"May I join you?" he asked, gaze flickering briefly toward Julian before settling on Mo.

Before she could answer, Nyx's form rippled with barely contained agitation, their skin darkening several shades.

"Bold of you to approach after your cousin's smear campaign," they said, voice carrying multiple tonal layers that suggested both interest and irritation.

Dorian winced—so subtly Mo almost missed it. "That's precisely why I'm here." He looked directly at Mo. "My cousin's actions don't represent the entire family. Darian has always been... overzealous in his pursuit of status."

"Let me guess, you have another cousin named Durian who's even more pungent?" Mo quipped before she could stop herself, then immediately regretted it when Dorian's expression remained impassive. Humor clearly wasn't going to do anything here.

"May I?" he gestured to the empty space beside Julian, who shifted reluctantly to make room.

Lucian's frost patterns curled protectively, but he said nothing as Dorian settled onto the bench with practiced grace.

"I wanted to clarify that I had no part in Darian's rather... creative interpretation of last night's events," Dorian continued, his voice barely carrying beyond their immediate circle despite the straining ears all around them. "His tactics lack subtlety."

"Unlike your interest in shapeshifting abilities?" Nyx challenged, but their form betrayed them—shifting unconsciously into something slightly more symmetrical, edges more defined, as if preening.

Dorian's gaze lingered on Nyx for a beat longer than necessary. "My interests are wide-ranging and academically sincere. Titanborn rigidness subverted by your astonishing fluidity presents fascinating magical theory implications."

"I'm sure that's all it is," Mo said, studying him carefully. "Academic interest."

"Of course," Dorian replied with a ghost of a smile. "Just as your intervention last night was purely about upholding proper ethical standards in student rituals."

Mo felt Julian tense beside her. "You were there?"

"I know… things," Dorian answered cryptically. "The seniors' approach was outdated. Fear manipulation works better with consent—first-year curriculum, really."

Nyx snorted. "How enlightened of you to recognize the basics of magical ethics."

"I recognize much more than that," Dorian said, his gaze shifting back to Nyx with an intensity that made the shapeshifter's skin ripple with iridescent patterns. "Including potential when I see it."

The air between them seemed to thicken, charged with something Mo couldn't quite identify. Before she could interrupt this strange tension, the dining hall doors burst open with a dramatic crash.

A procession of dark-robed faculty members entered, led by Professor Malvolia, whose crimson attire stood out like a bloodstain against the sea of black.

"Attention, students," her voice amplified to reach every corner of the vast hall. "By order of the Academy Board, all classes are suspended until noon today. Instead, all students will attend a special assembly on 'Appropriate Applications of Influence Magic and Mental Manipulation.'"

Her gaze swept the room, lingering pointedly on Mo. "Attendance is mandatory for all students and faculty members. Those with... recent relevant experience... are especially encouraged to participate."

The entire hall turned to stare at Mo, who maintained her composure through sheer force of will.

Great. Now the faculty was involved.

"You should go," Nyx said to Dorian, their form hardening into something more angular, protective. "Your family wouldn't want you seen fraternizing with the Academy's newest public enemy."

Dorian moved smoothly, straightening nonexistent wrinkles from his immaculate clothing. "My family has survived far worse scandals than breakfast associations." He inclined his head toward Mo. "A word of caution, Lady Nightshade—when playing the villain they expect, be careful not to become it."

With that cryptic warning, he departed, moving through the crowd with an effortless grace that somehow parted the students before him like water.

"Well," Nyx said brightly as Professor Malvolia headed toward the grand doors, "at least we don't have to sit through Dramatic Entrances and Exits this morning."

Mo couldn't even muster a smile as Professor Malvolia dramatically exited the hall. This was spiraling beyond mere student rumors into official Academy business. If the High Council got wind of it...

"Go to the assembly," Julian advised quietly. "Don't be defensive, be confident. That's your place to be. It is your right as a Dark Lady to rule and judge. Don't admit to anything specific, but don't deny everything either."

"Villain Politics 101," Mo muttered. "Say nothing while appearing to say something."

"Precisely," Julian replied with an impressed nod. "You've been paying attention in class after all."

"Huh?" said Mo. "No, I was just joking! Did they really teach that in class?"

***

As they left the dining hall, Mo felt the weight of hundreds of eyes following their exit. For better or worse, she continued to be the Academy's chief attraction. And it was past time for her to figure out how to use that attention without getting crushed by it.

And somehow, in the midst of all this, find time to continue their secret training, not lose all ties with humanity, and figure out the secret of her parents' disappearance. Ah, yes, and deal with the High Council's politics. Because if last night had proven anything, it was that understanding her powers and Mo's growing control over her abilities might be the only thing standing between her and disaster.

