The Vengeful Extra's Ascension

Lilian's hand shifted against the obsidian bench, her crimson nails tapping a faint, measured rhythm that to anyone else looked like idle distraction. But her voice slid into Albedo's ear as smooth and deliberate as silk-wrapped steel.

"If you're serious about this, and I know you are, then listen. You won't get to the Duskveils by charging at them head-on. Not here, not in the Academy. Everything is too neatly tied and way too deeply rooted. They'll strangle the path long before you get close. You'll need to start small. Their subordinates."

Albedo's eyes flicked toward her, his smirk curling faintly at the edges, though his posture remained that of a bored student half-listening to a lecture. "So I pull the threads at the bottom of the web and see how the spider shakes."

Her lips curved, but there was no warmth in it, "Exactly. The Duskveil Family worked hard to create a strong foundation in the Academy to pursue their goals of increased power. They've had Hecate surround herself with followers, or more aptly termed sycophants from Lesser Demon Houses?"

"Just to use them in the future?" Albedo asked, and Lilian immediately nodded.

"Exactly, it's a beneficial relationship to both sides. These ambitious mongrels desperate to climb through her shadow get her help, while she, and by extension the Duskveil House, gets consolidated power over these Houses and their Heirs, which bleed into future politics," Lilian explained.

"If anyone sabotaged your fight, it wasn't Valerian. It wasn't even Hecate. It would have been one of them."

"And by cornering one," Albedo murmured, his gaze idly trailing across the glowing glyphs as if he were paying full attention, "we pull the chain back to its master."

"That's the theory," Lilian said. "But it isn't so simple. They're loyal to the image of her, the perfect daughter of Duskveil, cold and untouchable. They'd rather cut out their own tongues than admit she sent them. If you want answers, you'll have to corner them carefully. Push too hard, and they'll fold before they break."

Albedo leaned back, arms folded across his chest, the faint violet gleam in his eyes betraying his amusement. "So subtlety, then. A lesson you're volunteering to teach me, BloodHaven? You're more experienced in these games after all,"

Lilian's lashes lowered, a warning in her eyes even as her voice never lost its composure. "Don't flatter yourself. I'm teaching you survival. The Noble Faction isn't just a nest of spoiled brats with too much pride. They are power consolidated, and the Duskveils are its spine. You can wound Valerian and make him bleed, but to cripple their family, you'll need something cleaner. Something they can't refute or erase."

Albedo inclined his head as if mulling her words over seriously, though his smirk didn't fade. "Evidence."

"Evidence," Lilian echoed. "And weakness. Both of which lead back to Hecate herself."

That made him turn, just slightly, enough that his gaze caught hers. "Hecate. Their perfect daughter. Their weapon. You said she's just a pawn."

Lilian hesitated. Her lips pressed together as if weighing what she dared reveal, then parted again with a quiet exhale. "That's what they want her to be. The obedient eldest, too clever to fail, too disciplined to rebel. But I've heard thing that behind the perfect mask, Hecate isn't as content as they'd like the world to think. She plays her role, yes, but there are cracks in it. She isn't happy, not as her House's pawn. And unhappiness is fertile ground for opportunity."

"Opportunity," Albedo repeated, his tone soft but sharp, the gleam in his eyes brightening. "So she might not be the spider at the center of the web, but the fly tangled in it."

Lilian gave a slow nod, though her gaze was fixed forward on the Professor as if she hadn't just admitted something that could damn her if repeated. "Perhaps. But don't make the mistake of thinking unhappiness makes her harmless. Hecate is still Duskveil's daughter. She will serve her House's interests, even if she resents it. And if you press the wrong way, she'll bare her fangs and gut you without hesitation."

"Noted," Albedo said lightly, though his smirk deepened. "So we investigate her subordinates, keep tabs on her, and wait to see where the cracks appear."

"You wait," Lilian corrected sharply, her voice almost a hiss. "I'll find out who among her circle was most likely to meddle with the wards. You keep your head down. The more visible you are, the easier it will be for them to paint you as the aggressor. Let me move where they don't expect it."

