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

The being that confronted Mo defied classification. Nyx's form had abandoned even the pretense of any conventional demon shapes—obsidian skin rippling with patterns that hurt the eye, limbs that seemed both too many and too few simultaneously, a face that shifted between expressions that had no names in human or demonic languages. Not androgynous, but something beyond gender entirely—primordial, eldritch, terrifying in its alien beauty. Yet somehow, they were again impeccably dressed in a tailored… attire of impossible geometry, the fabric followed their fluctuating form with perfect precision, as if the clothing itself were part of their shifting essence.

Even the most stoic professors flinched as Nyx glided across the floor, leaving small pools of shadow essence in their wake. The very air seemed to bend around them, sounds distorting in their presence. Lucian was hurrying behind Nyx until they reached a more central spot of the ballroom.

"How generous of you to gossip about the others' fears, Lord Frostbrook," Nyx's voice came from everywhere and nowhere, resonating at frequencies that made glasses shatter. "Playing the middleman in this little fear exchange program? Passing Mo's intel like a good little puppy?" Their impossible form pulsed with rage. "Why don't you tell everyone what you fear instead? About how terrified you are that you'll eventually become exactly what your father wants? About the fact that he wants to marry you off to Mo?"

Lucian paled, ice crystals forming in the surrounding air. "I never wanted to know anyone's fears, Nyx. You know that. I was trying to explain…"

"That's enough," Mo interjected, stepping between them. "This isn't the place for…"

"Oh, but it is!" Nyx turned their impossible attention toward Mo. "Isn't this exactly what villain school is for? Breaking each other down? Exploiting weaknesses? You wanted more Jackson Pollock on your suit? Let's add my blood to the mix!"

With no further warning, Nyx manifested a blade of pure shadow and slashed it across their own arm. Their blood sprayed outward—not obsidian black as Mo somehow had expected, but a fluid that shifted through the entire spectrum of color, each droplet opalescing from midnight blue to crimson to emerald to violet as it arced through the air. The iridescent splatter landed across Mo's already-ruined suit, where it continued to shimmer and shift like living oil on water.

A second blade materialized, spinning through the air toward Mo.

"Catch!" Nyx's voice thundered. "Let's give them a proper show! Satisfaction demands blood!"

Mo caught the shadow-blade instinctively, its handle solidifying against her palm. "Nyx, don't make me do this."

"Too late!"

Mo ducked the first strike, spinning away as the blade whistled past her ear. She parried the second with her own weapon, shadow meeting shadow with a sound like tearing reality. The blades clashed again and again, sparks of obsidian and rose-gold energy showering the nearby students, who scrambled to maintain a safe distance while still capturing every moment.

"Fight me properly!" Nyx snarled, their form elongating to strike from an impossible angle.

Mo rolled beneath the attack, coming up inside Nyx's guard. With the precision learned during the past weeks of classes and training sessions with her friends, she sliced a shallow cut across Nyx's shifting torso. Blood welled immediately—a rainbow fluid that flowed like liquid stardust, each drop cycling through colors that had no names in any language Mo had known.

Nyx laughed—a sound that made several students cover their ears in pain—and retaliated with a strike that caught Mo's shoulder, tearing through her suit and drawing a thin line of crimson.

"Perfect!" Professor Malvolia called out, seemingly happy to have some normalcy after Julian disappeared and the Headmaster followed him with a few other professors. "Note the traditional blood-letting technique—beautiful execution! Five points to both participants for authentic villain conflict resolution!"

Professor Darkthorne nodded in approval as Mo and Nyx continued their deadly dance, neither willing to truly harm the other yet both drawing enough blood to satisfy tradition. "The show must go on!" He whispered to Malvolia so loud that everyone had heard it.

Students scattered in all directions—some fleeing toward the walls, others surging closer for better views. The room erupted into chaos. A few opportunistic souls were taking advantage of all sorts of distraction and chaos happening around them to settle their own scores, blades and spells flashing throughout the ballroom.

After three more exchanges, each leaving both combatants with fresh cuts, Mo tapped into something deeper. Her signature energy surged through her veins, seeping from the wounds Nyx had opened across her skin. The power flowed not as an attack but as tendrils of connection, carrying her essence outward. Unlike the chaotic eruption of her duel with Valerius or even the controlled extraction during the Midnight Trial, this was something more intimate—a direct conduit into Nyx's churning emotional maelstrom.

