The Dark Lady's Guide to Villainy [Book 1 Complete] [Dark Lord, School, Romance]

Mo perched on the edge of her throne—no, scratch that, she was practically vibrating on it—as golden aftershocks of the parliamentary session rippled through Blackthorn Keep's grand hall. The space had returned to its usual austere state, benches and tables vanished, but the air itself felt different. Charged. Revolutionary.

The aftershock of her own arcane energy tingled at her fingertips, resonating with the magical signatures of hundreds of newly-empowered beings who kept approaching to shake her hand, bow, or in one memorable case, attempt a dance of gratitude.

"Lady Nightshade," a kobold representative said, tears streaming down her scaled face. "My daughter just manifested a stone-shaping magical skill. She's seven years old, and she's already more powerful than the overseer who used to…" The kobold's voice broke.

Mo squeezed the kobold's clawed hand gently. "The old ways are dead. Your daughter will grow up in a world where her power belongs to her."

Three more delegates waited behind the kobold, each wanting to share their own transformation story. Mo had been listening for an hour, and she wasn't tired of it. For once, being the Dark Lady meant something beyond demonic bureaucracy and villainy lessons. She'd actually changed things. It was Julian's ritual that gave magical abilities to all these people, but it was her social and political framework that built upon it, allowed to integrate the changes without destroying the whole social structures and, she wasn't fooling herself, her empire as well.

"My Lady." Grimz's formal tone cut through her thoughts. "Mo."

She turned to find him standing at attention, wearing his full parliamentary robes. But it wasn't his formality that made her succubus powers prickle with warning—it was the way every other being in the hall had gone absolutely still. Even the air seemed to freeze around the object in Grimz's hands. There was something hiding behind the formal facade of her counselor, almost hidden but still visible to her senses. And it was focused on the object in Grimz's hands: a letter, sealed with wax so black it seemed to absorb light, the seal itself bearing a symbol that made the air around it ripple like deep water under pressure.

"Is that…" Nyx said.

"A formal letter from The Abyssal Depth Covenant. Delivered through the proper channels just minutes ago, bearing the legitimate seal, addressed to the Dark Lady Morgana Nightshade."

Someone dropped a goblet in the farthest corner of the hall. It rang against the stone floor like a bell.

Even I'm impressed, the Throne admitted grudgingly in Mo's mind. You may still prove to be not as pathetic as I thought. The Covenant hasn't sent a direct letter to Blackthorn Keep in three centuries. The last one demanded to join the war on their side or perish.

"They're fourth in the ranking of the Great Houses," Valerius said quietly, moving closer to Mo. "Third among the dragonic clans. My family has been trying to get their attention for generations, even while some of the ancestors thought it might be more prudent not to show ourselves to the top predators." His words tumbled over each other, aristocratic composure cracking—Mo had never seen him struggle to complete a sentence before. "I'm sure you know that… They control the trade routes between dimensions, the liquid spaces where reality overlaps. With their wealth… They could have probably bought everything besides the top five houses if they wanted, and they'd doo that from their regular income, not even unsealing the legendary dungeons."

Lucian's control was also not as perfect as usual, as frost spread much further away than usual, unconsciously crawling away from him, almost touching the throne.

Restrain that brat! the Throne exclaimed in Mo's mind. What does he think about himself?

"The depths that drown ambitious swimmers," Lucian said, not aware of that conversation, but still restraining himself. "They've survived every revolution, every war, every change in power since the dimensions first separated. They weren't always in fourth place. But they were always among the most powerful. We don't even have any records from the time when they created their first golden horde."

Mo stared at the letter. The wax seal seemed to pulse like a deep-sea creature's bioluminescence. "And they're writing to me. I just wanted to make this throne room be a happier place!"

"You should open it," Nyx suggested, though their form betrayed anxiety, shifting through several nervous configurations. "Dragons don't appreciate being kept waiting."

"Actually," Valerius interjected, "there's a widely accepted protocol. I'm surprised your parents didn't teach you that. Opening a letter of that kind immediately suggests desperation. Waiting shows strength, that you have priorities beyond their summons."

"It's not a summons," Grimz corrected, offering the letter to Mo with both hands. "The formal addressing indicates correspondence between equals."

The silence in the hall somehow got heavier.

"Between equals?" Mo repeated. "The Covenant thinks I'm their equal?"

"The seal confirms it," Grimz said. "I had to verify three times. This isn't a command or a threat or even a negotiation from a position of power. The pattern would be different on all of those occasions. It's... a proposal."

Mo took the letter, feeling its weight—heavier than parchment should be, as if it carried the pressure of oceanic depths. The moment her fingers touched it, all her senses activated momentarily. She felt an intelligence observing her. The feeling didn't come from the letter itself, it pierced the mere fabric of reality, and the sentience beyond it was patient, ancient, and utterly alien.

"I'm not opening it yet," she decided, tucking the letter carefully into her pocket.

