Future Iris lounged in her high-backed chair, the flicker of defiance dancing in her eyes. A wry, cocky smile curved her lips as she stared across at Superbia, who stood with arms folded, his crimson hair catching the dim light like spilled blood.
“So,” Future Iris asked mockingly, drumming her fingers on the table’s edge, “how are my prediction skills, oh proud Demon King?”
Superbia’s mouth twisted into a sneer, barely containing his rage. “You’re cheating,” he snapped, slamming a fist down. “Using that damn red book was a cheap trick.”
Iris arched an eyebrow, her voice silky with scorn. “And manipulating the past, just to screw me over, isn’t cheating? Spare me the hypocrisy.” She leaned forward, letting the tension simmer between them. “Besides, I’ve already paid the price for using that cursed artifact.”
Superbia’s glare sharpened, curiosity warring with fury in his eyes. “Then indulge me,” he said, his tone dripping with mock politeness. “What was the cost?”
Iris laughed, a short, mirthless sound. “The red book devours memories in order to fuel its abilities,” she explained. “It has three main functions, granting me access to my future powers, letting me peer into my own future—along with other timelines, and one last ability I’m not inclined to share.” A wicked smirk tugged at her mouth. “Unlike Fate, I can choose which memories to discard. For about a second, I allowed myself to forget what your ugly face looked like. It was… bliss.”
Superbia’s draconic eyes lit a dangerous gleam, and he clenched his jaw. “That cursed book… I should have destroyed it long ago.”
“But you didn’t, because you need it,” Iris countered, her voice lilting with satisfaction. “I’m well aware of how tightly your plan is woven around that book. I can see the threads you’ve tried so hard to conceal.”
“Whatever do you mean?” Superbia’s grin widened, though anger pulsed beneath it. “Your past self is reading letters from that book, and it doesn’t burn Fate’s memories away, not unless she actually activates its powers. You did warn her, didn’t you, not to mess with it? Though, she disobeyed you already.”
A flicker of concern rippled through Iris’s confident façade, but she kept her composure. “Your plan won’t work. Trust me on that. Now, tell me—why do you only ever visit me? What of the other two you’ve trapped?” She tried for a casual tone, though a note of genuine worry seeped in at the edges.
“Those two?” Superbia’s answer dripped with boredom. “One breaks so easily—torture grows dull when there’s no novelty left. The other sleeps in an endless dream, his eternal paradise. Neither puts up half the fight you do.” He tilted his head in faux sympathy. “You, my dear Iris, make it all so much more entertaining.”
“Glad to hear I’m meeting your standards,” Iris said coldly, crossing her arms. “Fine. I’ll keep you entertained, if that’s what it takes. Now stop delaying. Go back to narrating the past,”
“Whatever you say,” Superbia chuckled, his voice an echo of cold arrogance that seemed to rattle the very air.
Back in the present…
Iris stood in the center of the gym, the din of cheers and shouts and pounding hearts receding like distant thunder. Her face, streaked with sweat, bore a defeated expression. It was clear her team was losing ground, their losses mounting. Yet something in her eyes glowed with renewed purpose—a flicker of raw, untapped potential. A sharp throb pulsed in her head, an ache that felt as though it might split her skull from within.
She grimaced, fighting past the pain, scooping up two stray dodgeballs. With a trembling breath, she hurled both across the court. She had intended to arc them strategically, and force the enemy to scatter. But instead, a dark aura enveloped the balls, a shadow that crackled with unnatural energy.
Without realizing it, Iris had activated her Authority of Nothing.
At that moment, the distance between Sarah and Emily’s heads and the thrown balls vanished—became nothing. The effect manifested as a brief pulse of void-like energy, a flicker of black aura across the gymnasium floor. Then, before anyone could blink, the twins let out identical gasps of surprise. They were struck soundly in the temple by the sizzling rubber and, in the next heartbeat, both were eliminated from the game.
A hush fell. The onlookers—including teachers and fellow students—stared, dumbfounded, at where the sisters had been standing. Neither Sarah nor Emily had even tried to dodge. How could they? The projectiles were simply… there. As for Iris, a thin trickle of blood slid from her nose, testament to the strain of tapping into a power she only dimly understood.
They stared at the fallen twins, then at Iris, still clutching her throbbing head, eyes glassy with pain and disbelief.
“What in the…?” Mrs. Stone muttered, echoing the silent question in everyone’s minds.
