Chapter 9: The Social Battlefield
The Nevermore gym was a kaleidoscope of chaos, transformed into a vibrant dance floor for the Rave'N. Fairy lights twinkled overhead, casting a warm glow across the sea of students, their laughter and chatter a stark contrast to the gothic arches looming in the shadows. Oliver Smoak stood awkwardly in a borrowed suit, the too-tight collar chafing his neck, his hazel eyes scanning the crowd. He felt like an imposter, a trespasser in a world of outcasts who were more themselves than he had ever been.
"I'm an imposter here. Everyone else is a vampire or a werewolf or a siren, and I'm just… a guy with a magical phone app."
His fingers tugged at his tie, a nervous tic, as he caught sight of Enid Sinclair across the room, radiant in a flowing pastel dress, her pink-streaked hair bouncing as she laughed with her friends. A pang of guilt twisted in his chest—she deserved a carefree night, not his distracted focus.
"She's the only normal thing here. The only thing that feels real."
The compass in his pocket hummed faintly, a reminder of their mission to find Eldric's cursed artifacts. He tried to focus on the music, but the low thrum of the compass drowned it out, a constant, nagging reminder of the danger lurking just out of sight.
Bianca Barclay emerged from the crowd, her dark red dress shimmering like liquid fire, her green eyes locking onto Oliver with predatory intensity. Her presence was a physical force, a cold wave of confidence that made the air feel thin.
"Heard you're a new kind of magician, Smoak," she purred, her voice smooth but edged with menace, her silver hair catching the light as she leaned closer. "Nevermore's my territory. Watch where you step."
Her words were a velvet-gloved threat, and Oliver's pulse spiked, his fingers twitching toward his tie.
"A siren. Great. I was worried about monsters, not pop divas."
He forced a grin, his voice light but strained. "Just here to dance badly and leave early," he quipped, his sarcasm a shield, but Bianca's lips curled, a micro-reaction of amusement and suspicion. "My dancing is a magical threat in itself, I've been told."
"She's not buying it. She thinks I'm a joke. The worst kind of magical threat."
The System's prompt was a cold jab, and Oliver's mind raced for a retort, his humor faltering under her scrutiny. He was a terrible liar, and he knew it. He was a guy who relied on wit, not deceit.
A Spell of Distraction
Wednesday Addams materialized at his side, her black dress stark against the vibrant crowd, her deadpan expression a mask of calculated indifference.
"The lighting is inadequate," she said, her voice flat, her braid motionless as she scanned the room. "Perfect for chaos."
Without warning, she flicked her wrist, a subtle Obscuro spell sending the fairy lights into a flickering frenzy, the music glitching into a distorted wail. The crowd gasped, heads turning, and Oliver seized the moment, his heart pounding as he muttered a Revelio spell. The air hummed, a metallic scent rising, and the System blared:
Wednesday's eyes met his, a silent nod, her fingers twitching as if itching for her knife.
"She's a master at this. She doesn't fight; she manipulates the battlefield."
The gym's chaos felt alive, the perfume scent cloying, and Oliver moved toward the vendor booths, his boots scuffing the polished floor.
At the booths, draped in gaudy fabrics, Oliver's heart sank—the artifacts were gone, replaced by cheap trinkets. His fingers brushed a crumpled parchment, its surface etched with a serpent symbol, pulsing faintly.
"This is it."
He touched it, and a vision flashed: a young Bianca, wide-eyed, surrounded by cloaked figures in a candlelit ritual, their chants heavy with power. The image faded, and Oliver's breath caught, his eyes flicking to Bianca, who stood nearby, her gaze sharp with anger.
"She saw me see it."
She yanked him aside, her grip bruising, her voice a low hiss. "That symbol," she said, her green eyes blazing, her silver hair falling across her face. "It's the witch covens. They're not your enemy. The Scalper is."
The revelation hung heavy, the gym's noise fading to a dull roar, the air thick with conspiracy. Oliver's compass hummed, the serpent symbol burning in his mind, and the Rave'N's lights steadied, but the game had shifted.
"The Scalper's closer than we thought. Bianca isn't just a rival; she's a survivor."
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