The next day passed in a haze of dread. Every tick of the academy's grand clock was a countdown to the moment I would have to become the villain. The knowledge of what I had to do sat like a stone in my stomach, making the food at lunch tasteless and the lectures in class a meaningless drone. I was a man walking to his own spiritual execution.
My first move was cowardly and simple. I went to the academy's administrative office, a grand hall run by stern-faced magical constructs, and used my status as a Greyfall to formally reserve the small, out-of-the-way training yard—their training yard—for the entire evening. The act was so bureaucratic, so devoid of emotion, yet it felt like I was signing a warrant. The reservation slip the construct handed me felt heavier than a block of lead.
Late that afternoon, as the sun began its descent, I made my way to the courtyard. I arrived early, deliberately so. I didn't bring a training sword or wear practice gear. Instead, I simply leaned against a stone pillar in the center of the yard, arms crossed, the picture of aristocratic indolence. My purpose here wasn't to train; it was to occupy. To infest.
Soon, I heard them. The sound of cheerful chatter and light-hearted laughter drifted down the path. My stomach twisted. I composed my features into the familiar mask of bored arrogance and waited.
Leonidas, Thomas, and Mara rounded the corner, their conversation dying in their throats the moment they saw me. The warm, friendly atmosphere they carried with them evaporated, replaced by a sudden, sharp frost. Three pairs of eyes locked onto me, filled with surprise, confusion, and immediate suspicion.
Leonidas, ever the leader, stepped forward, his expression wary. Mara and Thomas flanked him, their own faces hardening.
"Greyfall," Leonidas said, his tone flat. "What are you doing here?"
I pushed myself off the pillar with a sigh of exaggerated boredom. "What does it look like, Aris? I'm enjoying the evening air. In the training yard I officially reserved." I held up the slip of parchment, letting it dangle from my fingers.
Mara's eyes narrowed. "You're lying! We use this yard every day. You've never set foot here in your life!" Her intent, felt through my Soul Resonance, was a hot, fierce wave of protective anger. She was like a lioness defending her pride.
I ignored her, my gaze deliberately sliding past her and Leonidas to land on my real target. I let my eyes sweep over Thomas from head to toe, my lip curling in a dismissive sneer. He flinched under my gaze, his already anxious aura tightening with fear.
"Indeed," I said, my voice dripping with condescension. "But Lord Vrael and I were just discussing the… declining standards of the academy's student body. I found myself in need of a more private space, somewhere I wouldn't be distracted by the pathetic fumblings of charity cases."
The words, ripped directly from Damien's cruel script, felt like filth in my mouth. But they landed with surgical precision.
I felt the immediate, explosive surge of righteous fury from Leonidas. I felt Mara's anger sharpen into a murderous point. But worst of all, I felt the effect on Thomas. His aura didn't flare with anger; it crumpled. It was a sharp, piercing sting of pure humiliation and shame. The boy physically recoiled as if I had struck him, his gaze falling to the dirt at his feet, his shoulders hunching inward.
Target hit. The thought brought me no satisfaction, only a deep, hollow sickness.
"They are my friends," Leonidas growled, his hand instinctively moving to the hilt of the practice sword at his belt. "And they're more worthy of being here than any of the spineless sycophants that trail after you and Vrael."
I had to press the advantage. I had to twist the knife. My orders were clear.
I gave a soft, cruel laugh. "Are they? Friendship won't help you pass your next Mana Control exam, will it, Thomas?" I directed my words at the boy who refused to look up. "Perhaps you should spend less time dragging your betters down to your level and more time in the library. Though I doubt it would help."
That was it. That was the final cut. Thomas visibly trembled, and I could feel the tremor of his shattered confidence all the way across the yard. Leonidas took a threatening step forward, his face a mask of cold fury.
"That's enough, Greyfall."
I raised my hands in mock surrender, my sneer unwavering. "I'm not looking for a fight. I'm simply enjoying the space I've paid for." I turned my back on them, a gesture of ultimate disrespect. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have the yard for the rest of the evening. I'm sure there's a ditch somewhere on campus you three can practice in."
I didn't stay. My goal was accomplished. I walked away at a leisurely pace, not looking back, every nerve screaming. I could feel their collective glares like daggers in my back. I could feel Leonidas's contained rage, Mara's burning hatred, and Thomas's quiet, suffocating shame.
The victory I had just handed Damien felt like a brand seared onto my soul.
Later that night, I found my way to a different, truly deserted courtyard. The moon was a cold, silver eye in the sky. I drew my training sword, and this time, the "ghost spar" was not a drill. It was a punishment.
I threw myself into the exercises with a desperate, self-destructive fury. I wasn't just parrying the echoes of Damien's blade anymore. I was fighting the echo of my own cruelty. Every swing was a vent for the rage and self-loathing that was choking me. I pushed my body until my muscles screamed, until the blisters on my hands broke and bled, until sweat and exhaustion blurred my vision.
The physical pain was a relief. It was a clean, honest agony that momentarily drowned out the festering wound in my conscience. I had made the first cut as Damien's weapon. And the blood felt entirely, irrevocably, on my own hands.