For a split second, Nyx froze as Mo's deepest vulnerability transferred into their mind—not just the fear of losing control, but the desperate love for the life she'd built on Earth, the constant struggle between darkness and light, the terror of becoming what everyone expected her to be.

The blade of shadow dissolved as Nyx stumbled backward, their eldritch form flickering and glitching like a broken projection before settling into something more recognizably humanoid.

"How dare you," they whispered, voice suddenly small.

Before Mo could respond, Nyx turned and fled, leaving nothing but the echo of their departure and a trail of shadow-blood that evaporated moments later.

The silence that followed was deafening. Mo stood alone in the center of the dance floor, her white suit now a complete tapestry of violence—crimson blood, emerald ichor from hexed victims, violet essence from shattered spells, and iridescent spectral fluid from Nyx's wounds forming an abstract expressionist nightmare across what had once been pristine fabric. Each stain told its own story of battle, betrayal, and broken trust, transforming her pristine white canvas into something both horrifying and undeniably compelling—violence as art, conflict as creation.

Lucian approached cautiously, his expression unreadable. "What did you do to them?"

"I showed them the truth," Mo said, her voice hollow. "About me. About everything."

"You used your power to force an emotional connection they weren't prepared for."

"It was a duel," Mo flinched. "No conditions were announced. So, all tools were available to us. I was just trying to stop them from hurting themselves even more."

As Lucian turned away, a small cluster of students approached—some of them showing the distinctive features of succubi and incubi. Their leader, a senior very originally named Lilith, whom Mo had actively avoided since her duel with Valerius, stepped forward.

"Congratulations," she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Thanks to your little display, we'll get to stay under restrictions. Mental manipulation limitations, mandatory ethics seminars, permission forms for basic abilities—all because you just can't keep your powers under control. Time after time! Arrrgh!"

"I didn't ask for any of this," Mo said wearily.

"None of us did," Lilith replied. "But most of us manage to follow basic protocols without broadcasting our innermost thoughts to the entire academy or doing… that…" she pointed in the direction Nyx disappeared.

Before Mo could be accosted by any further complaints, the clock's hands aligned at the thirteenth hour, triggering an ominous tolling that silenced even the most heated accusations. The chandeliers dimmed simultaneously, plunging the ballroom into the darkness, broken only by the blood-red glow of Professor Mortis's form as he swiftly moved to the center of the dance floor with characteristic cackling.

"Students! Faculty! Distinguished beings of darkness!" his voice boomed across the hall, reverberating in multiple dimensions simultaneously. "The carnage has been delightful, the betrayals exquisite, but as ancient tradition dictates, the Thirteenth Hour demands its due! The moment has arrived to announce this year's UMBRA TOURNAMENT!"

A scroll materialized with theatrical flair, bursting from nothingness in a cascade of ebon flame precisely where Mo and Nyx's duel had concluded—as if their mingled blood had summoned it from the void. The parchment unfurled itself with deliberate slowness, hovering at approximately Mo's eye level, revealing names written in burning letters that shifted through an iridescent spectrum that reminded Mo of Nyx's blood.

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"The Tournament shall commence right before Yule," Professor Mortis continued. "Only those who have successfully completed tonight's assignments are eligible to participate. The list is in front of you. And it will be posted in all dorms and public spaces. Don't let the ones who have an advantage at the start discourage you!" And he looked intently at Mo.

She stepped closer and scanned the list, names blurring together as her mind struggled to process everything that had happened in the last hour. Julian's betrayal. Nyx's meltdown. Lucian's disappointment. The Headmaster's actions. Valerius'… what? What even was that?

Too much, too fast.

Her vision swam, names floating in and out of focus on the parchment. When she finally managed to concentrate, she found her name in the second place—somehow awarded more points than her three tasks and Malvolia's bonus combined could explain. Valerius was there too. Lucian, of course. Even Nyx hadn't been excluded despite their dramatic exit. Seemingly, they've completed their tasks as well before storming out. At least some win for Mo, with her providing Nyx information for one of their tasks.

Still, Dorian's name was conspicuously absent—the price of being a fluidity-averse prick and leaving the ball before completing his Hidden Agenda. Disqualified from a competition his family no doubt expected him to dominate.

