My hair is black now. Prosthetics, with the use of magic, make these horns that protrude from my head seem life-like. The transformation did its job, now, I don’t even receive a second glance from people who accused me of being the spawn of Azeroth. She also took away the sword I had brought with me.

Plaara trained me well as promised. In my class of thirty, I alone am the best user of the saber, in the sword art used by legionnaires, and the art specifically made for praecantors; magicae tactus, and gladius elementum. These arts aren’t much compared to our overlords, so my training is far from finished.

I shuffle in my spot and rub my legs to help with the cramp. We are packed tightly inside these military wagons, we don’t have much space to turn about with thirteen people sardined in a space meant for nine. I feel for the other wagon—not really, but I understand their pain must be much worse. Seventeen people in a space meant for nine. I smile.

I can sense the nervous tension in the air as our military wagon trudges across the shaky landscape. We stopped seeing trees a couple of days back, and now all you can see is a rocky and barren landscape. An institute should not be in the middle of nowhere. I sigh, how inconvenient. The distance may have been intentional, so when you make the journey you think, your mind conjures all sorts of nasties about the place you are headed to.

It’s the proving grounds according to the information from Plaara. A ten thousand acre piece of land in the middle of nowhere, where praecantors try to seek our Grand Duke's favor by being inducted into his midnight legions. Nutarth Academy isn’t the only body arriving, Yaeserra and Sersia are coming to seek Lord Nortamo’s favor as well.

Scared would be an understatement to describe how I feel, my heart thumps in my chest as I think about it. I am terrified.

I catch Cassiun’s gaze. He’s staring at me hard. For what reason? I do not know, but I stare back. He’s lost weight these past six years, he even got taller—not that the rest of us stopped growing. Unfortunately for him, my height is still superior, but he is very fit now. Inrissa sits beside me, my loyal puppy for six years. She’s in love with me, but I keep her at a nice distance so she can act as if my love is almost at her fingertips. It’s great for getting her to do whatever I want. I entangle my hands with hers and am met with a reassuring smile.

“Look at you two love birds,” Cassiun spews abruptly.

Inrissa couldn’t care about what he or anyone else said, she closed her eyes before resting her head on my shoulder.

“What, you jealous?” I say, giving him a sly smirk.

Cassiun scoffs before chuckling, “There is nothing to be jealous of,” he said tucking his legs, “Who was chosen to be the leader of our platoon for the proving grounds?” Cassiun asked cupping his hand over his ear, waiting for a response.

“That’s right,” he says smugly, “I couldn’t give a moment to be jealous of your meager disposition.”

I have nothing to say in response, I don’t know why Plaara chose him instead of me to be centurion of the platoon. So, I avert my gaze and stare at the barren landscape, holding my anger and jealousy at bay.

Two days later…

Two days passed, and a building surrounded by high walls with two massive towers on either side came into view. There was no mistake, we have arrived at the proving grounds. The wagons of the other academies trudge toward the gate of the institute. I grip my chest as I stare out at the place. The other twelve students in the wagon with me all rush forward to see its grandeur.

We enter the institute and meet the teachers of our respective academies standing side-by-side. Our wagon stops in front of Damthor and Plaara who stand at attention. Members of Nortamo’s court stand separate, observing. The most notable of them is Ercassiel, Nortamo’s archdemon. Her presence is imposing, the woman is tall with hair pink as bubblegum that reaches her shoulders and stops before the ends arch upward like spikes. Her skin is pale with a very light purple hue and she has milk-white eyes. She looks stunning in her silver and red Victorian-styled dress. The most peculiar characteristic of the woman is the staff in her hand. A blue gem shaped like a sharp cone is encased in golden metal, with another floating circular metal swirling around the blue gem. The woman looks like a vulture observing the carrion that she thinks would be left over for her choosing.

Each academy disembarks and the wagons leave us for this important session. We stand horizontally in three rows of ten in front of our academy’s Schoolmaster and swordmaster. I stand tall over my peers, and at attention, not even glancing at the other students of the other academies. That would be a lie. One of them catches my eye, a woman...a girl who is taller than me by a head standing in front of her Sersia teachers.

It is deafly silent.

Plaara catches my eyes, I hold her gaze for a moment before she gives me a reassuring blink. The weight on my shoulders lightens. Not long after, a man in dark robes that stretch till his feet disappear makes his way toward us, he walks so seamlessly that it appears as if he floats. His head is shining bald with curled horns jutting from his forehead, and his skin seems like a familiar color of almond. His beard fills his face, and his mustache stretches to his chest. A mean machaera is strapped to his waist.

Instinctively, the school, and blade masters step aside and turn side-face. The old man floats toward us, and his face is void of emotion. He stands at attention now, and when he speaks, it sends a shiver down my spine. His voice is deep, and surprisingly, it sounds like something that would emerge from such a daemon.

“You all will be the shields that guard the hierarchy and the freedom that it brings, for that, you have my respect. Today, you are all here to gain the respect and acknowledgment of our Grand Duke Nortamo and be inducted into his feared midnight legions,” he pauses for a moment, “Before coming here, a leader amongst each of your academies had been chosen, they bear a weight that no other member has, the weight of leading their academy to victory, and the weight of sacrificing themselves as penance if they fail to do so.”

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At the mention of that part, I smile. Cassiun stood two demons over to my right, and his face was intense with fear. If we were not in such a serious predicament, I would grin at him devilishly.

“Centurions—leaders of your platoons, step forward,” the old praecantor says calmly.