Baal cleared his throat, eyes narrowing. “Jonathan, I must ask… what is going on with the students this year?” His voice carried a tight edge, as though balancing concern and excitement.
Jonathan tilted his head thoughtfully, concealing his own unease behind a measured calm. “Care to enlighten me on what you mean, Baal?”
Before Baal could respond, Wallace cut in with a resigned sigh. “He means the classes are filled with freaks and monsters—two different teams, both with an alarming number of absurd powers.” He ran a weary hand through his hair. “This year’s batch seems ready to tear holes in all laws of physics.”
Baal nodded, drumming his fingers on the rail. “Precisely. Two Authority users—both drenched in divine echoes—one kid who can manipulate concepts like a demon king, another girl brimming with death energy. And one more secret I won’t spoil…” He flicked his gaze toward Maxwell, who was hovering protectively on the court’s far side.
Jonathan exhaled slowly, as if considering many tangled threads. “It’s all part of a prophecy, I suppose. The sudden influx of prodigious and unstable talents means the world’s poised on the brink of something cataclysmic. Noir—one of our main enemies—has been ramping up their activity. We’ve heard increased Boogeyman sightings across the globe, and even Michello, the Executioner of Japan’s cult has become more brazen. Every one of A.E.G.I.S’s enemies seems to be growing bolder.”
He paused, glancing down at Iris, who was nearly on her knees, struggling with the aftermath of her own overwhelming power. “I suspect this is just the beginning of far worse things to come.”
While the other teachers and students had their eyes locked on Iris, Anastasia stood apart, her gaze fixed unwaveringly on a different figure. She paid no heed to the shock of Iris’s sudden display of nothingness, nor to the twin’s abrupt defeat. Instead, her focus lay solely on Maxwell, her attention so intent that she scarcely blinked. Under her breath, she whispered words no one else caught—words shaped by memories older and darker than anyone here could fathom.
“Young Master, Avaritia,” she murmured, the syllables slipping from her lips like an incantation.
Some time ago, in the Abyss…
Alicia stood outside a grand meeting room, her gloved hands fisted against the heavy doors. From within, she heard the unmistakable sound of chaos—cries, trembling walls, the roar of twisted power.
“What is happening in there?” she demanded, her voice pitched with fear and urgency. “Let me in! Let me in!” She slammed her body against the solid wood, pushing until her muscles burned, but the doors refused to yield. Desperation surged in her chest; she could only imagine the horrors unfolding inside. The King… The Young Master…
Suddenly, a shockwave rocked the entire fortress, so violent it felt as though reality itself cracked. The cataclysmic collision of Ira’s Authority of Corruption and Superbia’s Authority of Time pulsed through the Abyss, saturating every inch of it with violent, paradoxical energy. Alicia felt it bite into her flesh and soul, forcing her consciousness into darkness. In that final moment, she cried out for her King, and for the Young Master she had pledged to protect.
She awoke with a start, perched atop a building that loomed over a darkened street. Her once-pristine maid uniform hung in tatters around a body she no longer recognized. Corruption and transformation had twisted her form, pinkish, sickly skin stretched over visible veins, her hair wild and knotted, her eyes bloodshot. Large, warped wings jutted from her back. Her fingers, sharpened, bestial claws, left grooves in the building’s edge when she clutched it in confusion.
A painful hunger gnawed at her. Not hunger for food, but for something… more. She leaped from rooftop to rooftop, invisibility shrouding her like a cursed blessing, driven by an instinct that screamed at her to consume.
Eventually, she found herself in a grimy alleyway, near a small figure huddled on the ground. A frail child lay there, coughing, each rasp a testament to an illness she could not overcome. The child, Anastasia, reached out into the empty space, somehow sensing Alicia’s presence despite her shroud.
“S… save me,” the girl pleaded weakly, tears shimmering in her feverish eyes. “I… I don’t want… to die… not like… Mommy… Daddy…”
Alicia felt pity well up inside her monstrous shell, a flicker of who she once was. Acting on a primal, desperate impulse, she tore open her own chest, extracting a chunk of demonic flesh—her heart, beating and pulsating with infernal energy. Overwhelmed by an instinct to spare the child, she forced the organ into Anastasia’s mouth.
The effect was immediate and terrible to behold. Energy crackled around the young girl, the wretched sickness in her body purged by the alien organ. Her hair—once a pale, lifeless blonde—faded to a deep purple with a singular streak of golden hair left behind. The infection receded from her veins, replaced by the raw power that once belonged to Alicia.