Nyx made a strangled sound. "Mo, you can't just…"

"I can and I will." She looked around the hall at all the celebrating beings who had been in such a cheerful mood just minutes before. "We were celebrating. The parliament session was a blast. The D.E.V.I.O.U.S. Framework is updated and improved. Everyone here is free to develop their magical potential. I'm not letting some ancient oceanic dragons ruin this moment with whatever complicated thing they want. I just can't deal with that stuff right now."

"That's either very brave or very stupid," Valerius observed.

"Probably both," Mo admitted. "But I've learned that every time something good happens in my life, a new crisis immediately follows. So just this once, I'm going to enjoy the victory for more than five minutes before diving into the next disaster."

A few hours later, Mo stood in the portal chamber of Blackthorn Keep, her hand gripping a tote bag where, besides other menial things, a letter from The Abyssal Depth Covenant was hidden from everyone's gaze and attention. The parliamentary chants still echoed in her memory—democracy, magical frameworks, collective prosperity—a victory so complete it felt surreal. Yet the thick envelope promised complications she hadn't anticipated.

"Mo," Grimz said, finally breaking his formal act. "The Covenant rarely contacts anyone directly. Their messages usually flow through intermediaries, like water finding its level. It should be important."

"Don't worry," Mo said. "I'll deal with it. Just not now. Another ancient power wanting something from the barista who accidentally revolutionized demonic labor relations. Big news."

Nyx materialized beside her in a swirl of midnight particles, their current form settling into something vaguely academic—complete with tiny spectacles that served no purpose except aesthetic drama. "Darling, you gave voting rights to millions of being who were property yesterday. Every major House in existence is either plotting your demise or your marriage proposal."

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"Sometimes both simultaneously," Valerius said. "My father's already received three inquiries about our 'inevitable union.' I don't know who spreads the rumors. I told them you were busy overthrowing the established order. But he's still reserving the right to tell everyone that my sister may take my place next to you."

"Not that you had that kind of place near me," Mo said with exasperation. "Neither of you is helping to tame my anxiety. And it's not overthrowing. Restructuring. With proper documentation filed to the Ethereal Codex. They can do nothing about it. It's eternal."

"The ice remembers when words held all kinds of different meanings," Lucian said. "But the Ethereal Codex is permanent, like absolute zero."

Mo glanced at Lucian at that moment and noticed how unexpectedly close he stood to Valerius. More than that—Valerius's robes bore traces of Lucian's frost patterns on them, delicate fractals that weren't just snow brushed off by a random motion, they were purposeful. The way Valerius unconsciously leaned toward the ice demon's coolness, how Lucian's usual rigid posture softened slightly in the aristocrat's presence...

When did that happen? Mo wondered, but before she could explore this development, ask them, the portal shimmered to life, its surface rippling with the characteristic colors of the Academy's pocket dimension.

Mo grasped her bag tighter, following her decision to deal with one crisis at a time. The letter would wait. First, she had to survive whatever fresh hell the Academy had prepared for their return. She didn't doubt that something was going to happen there.

***

The transition through the portal hit differently this time. Mo had felt it building since Earth—like developing a new sense she'd never expected to exist. The spaces between worlds weren't empty anymore; they pulsed with possibility, with the signatures of thousands of people discovering magic for the first time. But between managing Dr. Foster's first demonic experiences and the crisis management that followed, she'd pushed it aside like background noise.

Now, without the distraction of a panicking human scientist or the pressure of an immediate catastrophe, unless you counted that damned letter and all the shenanigans at the Academy, the sensation crashed over her in full force. Where before Mo had simply felt pulled between worlds, now she sensed the magical currents themselves—the liquid spaces between dimensions that the Abyssal Depth Covenant supposedly controlled at least partially. The portal wasn't just a doorway; it was a river of possibility, and she could feel how it connected to everything and everyone.

Thousands of new power signatures bloomed across dimensions as beings discovered abilities they'd never imagined possible. Each one touched the System, and the System somehow touched her. They were not controlling each other, just... aware of each other's presence. Like standing in a center of the web and feeling every vibration. But if only that web had multiple centers that were distributed across countless worlds and realities.

Julian's System had changed everything, and she could feel it spreading, adapting, evolving beyond anyone's control. At the moment, Mo was as sure as ever that there was absolutely no coming back. However, the sensation faded as soon as they emerged from the Academy's receiving portal. A shade of awareness lingered, a new sense she could neither quite turn off nor fully activate.

Soon, all four of them were in the entrance hall, a place that had felt so foreign to Mo just a few months ago, but now was filled with memories and emotions. As a teenager, she rebelled against the entire system that Umbra Academy represented. Still, returning to these chambers and halls wasn't an unpleasant feeling. Students clustered in groups, voices raised in animated discussion. Mo caught fragments: "…Tournament rankings…" "…magic among the servant races…" "…the High Council's investigation…" before a familiar voice cut through the chaos.

"NIGHTSHADE!"