The assembly was exactly as excruciating as Mo had expected. For three hours, a parade of professors lectured on the "ethical applications of mental influence within the villain community," which basically amounted to "don't get caught" and "only use it on beings of lower status."

Professor Malvolia had pointedly assigned Mo a seat in the front row, directly in her line of sight, where the entire student body could watch her reactions. Nyx and Lucian had been deliberately separated from her, placed on opposite sides of the auditorium.

"Mental coercion between students of different years is strictly prohibited without proper academic supervision," droned Professor Grimshade, a spectral entity whose transparent form occasionally flickered like poor reception. "Such powers should be directed primarily toward humans, lesser magical beings, and specifically designated practice subjects."

Mo felt Julian stiffen—Professor Malvolia instructed him to sit next to Mo, presumably as an example of an "appropriate target" for manipulation magic. The human researcher's face remained impassive, but she could sense his disgust.

"Furthermore," the professor continued, "succubi and incubi students must register for additional ethics seminars and obtain signed permission forms before practicing their natural abilities on campus."

More stares. More whispers. Perfect, now they are pitting my own kind against me. However, despite that realization, Mo kept her expression neutral. She might as well have been wearing a sign that said "DANGEROUS: DO NOT APPROACH." But then, wasn't that exactly what they were supposed to teach here in the Academy?

***

The assembly concluded with a final warning that reduced the room's temperature by several degrees. Students filed out silently, casting sideways glances at Mo that ranged from fearful to fascinated, from worried to purely hateful. She had almost reached the door when a spectral messenger materialized before her, bearing Professor Malvolia's unmistakable seal.

"Lady Nightshade," it intoned. "Your presence is required immediately."

Minutes later, Mo was standing before Professor Malvolia's office—a chamber of horrors masquerading as an academic space. Shelves lined with jars of preserved specimens dominated one wall, their contents suspended in viscous fluids that glowed with a sickly phosphorescence. In one jar, what appeared to be a severed hand twitched its fingers against the glass when Mo looked at it directly. Another wall displayed an impressive collection of torture implements arranged by historical era, each labeled with academic precision in elegant calligraphy: "14th-Century Persuasion Tools," "Modern Discomfort Applicators," and, most disturbingly, "Personal Favorites."

"Sit, Lady Nightshade," Professor Malvolia gestured to a chair that looked suspiciously like it might have restraints hidden in the armrests.

Mo remained standing. "I prefer to stand, thank you."

The professor's lips twitched, almost approving. "As you wish." She settled behind her desk, a massive structure carved from what appeared to be petrified bone. "I assume you know why you're here."

"The incident last night," Mo replied evenly.

"Indeed." Malvolia steepled her fingers. "Normally, I would begin by explaining why unsanctioned mind control is forbidden on campus, but I suspect you already understand that."

"I didn't use mind control," Mo stated flatly.

"No?" The professor's eyebrow arched. "Then how do you explain a dozen senior students suddenly abandoning a traditional ritual at your command? Students who, I might add, have filed formal complaints about feeling an 'irresistible compulsion' in your presence?"

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Mo swallowed her frustration. "They felt something, I'm sure. But it wasn't mind control. It was recognition."

"Explain."

"They recognized actual power," Mo said simply. "Not the kind they play at, but the real thing. I made them feel what they were inflicting on that first-year. Every terror, every humiliation—I reflected it back to them."

Professor Malvolia leaned forward, genuine interest flickering in her eyes. "You turned their own fear manipulation against them?"

"I connected them," Mo clarified. "A true Dark Lady doesn't need to torture her enemies directly. She can simply make them experience the consequences of their actions. Feel the pain they've caused others." She met the professor's gaze steadily. "It's far more devastating than any conventional torture method."

"Fascinating," Malvolia murmured, studying Mo with new consideration. "Most students focus on inflicting novel torments, but empathic reflection... that's an… experimental technique." Her lips curved into a thin smile. "Your father would have appreciated the elegance."

"I'm not my father," Mo said, tension coiling in her chest.

"No," the professor agreed. "You're something more unpredictable. The platform in that chamber—it enhanced your abilities, yes, but only in the way that it was designed to. It's a focusing tool, an instrument to perfect your skills, not a weapon."

Professor Malvolia studied her with unnerving intensity. "You now know more about that chamber than you should, Lady Nightshade."

"I know enough," Mo replied, deliberately vague. "And I know torture disguised as tradition when I see it."

To her surprise, the professor laughed—a sound like glass breaking underwater. "Torture? Is that what you saw?" She leaned forward. "What those students were practicing, however clumsily, was an ancient tradition of confronting one's innermost fears. A tradition your own family has participated in for generations."

Mo faltered. "What?"

"Oh, yes," Malvolia nodded. "The Nightshade Trials were legendary. Your own father established the record for endurance—thirteen hours facing his deepest terrors before emerging transformed. It's said that experience gave him the edge he needed to rein in the throne at Blackthorn Keep."