At that moment, their minds fused. Alicia’s consciousness seeped into the child’s, and Anastasia’s mind devoured the demon’s nightmares and memories in turn.
“Friend…” Anastasia asked in a trembling, newly empowered voice. “Who… who is Avaritia?”
Alicia’s voice resonated in the back of the girl’s thoughts, calm yet laced with sorrow. “He is the one we swore to protect. I don’t know how we got here, but I know he’s alive. I gave you my life—my everything—to help me find and shield him.”
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Anastasia blinked, feeling her own soul now entwined with another’s. The horrific transformation had stabilized into a single entity: the sweet-faced child with a demon’s heart. She stood on shaky legs, a glimmer of determination in her wide eyes. “I’ll help you, Alicia. We’ll find the Young Master.”
Back in the gym…
Anastasia’s gaze lingered on Maxwell, unwavering. Her lavender hair—shot through with that single golden streak—whispered a testament to that day in the alley. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, not fully her own, and she suppressed the quiver in her fingers. To the rest of the world, she was a cunning teacher wielding guns and toying with the students, but in her mind, she was the loyal Alicia, the demon maid, clinging to a vow made long ago in the Abyss.
As she stood there among the chaos of the match, her lips moved imperceptibly. “Young Master, Avaritia… I’ve found you at last.”
Nobody else could hear her quiet confession, but if they had, they might have caught a glimpse of who truly lay behind Anastasia’s eyes, a demoness’ devotion, a child’s borrowed life, and a mission still unfulfilled.
Baal rose from his seat on the bleachers with a languid, almost feline grace. The clamorous echoes of dodgeballs striking walls and the distant shouts of students clashed in the background, but he seemed to move in his own unhurried tempo. He approached Anastasia, offering her a crooked, knowing smile that carried a hint of danger.
“Interesting,” he murmured as he leaned in, close enough for his breath to graze her ear. “Normally, when one of us takes over a body, we fully suppress the host’s mind. Yet you’ve chosen to coexist with yours. Why is that?” His quiet question was threaded with curiosity, though the glint in his eyes betrayed deeper intentions.
Anastasia met his gaze, unblinking. Even in the chaotic gym, her face remained stern and poised. “Are you really the second demon king?” she asked, her tone low but edged with caution.
Baal chuckled, the sound rolling from his throat like a predator’s purr. “Of course I am,” he said, letting the words hang. “But enough about me. How about you? Why this fixation on that child?” He jerked his chin toward Maxwell, who was in the midst of orchestrating yet another ruthless attack. “He smells a lot like the man who killed me,” Baal added with dark amusement.
Anastasia’s lips parted in a faint sneer. “Avaritia is the Sin of Greed, and that child is Aether’s son,” she explained, not bothering to hide the bitterness in her voice.
A satisfied gleam flashed across Baal’s draconic eyes. “That explains it. I have quite a few questions for you, about the Abyss—its current state and all—but first, you should know I told the humans what you really are,” he teased, lips curved in a playfully cruel smile.
“What the… why would you do that?” Anastasia asked, alarm creeping into her voice. Her hold on the handle of her suitcase tightened, the metal buckles rattling softly.
“No need to fret,” Baal whispered with a slow shrug, “I plan to protect you… so long as you remain useful to me.”
Anastasia swallowed hard, emotions flickering across her face. “F-fine. I’ll tell you what I know,” she said at last. Then, she took a breath and ventured a question of her own. “But first—are you really in love with Mia? Or is it just a show?”
Baal’s smile shifted from taunting to strangely sincere. “Of course, I’m in love with her. Did you think I’d bother faking that?” His eyes roamed the gym, scanning Mia for a fleeting moment.
“How… odd,” Anastasia remarked, baffled by the genuine tone that crept into his voice. She’d half expected him to make a dismissive joke. Instead, he’d sounded earnest.
A shadow of a smirk lingered on Baal’s lips. “Since I answered your question, let me pose one of my own.” He cast a sidelong glance at Alice, who looked overwhelmed but determined on the court. “Did you know that girl over there—Alice—is Avaritia’s sister?”
Anastasia jolted, her eyes snapping wide. “W—what? How is that even possible? Then why was she never brought to the Abyss?”
“How am I supposed to know?” Baal said with a theatrical shrug. “The Bookkeeper might enlighten me later—he has a penchant for prying secrets out of history. Until then…” His gaze returned to the ongoing battle, where dodgeballs soared like missiles and flames crackled in defiance. “Let’s enjoy the rest of this match.”
