Chapter 59: Victim
I snarl at the monster hulking before me, teeth bared, every muscle tight with fury and disgust. This freak this overgrown bastard has turned my already miserable morning into a full-blown shit show. I can feel the muscles in my jaw twitching, the pressure in my skull building as the voices in my head howl and cackle, delighted at the prospect of violence. They're louder now, feeding on my anger, their laughter scraping against the inside of my mind like claws on glass.
Finally, they croon, something worth killing. Tear him down. Spill his blood. Show them all what they should worship.
My fists clench tighter around the hilt of my sword. I'm beyond irritated, I'm incandescent with fury. We aren't even inside the Academy and I already want to kill someone. The crowd has melted away, panic driving all seventy or so first years back into the shelter of the train station. The area is empty now except for us. Even the station's soldiers have edged away, forming a nervous perimeter far from the action, their eyes wide and haunted, hands hovering near their spears like that would save them. I bare my teeth and let my hate drive me forward. I launch myself at Alaster, every strike honed by a year of brutal training. I weave through the air, ducking under a swing that would have taken my head off, using his massive size and momentum against him. My mind slips into a cold, ruthless clarity no more taunting, no more games. Just angles, openings, and the promise of death.
He swings again, faster than anyone his size should move, and I let the rhythm of the fight guide me. I twist around him, boots skidding on the cracked stone, and drive my heel with bone-breaking force into his chest. The impact echoes up my leg and through the empty platform. Alaster's monstrous form is lifted clean off his feet, sent crashing backwards into the pile of abandoned handcarts and trunks. The sound of splintering wood and scattering metal fills the air, followed by a heavy, guttural groan.
I pause, chest heaving, out of the corner of my eye, I spot a group standing at the front of the building distinct figures in black, draped in stark white robes. Professors?
They watch with blank, assessing faces, unmoved by the violence or the chaos, their eyes flat and unreadable. I meet their gaze, refusing to look away, my expression daring them to intervene.
They don't move. They just watch, silent and still, as if this this eruption of violence, this display of monstrous power is exactly what they came to see. Alaster lurches up from the wreckage, splinters and silk hanging off his monstrous frame. His roar splits the air, pure animal rage. He barrels toward me, twice as fast and ten times as angry, murder in every twitch of his massive frame. I sneer, cold and unafraid. Let him come.
Yes, the voices hiss, shivering with anticipation. Call us, call us, call us
"Come here, then," I sneer. I open myself to the voices, and they shiver with pleasure, hissing and coiling in the back of my mind. Yes, yes, let us play, they whisper in glee. I raise my hand, palm out, and squeeze the air like I'm wringing the life from his throat. Alaster freezes mid-charge, legs locking, his whole monstrous body seizing up. He collapses to his knees, face twisted in agony, hands twitching uselessly at his sides. I press harder, weaving a web of illusions through his mind nightmare after nightmare, all the worst things he's ever feared presented to me thanks to my fearmonger mark, I twist all of them into his head. The voices cackle, feeding on his terror, but they hold back just enough. Use the blade, they cackle. Let us watch. Let them see him fall. He'll be the first.