Dorian Blackwood had positioned himself exactly where Mo had once stood defenseless against Valerius—except now he was the one radiating desperate fury while she stood flanked by allies. Then, she was alone, and only Nyx's arrival saved her from a protracted shouting match with Valerius. Now, besides her fluid friend, two more people joined her entourage, including her childhood nemesis himself.

Still, Dorian wasn't stopped by that show of force, it only made his aristocratic features twist with rage. His usually immaculate appearance showed signs of distress—his collar askew, his hair actually displaying evidence of human emotion. For someone who prided himself on absolute control, he looked remarkably unhinged.

"Finally decided to return from your little revolutionary playdate?" He walked toward them, other students scrambling to clear a path. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

Mo straightened her chest, showing the print of her 'Rage Against the Machine' t-shirt that felt particularly appropriate not only for all the recent events but also for this particular confrontation even though Dorian wouldn't probably be able to read the text.

"Implemented sustainable economic reform, radically changed the governing system of my world in the face of existential danger, signed contracts worth more than your family's yearly revenue? You know, Tuesday stuff."

"You sabotaged me!" Dorian's voice cracked slightly. "You and your shapeshifting friend deliberately ruined my Tournament chances!"

Nyx shifted into an expression of exaggerated innocence. "Darling, you stormed out of the Ball entirely of your own accord. No one forced you to throw a tantrum when you discovered that gender is more fluid than your worldview."

Several students snickered. Dorian's face darkened further.

"You fed me false information about that student's presentation. You manipulated the entire situation to eliminate competition! That second place shoud have been mine! My father…!"

"Actually," Lucian interjected, his voice carrying the weight of winter storms, "you eliminated yourself when you chose bigotry over completion of your assigned tasks. Even glaciers know when to shift rather than shatter."

Dorian's hands clenched into fists, arcane energy gathering around him. "And now you've corrupted the entire magical ecosystem with that human's perverse ritual! Servants are developing unauthorized abilities! The traditional hierarchies are collapsing!"

"Oh, no…" Mo deadpanned. "People are gaining power based on equality rather than bloodline and use it for their benefit without asking you. I feel for you."

"My father is already pushing the High Council to investigate your involvement," Dorian snarled. "They know you were there when Fennar enacted his ritual. They know you didn't stop him. Some even suggest you helped him. You definitely were among the first to benefit from it with your perverse D.E.V.I.O.U.S. framework. You think none of us can read between the lines? We know your plan!"

Mo felt her succubus powers stir, rose-gold energy flickering at the edges of her vision. She tamped them down carefully. "Your father can push all he wants. I will submit my report to the Academy and to the High Council as demanded. I follow protocol."

"Protocol?" Dorian laughed bitterly. "You think protocol matters when the foundations of our society are crumbling? It's about business. About power. With your reports, you can wipe your…"

Dorian shifted his hand, arcane power crackling around it as he pointed toward Mo's backside with a crude gesture. Mo's powers surged, ready to teach him exactly what happened to aristocrats who confused her for furniture—but three magical signatures exploded beside her first.

Lucian's frost shot forward like crystal spears, Valerius's shadows wrapped around Dorian's limbs like liquid chains, and Nyx's form exploded into something with too many teeth and eyes. The combined assault froze Dorian mid-gesture, his face locked in an expression of shocked indignation, hand still extended in the same vulgar position.

"Sounds like a personal problem," Nyx observed, their form shifting to perfectly mirror Dorian's frozen pose—hand pointed at nothing, face twisted in entitled rage—before morphing back to their usual appearance. "Perhaps daddy can buy you a new worldview. I hear they're on sale this season."

Dorian's eyes darted frantically, the only part of him still capable of movement.

Before anyone could escalate further, Professor Malvolia appeared in the doorway. The temperature plummeted—not from Lucian's frost this time, but from the sheer weight of academic authority radiating from Professor Malvolia like a gravitational field.

"Mr. Blackwood," she said, her voice cutting through the tension like a surgical blade. "Are you quite finished with your public display? Or shall I add 'inability to maintain composure' to your academic record?"

Dorian angrily moved his eyes, capable of moving.

"Guys, release him," Mo said. "It's okay now."

"Professor, I was simply…" Dorian started explaining as soon as the ability to move returned to his face.

"You were simply embarrassing yourself and your family name. Not for the first time in the past few days, I should add." Malvolia's gaze swept over the assembled students. "All of you, disperse. There are classes to attend and assignments to complete. The Tournament draws near, and sticking your noses into other people's business won't improve your chances. Unless you are doing it professionally, of course."

Students scattered like startled ravens. Dorian shot Mo one last venomous look before departing with what remained of his supporters.

"Lady Nightshade," Malvolia continued, turning her attention to Mo. "A word."

Mo's friends moved to follow, but the professor raised a hand. "Alone."

Nyx started to protest, but Mo shook her head. "It's fine. I'll catch up."

As Mo followed Malvolia down the corridor, the Covenant's letter seemed to pulse in her bag—patient as the ocean, inevitable as the tide.