflected with a sweeping gesture, then a crushing gravitational field that made her knees buckle before she dispersed it. The audience leaned forward in their seats, suddenly invested in a duel that was proving more competitive than expected. Mo''s breath came in short gasps as she maintained her defense. Her earlier confidence was short-lived. It faded under the relentless assault. But still, she refused to yield. Mo needed something more, something unexpected. Combine the techniques. Use Lucian''s ice shield to create a reflective surface, then layer Nyx''s energy redirection... She began crafting the complex spell, drawing frost magic from the air while simultaneously forming the sigils for energy redirection. It was ambitious, far beyond what she''d managed in practice, but desperation pushed her forward. "Getting tired, Nightshade?" Valerius called, gathering darkness between his palms. "No coffee breaks in the arena." Mo ignored the taunt, focusing instead on the intricate magical weaving. The shield began to form¡ªa crystalline structure that caught the light like diamond facets. She layered Nyx''s protections atop it, feeling the magic intertwine. But something was wrong. Unlike Lucian''s elegant ice structures that flowed like liquid crystal, Mo''s attempt at frost magic felt brittle and unyielding. The crystalline shield resisted bonding with the energy redirection sigils, creating hairline fractures instead of the seamless fusion she needed. What Lucian had made look effortless was clearly the product of years mastering his element¡ªpatience and precision Mo simply hadn''t had time to develop. Mo pushed harder, forcing the disparate elements together through sheer will. Just hold together. Please. A flicker of movement in the spectator area caught her eye¡ªNyx was shaking their head slightly, a warning in their expression. But it was too late to stop. As Valerius launched his next attack¡ªa concentrated beam of dark energy aimed at her chest¡ªMo raised her hybrid shield to catch and redirect the blow. The haphazard magical structure collapsed when Valerius''s dark energy collided with her shield. Still, it had performed its function, leading the brunt of the attack away from Mo''s core. However, the effects and aftershocks didn''t stop outside. Deep within, something long-suppressed shattered its chains. Three years of denied succubus magic surged upward, a tidal wave of power that didn''t just flow through her veins¡ªit flooded them, overwriting her hasty spell weaving with a raw, uninhibited desire to connect. "No, no, no," Mo gasped, feeling the magic spiral beyond her control. Valerius stumbled backward, his perfect composure finally broken. "What are you doing?" he demanded, voice rising. "Control your magic!" However, Mo couldn''t control it. The succubus power she''d denied for years¡ªpower she''d refused to even acknowledge¡ªhad finally found an outlet, and it had no intention of being caged again. Energy tendrils, luminous and hypnotic, whipped outward with shocking force. They collided with the arena''s protective wards, creating a sound like breaking glass amplified a thousandfold. The ancient barrier, specifically designed to contain combat magic, hadn''t been calibrated for unfiltered succubus energy. It shattered outward in a cascade of dissolving magical fragments, exposing the audience as waves of Mo''s uninhibited power washed over them. Centuries of careful magical architecture, destroyed in seconds. Immediately, chaos erupted. A boy with antlers suddenly stood up and declared his undying admiration for Professor Ossian''s "magnificent bone structure." The six-armed betting girl began writing passionate poetry with three of her hands in three betting ledgers simultaneously. "Oh gods," Mo whispered, mortified as she realized what was happening. Her succubus magic was manifesting in its most basic form¡ªinducing attraction and lowering inhibitions. But it didn''t stop there. The obsidian tiles began to glow with a rosy light, some detaching from the floor to form strange, dancing patterns in the air. They arranged themselves into shifting images¡ªa cozy bookstore cafe, a steaming latte with a heart in the foam, Julian''s face looking at her with concern. No, no, no¡ªnot my THOUGHTS! Mo tried desperately to rein in the magic, but that only made it worse. The floating tiles rearranged themselves again, showing Valerius as she''d secretly seen him years ago¡ªbefore their rivalry, when she''d briefly admired his dedication to magic. "Is that... me?" he asked, temporarily forgetting the duel as he stared at the image. Mo wanted to dissolve, to evaporate, to sink through the impenetrable black floor and keep falling until she reached the center of this world. A lifetime of carefully constructed walls crumbled as everyone¡ªclassmates, professors, Julian, and worst of all, Valerius¡ªwatched her most private thoughts, dreams, and embarrassing moments play out in vivid magical projection. It wasn''t yet a defeat. But