The student leaders of Yaeserra and Sersia step forward without fear, but Cassiun stands rooted in primal self-preservation. He has two choices, step forward as leader and lead us to victory or his demise, or stand back and let someone else take the reigns, and be shamed.

I look at Plaara, who looks at me intensely, before slightly nodding. I can no longer contain my excitement, I smile before stepping forward proudly, holding my head high before standing at attention. The members of Nortamo’s court look at the Nutarth Academy students with disdain, but it is up to me to salvage this mess. “Meliors!” I say loudly. “One of my peers has forfeited this role of centurion. I promise, with all of my being to lead my platoon professionally, and without fear…if you would let me?”

“Very well…” the old man says.

Bravo Ms. Plaara, she knew that wimp would tag out, and allowed me to steal all the glory.

“You brave sons and daughters of Urea will prove your worth to Lord Nortamo, or give your lives as penance for failing to do so,” Ercassiel says suddenly, to us three centurions.

“Dismissed!” The old praecantor bellows.

“In line!” The school and sword masters say in unison. We follow our teachers in a single file line toward separate parts of the institute building. As we enter we are met with the wonderful smell of this place. A long carpet stretches from the door to the stairs that lead to multiple rooms and is embroidered with depictions of the battles that lord Nortamo had won. When the door of this building closes we all step away from Cassiun, who stands at attention holding his head low. Plaara and Damthor stop and turn gracefully on their heels to look at Cassiun.

Swiftly, Plaara closes the distance between Cassiun and slaps him hard across the face.

“How DARE! You shame me this way, boy?” Plaara furiously asks, with spittle flying from her mouth.

“I-I’m sorry,” Cassiun whispers.

“Save your pitiful apology, I should kill you where you stand,” she threatened before pinching the bridge of her nose, “Head to your rooms, you have Lord Nortamo’s favor to win tomorrow.”

As everyone leaves, I take that as my queue to follow as well, “Not you,” Plaara says sharply before I can even take a full step. When this part of the room is cleared, a smile splits her face. “Nice plan, don’t you think?” She asks smacking my shoulder.

“It truly is,” I say nodding.

“Now, you have the full support of your peers for being so brave, you just have to put my teachings to the test,” She pauses and smiles as if thinking, “Our dream—your father’s dream is at stake, win tomorrow,” she says meeting my gaze intensely. “Go on, get some rest.”

A horn signals the arrival of the next day. I can hear Plaara’s and Damthor’s voices as they awake the other students I swiftly put on my military academy tunic, and step outside just before they reach my door.

“Head down to the ceremonial square,” Plaara commands

I did just that and arriving with me were the students of the other academies, along with the student centurions. We are ordered to step ahead of our peers, and the same old praecantors in his raven black robes come floating toward us with an open box in his hand. Three glimmering knives are arranged neatly in the box.

“Before the strife begins, your three centurions must give a sacrifice to the Infernal Emperor,” he motions for us to take the knives from the box. “Bring their offerings!” He commands.

Plaara told me about this part. Sacrifices to the Infernal Emperor must not be offerings of food and wine, they must be blood—blood that was violently drawn from the sacrifice. You kill the sacrifice however you like, but the violence must be drawn out and vicious; the longer the violence the better the blessing. "Don't be a savage," she told me, but I was looking forward to this, not because I enjoy violence, but my morbid curiosity. How does it feel to kill something living so savagely?... Time to find out.

Gripping my knife, I steel myself for the violence I am about to dish out. Three men are brought out in shackles.

“A liar, a rapist, and a thief. Scum of our sacred society,” the old praecantor says. “You will sacrifice them to the Infernal Emperor.”

The girl from Sersia is given the thief, the boy from Yaeserra is given the rapist, and I am given the liar. Ironic. As the light begins to brighten the land, we hold our knives in the air while our gagged prisoners murmur and plead however they can beneath our feet. We are to say a silent prayer before doing the deed, but my mind drifts elsewhere.

I hold the horn of the liar, an older man, with yellow pupils with slits in them. Tears well in his eyes and he begs as best as he can.

Isn’t this hypocritical? Aren’t we all liars? Why should this guy have to perish for something we all do? I lock eyes with the prey beneath my feet. Anyway, doesn’t make any sense to get sad over it, let’s just get this over with. “Let me win this Emperor, it’s the least you can do for a poor soul like mine,” I whisper.

I grip the liar’s horns extra tight, and with all my might, I hit him with the pommel of my knife. The students next to me open their eyes in shock that I started so quickly, and nervously, they begin as well. The boy kicks the rapist in the groin, and the girl cuts off the thief’s hand; Very poetic. I might take a page from their books. I removed the gag from the liar, and quickly he spoke to me.

“Please spare my life, I beg of you!”

Those pleas fall on deaf ears, my mind is shut off now, no mercy for this fellow. I kneel on his hands and pry open his mouth. He keeps closing his jaw on my fingers so I hit him twice in the face until his jaw swings loose. He kicks and squirms beneath me, but it is futile. I grab his tongue and pull it as far as it can stretch and I rip it off with the help of my knife. The ensuing violence is methodical and bloody. I continue with his broken jaw and make my way down. It is surprising that he didn’t die from shock as yet, seems like blood loss is going to be the death of him. While the two other students' prisoners died, I continued. If this Infernal Emperor guy is real, then this wasn’t for nothing.

My sacrifice takes three minutes to die from blood loss, when I am done, my arms are smeared with blood up to my elbows, and my face is caked with wet and dried blood. As I arise from my carved corpse, I am looked at with intense horror, the only ones able to keep their composure are the school and sword masters. I am a bloody mess, a demon amongst demons.

I feel like a god, and I can't help but smile.