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Chapter 13: Shadows, Storms, and Summons
The arena's dust had long settled, but the empire did not sleep. Rumors spread like wildfire. The nobles whispered of corruption in the Aderenle bloodline, of the prince's humiliating defeat, of Malik — the boy who should have died — returning with lightning in his veins.
The balance of power had cracked.
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Malik — Foundations of Chaos
Far from the palace, deep within the sealed grounds of the Academy, Malik stood before his new masters.
The Principal, serene and endless as the night sky, watched him with calculating eyes.
"You are power untamed. Lightning without grounding. Virus without control. That is why you will break, unless we forge you anew."
Beside her stood Crimson Terror — Nyx's elder sister. She was nothing like the Principal. Where the Principal's presence was an ocean, Crimson Terror's was fire and steel, raw violence kept barely in check.
Her crimson armor gleamed as she stepped forward, voice like a blade.
"I don't train cowards. I don't train princes. I train killers. Show me if you're worth the blood you've spilled."
Malik's chest tightened. His body still ached from the King's pressure, but his eyes burned.
"…Then break me. I'll rise again. Stronger."
The training began.
Days bled into nights, nights into weeks. Malik was thrown into battles that shattered his body, illusions that tore at his sanity, trials that forced him to harness both virus and lightning. Crimson Terror shattered his limits with brute force, while the Principal guided him into the mysteries of the Speed Force — the infinite currents of time, space, and motion that whispered at the edge of his soul.
At first, the visions tore him apart. Fragments of futures, echoes of endless roads, alternate selves clawing at him from the void. But slowly… he learned to stand in the storm.
And the Speed Force whispered.
⚡ Run, Malik. Run.
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Najima — Descent into Darkness
Within the Aderenle estate, Najima knelt before her family, bruised and shamed. Her father's face was pale, her mother's eyes cold, the whispers of impurity thick in the halls.
"You've shamed us," her father said bitterly. "Our bloodline is questioned. Nabila has salvaged our honor, while you…"
Najima's fists clenched. She wanted to scream, to explain, to fight. But no one listened. No one cared.
Only the ring did.
"They despise you, little one," Knull's voice slithered through her mind. "But I will never turn away. Bleed for me, and I will make them all pay."
That night, Najima fled into the shadows. In the abandoned shrine, she gave herself over to the ring. Training became torment. Her body broke, healed, and broke again under Knull's guidance. Her soul frayed, her will twisted.
And Knull whispered, patient and cruel.
"Soon, you will not be Najima. You will be more."
Her tears dried. Her smile turned sharp. The darkness had her.
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The Royal Palace — Fury of a King
Dick lay motionless on silken sheets, his once-proud form broken. He had slipped into a coma, his aura unstable, his body rejecting the strain of defeat. The finest healers could do nothing.
The King stood at his bedside, silent, his face carved from stone.
For hours, he said nothing. Then his voice broke the stillness, low and terrible.
"…They dared touch my blood. They dared defy my throne."
He turned, his cloak dragging across the marble floor. His fury was cold, controlled — and far more dangerous than rage.
"Send word," he commanded the chamberlain. "Summon Fiona."
Gasps rippled through the court. Fiona — the elder princess, hidden from the world for years, known only through whispers of her terrifying power.
The King's eyes burned.
"If Dick cannot stand as destiny's child… then Fiona shall remind the world what royal blood truly is."
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