in so many ways, it was so much worse. It was complete exposure. Soul-naked in front of everyone who''d ever doubted her. "Make it stop!" someone shouted as a chair decided it wanted to court its occupant. Professor Ossian stepped forward, attempting to contain the magical chaos with a barrier spell. It dissolved on contact with Mo''s wild magic, transforming into a shower of flower petals that drifted down over his scowling face. In the center of it all, Mo stood frozen, watching in horror as her magic continued to wreak havoc. A bubble floated past, showing her fighting back tears after a particularly brutal training session with her father. Another revealed her secret delight in recommending the perfect book to a shy customer. The magic was exposing everything she''d kept hidden¡ªnot just her attraction to certain people, but her doubts, her fears, her small moments of joy in the human world. All the vulnerabilities she''d protected were now on display. Valerius had recovered enough to attempt to shield himself, but even his practiced magic warped under the influence of the chaotic energy field. His shadow shield twisted into the shape of a heart before dissolving entirely. "What kind of Dark Lady are you planning to be?" he demanded, genuine bewilderment replacing his usual contempt. "What is this¡­ charade? Manipulation? Trickery? " Mo had no answer. She could only watch as years of suppressed power continued to manifest in increasingly embarrassing ways. A bubble drifted between them, showing Mo practicing villain monologues in her bedroom mirror, complete with dramatic cape swishes using her bath towel. Valerius''s eyes widened. A startled laugh escaped him before he could suppress it. That was somehow worse than his contempt. Mo closed her eyes, wishing she could disappear. Her magic had betrayed her more thoroughly than any enemy ever could. "Enough!" Professor Ossian''s voice cut through the chaos. He had abandoned his attempts at magical containment and was now simply shouting to be heard over the commotion. "Morgana Nightshade, you will cease this unprofessional display immediately!" "I can''t," Mo admitted, her voice small. "I don''t know how." It was the truth. After years of keeping her succubus nature tightly controlled, she had no idea how to rein it back in now that it had broken free. The power surged through her, joyful and wild, exposing her inner self to everyone in the room. In the sudden silence that followed, Mo finally looked up to meet the stares of her classmates. Some were still caught in the throes of magically induced infatuation. Others were brushing off flower petals or attempting to recapture animated possessions. All were looking at her with expressions ranging from shock to fascination to secondhand embarrassment. Valerius stood across from her, his perfect appearance finally disheveled, a single rose petal stuck to his cheek. For once, he seemed at a complete loss for words. "I believe," Professor Ossian began, his voice tight with controlled fury, "that this match is¡­" But Valerius wasn''t finished. Something dark and hateful flashed in his eyes as he saw Mo standing defenseless, exposed, vulnerable. A predatory smile curved his lips as he gathered a final, vicious attack between his palms¡ªa sphere of concentrated shadow that pulsed with malevolent purpose. "Yield, Nightshade!" he demanded. Mo couldn''t speak, couldn''t move, couldn''t even form a basic shield. But as Valerius launched his attack, something deeper than conscious thought stirred within her. Her succubus magic, already unleashed and running wild, responded instinctively to the threat. The shadow sphere hurtled toward her¡ªonly to dissolve mid-flight into a shower of crimson sparks. A wave of concentrated energy rippled outward from Mo, striking Valerius square in the chest. His eyes widened in shock before glazing over completely, his expression transforming from hatred to something entirely different¡ªpure, unfiltered bliss. Valerius swayed on his feet, a dreamy smile spreading across his face. "So beautiful," he whispered, reaching toward nothing. "All of it... so perfect..." He sank slowly to his knees, arms outstretched as if embracing an invisible lover, his face a mask of rapturous adoration. The arena fell completely silent. "He''s... entranced," someone whispered. Chapter 11. Dad Joke Time: Thirteen Ancient Demons Walk Into a Room... Professor Ossian''s face darkened to a dangerous shade of purple, the veins in his forehead pulsing like living things beneath his skin. "This match is terminated!" he roared, his voice echoing off the obsidian walls. "Nightshade is disqualified for breach of arena protections and unauthorized mental manipulation!" Mo barely heard the words. She was staring at Valerius¡ªher tormentor, her rival¡ªnow lying in blissful ignorance, utterly defenseless against her power. His eyes remained fixed on something only he could see, lips curved in a dreamy smile that looked alien on his usually