Lucifer was a legend at the Witcher Academy, and not the kind whispered in bedtime tales. His name carried weight, spoken in hushed tones by students who feared him, admired him, or both. To many, he wasn't just a student; he was a force of nature, a walking storm cloaked in dark robes and silent menace.
The first thing anyone noticed about Lucifer was his presence. He didn't simply walk into a room—he commanded it. His strides were confident and deliberate, each step echoing as if the very stones beneath him acknowledged his power. His raven-black hair fell in silky waves to his shoulders, framing a face sharp and angular, with piercing silver eyes that seemed to see through layers of flesh and thought. His expression was almost always stoic, his lips set in a faint, disinterested line, as if the world around him was a tiresome distraction.
Lucifer had earned his reputation not just through skill but through sheer dominance. Stories circulated of the day he defeated three senior students simultaneously during a mock duel. They'd underestimated him—an error no one dared repeat. With a flick of his wand, he had turned the room into a void of shadows, his opponents stumbling blindly while he dismantled their defenses one by one. By the time the light returned, the duel was over, and Lucifer stood alone, unscathed.
His wand, a sleek and polished piece of obsidian-like wood, was said to be an extension of his will. When he raised it, the air grew colder, and when he snapped it forward, darkness erupted. "With a snap of Lucifer's wand comes night," they whispered. Though no one could confirm it, many believed that the shadows he summoned were alive, whispering ancient secrets only he could understand.
Lucifer's refusal to graduate only added to his mystique. He had been eligible for years, his skills far surpassing what the academy could teach. Yet he remained, stalking the halls like a restless specter. Some speculated that he stayed to protect the academy, though others believed he sought something—or someone.
For all his power, Lucifer was an enigma. He rarely spoke, and when he did, his words were sharp and precise, cutting through conversations like a blade. His voice was low, velvety, and carried an authority that made even professors pause. To most students, he was untouchable, a symbol of everything they could never be.
Asmodeus first saw Lucifer during an afternoon practice session in the courtyard. Belial had dragged him there, insisting they watch some of the upper-level students duel. Asmodeus had reluctantly agreed, hoping to avoid drawing attention to himself.
The duel began with a flurry of spells, brilliant sparks of light clashing midair as two seniors went head-to-head. But the crowd's attention shifted the moment Lucifer appeared. He moved through the throng like a shadow, his silver eyes flicking over the dueling students with mild disinterest.
"Is that him?" Asmodeus whispered, leaning toward Belial.
She nodded, her golden eyes wide. "Lucifer. They say he could take on the entire academy if he wanted to."
Asmodeus swallowed hard, unable to look away. Lucifer stood at the edge of the arena, his posture relaxed but his presence radiating authority. His arms were crossed, the folds of his dark robes trailing like smoke around his boots. He seemed more like a predator observing prey than a mere student watching a duel.
The duel ended abruptly when one of the seniors misfired, his spell ricocheting toward the crowd. Gasps rippled through the audience as the crackling orb of energy hurtled toward a group of first-years.
Lucifer moved before anyone else.
With a flick of his wand, the air around him seemed to ripple. Shadows coiled at his feet like living creatures, surging forward to engulf the rogue spell. The energy vanished into the blackness, absorbed without so much as a sound.
The crowd erupted into cheers, but Lucifer merely turned away, as if the act had been beneath his notice.
Asmodeus watched, his chest tightening. "How does someone get that strong?" he muttered, more to himself than to Belial.
Belial tilted her head, her gaze lingering on Lucifer's retreating form. "By being willing to do what others won't," she replied softly, a note of unease in her voice.
That night, Asmodeus found himself unable to sleep. The image of Lucifer's effortless control played over and over in his mind. Compared to someone like that, he felt insignificant—a speck of dust in a world of giants.
The next day, during an early lecture, Asmodeus's thoughts drifted back to Lucifer. The professor was droning on about the principles of spell weaving, but Asmodeus could barely focus. When the class ended, he lingered, hoping to find a moment of clarity in the quiet room.
"You're distracted."
The voice was smooth and sharp, like silk over steel. Asmodeus turned, his heart leaping into his throat. Lucifer stood at the door, his silver eyes fixed on him.
"I—uh…" Asmodeus stammered, clutching his satchel like a shield.
Lucifer stepped closer, his movements unhurried. The air seemed heavier around him, pressing against Asmodeus's chest. "You're not like the others," Lucifer said, his tone more curious than accusatory.
Asmodeus blinked, unsure how to respond. "I'm just… trying to get by," he managed, his voice barely above a whisper.
Lucifer tilted his head, a faint smirk ghosting across his lips. "Survival is a start. But it won't be enough."
Before Asmodeus could reply, Lucifer turned and walked away, his robes trailing behind him like shadows chasing their master.
Asmodeus sank into his chair, his mind racing. What had Lucifer meant? And why had he bothered speaking to him at all?
From that moment, Asmodeus couldn't shake the feeling that his path had crossed Lucifer's for a reason—and that his time at the Witcher Academy was about to become far more complicated than he'd ever imagined.