When Rebecca Mendax heard her office door connect with the jamb, she wrenched the kitten heels off her aching feet. Checking the clock, she groaned. Eight-thirty in the morning. “Seven more hours to go.”

But Rebecca had signed up for this. Fifteen years ago, she’d agreed to promote out of teaching into principal duties. She’d understood long hours came with the territory. She’d just underestimated how hard the work would be.

1. A. Fair had always scored beneath public school standards, but never as bad as the last five years. These days, the guidance counselors replaced college brochures with Burger King applications.

All that mattered was the reason Rebecca got into education and accepted the principal position at this school. She’d never forget that.

Clicking her tongue, Mrs. Mendax walked over to her desk. Why so much footwork? Five days a week, she’d patrolled the halls on a near hourly basis to catch kids skipping or up to no good. Then there was her least favorite time of day: class change. At four foot nine, Rebecca hardly impressed her students as she shouted for them to move faster through the halls.

And her feet always hurt.

With that in mind, Rebecca swept a hand over the cushion of her seat and lowered herself onto it. Before the back of her skirt even touched the leather surface, a knock sounded from her door.

Rebecca groaned. “Yes?”

A muffled voice wavered from beyond the door. “Mrs. Mendax, we need you at the front office. Urgently.” The vice principal, sounded upset or bothered.

Something was wrong.

“I’ll be right there.” Lamenting the interruption of her down time, Mrs. Mendax re-shoed her feet and hurried to the door. With narrowed eyes, she examined the VP. “How may I help you?”

The woman’s eyes brimmed with tears as she said, “Please. The front office. Please.” Her voice shook and carried an edge of panic.

Alert and irritated, Mrs. Mendax pushed past her simpering subordinate and stomped to the front office. After an increase in the trend, mass shootings had become a constant concern of school staff. Except for Rebecca. That wasn’t her destiny. But why else would one of her VPs knock on Rebecca’s door on the verge of pissing herself? Prepared to talk some sense into a crazed teenager, she barged into the front office.

How could Mrs. Mendax prepare for this?

A man with white hair an inch longer than his ass examined their intercom system and muttered, “Yes, this will do nicely.” He flipped a switch with leather fingerless gloves. When he stood, his leather coat creaked, and it swayed around him. He smiled brilliantly at the sight of Mrs. Mendax, saying, “Hello. I’ll bet this works great as a sound system.” He indicated the intercom speaker.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

Two men entered both front doors to the office and shielded the exits.

Rebecca resisted the urge to recoil. Instead, she asked, “I beg your pardon?”

“Oh, that’s not all you’ll beg for,” the white-haired man assured

Mrs. Mendax gave in and recoiled this time. Did he have any idea who she was?

As if in answer, a remote, disturbing smile crept onto his lips. “Rebecca. May I call you Rebecca?” He paced away from the intercom system and draped an arm across a secretary’s cube.

The secretary tried to shrivel further into her work space.

Mrs. Mendax straightened herself and shuddered as she shook off the nagging sensation of impending doom. “You may.” She used the same firm tone as she would use on some of her toughest delinquent students.

“Thanks.” The smile dialed down into something that could be mistaken for charming. “I’m having girl troubles.”

Rebecca blinked. Was he serious? She stopped herself from laughing. The situation grew more ridiculous with each moment.

He ignored her discomfort and carried on. “There’s this girl I like, see? Brilliant. Beautiful. Blond. And I’m trying to impress her with the perfect entrance.”

Mrs. Mendax nodded to show she followed along.

He shone her another winning smile, saying, “I’m glad you understand. This school…” He circled his index finger around. “Is the perfect place, but it’s missing something.”

Rebecca rose to the bait, “What’s that?”

“A soundtrack. Boys!”

Two men by the door lunged for the staff behind the counter. The secretaries and counselors burst from their desks and tried to bolt for the doors. The white-haired man grabbed the woman nearest him, and, in an act of mercy, snapped her neck. He ran, jumped onto a desk, and leapt onto a retreating counselor.

Mrs. Mendax heard the woman scream, then a snarl, and finally nothing. The two men at the front lay sprawled dead across the counter. From behind Rebecca, where two people had escaped, she heard muffled cries. More men waited back there. In a few minutes, the invaders had disposed of the entire office staff.

Rebecca swiped blood off her lapels. “So this is it, then? His majesty didn’t inform me it was happening so soon. I thought you would notify me to make preparations.”

The Silver General stood and wiped the blood from his mouth before saying, “He’s been most impressed with you, Justice Mendax, and the other followers.”

Justice Mendax nodded. “I make good on my promises.” Four fucking years of housing Icari across the world. Feeding them scraps from the lower-end of the socio-economical table. The Cult of Night had even earned themselves a reputation after the FBI had investigated them for cultist ideology. Humans understood so little.

Rebecca straightened her jacket as she took in the blood all around the room and on the office doors. After clearing her throat, she asked, “What does the Master wish for me to do next? I can help find the girls or all of the Progeny, if you like.”

The Silver General smiled down at her, saying, “There’ll be no need for that. The Night King said it was time for you to receive payment.”

Rebecca flushed with excitement. Finally, her time had come. Laying on the humility never hurt. “Payment? I am but a humble servant to the Pretiosum Cruor. I only wish to assist the Night King.”

The second-in-command chuckled, and his genuine smile curled into a cruel smirk.

Strong arms grabbed Justice Mendax from behind. She cried out, “What’s the meaning of this! I did everything I was told, and I brought the Progeny together! I serve the Master! We all serve the Night King!”

“To put it simply, he’d suspected you’d want a meet and greet. Picture. Autograph. You know? And this being the culmination of thousands of years of work, he doesn’t want to waste any time on fans. You understand. Now, hold still. This will hurt a lot.”

The Silver General stepped toward her, and Justice Mendax screamed. Her screams were the last sound she’d ever hear. The blood-smeared face of her Master’s second-in-command was the last sight she’d ever see. And her aching feet were the last sensation she’d ever feel.