The halls of Ravenbrook Academy seemed louder than usual, the air thick with whispers about the fight in the courtyard. Dante could feel the stares following him wherever he went, the weight of judgment heavy on his shoulders. Yet, he wasn't worried about the rumors or the students' curiosity. His real concern was Gregor.
Since their clash, Gregor's hatred had turned from a simmering annoyance into a blazing inferno. It wasn't just anger—it was something deeper, something dangerous.
Earlier That Day
"You think you're better than me?" Gregor's voice was sharp, filled with venom.
Dante, standing in the center of the courtyard, had barely registered the words before Gregor lunged. His fists were fast, but Dante was faster. Every dodge, every step back only seemed to fuel Gregor's fury.
"You're nothing," Gregor spat, his voice loud enough to silence the crowd of students. "You're just some freak pretending to fit in!"
The last word struck a nerve. Dante's eyes flashed with restrained anger, but he held his ground. The mark on his palm flared, itching for release, but he forced it down. This wasn't the time.
When Gregor's final swing missed and he stumbled, Dante could have ended it. He could have retaliated, humiliated Gregor in front of everyone. But instead, he simply walked away.
The crowd parted for him, their hushed murmurs a mix of awe and confusion.
For Gregor, it was the ultimate insult.
Later That Night
Gregor paced his room, his face flushed with anger. The fight replayed in his mind over and over, each memory feeding his resentment. Dante had made him look weak, powerless.
"I'll show him," Gregor growled, slamming his fist into the wall.
A low voice interrupted his thoughts. "You want revenge, don't you?"
Gregor spun around to see a tall, shadowy figure standing in the corner of his room. Its presence sent a chill down his spine, but he didn't flinch.
"Who are you?" Gregor demanded.
"A friend," the figure said, stepping closer. Its eyes glowed faintly red, and its voice was like silk. "I've been watching you. You have potential, Gregor. Strength. But you lack the power to truly make others fear you."
Gregor scowled. "What do you want?"
"Not what I want," the figure said, circling him. "What you want. You want to crush Dante. You want to show him—and everyone else—that you're superior."
Gregor's jaw tightened. "Yeah. I do."
"Then let me help you," the figure said, extending a hand. "Together, we can ensure Dante never outshines you again."
For a moment, Gregor hesitated. But the hatred burning in his chest was stronger than his fear.
"What's the catch?" he asked.
The figure's lips curled into a wicked smile. "There's always a price, Gregor. But for you, it's simple: embrace what you're capable of. Let go of your limits. And when the time comes… you'll serve a greater purpose."
Gregor didn't care about the consequences. He grabbed the figure's hand, and a searing pain shot through him. A dark sigil burned itself onto his wrist, pulsing with raw energy.
"Good," the figure purred. "Now, let's make you unstoppable."
The Next Day
Dante's morning began like any other—quiet, careful, and focused on avoiding trouble. But as soon as he stepped into the school courtyard, he felt it: a heavy, oppressive energy that made the air feel colder.
Gregor stood in the center of the courtyard, his usual smugness replaced with a sinister calm. His eyes seemed darker, sharper, and the faint trace of a black sigil peeked out from under his sleeve.
"Dante!" Gregor's voice rang out, stopping everyone in their tracks.
Dante sighed, bracing himself. "What now?"
Gregor smirked. "You humiliated me yesterday. Now, I'm going to return the favor."
Before Dante could respond, Gregor moved—faster than any human should be able to. He was a blur, closing the distance between them in an instant.
Dante barely dodged the first punch, but the force of it shattered the stone bench behind him.
"What the—" Dante began, but Gregor didn't let him finish.
"You're not the only one with secrets," Gregor snarled, throwing another punch.
This time, Dante blocked it, but the impact sent shockwaves up his arm. The mark on his palm flared in response, filling him with an urge to fight back.
"Stop this, Gregor!" Dante shouted, dodging another attack.
"Why?" Gregor sneered. "You afraid someone might see what you really are?"
Their fight drew a crowd, but this time, the students weren't whispering. They were screaming, running as pieces of stone and debris flew through the air.
"You've gone too far!" Dante growled, his patience snapping.
He raised his hand, the mark glowing with crimson energy. But before he could unleash it, a familiar voice rang out.
"Enough!"
Alaric appeared, his presence commanding as always. He stepped between them, his glare pinning Gregor in place.
"This isn't over," Gregor hissed, retreating with a dark grin.
As the crowd dispersed, Alaric turned to Dante, his expression grim. "We need to talk. Now."
That Evening
"What happened?" Dante demanded as they sat in the sanctuary. "Gregor isn't normal anymore."
"He's been marked," Alaric said, his voice heavy. "Someone—or something—has granted him power. And it's tied to the same forces that are after you."
"Great," Dante muttered. "Now I've got an enemy who's literally fueled by hatred."
Alaric placed a hand on Dante's shoulder. "This is only the beginning. Gregor's hatred will drive him to extremes, and the mark he bears will only make him more dangerous. You need to be ready, Dante. Because when he comes for you again, it won't be a schoolyard brawl. It'll be a fight for your life."
Dante nodded, determination hardening his features. If Gregor wanted a war, Dante would be ready.