sneering face. She hadn''t meant to do this. Hadn''t even known she could. And that, perhaps, was the most terrifying revelation of all. From the stands, Nyx''s obsidian form rippled with shock, their usually fluid movements frozen as they stared wide-eyed at the scene below. Beside them, frost crept rapidly across Lucian''s collar, his silver eyes reflecting the crackling energy still dancing across the arena. "Did she just¡­?" Lucian whispered, but in the sudden silence, even Mo could hear it. Mo saw as Nyx nodded wordlessly, their skin shifting between midnight blue and obsidian. "Our barista," they finally managed, voice carrying multiple harmonics of awe, "has teeth. And apparently, they''re venomous." And then all the thirteen hells broke loose. Literally. The Combat Applications arena resembled ground zero of a magical catastrophe. Obsidian tiles¡ªdesigned to withstand the most destructive spells known to demonkind¡ªlay scattered like black confetti, some hovering three feet off the ground, others embedded in walls where no tiles should be. They pulsed with rosy light that beat like a heart, casting eerie shadows across horrified faces. Professor Ossian''s attempts to restore order merely added to the chaos¡ªevery counterspell he cast transformed into something unpredictable. His binding magic turned a fallen chandelier into a constellation of miniature stars. His restoration spell gave voice to a pile of shattered pottery that began singing opera. A student''s quill danced through the air, signing florid declarations of love on foreheads and arms. A grimoire fluttered open, pages turning frantically as it read itself aloud in five different voices simultaneously. In the corner, someone''s enchanted boots performed an elaborate tap routine, growing more complex with each passing second as if auditioning for a demonic Broadway. The students weren''t faring much better. Most had managed to shake off the immediate effects of Mo''s magic. Still, remnants lingered¡ªa girl with fairy wings couldn''t stop giggling whenever she looked at her potion partner. Two bitter rivals were awkwardly avoiding eye contact after their moment of mutual adoration. The antlered boy was writing a sonnet titled "Ode to Ossian''s Cheekbones" while pretending he wasn''t. In the center of it all stood Mo, her hair standing on ends from magical backlash, her face burning with mortification. The emotional exposure felt worse than any physical attack Valerius could have landed. Her classmates had seen not just her crush on Julian but her deepest fears and most private moments¡ªpracticing villain speeches in the mirror, crying after harsh training with her father, and her moment of doubt about returning to Blackthorn Keep. "Fascinating display, Nightshade," Damien Ravencroft called from the stands, loud enough for everyone to hear. The vampire''s aristocratic features twisted with malicious delight. "I didn''t realize ''complete magical meltdown'' was an approved combat technique. Perhaps next time you could just cry until your opponent drowns?" Several students laughed nervously, eyes darting between Mo and the still-entranced Valerius, whose expression remained one of blissful adoration as he knelt motionless in the center of the arena. Nyx materialized at Mo''s side, their form shifting protectively larger. "Bold words from someone who got his undead behind handed to him in the first round," they retorted, voice dripping with theatrical scorn. "At least Mo''s magic has a pulse¡ªunlike some people I could mention." "Venom breeds venom," Lucian murmured, frost spiraling from his fingertips as he joined them. "Yet even winter''s cruelest bite cannot match the cut of thoughtless words." Professor Ossian silenced them sternly before turning his full attention to Mo. His tall frame seemed to grow even more imposing as he loomed over her, thin lips pressed into a bloodless line. "In my dozens of years of teaching Combat Applications," he began, voice dangerously quiet, "I have never witnessed such an irresponsible display of magical incompetence." Mo opened her mouth to defend herself, but no words came. What could she possibly say? Sorry, my suppressed succubus powers decided to throw a coming-out party in the middle of a duel? "Not only did you endanger your fellow students," Ossian continued, "you demonstrated a complete lack of basic magical control. Such recklessness is unbecoming of any student at this academy, let alone one who claims to be¡­" he paused, making air quotes with skeletal fingers, "Dark Lady of anywhere." Each word hit like a physical blow. Mo could hear whispers spreading through the recovering students and could feel their stares on her back. "Your performance today suggests you lack the fundamental aptitude for advanced magical study," Ossian said, warming to his theme. "Perhaps a remedial course would be more appropriate for your... limited abilities." Damien made a sound suspiciously like a suppressed snort of laughter. But the sound