Chapter 56: Chapter 56: Echoes in the Dark

The wooden blade struck his left shoulder before he could process the situation.

Azrael did not flinch.

His face remained an emotionless mask, but beneath the skin, a wave of confusion raged.

His arm was still locked in place, held down by an invisible chain he could not see or break.

The blonde boy, Lucien, landed softly on the padded green mat.

The student’s chest heaved as he stared at his own hands, his eyes wide with disbelief.

He actually landed a clean hit on the top-ranked student.

Instructor Grace raised her hand, her sharp voice cutting through the tension of the training hall. 𝗳𝚛𝚎𝚎𝘄𝕖𝕓𝕟𝕠𝚟𝚎𝕝.𝗰𝕠𝐦

"Point to Lucien. Match over."

An uneasy murmur spread among the watching students.

The top-ranked freshman, the monster who broke a reinforced practice sword with two fingers just moments ago, just stood there and took a basic strike without even raising his guard.

Azrael slowly lowered his arm as the strange paralysis finally faded from his muscles.

He dropped the practice sword onto the mat.

It clattered against the floor, sounding obnoxiously loud in the silent room.

His jaw was tight, his teeth grinding together behind closed lips.

He just turned his back and walked off the sparring square.

’What just stopped my hand?’ he thought, his red eyes narrowing as he stared at the far wall.

He walked straight out of the training hall, ignoring the bewildered stares of Zephyr and Kiara near the weapon racks.

Melissa followed right behind him, her soft footsteps matching his angry, purposeful stride.

They walked up the hill toward the rankers’ lodge. The sun beat down on his shoulders, warming the fabric of his uniform, but he felt only a creeping suspicion settling deep in his chest.

Once inside his room, Azrael walked straight to the centre of the large bed.

He sat down, crossed his legs, and rested his hands lightly on his knees.

He closed his eyes and sank into the abyss of his own mind, navigating the spiritual landscape of this stolen vessel.

The core of a mortal is usually a simple, fragile thing, much like a glass cup waiting to be filled with magic or shattered by a will.

When he first took over this body in the cave, he assumed he had crushed the boy’s original soul into fine dust, replacing it with his own dark sun.

But as he pushed his awareness deeper, swimming past the rushing rivers of his own dense mana, he found the anomaly.

There was a boundary.

A strange seam woven directly into the spiritual fabric of his chest.

It looked like a bug.

Azrael pushed his energy against it, probing the edges with careful, deliberate precision.

Beyond the seam lay a secondary chamber.

’A hidden room inside my own palace?’ he mused, his spiritual form hovering before the sealed door.

He reached out with a tendril of mana to pry the door open, expecting the mortal barrier to give way easily, crumbling under the weight of his authority.

Instead, his energy slid right off the surface.

The chamber was sealed tightly.

Not just closed off, but actively locked from the inside.

He pressed his awareness closer, listening to the quiet sound vibrating behind the barrier.

It was not empty.

Something was breathing in there.

’You little rat,’ Azrael realised, a cold anger twisting his thoughts.

’You hid yourself in the walls before the house burned down.’

’Your soul wasn’t rotting in hell?’

He knew the demonic possession was coming, and he found a way to stitch his own consciousness into a safe corner of his own body.

Azrael opened his eyes in the physical world.

The room was dim, the sun having set while he meditated.

Melissa was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching his face with absolute devotion.

"Is everything alright, my lord?" she asked, her voice soft and careful.

"It is nothing," he answered, his tone flat.

But his red eyes said otherwise.

He could not let this stand.

A ruler cannot share his throne, especially not with the persistent ghost of the previous king.

Later that night, while the academy slept, Azrael sat up in the dark.

He closed his eyes again, diving straight back into the spiritual core.

This time, there was no careful probing.

There was no curiosity.

He gathered a dense sphere of mana, compressing it until it burned with destruction.

’I will crush this hidden box until the walls cave in,’ Azrael decided.

He hurled the concentrated energy straight at the glowing seam.

The exact moment the attack connected, the Soul-Stitcher protocol flared to life as an ancient artefact that not only blocked the strike.

It acted like a flawless mirror that caught the dark energy, absorbed the lethal intent, and fired it directly back into Azrael’s own nervous system.

Azrael snapped awake, a sharp gasp tearing from his throat.

He hunched forward on the mattress, his hands gripping the sheets as his lungs struggled to draw air.

The pain was real.

Melissa rushed to the side of the bed, her hands touching his back.

"My king! What’s wrong?"

Azrael gritted his teeth, forcing his erratic breathing to slow down.

He wiped a line of sweat from his forehead.

"Nothing," he whispered again, his voice hoarse.

But the reality of his situation settled heavily on his shoulders.

He understood the rules of the game now.

The artefact was designed as a flawless failsafe.

If he tried to destroy the secondary core, the severe damage would reflect onto the primary vessel.

If he broke the hidden room, he broke the heart that pumped his own blood.

He could not kill Shane without killing himself in the process.

Azrael slowly sat up straight, pushing the lingering pain away.

He looked at his own hands, flexing the fingers and realising they belonged to a hostage situation.

The boy was not dead.

He was just waiting.

’Very well, human,’ Azrael thought, a dark smile pulling at his lips.

’If we are forced to share this cage, let us see who breaks first.’