CHAPTER 104: UTTERLY FUCKED

The moon stood alone in the night sky, bathing the grounds of the Royal Academy in a pale silver.

The night was quiet, with the silence broken only by the distant rustle of leaves and the clink of armored boots along the wall.

Even with the light of the moon illuminating everything, two figures scaled the southern wall expertly, clinging to the shadow like they’d been born inside it.

They moved with the certainty of men who had done this many times before. Assassins, trained for one purpose.

They slipped over the battlements, landing without a sound. The guards pacing only meters away never noticed.

With their black garb, smeared ash, and the confidence of their movements, they were like phantoms, passing through the academy’s defenses as if the walls and wards themselves wanted them to succeed.

Their orders had been clear. The infirmary. The target would be resting in one of the wards.

They had been given the location, the details, even the shift rotations of the nurses. Someone powerful wanted this done.

The shorter of the two made a hand signal, and they slid into the shadow of the courtyard.

The first patrol came into view. A trio of school guards with lanterns strapped to their belts.

The assassins waited for them to pass, counting each step, then darted across the open ground in perfect silence.

A second patrol of soldiers in heavier armor marched near the eastern dormitories, but the killers hugged the walls until the men passed.

Finally, the infirmary was just ahead of them. Its broad glass windows glimmered faintly, the wards embedded in the stone humming so subtly only trained ears would notice.

The taller assassin pulled out a small token, pressed it against the doorframe, and the glow sputtered. The ward flickered, then went dead. A smile tugged under his mask. Their employer had given them everything.

They slipped inside. The air smelled faintly of herbs and disinfectants. The faint glow of healing crystals illuminated the room in a soft blue hue.

They moved like shadows, gliding past rows of wards, silent save for the occasional creak of a wooden floorboard.

A nurse shuffled past one of the far corridors, yawning, never realizing death had brushed so close.

Finally, they reached the far end. The ward they’d been told of. A single bed by the window, blankets pulled high. The figure on the bed was asleep, breathing faintly in the dim light.

The shorter assassin drew a thin dagger from his belt. The taller one pulled out a curved blade. They exchanged one look. Professional, detached. Then they struck.

The dagger plunged down first, then the curved blade followed, stabbing hard into the form beneath the covers. The blades sank deep, muffled by cloth and stuffing.

There was no scream.

The taller assassin narrowed his eyes, grip tightening. He yanked the blanket back.

There was no flesh, nor blood.

Pillows.

Neatly arranged, bundled beneath the blanket to mimic the shape of a sleeping body. Their target had never been there.

The two assassins froze, their instincts screaming. A trap.

Before either could move, the faintest sound reached their ears. A soft chuckle, low, humorless, and coming from the shadows behind them.

Both assassins whirled, blades snapping up, but the ward was empty. Just the quiet flicker of light crystals. The blanket rustled faintly behind them, though there was no wind.

The taller assassin hissed. "He knew."

The shorter one swallowed, tightening his grip on the dagger. "Then where is he?"

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Noah had been deep in the haze of sleep when the screaming began. Not from outside, not from any sound that echoed in the ward, but from within.

His shadows wailed, screeched, and clawed, tearing through his dreams with their frenzied warning.

"Coming... coming..." they shrieked, their voices overlapping, a chorus of rage and hunger.

Noah’s eyes snapped open, heart pounding. He didn’t question it.

He’d long since learned already that his shadows were extensions of him. His pain, his rage, his broken soul given form. If they were shrieking, it meant danger was already here.

He bolted upright, every muscle weak but fueled by desperation.

His eyes darted to the ward door, the faint glow of mana wards along the walls, and then to his bed.

He didn’t hesitate.

He tore the blanket free and stuffed the pillows beneath, arranging them until the bundle resembled a sleeping figure. He smoothed the blanket, his movements sure despite the tremor in his hands.

The screeching of his shadows didn’t stop, but one voice rose above the rest, sounding calm, and almost amused.

"You know what to do."

Noah froze at the sound, different from the frenzy. He turned slowly, and in the far corner of the ward where the light of the healing crystals didn’t reach, one shadow stood apart from the others. Its eyes glowed a dim, steady blue, calm in the madness.

"Every part of your soul is yours to command," it whispered, its voice layered with patience and certainty.

Noah’s breath hitched. His fingers clenched into fists. He had no time to respond as the faint scrape of boots on polished stone reached his ears.

Two silhouettes slipped through the doorway, silent and lethal, blades gleaming faintly in the dim light.

Noah slid into the farthest, darkest corner of the ward, letting the shadows fold over him like a cloak. He slowed his breathing, his eyes wide and unblinking. The assassins crept closer, the air around them heavy with killing intent.

They stopped at his bed. The shorter one motioned to the other, dagger raised. Together, they struck.

The dagger plunged down, followed by the slash of a curved blade. The sound was muffled by fabric.

Noah bit back a chuckle. They’d stabbed nothing more than cloth and feathers.

The calm shadow’s voice echoed again in his ears.

"Remember the one who was at your bedside... when you first woke up."

Noah’s eyes widened. His memory snapped into place.

That faint person who had sat with him, handed him water, and answered his questions when no one else had been there... He’d thought it was a hallucination born from weakness. But now he knew.

"That was you," Noah whispered, realization slamming into him. His lips curled into a grin as he chuckled. "You... can become real."

The assassins froze. Both men jerked their heads toward the sound. One whirled around, blade raised. The other dropped into a crouch, scanning the shadows with wary eyes.

But it was too late.

Noah stepped forward from the darkness, his grin wide and cruel. He raised his hands, pouring mana outward, not into a spell formation, not into a construct, but into the writhing black tide all around him.

The shadows answered.

They shrieked in ecstasy as mana poured into them, their forms swelling, deepening.

Where once they had been vague silhouettes, now they began to solidify.

Fleshless claws gleamed sharp as blades. Their eyeless sockets burned with red and blue light. Their forms streamed out of every shadow in the room, under the beds, along the ceiling, beneath the very feet of the assassins.

The assassins’ faces drained of color.

"What the hell..." One whispered, his dagger trembling.

The other cursed again, stumbling back as black, semi-corporeal figures rose all around them, forming a circle.

The air grew heavy and oppressive. The shadows closed in, their whispers turning into guttural laughter.

Noah’s grin widened. His voice was cold, hollow, but filled with amusement.

"You thought I was prey."

The shadows surged closer, claws dragging along the floor, the ceiling, leaving trails of darkness in their wake.

"But you," Noah hissed, his eyes glowing faintly with madness, "you just walked into the den of the predator."

The assassins’ eyes widened. Their blades shook. They were professionals, killers trained in silence and shadows, and yet here, in this ward, they were the ones trapped.

And they knew it.

They were utterly, completely...

"...fucked," Noah finished for them, his grin splitting into a snarl as his shadows howled in bloodlust.