Mo felt a chill that had nothing to do with the room's temperature. She'd known her father was ruthless, but this revelation cast his character in an even darker light. Had he endured such torture only to inflict it on others later?

"Whatever my family did," she said carefully, "I witnessed a student being tortured against his will. I intervened. I won't apologize for that."

Professor Malvolia leaned back, studying Mo with fresh interest. "No, I don't imagine you will. Which brings me to the Academy's response."

Here it comes, Mo thought. Expulsion? Magical restraints? Remedial villain ethics classes?

Instead, the professor pushed a sealed envelope across the desk. "Congratulations, Lady Nightshade. You've been assigned a field exercise."

"I... what?"

"Your intervention demonstrated both an understanding of power dynamics and a willingness to assert dominance—key traits for any future Dark Lady," Malvolia explained with clinical detachment. "However, your tendency to protect rather than exploit shows concerning traces of heroic thinking."

She tapped the envelope. "Therefore, the Academy Board has assigned you a practical exercise in villain leadership. You will return to Blackthorn Keep this weekend to address the goblin rebellion that has apparently erupted in your absence."

Mo stared at the envelope, then back at the professor. "There's a what?"

"A rebellion," Malvolia repeated, looking almost bored. "Apparently, your little tax relief promise fell through, and now the goblins are rioting. Remarkably convenient timing, wouldn't you say?"

The implication was clear. There were hints that the High Council had deliberately undermined Mo's authority to create this crisis. They probably influenced the members of the Shadow Cabinet, including Aldric. And now, they just wanted to drop her in the middle of this mess and watch whether she survives. A test within a test.

"The assignment is simple," the professor continued, her voice taking on the crisp tone of an academic lecture. "Quell the uprising using appropriate villain techniques. Document your methods and results—including body count. There's a special request for that in the supplementary documentation—for academic credit." Her fingers tapped a rhythm against the desk that sounded disturbingly like a funeral march. "You will be evaluated on efficiency, psychological impact, and adherence to traditional villain methodology. However, extra consideration will be given for... creative solutions."

Mo felt sick. "And if I refuse?"

"Then you fail," Malvolia said simply. "And failure at this stage of your provisional status would be... unfortunate."

Trapped. Again. If she refused the assignment, she'd lose Blackthorn Keep. If she accepted and failed to be sufficiently ruthless, same result. And if she succeeded by their standards, she'd be betraying everything she believed in.

"I'll need my research team," Mo said finally. "Obscuris and Frostbrook. Their specialized abilities will be useful for documentation purposes."

Professor Malvolia's lips curved in a smile that never reached her eyes. "Already approved. Their professors have been informed they'll be participating in an 'Allied Villain Dynamics' group project."

She pushed a second set of documents forward. "Your portal authorizations. You leave tomorrow at dawn. I expect a full report, with evidence, upon your return."

Mo read through the documents, searching for a trap. Malvolia didn't lie, there were portal authorizations there, and notes from Nyx's and Lucian's teachers. But nothing confirmed that Mo herself wouldn't face any consequences for missing her classes at the Academy.

"Nowhere in these documents I can see that my absence wouldn't affect my academic evaluation," said Mo. "I need to have it in writing. Magically bound contract."

"Ah… You are learning, Dark Lady," said the professor with a vicious smile. "Good. Your time here has not been in vain. Anything else?"

"A permission for an indefinite leave," answered Mo. "In the end, we don't know how long would it take to deal with the rebellion and any other… instigators." She let some coldness to sip into her tone.

"That I can't allow," said Malvolia, her smile only growing wider. "But good try. I'm giving you two weeks. Not a day more. And after that, your academic evaluation will be affected, and it will go on your permanent record."

***

After securing a reluctant promise from Professor Malvolia for academic protection during her absence, Mo tucked the documents into her messenger bag. The weight of the professor's expectations—a proper villain's resolution with an appropriate "body count"—sat heavily on her shoulders as she left the office.

"How bad is it?" Nyx asked the moment Mo emerged, their form shifting anxiously as they waited in the corridor with Lucian.

"Remember the last missive from Grimz?" Mo replied, her voice flat. "Apparently, there's a full-scale rebellion at Blackthorn Keep now. And guess who's being sent to put it down with 'appropriate villain techniques'?"

Lucian's frost patterns spiraled across his collar. "The Council moves quickly, acting through its pawns when they want something."

"I'm sure their plan for me is to fail," Mo said, pulling out the assignment details. "Look at this. They expect documentation of psychological torture methods, a complete breakdown of intimidation tactics."

"That's fine," said Lucian. "In line with the academic recommendations."

"Just wait, here's my personal favorite," said Mo, showing her friends a note on a small piece of black paper. " A recommendation from Emissary Caldra: offer extra credits for a precise body count."