seized as soon as Nyx looked at the vampire. "I believe," Ossian concluded, "that immediate disciplinary action is¡­" A slow, deliberate clapping cut through his words. The sound echoed across the arena, each sharp impact silencing the chaos further until even the animated objects froze in suspended animation. Every head turned toward its source. A figure rose with fluid grace in the highest tier of the stands. She wore robes of midnight blue so dark they seemed to devour the surrounding light, their edges shimmering with arcane symbols that shifted and rearranged themselves with each movement. Her face remained partially obscured beneath an elegant cowl, but what was visible struck Mo with its ageless beauty and absolute stillness¡ªlike looking at a porcelain mask animated by something ancient and calculating. The woman continued her measured applause as she descended the steps, each footfall somehow both silent and menacing. The students parted before her, some instinctively bowing their heads, others taking several steps back. Even Professor Ossian had gone rigid, his skeletal fingers tightening around his staff. "Fascinating," the woman said, her voice carrying easily despite its soft timbre. "Truly fascinating." Each word seemed to have physical weight, settling in the ears like velvet-wrapped stones. "And some thought you had potential." She reached the arena floor and stepped over the remnants of the magical barrier as if it were nothing more than an inconvenient puddle. The obsidian tiles, still glowing with Mo''s chaotic energy, dimmed beneath her feet as she approached. "Lady Morgana Nightshade," she said, fixing Mo with eyes so pale they appeared colorless. "I am Emissary Caldra of the High Council." A collective gasp rippled through the room. Professor Ossian immediately straightened his posture, something close to alarm flickering across his usually impassive face. "Emissary Caldra," he acknowledged with a formal bow. "Had we known you were¡­" "Observing?" Her lips curved in what might generously be called a smile. "That was rather the point, Professor." She turned her attention back to Mo, studying her with the detached interest of a scientist examining a particularly unusual specimen. "The High Council sends its regards, Lady Nightshade," she continued. "They''ve been most interested in your... unconventional approach to leadership. And now, having witnessed this remarkable display of untapped potential¡­" she gestured at the chaos around them, "¡­I believe our conversation has become even more urgent." The emissary''s gaze swept across the arena, lingering briefly on the still-entranced Valerius, the floating obsidian tiles, and finally settling on Nyx and Lucian. "Your performance today demonstrates exactly why the Council requires your immediate presence," she announced, loud enough for everyone to hear. "I will escort you personally to the Grand Reception Hall where the delegation awaits." Mo''s throat went dry. "The whole Council is here?" she managed. The emissary''s not-quite-smile widened a fraction. "No, child. If the entire High Council descended upon Umbra Academy, I suspect there would be significantly more... structural damage." Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. Her cold eyes flicked to Professor Ossian. "The girl''s companions may accompany us to the Hall, but they will wait outside during our discussion." Nyx stepped forward, their form solidifying protectively. "We''re staying with¡­" "That was not a request," Emissary Caldra said softly, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. "It was a concession." Nyx fell silent but moved closer to Mo''s side. Lucian joined them, frost patterns spreading across his collar. "Come," the emissary said, turning toward the exit with absolute certainty that they would follow. "The Council''s representatives do not appreciate being kept waiting¡ªespecially by a Dark Lady who cannot control her own power." As Mo followed on shaky legs, whispers erupted behind them: "Did you see that?" "¡­High Council emissary¡­" "¡­watching us this whole time¡­" "¡­what does it mean¡­?" "¡­What about other students'' performances¡­?" The emissary''s presence carved a path through the stunned students. Mo caught Julian''s worried gaze as they passed. He mouthed something that looked like "Be careful" before the heavy doors swung shut, sealing her fate. Whatever awaited her in that hall¡ªjudgment, punishment, or something worse¡ªshe would face it as she was: disheveled, exposed, but finally, unavoidably herself. The Dark Lady who couldn''t even control her own magic, yet had somehow managed to disrupt the High Council''s plans with a simple act of compassion. She hadn''t even had time to wipe the magical residue from her face. *** The walk to the Grand Reception Hall felt longer than any portal crossing Mo had ever attempted. Emissary Caldra glided ahead, her robes flowing like liquid shadows, while Mo trailed behind with Nyx and Lucian flanking her