Page 50 of Academy of the Wicked, Year One

"You know what I really can't stand?" I muse, as if sharing a casual observation. "People who speak ill of others without knowing their facts."

His nostrils flare at my proximity, but I continue before he can interject.

"See, due to my slight inability to tolerate bullshit, matched with what many would call an intolerable personality, I didn't have many friends as a child." I shrug, the gesture deliberately casual. "So, I spent my time in the depths of libraries, absolutely devouring the lengthy encyclopedias aboutparanormal creatures, hybrids, and everything else with a beating heart in our tainted, merciless world."

The runes on my wrist pulse darker, their crimson glow casting eerie shadows across Lord Bartholomew's increasingly uncomfortable face.

"And do you know what I learned about Duskwalkers? They're absolutely fascinating creatures of darkness, with abilities that would make lesser beings weep with envy."

My voice takes on a lecturer's tone, precise and measured.

"They possess an innate connection to both death and shadow magic. A combination that no other paranormal race can claim. Their ability to traverse the void between realms, to command spirits and shadows alike, to exist in perfect harmony with beings of pure darkness..." I pause, letting each point land with careful precision. "But here's the truly magnificent part."

Leaning closer, I lower my voice to an intimate whisper.

"Royal Duskwalkers, particularly princes, have the capacity to ascend to true Lord status. Not the kind you're throwing around like cheap perfume," my eyes flick dismissively over his form, "but genuine Lords of Darkness. The kind that would have Duskwalkers across all realms bowing in genuine reverence."

A theatrical pause.

"Wouldn't that be something to witness, Lord Bartholomew?"

His face contorts with rage.

"I do not need nor want your unrequested lecture, you impertinent fool. You're wasting my valuable time."

A laugh escapes me, light and mocking.

"Ah, my sincerest apologies. Please, feel free to leave if I'm such a waste of your precious time."

Lord Bartholomew turns sharply to exit –or tries to.

His body remains frozen in place, realization dawning in his widening eyes before they narrow accusingly in my direction.

I meet his glare with unwavering intensity, feeling the power thrumming through my veins. The mark on my neck burns with cold fire, and I can feel Cassius's shadows responding to my magic, weaving together in an intricate dance of power that even I don't fully understand.

But understanding isn't always necessary for victory.

The runes along my wrist have darkened to the color of fresh blood, their glow pulsing in perfect harmony with my heartbeat. They paint the air between us with crimson light, a physical manifestation of the power game we're playing.

And judging by the growing alarm in Lord Bartholomew's eyes, he's beginning to realize he might have chosen the wrong opponent.

I take a deep inhale, letting it out slow and measured. My eyes drift closed, and for a moment, everything feels deceptively peaceful. The atmosphere hangs heavy with tension, but it's contained – like a storm waiting to break.

Then I feel it.

The exact moment when the energies around us crack, like fine crystal shattering under precisely applied pressure. The tension surges, becoming almost unbearable in its intensity. I don't need to open my eyes to know everyone feels it – the way my magic rises to the surface, no longer content to simmer beneath my skin.

Power pulses outward in waves, each one stronger than the last. It mimics gravity itself, affecting everything within its reach like an invisible tide. I can sense how it impacts the others too – Damien, Nikolai, Cassius, even Mortimer.

It's an unfortunate necessity, this small discomfort I'm causing them.

But some things require sacrifice.

This part of me –this raw, primal force I've kept carefully locked away– hasn't been free in a very long time.For good reason.The last time I let it loose...well, there's a reason certain territories still bear the scars.

My eyes open just slightly, and I can't help the proud smile that forms as I feel the radiant energy pulsing behind them.

The intensity would normally make my eyes water, but now it feels natural.

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