The locker room for Team Justice smelled of sweat, liniment, and fear.
Kaelen sat on a wooden bench, meticulously wrapping his hands in white combat tape. But the tape couldn't hide what was underneath.
As he tightened the bindings, he caught a glimpse of his skin. Veins of inky blackness were pulsing from his ring finger, crawling up his wrist like a living infection. The Cursed Ring he had found in the mud seemed fused to his flesh now, warm and throbbing with a heartbeat that wasn't his.
"Kaelen?"
His teammate, a nervous sophomore named Lian, stood by the lockers. He looked pale.
"You... you don't look good, man. Your eyes are bloodshot. You haven't slept in two days. Maybe we should forfeit? Team Shield is really strong, and if you're not at 100%..."
Kaelen stopped wrapping his hand. The air in the room grew heavy, the temperature dropping a few degrees.
"Forfeit?" Kaelen whispered, his voice raspy.
He stood up slowly, towering over his teammate. The ring on his finger flared with a sickly green light.
"We are here to save the world, Lian. The world doesn't care if I'm tired. The world doesn't care if I bleed. Weakness is not an option."
Lian took a step back, terrified by the look in his captain's eyes. It wasn't the look of a hero. It was the look of a wild animal cornered in a trap.
"Right," Lian stammered. "Right. Let's... let's just win."
The arena was deafening.
"And now, entering the ring!" the announcer roared. " The Academy's Golden Boy! The Heir of Light! Kaelen and Team Justice!"
The crowd erupted. Thousands of students and nobles cheered. They waved banners with Kaelen's face on them. They expected the shining knight, the boy who smiled and waved and fought with honor.
Kaelen walked onto the sand. He didn't smile. He didn't wave. He dragged his iron sword behind him, leaving a furrow in the dirt.
Opposite them stood Team Shield.
They were the pride of the Knight Department—three massive students carrying tower shields made of reinforced enchanted steel. They locked shields instantly, forming an impenetrable wall.
"Phalanx Formation!" the Shield Leader shouted. "Hold the line! Let him tire himself out!"
"BEGIN!"
Kaelen charged.
Usually, he would use footwork. He would probe for a gap. He would use a blinding flash of light magic to disorient them.
Not today.
CLANG.
Kaelen slammed his sword into the center shield with brute force. The steel didn't budge.
CLANG. CLANG.
He swung again and again, like a madman chopping wood.
"Is that it?" the Shield Leader taunted from behind his defense. "You're weak, Kaelen! Where's that famous talent? You hit like a goblin!"
The crowd began to murmur.
"What is he doing?" "He's just flailing." "Is the Hero going to lose to a bunch of tanks?"
Kaelen panted, sweat stinging his eyes. His arms burned. His sword was chipping against the heavy defense. He was losing. He was going to be humiliated again.
They are mocking you, a voice whispered in his ear. It was slippery and cold, echoing from the ring. They think you are weak. Just like Vayne thinks you are weak.
Kaelen froze.
Break them, the ring hissed. Show them what pain looks like.
"Shut up," Kaelen muttered.
Use me.
The Shield Leader shoved forward, knocking Kaelen back into the dirt. "Stay down, Golden Boy!"
Kaelen looked up. He saw the disappointment in the crowd. He saw the smirk on the opponent's face.
Something inside him snapped.
"No," Kaelen growled.
He gripped his sword with both hands. He didn't channel the warm, golden mana of the Academy. He poured his frustration, his hate, and his desperation into the black ring.
The air around him screamed.
A sickly, emerald-green aura exploded from his body. It wasn't light; it was rot. It was the color of a festering wound. The mana twisted around his iron blade, turning the metal pitch black.
[Skill: Abyssal Strike]
"BREAK!"
Kaelen lunged.
He didn't aim for the gap. He aimed for the shield.
CRUNCH.
The sound was sickening. It wasn't the clang of metal on metal. It was the sound of metal tearing like wet paper.
Kaelen's corrupted blade sheared straight through the enchanted steel tower shield. It didn't stop there. It continued downward, biting into the armor of the Shield Leader's arm.
SNAP.
Bone shattered.
"AAAAHHH!" the student screamed, falling back as his shield—and his arm—hung in ruin.
The Phalanx broke. The other two defenders stumbled back in horror.
"Monster!" one yelled. "He's using Dark Magic!"
Kaelen didn't stop. He was hyperventilating, his eyes glowing green. He leaped onto the screaming student, raising his sword for a finishing blow that would have taken the boy's head off.
"STOP!"
The referee, a high-level instructor, flashed into the arena. He grabbed Kaelen's wrist, struggling to hold back the student's unnatural strength.
"The match is over! He is incapacitated! Stand down, student Kaelen!"
Kaelen blinked, the red haze lifting from his vision. He looked down.
The Shield Leader was writhing in the dirt, clutching a mangled arm. The shield, the pride of the Knight Department, was sliced in half.
The arena was dead silent.
No one cheered. The banners with his face on them were lowered. The crowd looked at him not with adoration, but with fear.
Up in the stands, Seraphina covered her mouth, her eyes wide.
"That mana..." she whispered, shivering as the residue of the attack drifted up to the seats. "It's cold. It feels like... the Void."
She looked at the boy she had grown up with. He looked like a stranger.
Twenty minutes later.
Kaelen walked down the long, concrete tunnel leading back to the locker rooms. The green mist had faded, leaving him exhausted and hollow.
He leaned against the wall, wiping sweat from his forehead.
"Messy."
Kaelen froze. He looked up.
Lucas Vayne was leaning against the opposite wall, checking his watch. He looked pristine, untouched by the violence of the day.
"You missed a spot," Lucas said, pointing to a smear of blood on Kaelen's cheek. "Right there."
Kaelen aggressively wiped the blood away with his sleeve. He glared at Lucas with eyes that were older and harder than they had been yesterday.
"I won," Kaelen rasped. "That's all that matters. Isn't that your philosophy, Baron? The winner takes everything?"
"It is," Lucas admitted, pushing off the wall to stand straight. "But there is a difference, Kaelen."
Lucas took a step closer, his presence suffocatingly calm.
"When I win, people cheer. I give them a show. I give them a narrative."
He gestured back toward the silent arena.
"When you win... people scream."
Kaelen's jaw tightened. The ring on his finger pulsed, feeding on his anger.
"I don't care about cheers anymore," Kaelen spat, shouldering past Lucas. "I don't care about narratives. I just care about being strong enough to crush you."
He stopped and looked back over his shoulder.
"I'm coming for you in the Finals, Lucas. And I won't hold back."
"I'm counting on it," Lucas replied softly.
Kaelen stormed off into the darkness of the tunnel, the shadows seeming to cling to his silhouette.
I watched him go, a small smile playing on my lips.
[ System Notification: Protagonist Alignment Shift Detected. ]
[ Alignment: Lawful Good ➔ Chaotic Dark. ]
[ Narrative Role Updated: The Fallen Hero. ]
[ Reward: +1,000 Destiny Points. ]
The Golden Boy was dead.
I had successfully created the perfect villain for my story.