Professor Malvolia's satisfied grin manifested at the edge of Mo's awareness. Now it was obvious, the Ball had never been merely homework—it was a sorting mechanism, qualification rounds for something greater. Something designed to test her resistance to becoming exactly what the High Council wanted.

The room seemed to tilt slightly as the implications crashed over her. Her formerly white suit—now a canvas of violence, splattered with blood and ichor and whatever rainbow fluid had come from Nyx—felt suddenly heavy, pulling at her shoulders like the weight of everything she'd lost tonight.

As students gathered to examine the list, Mo drifted to the edge of the dance floor, pushed aside like an afterthought. Her head throbbed with each pulse of the room's magical energy.

"Quite the evening," came a familiar voice, cutting through the fog in her mind.

Mo blinked, focusing on Valerius standing beside her, his shadow suit somehow restored to immaculate condition despite the chaos. How was that possible? Had time passed without her noticing?

"Your artistic expression has reached new heights," he said, gesturing at her ruined outfit.

"Not now, Valerius."

"On the contrary," he replied, and through her daze, she registered what seemed like genuine concern in his expression. "I believe now is precisely when you need someone who understands villain politics at your side."

Mo stared at him, mind struggling to identify the trap through the static of her thoughts. "Why would you help me?" she managed.

"Let's call it an investment in our budding business relationship," he answered smoothly. "Besides, watching you navigate this chaos is far more entertaining than the predictable machinations of my usual social circle."

The walls of the ballroom seemed to pulse and contract around her. Julian. The Thirteenth Chamber. His plan. She needed to see it—needed to understand what he'd been working on all this time while pretending to help them.

Without conscious decision, Mo's hand shot out, fingers closing around Valerius's wrist with surprising strength. "Come with me," she commanded, her voice steadier than her thoughts.

"Where exactly are we…"

"The Thirteenth Chamber. Julian's been using it. I need to see what he's done."

***

Distant alarms wailed from the faculty wing, the sound reverberating through Mo's skull like physical pressure. The corridors twisted before her eyes as she dragged Valerius along, her feet somehow remembering the path even as her mind struggled to focus on anything beyond the need to understand Julian's betrayal.

"They won't catch him," Valerius said, noting her distraction. "Not if he's been planning this as long as I suspect he has. There are ways out of Umbra that even the faculty don't know about."

"Did you know anything about it?" Mo asked, suspicions growing. "About Julian. About his research."

Valerius shrugged elegantly. "I knew a thing or two about your experiments. But he's faculty, out of my reach. Still, a human assistant who suddenly starts to spend more time in the Forbidden Archives than assisting? It wasn't difficult to get intrigued by his persona."

"And you didn't think to mention it?"

"Would you have believed me? Besides, your relationship with the human seemed to be providing a valuable grounding for your powers. I thought it's an arrangement where everyone profits."

Mo stopped walking, the rose-gold energy that had been dormant since her encounter with Nyx suddenly flaring to life. Arcs of power crackled across her skin, playing with the colors of the splashes on her suit, creating a living, breathing canvas of destruction.

"My relationships aren't components in some development scheme."

"Aren't they?" Valerius faced her directly. "Everything about someone from Nightshade lineage is part of one scheme or another at any time. Whether it's orchestrated by the Academy, High Council, or rival families doesn't matter."

Mo's energy pulsed in response to his words, casting strange shadows on his face.

"You represent one of the Top-10 most powerful and wealthy houses," he continued, watching her power fluctuate with calm interest. "Still a couple orders of magnitude smaller than the top dragon clans, of course, but significant enough that your every move, every relationship, every decision becomes part of the grand game."

He gestured to her blood-spattered suit. "Tonight wasn't just a ball—it was a test of your alliances. Your human... assistant... understood that. So did your shapeshifting friend. Even Frosty recognized it. The question is: what lesson will you take from tonight's events?"

The rose-gold light intensified, refracting through the rainbow splatter of Nyx's blood across her sleeve. Mo's inheritance—her bloodline, her powers, her title, her wealth—all of it marked her as a player in games she'd spent years pretending didn't exist.

The question hung between them, electric in the silent corridor. Before Mo could answer, a spectral form materialized directly in their path, blocking their way. Lady Thornheart's ghostly presence flickered with uncharacteristic agitation, her usually immaculate Victorian silhouette warping at the edges.