"A literal body count?" Nyx asked, their form momentarily expanding with theatrical horror as they peered over her shoulder. "How gloriously archaic of them! Nothing says 'traditional villain' quite like tallying corpses and spare body parts."

"Only if I want the extra credit," Mo replied grimly. "The basic assignment is to crush the rebellion 'with appropriate villain flair.'"

"So, we either crush goblins who just want fair treatment," Lucian summarized, "or you fail your provisional Dark Lady evaluation. The coldest choice is often the one between two kinds of winter—both freezing, merely differing in how quickly they claim their victims."

"Pretty much."

"This is..." Nyx began, their form shifting in indignation.

"A test," Mo finished, absolutely sure that wasn't the word Nyx planned to use. "One they believe I can't pass without either failing as a villain or betraying everything I've tried to build." She folded the assignment papers with deliberate precision. "But they don't know what we've been planning."

A determined smile curved her lips. "We leave tomorrow at dawn. But tonight, we have work to do."

The thirteenth hour of night found them at the ancient chamber. Its circular platform awakened with a violet light that seemed to pulse in recognition as they slipped inside. Shadow embraced shadow as they moved in practiced silence, the lessons of two previous visits evident in their confident steps. Since their confrontation with the seniors, the trio had returned to this forgotten space a couple of times, sneaking away between classes. Each visit revealing new secrets about the chamber's ancient power.

"Are you sure about this?" Lucian asked, frost flowers blooming around his feet as he eyed the platform. "Accelerating your training this way could be dangerous."

"More dangerous than facing a goblin rebellion unprepared?" Mo countered, stepping onto the ancient stone. Immediately, that familiar resonance surged through her—power recognizing power, ancient magic calling to something within her bloodline.

"Point taken," Nyx conceded, their form rippling with anticipation. "So, what's the plan? Just... practice until you collapse?"

Mo shook her head, centering herself as the platform's energy hummed through her veins. "No. Focused progression. According to our system, I'm at Level 3 in Emotional Projection, but only Level 1 in Targeted Influence. To handle Blackthorn Keep without resorting to cruelty, I need precise control."

She'd been studying all the notes and books they were able to gather in Mo's and Nyx's dorm, tapping into their families' collections and checking out quite a few tomes from the Academy's library. It was almost an obsession that was only complemented by tracking her progress through the skill trees they'd designed.

The night after the senior confrontation, they'd returned to find the chamber empty but still resonant with ancient power. Each subsequent visit had revealed more about how the platform enhanced Mo's abilities—not by making them stronger, necessarily, but by making them clearer, more focused.

"We'll begin with Emotional Mapping," she decided, kneeling at the center of the platform.

For the next several hours, they worked through their system methodically. Nyx would project different emotional states—fear, anger, joy, confusion—while Mo practiced identifying and mirroring them without being overwhelmed. Lucian created ice sculptures of increasing complexity that required Mo to direct her emotional influence with surgical precision—melting specific segments while leaving others untouched.

"Again," Mo insisted after a particularly difficult exercise left her gasping, rose-gold energy flickering around her fingertips. "I need to be able to target individuals within a group."

"You're pushing too hard," Lucian said. "Even with the platform enhancing control, emotional burnout is…"

"A risk I have to take," Mo cut him off. "The Council is forcing my hand. I refuse to hurt the goblins, but I also can't lose Blackthorn Keep. I want to make it better. There has to be a third option."

Nyx's form shifted, becoming more supportive—literally, as they added a third arm to steady Mo's shoulder. "One more round, then we rest. Remember what the books say: fatigue breeds mistakes."

Mo nodded reluctantly. They were right, of course. Her hands trembled slightly, and the rose-gold energy that had flowed so smoothly hours earlier now sputtered and flared unpredictably.

During one of the exercises, something unexpected happened. As Mo focused on reading the emotional signatures Nyx was projecting, she noticed a deeper layer beneath the surface emotions—like glimpsing underwater currents beneath rippling waves. Not just what Nyx was feeling, but why.

"Wait," Mo said, the rose-gold energy around her fingers stabilizing into tight, controlled spirals. "Do that again, but this time think about something specific while you project the emotion."

Nyx shifted, curiosity rippling across their obsidian skin, followed by a flash of something that looked almost like alarm. Their form flickered briefly, edges blurring as if attempting to physically obscure their thoughts. "Like what?"

"Like... think about why you're angry while projecting anger."

Nyx hesitated, their normally fluid movements becoming suddenly stilted. "You mean... focus on any reason for anger? Or something specific?"

"Whatever comes naturally," Mo replied, noting their uncharacteristic nervousness with interest.

"Right. Natural. Easy." Nyx's form settled with visible effort, though their coloration kept shifting in subtle patterns that betrayed their discomfort. "Just... don't go digging too deep in there. Some thoughts are works in progress."

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