protectively. Students pressed themselves against walls as they passed, conversations dying mid-whisper. Even the academy''s resident ghosts¡ªnormally keen to terrorize first-years¡ªretreated into stonework rather than cross paths with the High Council''s representative. "Mo," Nyx whispered, their form still unnervingly solid compared to their usual fluid state. "Whatever happens in there, remember who you are." "A walking magical disaster with terrible timing?" Mo muttered. "No," Lucian said, his voice quiet but firm. "Someone who''d rather choose compassion when cruelty is expected." "How poetic," Emissary Caldra commented without turning around, her hearing apparently as supernatural as everything else about her. "Though I''d suggest saving such sentiments for your poetry class, Lord Frostbrook. The High Council tends to find compassion... inefficient." The entrance to the Grand Reception Hall loomed before them, the doors carved from a single slab of volcanic glass so ancient it predated the academy itself. Scenes of demonic triumph flowed across its surface¡ªcities falling, kingdoms burning, and supplicants kneeling. Mo had passed these doors a dozen times since arriving at Umbra but had never seen them open. They were said to part only for visitors of the highest significance. Now, they stood partially ajar, leaking a cold light that seemed to strip the color from everything it touched. "Prepare yourself," Emissary Caldra said, pausing at the threshold. "And remember¡ªwhen addressing the Council''s representatives, speak only when spoken to, maintain formal address, and above all, do not lie. They will know." Her colorless eyes fixed on Mo with something that might have been pity. "They always know." She turned to Nyx and Lucian. "You will remain outside." Nyx''s form expanded slightly, darkness radiating from their edges. "We''re not leaving her alone with¡­" In a movement almost too swift to follow, Emissary Caldra flicked her wrist. An invisible force struck Nyx and Lucian, propelling them backward ten feet, where they froze in mid-air, suspended like insects in amber. Their expressions registered shock, then outrage as they struggled against the binding. "I said," Caldra repeated with chilling calm, "you will remain outside." She made another small gesture, and Nyx and Lucian slithered gently onto a stone bench against the wall. "Comfortably, of course. We are not barbarians." Mo stepped forward, anger momentarily overriding her fear. "Let them go. They''re just trying to help." "Compassion, right? That''s the word Lord Frostbrook used?" Caldra''s porcelain facade cracked for a moment, revealing something almost like genuine concern. "But they cannot help you in there. Some battles must be faced alone, Lady Nightshade. This is one of them." Before Mo could argue further, the emissary gestured toward the door. "Don''t worry about us!" Lucian called, frost forming around his restraints. "Remember¡ªdarkness reveals more than it conceals if you know how to look!" "Just don''t let them intimidate you!" Nyx added, their form shifting erratically against the magical bonds. "And if they try anything, remind them whose Keep they''re messing with!" The doors sealed behind Mo with a finality that made her heart sink. Ahead, the Grand Reception Hall stretched vast and imposing, its ceiling lost in shadow despite the cold light emanating from thirteen crystalline orbs hovering above a crescent-shaped table. Behind the table sat thirteen figures in identical midnight robes, their faces obscured by deep cowls. Only Emissary Caldra''s face remained visible as she took her place at the center of the crescent. But if Mo didn''t follow her movements with her eyes, she wouldn''t be able to distinguish her from the other emissaries anymore. "Approach, Lady Morgana Nightshade," Caldra commanded, her voice amplified by the hall''s perfect acoustics. No magic was needed here. Mo forced herself forward on trembling legs, painfully aware of her disheveled appearance. Magic still crackled occasionally in her hair, and the remnants of her disastrous duel clung to her like evidence of a crime. She stopped at the indicated position, a circular mosaic depicting a sealed portal to one of the lower hells. "Morgana Elaris Vexaria Nyx Nightshade, The Provisional Dark Lady of Blackthorn Keep stands before the selected representatives of the High Council," Caldra announced formally. "This interview shall commence." A figure to Caldra''s right leaned forward, his cowl shifting to reveal a face so gaunt it resembled a skull with parchment stretched over it. "We have observed with interest your... unorthodox approach to claiming your inheritance, Lady Nightshade." His voice rasped like dry leaves. "Particularly your recent decision regarding goblin taxation." "A most unfortunate economic policy," added a figure on the left, this one''s voice bubbling as if speaking through liquid. "Disruptive to established norms." "Isn''t it my prerogative to decide how the