On the Alpha Facilities side, only three remained: Iris, her fiery determination blazing like an open flame; Anya, carving new faces into any stray dodgeballs to animate them as living dolls; and Alice, quiet and uncertain, yet harboring an ability that even she barely understood. Their postures were tense, the sting of prior losses etched into their expressions. Iris scanned the court, sweat trailing down her brow, while Anya hummed under her breath, twisting a small icey blade in her hands. Alice stood slightly behind them, biting her lip, wrestling worried how this match would go.
On the Beta Facilities side, Maxwell floated a few feet above the court, gilded wings fanning the air. His swords of light gleamed in his grip, evidence of his unstoppable resolve. Cynthia, clutching her arm and hiding her curse as best she could, tried to focus, though her body trembled from waves of nausea and pain. Noah, still as a statue, listened intently to the ricochet of dodgeballs and the rasp of anxious breaths, pinpointing openings with an uncanny, preternatural intuition.
For a moment, a tense hush settled over the gym. The spectators, both in the gym and elsewhere, from beyond both time and space, teachers, gods, and demons—holding their breath. Both teams eyed one another, knowing the next elimination would tip the balance further.
Iris inhaled sharply, brandishing her sword of flames. “We have to act now,” she muttered. “If we sit back, Maxwell and Noah will pick us off.”
Anya flashed a devious grin. “Let me handle him. I’ve still got a few tricks up my sleeve.” She cast a sidelong glance at Alice, who remained silent, her gaze flicking between Maxwell and Noah. “You just survive, I doubt you’ll be of much help.”
Alice nodded, wordless, pale, but resolute. A subtle glow flickered in her eyes as she steeled herself for what she might need to do.
Maxwell moved first, the sound of his wings beating softly as he launched a flurry of dodgeballs in a sweeping arc. Each sphere whirled through the air with pinpoint precision—one aimed at Iris, another at Anya, and two more bearing down on Alice from disparate angles. The gym fell momentarily silent, like the pause before a thunderstorm, and then the crowd erupted into shouts and gasps as the balls neared their targets.
Iris felt her pulse quicken. She braced herself, flames already flickering at her fingertips. At the last possible moment, she thrust her palm outward, igniting a gust of searing heat that surged from her core. The oncoming ball exploded in mid-flight, rubber scraps disintegrating into a brief shower of hot embers.
A triumphant spark danced in Iris’s eyes. She had no time to celebrate, though—her gaze darted to the rest of the field, where chaos raged like a living beast.
Anya was equally prepared. Rather than raise a defensive shield, she spun on her heels and snatched up a nearby ball, swiftly carving a crude face into its surface with her small ice knife. In a single heartbeat, she drove a crimson orb into the “mouth,” bringing the ball to life. The newly awakened sphere bolted forward with surprising agility, intercepting Maxwell’s projectile in mid-air. The two rubber missiles collided, bursting in a spray of shredded fragments. A smirk tugged at Anya’s lips as she licked away the sweat gathering on her upper lip. Alive or not, she thought, every ball can be used in more ways than one.
Alice, however, had a different response. A chill ran down her spine as she felt the twin dodgeballs barreling toward her. Her eyes flared with a faint, ethereal light—her Authority of Reality stirring from within. She didn’t move an inch, only let her power bloom in that singular heartbeat.
In an instant, both dodgeballs rippled and warped, as though submerged in an unseen vortex. The rubber membranes took on a ghostly shimmer, stretching and distorting into large, weightless bubbles. They hovered around Alice, luminous in the gym’s fluorescent lights, wobbling gently but posing no threat whatsoever.
Iris’s jaw dropped. “She turned them into… bubbles?” she gasped, her own pulse still hammering from her earlier exertion. Sweat glistened on her temple, and she pushed a trembling hand through her hair to steady herself. Cynthia, nearby, breathed a shuddering sigh, hands balled into fists as she tried to keep her cursed power locked down within.
From across the court, Noah inclined his head with sharp attentiveness. Though blind, he picked up on the subtle pop-pop of singed fragments drifting to the floor. His mind quickly filled in the rest, discerning the altered flow of air and the soft shift in Alice’s footsteps. He wasn’t entirely certain what she had done, but he could tell something fundamental in the dodgeballs’ nature had been changed. Another monstrous power, he thought, not without a tinge of awe.
