The smell hit him first.
The coppery tang of blood, thick and sickly, clung to the air like a fog that refused to lift. It coated the inside of Damien's nose, sharp and metallic, as he stepped onto the blood-soaked ground, his shoes crunching over shattered bone and charred flesh. The scene was nothing short of carnage—two bodies, or what was left of them, lay scattered like discarded puzzle pieces across the cracked floor.
Limbs mangled. Torsos shredded. Faces unrecognizable.
Damien crouched beside one of the corpses, brushing aside a smear of blood with an almost absent air, his gloved fingers retrieving something jagged—a claw. Not human. Not night creature. Something... ancient.
His brow lifted with amusement rather than concern. "Well," he muttered to himself, his lips curving into that arrogant, almost amused smirk of his, "someone's clearly not playing by the school rules."
The Dean of approached, her expression taut with restrained dread. "This doesn't look like the work of any species we recognize," she murmured, folding her arms, her gaze fixed on the dismembered remains. "Human or night creature—this isn't their doing."
Damien rose to his full height, brushing invisible dust off his jacket like he hadn't just been examining a massacre. "Then it means one thing." He glanced over at the body, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Something else has crossed into our domain. Something new. Or worse—something old."
The Dean's silence was confirmation enough.
"How far has it spread?" Damien asked, his voice smooth but firm, eyes scanning the shadows stretching through on campus unaware of what was going on .
"Nowhere. I made sure to erase the memories of the students who found the bodies. The last thing we need is a scandal," came Graves' gravelly voice from behind them.
Damien scoffed looking at the dean. "Of course. Wouldn't want to ruin the reputation of your precious little school." His voice dripped with sarcasm, smug and sharp. "Forget the bodies. Let's worry about the press."
"Your highness," Graves said stiffly, but Damien wasn't listening.
His gaze fell on one of the victims, a male student. The boy's eyes were still open—wide, glassy, and frozen in a look of pure, undiluted terror. His mouth hung slack, caught mid-scream.
Intriguing.
"Gloves," Damien ordered, barely glancing at one of the security guards. "Now."
The man fumbled before sprinting off.
The Dean sighed, watching Damien as he knelt once more, his fingers tracing the deep gouges in the stone where claws had torn through. "Whatever did this," he murmured, "isn't gone. And it sure as hell isn't done."
He straightened, pulling off the gloves and tossing them aside carelessly. "The campus is compromised. You should shut this place down for a week before more end up like this."
"We can't afford to panic the students or ruin our reputation. The scheduled break begins Saturday. That gives us time to keep this contained," the Dean replied, voice brittle. Her eyes flickered with unease.
Damien gave her a slow, sardonic smile. "Ah, yes. Let's wait for more bodies. That always ends well."
His companions—Maximilian and Leonard—arrived just then, the air shifting as they entered. The tension tripled. Both men, power wrapped in silent observation, stood behind Damien like his own personal shadows. Leonard gave a nod, his sharp eyes sweeping the scene, while Maximilian's jaw ticked, his disgust barely masked.
"No signs of resistance," Maximilian said. "This was quick."
"Too quick," Damien replied, eyes glinting. "That's the fun part."
"Are we keeping the bodies?" Leonard asked coolly squatting to check the footprints there.
"For now." Damien's tone turned thoughtful. "Send them to the school's mortuary. I want every inch of them inspected. Nerve damage, toxin traces, internal trauma—something's off."
"I'll handle it," Maximilian replied.
As Damien turned away, Mrs. Miles, one of the lecturers who had been there when the students reported , approached with visible discomfort. "What do we tell the families?"
The Dean's expression hardened. "We'll do what we've always done. Dispose of the bodies... and erase the memories."
Mrs. Miles blinked. "That's—"
"Necessary," the Dean finished. "We'll fund the families, alter their minds, and no one will ask questions."
Her heels clicked ominously against the tile as she walked away, the sound echoing like gunshots.
Graves, however, wasn't as easily dismissed. "Maybe it's time the authorities got involved."
The Dean stopped. Her head turned, slowly.
A flash of crimson burst in her irises, glowing like fire beneath ice. "Let the authorities sniff around, and the institution falls. Do you want a war, Graves?"
Graves paled, swallowing hard. "No, ma'am."
"Then keep your mouth shut." With that, she swept down the hall, her presence lingering like a shadow long after she disappeared.
Cora paced near the edge of the library, her phone clutched tightly in her hand. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting golden rays over the academy, the day's end cloaked in unease.
Still no reply from Amelia.
She typed again. Where are you? Her thumb hovered before hitting send.
Cora's heart pinched. The academy was no longer safe.
Amelia sat cross-legged in the sand, her fingers digging into the cool grains beneath her. The salty air whipped her red hair around her face as the waves crashed rhythmically behind her. Students filled the beach in small clusters—laughing, kissing, living.
But she was stuck.
Frozen.
"Stupid Leonard," she muttered, burying her face in her hands.
His face had been carved into her thoughts all day—his expression when she was staring at him, the ice in his eyes... and the moment her eyes had accidentally moved down to his exposed chest through his shirt .
She groaned, throwing herself back onto the sand. "Why does he have to be so... ugh!"
Her phone buzzed. Cora.
Where are you, I'm worried.
At the beach, she texted back .
A few minutes later, Cora arrived, kneeling beside her. "Are you okay? You're all red."
"I'm not okay!" Amelia sat up, flailing her arms. "How did you know you liked Damien?"
Cora blinked. "Wait, what?"
"How did you know?" Amelia demanded again. "Like—your heart racing, your face heating up, and that stupid feeling where you can't think properly around him?"
Cora's lips tugged into a slow, knowing smile. "Oh no. Don't tell me…"
"Yes!" Amelia cried. "I've fallen for that cold, brooding iceberg!"
Cora gasped. "Leonard?"
Amelia nodded with a groan, dropping her head onto Cora's shoulder. "What is wrong with me?"
"Nothing," Cora giggled. "You just like a guy who probably doesn't know how to smile."
"Exactly!" Amelia cried dramatically. "He's emotionally constipated!"
They both laughed.
But the humor didn't reach the ocean. It didn't touch the dark skies that rolled above the academy. The laughter faded into silence as the camera of fate zoomed out, revealing the gathering storm clouds swirling above Oscar Island.
Something had been unleashed.
Something that hungered.
And it was watching.