"Lady Nightshade," she said, her voice strained with urgency, "I recommend immediate haste. The Thirteenth Chamber…"

"I know!"

"You don't understand!" Lady Thornheart's form shimmered with distress. "He has begun the ritual. Headmaster Ashenfall and several professors are present but appear... unable to intervene."

"Unable?"

The ghost's spectral ledger was nowhere in sight—the first time Mo had ever seen Lady Thornheart without it. "The energies are... unprecedented. In the centuries of service to this institution, I have never witnessed such a fundamental disruption to the arcane weave."

"We have to hurry," Mo said, breaking into a run toward the hidden passage that would lead them to the ancient chamber.

"That would be inadvisable," Lady Thornheart cautioned, floating alongside them. "The faculty…"

"Have their own agendas, I know," Mo finished. "Everyone here seems to have their own chess-board. But some prefer to play Chapayev Checkers instead. I just probably have to add another dimension to that madness."

Lady Thornheart suddenly looked apprehensive. "That's not what I approached you for. I hoped you could help Mr. Fennar. I must register my formal objection to your course of action…"

"Yeah, yeah. File it in triplicate. I don't care anymore. But you can't sign it with your own blood, can you?" Mo shot back, not slowing her pace. "Sorry, not sorry, but I don't have time for a love triangle right now."

The spectral sentinel actually recoiled, her transparent form rippling with shock at Mo's impertinence.

"You are getting mean rather fast, Lady Nightshade," Lady Thornheart said. "I always rather liked Mr. Fennar. Such dedication to knowledge, despite his... limitations. Still, I'd like to help him… and you, despite your rudeness..." She gestured toward a hidden archway that hadn't been there moments before. "The most direct route."

As they raced through the newly revealed passage, Valerius kept pace beside Mo. "Care to explain why we're rushing toward what is clearly a magical catastrophe in progress?" he asked, not even slightly winded despite their pace.

"Julian's attempting to implement a system that would democratize magic," Mo said between breaths. "Give all humans access to powers currently restricted to those with arcane bloodlines."

Valerius actually stumbled. "That's... ambitious. Also, completely insane and likely to destroy multiple realms."

"Hence the hurrying."

The corridor ahead pulsed with unnatural light—opalescent waves washing over the ancient stones in rhythmic surges. The very air felt charged, molecules vibrating at frequencies that made reality itself seem suddenly fragile.

Mo felt an unsettling awareness wash over her—as the spaces between her atoms expanded in her perception, the illusion of solidity dissolving. The stone floor beneath her feet no longer seemed solid but revealed itself as mostly empty space—atoms separated by vast gulfs of nothingness, held together by forces that Julian's ritual was somehow interfering with.

Her body, the walls, Valerius beside her—everything suddenly felt like an improbable arrangement of particles suspended in void, a cosmic trick of perception that Julian's work was threatening to unravel. The sensation wasn't painful so much as profoundly disturbing, like realizing the ground you've trusted your entire life is actually an illusionary concept floating on an infinite abyss.

"You look surprisingly calm for someone experiencing a fundamental reality breakdown," Valerius observed, his voice distorted by the fluctuating air molecules between them.

Mo's consciousness seemed to crystallize in that moment of cosmic vertigo. The crisis had stripped away her careful compartmentalization—barista Mo, Dark Lady Mo, good Mo, evil Mo—leaving only clarity in its wake.

"Something like that," she replied, her voice steady despite the chaos building ahead. "Despite everything, it looks like you've just helped to figure out something. First, I've tried so hard not to become what everyone expected. Next, I decided to play into their expectations, but with a twist. So, in the end, I just lost sight of who I actually am."

The light intensified, bathing them in shifting colors as they approached the Thirteenth Chamber, the boundary between dimensions growing thin as graphene.

"And who is that, exactly?"

Mo paused, the ancient doorway looming before them like a maw of some angry beast. "I'm not just the barista who ran away from her heritage. And I'm not the Dark Lady they want me to be, either. I'm both. I'm neither. I'm…"

"Someone who needs to decide what she stands for," Valerius finished. "Before others decide for you."

The floor beneath them trembled, a low rumble that seemed to emanate from deep within the academy's foundations. Dust rained from the ceiling as the magical tremor passed through the stones.

"Julian isn't going to stop," Mo said, and stepped into the Chamber.