Albedo tilted his head toward her, studying the curve of her jaw, the way her eyes flicked toward the Professor only to return to him in quick, cautious glances. "You're awfully invested, Lilian. One might think you care."

Her cheeks betrayed her with the faintest flush, but her voice cut sharp enough to hide it. "I care about balance. And I care about not being dragged into the Duskveils' endless squabbles because some arrogant Human can't keep his head low for more than a day."

"Balance, hmm?" Albedo mused, violet light flickering once in his gaze as if amused at the word. "Then I suppose you'll just have to keep me upright, won't you?"

Her nails dug faint crescents into the obsidian bench as she turned her face away, crimson hair falling like a curtain to shield her expression. But her voice, low and steady, betrayed her resignation.

The Professor's booming voice swelled at that moment, demanding the class's attention as glowing arcs of demonic energy twisted from his hands into shapes that burned the air around them.

Students gasped, eyes wide at the volatile display of control, but Albedo hardly noticed. His focus remained tethered to the faint flush on Lilian's pale cheek, and the fact that she hadn't denied his claim.

Lilian's silence stretched, drawn taut like a bowstring between them. Her crimson eyes never left the Professor, but Albedo could see the faintest twitch at the corner of her lips, the restrained weight of something unsaid.

Her nails tapped once more against the obsidian bench, sharp little clicks that matched the rhythm of his heartbeat.

For a moment, Albedo thought she might let the matter hang in the air, unfinished, swallowed by the booming voice of the instructor and the collective gasps of the crowd.

But then, with a subtle tilt of her chin, she finally spoke, her words sliding low and deliberate, carefully measured to be swallowed by the arena's echoes.

"After class," she murmured, not turning her head, not giving him the satisfaction of a glance, "I'll give you a file. Names. Faces. Every one of Hecate's lapdogs. You'll know who follows her, who acts at her command, and who meddles with the wards. All of them."

Albedo's gaze sharpened, the violet sheen flickering faintly across his irises, though his smirk stayed lazily curved as if she had only offered him gossip. "Generous."

Her lips thinned, "Not generous. Necessary. But you do nothing with it until I say. Not one move, not one word. If you try to press them yourself, they'll break before they talk, and the Duskveils will close ranks around her before you ever get close. Do you understand me?"

"Crystal clear," Albedo replied softly, and though the words were light, something in the tone—low, steady, hinted at sincerity.

Lilian gave a single, faint nod, her crimson hair brushing against her shoulder as she redirected her attention forward.

Her composure settled back into place, the faintest flush of earlier gone as if it had never existed. It was the mask of a perfect noble once again, sharp-edged and untouchable.

Below, the Professor's voice carried across the coliseum like rolling thunder. His words weren't merely spoken; they resonated, each syllable steeped in power, each gesture commanding attention.

The vast runic circle at his feet flared, lines of molten crimson etching themselves across the arena floor before erupting into shape.

A monstrous wolf emerged first, its body sculpted from the collective will of the glyphs, fangs glinting like polished obsidian. It prowled forward, snarling, its very presence radiating bloodline pressure so heavy that even the stands seemed to tremble.

Then, with a flick of the Professor's wrist, it dissolved into smoke and sparks, replaced by a coiling serpent with eyes that burned like twin suns. The serpent hissed, its scales glimmering with spectral fire before it too shattered into embers.

A hawk followed, its wings forged of flame, its screech splitting the air until silence swallowed it whole.

Around Albedo, the various Human and Elven students watched with rapt awe, leaning forward in their seats and caught in the spell of instruction.

Albedo's posture was deceptively relaxed, arms folded loosely across his chest, but his mind absorbed every detail: the patterns in the runes, the way energy flowed, the subtle shifts of resonance. And yet, beneath the spectacle, part of his attention lingered stubbornly elsewhere.

He looked across the class and then through the nearby windows, looking at the various students walking around and wondering if he'd be confronting any of them soon.

Either way, he'd be having a-lot of fun soon.