The tension in the gym was palpable as Anya seized the opening created by Alice’s clever maneuver. Her grin widened, feral and mischievous. “Iris, cover me!” she shouted, deftly carving a face into another dodgeball. The crimson glow of her power infused the ball with a sinister vitality before she hurled it toward Maxwell, the animated sphere snarling mid-flight.
“I’m on it!” Iris roared, twin arcs of fire spiraling from her hands. Her flames cut a blazing path across the court, aimed directly at Cynthia, forcing her to retreat. Cynthia, already struggling with her own dark energy threatening to surface, barely managed to evade the fiery assault. Sweat poured down her pale face as she stumbled back, her breaths coming in shallow gasps.
Maxwell, hovering midair, twisted gracefully. With a sweep of his glowing sword, he cleaved Anya’s living dodgeball in two, the halves disintegrating into harmless shards. His eyes locked on Iris and Anya below, calculating his next move as his wings flared, the radiant feathers casting a soft glow over the battlefield.
From the center of the court, Noah made his move. Silent and precise, he stepped forward, hurling a perfectly aimed dodgeball at Anya’s exposed side. The ball streaked through the air like a missile, but at the last moment, Anya flattened herself to the floor. The ball zipped overhead, missing her by barely an inch.
Alice, meanwhile, stood at the back of the court, trembling from the strain of her ability. Her Authority of Reality flickered faintly, the telltale glow around her eyes dimming as exhaustion gnawed at her resolve. She inhaled sharply, steadying herself as she calculated her next play.
Her bubbles, still floating harmlessly above the court, caught a faint shimmer of the gym's fluorescent lights. Manipulating them with delicate precision, Alice guided them toward their target: Noah, who had unwittingly positioned himself beneath them, his focus on the surrounding chaos.
No one noticed the shift at first. Maxwell was locked in aerial combat, parrying flaming arrows from Iris. Cynthia was desperately dodging the relentless waves of heat, her dark power surging erratically. Even Anya, usually attuned to every detail, was preoccupied with carving and animating another ball.
But Noah noticed. He tilted his head slightly, his instincts whispering that something was wrong. The air around him felt denser, heavier. His lips pressed into a thin line, his unseeing eyes narrowing as he tried to pinpoint the source of the disturbance.
Then, Alice released her hold.
The bubbles shimmered briefly before snapping back to their original forms—two solid dodgeballs—directly over Noah’s head. With a dull thunk-thunk, both balls struck their target. The force was enough to stagger Noah, and he dropped to one knee, stunned by the unexpected assault.
“Noah is out!” Mrs. Stone’s voice echoed across the gym, a mix of astonishment and subdued pride. Gasps erupted from the spectators, many unable to believe that Alice, the quiet and reserved member of the team, had orchestrated such a brilliant play.
A hush settled over the court, a brief moment where even the ongoing chaos seemed to pause. Noah, ever composed, took a deep breath. He stood slowly, brushing off his clothes as if the attack hadn’t rattled him in the slightest. With a faint incline of his head, he acknowledged his elimination.
Walking off the court with measured steps, Noah joined the growing ranks of eliminated players—Charles, Xavier, Rook, the twins, and others who had fallen. The quiet dignity of his retreat contrasted with the adrenaline-fueled chaos still raging on the court.
From the bleachers, Baal leaned forward, his expression one of faint amusement. “Alice… I didn’t expect her to pull that off. Seems even the quiet ones can surprise you.”
“She’s starting to awaken to her powers fully,” Wallace muttered, his gaze flickering toward Jonathan, a rare edge of concern in his usually calm demeanor. “The suppressants we’ve been using on her abilities—if they’re even working anymore—aren’t going to hold much longer. Are you sure you’re prepared for what’s coming next?”
Jonathan didn’t answer right away. His eyes, sharp and calculating, remained fixed on the court where the game continued to rage, yet his mind seemed elsewhere. For a brief moment, a shadow of uncertainty passed across his face—a crack in the otherwise unshakable exterior of the man tasked with managing the impossible.
“I don’t know,” Jonathan finally admitted, his voice low, almost reverent. “I truly don’t know.”
The gym fell silent for an instant, the weight of his words hanging in the air. Around them, the remaining players continued to clash, oblivious to the gravity of the situation. But to the teachers and spectators who understood the stakes, it felt like the prelude to something far greater—and far more dangerous—than a simple dodgeball game.