estate is operated?" Mo swallowed hard. "The goblins deserved fair treatment. They''re the backbone of Blackthorn Keep''s economy." A sound like distant wind whistled through the chamber¡ªlaughter, Mo realized with a chill. "Fair treatment," repeated a third emissary, her voice melodic but cutting. "How charmingly human a concept. One wonders where you acquired such notions." She tilted her head, and although Mo couldn''t see her eyes, she felt them boring into her. "As for your estate. It could be your prerogative, if you obtain the full status of Dark Lady of the Keep. You see, there is an issue with the missing Dark Lord''s will. It is¡­" she chuckled. "¡­missing." "But isn''t the fact that I''m the daughter of that previous Dark Lord enough for inheritance?" Mo asked. "I thought Emissary Caldra should have instructed you," a fourth person interdicted. "We are asking questions here." "Emissary Noctis, you don''t have to be so harsh, it''s not often that a young Dark Lady get a chance to stand before a committee like this one. Especially if she''d been hiding among humans for so long," Caldra said. And then she looked directly at Mo as if trying to reach within the depths of her soul. "Where did you pick up these peculiar notions about the inheritance? Perhaps during your little... vacation? Serving coffee to creatures meant to serve you?" They were using it against her. Of course, they did. "No answer?" Caldra observed, "It doesn''t matter. Your education on Earth has clearly influenced your governing philosophy, as has your apparent reluctance to embrace your succubus heritage. Today''s display was most... illuminating. As for the procedure. There are some exceptions. Fine print, you know, as your lovely humans would say. A claim has been made. And we can''t just ignore it. Right? Especially as it questions your ability to¡­ perform." Caldara''s voice became unexpectedly sultry when she almost whispered that last word. Heat rushed to Mo''s cheeks. "You were watching the duel." "We have been watching you since the moment you disappeared from your high school," said another emissary, this one''s voice carrying multiple tones simultaneously, like a chord struck on an out-of-tune instrument. "Your flight to Earth. Your little bookstore experiment. We even thought you were just entertaining your raging hormones. But no, it was boring. And you returned only when circumstances forced your hand." Something in the emissary''s tone made Mo''s skin crawl. There was contempt there, yes, but also something else¡ªsatisfaction, as if Mo had performed exactly as expected. "We had such hopes for the Nightshade lineage," sighed a sixth emissary, whose silhouette seemed oddly misshapen beneath the robes. "Your parents understood the natural order. The strong rule, the weak serve. No goblin shenanigans. Simple, efficient, eternal." "And yet," continued the skull-faced emissary, "their heir rejects this fundamental truth. Refuses her power. Hides among humans. Returns only to immediately undermine millennia of established hierarchy." "It''s almost as if," the liquid-voiced one gurgled, "she were deliberately sabotaging her own inheritance." Mo''s mind raced, pieces clicking together with sickening clarity. The Council''s insistence on her attending Umbra. The "provisional" status of her coronation. The immediate attempt to override her decision about the goblin taxes. The impossible combat pairing with Valerius. They never expected her to succeed. "You didn''t want me to return to Blackthorn Keep at all, did you?" Mo said slowly, the realization dawning. "You were counting on me staying away." Silence fell across the chamber, heavy and threatening. Mo pressed on, her heart pounding. "And when I did come back, you made sure my authority would be limited. Provisional. Subject to approval." Her voice strengthened with each word. "You arranged for me to be sent here, to an academy where I''d be set up to fail." "But why? What would be our reasoning?" Caldra said softly. "Such imagination. Perhaps you should consider Creative Villainy as an elective." Still, Mo saw it in the subtle shift of postures around the table¡ªthe slight tensing, the way several emissaries exchanged glances. She''d struck a nerve. "Who gets Blackthorn Keep if I fail?" she demanded. "Which of you has been promised a piece of my inheritance? Or is it being divided among you all?" "Careful, child," warned the skull-faced emissary. "You speak of matters beyond your understanding." The temperature in the room plummeted further, frost creeping across the mosaic beneath Mo''s feet. The thirteen crystalline orbs pulsed in unison, their light suddenly harsh and interrogating. Mo felt the weight of ancient, calculating gazes from beneath thirteen cowls, all focused on her with predatory intensity. She had just accused the High Council¡ªthe most powerful entity in all demonic realms¡ªof conspiracy and corruption. And judging by their reaction, she''d struck terrifyingly close to the truth.