Sweat dripped from Isaac's forehead, stinging his eyes as he hauled Julian's deadweight over his shoulder. Low, anxious murmurs echoed through the alchemy lab behind him. Students shrank back into the shadows of their workstations, their whispers buzzing like a hive of disturbed hornets. "Get out of my way," Isaac spat, his voice dropping to a dangerous, gravelly pitch that surprised even himself. His jaw clamped shut so tightly his back teeth ground together. He ignored the terrified, accusatory stares of his classmates and the frantic, useless sputtering of the assistant teacher. Professor Corin stood frozen behind his mahogany desk, his potion spoon dripping silver liquid onto his notes. "Isaac, wait, you cannot simply carry a student away!" the man had stammered, his spectacles slipping down his nose. Isaac hadn't even looked back, his shoulders tense as he adjusted Julian's heavy frame. Lifting Julian's limp form higher, Isaac marched out of the classroom, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. Julian was deceptively heavy for a golden-boy aristocrat. Muscles Isaac didn't know his rival possessed dug hard into his collarbone, dragging him down with every agonizing step. Burning heat radiated from Julian's neck, searing right through Isaac's thin cotton sleeve. Where the glowing royal brand had burned into the skin, a faint, pulsing warmth radiated through Isaac's palms. It felt like a physical brand on his own soul, a terrifying reminder of the ancient king who had claimed him. "Dammit," Isaac muttered, his boot heels clicking sharply against the cold flagstones of the empty corridor. Anger burned a hot path through his veins, masking the cold dread clawing at his stomach. This ancient monster could jump into anyone. Anyone at all. Horrifying thoughts raced through his mind. The quiet, studious girl in the front row, the arrogant duelist in his combat class, even the headmaster himself—all of them were potential puppets for a dead tyrant who didn't understand the word *no*. Stone corridors of the West Wing were endless, winding like a labyrinth designed to confuse students. Gargoyles carved from dark slate grimaced down from the high arches, their stone eyes seeming to track Isaac's movements. Every step was an ordeal. Julian's metal-buckled belt kept scraping against Isaac's thigh, leaving a dull ache that made him want to drop the noble right there on the floor. He thought about leaving him. He thought about running to his dorm, packing his meager belongings, and fleeing the academy altogether. Isaac's grip tightened on Julian's expensive robes, the fine silk bunching under his fingers. He hated Julian, but he hadn't wanted this. A simple life was all he had ever wanted, free from the prying eyes of the Mage Council. Instead, he was carrying his unconscious rival down a dimly lit hallway, marked by a ghost who treated the living world like his personal playground. --- Cold stone walls seemed to close in on him as he dragged Julian deeper into the East Wing. Every shadow stretching across the floor looked like Alistair's grasping fingers. Isaac paused for a second, his breath hitching as he adjusted his grip on Julian's waist. "Don't slide off, you giant idiot," Isaac grumbled, pulling the blond boy closer. Julian's head lolled against Isaac's neck. A soft, warm breath brushed against Isaac's collarbone, making him shiver with a sudden, unwanted jolt of electricity. Why did Alistair have to choose Julian of all people? Julian was the golden boy of the academy, the son of a powerful duke, and the star student of the dueling arena. He was also Isaac's sworn rival, a man who took every opportunity to mock Isaac's lack of family connections and cold, defensive attitude. Now, Julian was just a hollow vessel, his mind temporarily wiped out by the overwhelming presence of an ancient king. Isaac felt a deep, unsettling chill at how easily Alistair had overridden Julian's powerful mana reserves. If Alistair could do that to a high-tier noble mage, what could he do to Isaac? --- Dropping Julian onto a stone bench halfway down the corridor, Isaac bent over, hands on his knees, panting. Air rushed into his lungs, cold and sharp, smelling of ancient stone and floor wax. He stared at his rival's pale face. Julian looked peaceful, devoid of his usual sneer, his perfect blonde hair falling messy across his forehead. But the invisible mark on Julian's neck still hummed with dark, forbidden magic. Isaac's hands shook as he pushed his own dark hair back from his sweaty forehead. How was he supposed to survive the academy like this? One slip, one possessed student screaming forbidden incantations in the middle of the courtyard, and the Inquisition would drag Isaac to the gallows before sunset. Stupid, ancient, arrogant bastard, Isaac thought, his teeth grinding in frustration. Heavy silence answered him. This quiet was suffocating, pressing against his eardrums and making his own heartbeat sound like a war drum. Then, a soft, dry chuckle echoed from the wall. --- Isaac spun on his heel, his hand instinctively reaching for the hidden focus-ring in his pocket. His eyes locked onto a massive oil painting hanging between two stained-glass windows. It was the portrait of Archmage Gideon, the school's legendary founder, painted three hundred years ago. Normally, the painted wizard stared sternly into the distance, holding an ornate staff and looking incredibly noble. Now, the painted eyes were looking directly at Isaac. Lips of the historical figure curved into a wicked, terribly familiar smirk. "Calling your king names is a treasonous offense, my sweet little necromancer," Alistair's voice purred from the canvas. Sound was smooth, rich, and dripping with an intolerable amusement that made Isaac's blood boil. "Get out of that painting," Isaac snarled, stepping closer, his knuckles turning white as he clenched his fists. "Get out of this school. Leave me alone." Painted fingers tapped against the painted staff in the portrait, creating a rhythmic, hollow clicking sound that echoed in the real corridor. "Why would I leave when my most precious treasure is here?" Alistair's voice resonated from the frame, vibrating through the very stone beneath Isaac's boots. "I am not your treasure," Isaac spat, his voice shaking with a mix of fury and genuine terror. "You summoned me," Alistair replied, his tone shifting from playful to something dark, heavy, and absolute. "Your magic woke me. Your soul called to mine. We are bound, Isaac. You cannot hide from me. I can slip into the mind of every boy who looks at you, every teacher who speaks to you, every soul that dares to cross your path." Isaac's heart hammered against his ribs. "You'll get me executed." "Only if you remain weak," Alistair murmured. Indeed, the painted figure leaned forward, pressing its flat hands against the inside of the frame as if trying to push through the canvas. "I offer you a bargain," the king continued, his voice dropping to a seductive whisper. "Absolute protection. No one in this academy will ever harm you. I will crush your rivals, elevate your status, and keep your illegal magic a secret from the world." "And what do you want in return?" Isaac asked, his throat dry. "Your total submission," Alistair purred. "Let me touch you. Let me possess those around you to hold you, to taste you, to claim what is mine. Agree, and I will keep your secrets safe. Refuse, and I will make your life a beautiful, bloody chaos." Isaac felt a cold sweat break out across his back. He looked at Julian's unconscious form. He thought of the executioner's block, the burning pyres for dark mages. He had no choice. He was trapped in a cage of his own making. "Fine," Isaac whispered, the word tasting like ash on his tongue. "I agree. Just... keep your mouth shut in public." Alistair's laughter was a low, vibrating hum of pure triumph. --- "A wise choice, my love," the portrait murmured. Suddenly, the painted eyes of the founder began to swell. Thick, dark red liquid welled up in the corners of the canvas. Isaac watched in horror as real, hot blood began to drip from the painted eyes, running down the canvas in twin streams. Blood didn't just pool at the bottom. It began to crawl across the canvas, self-directed, painting a precise, jagged symbol over the founder's chest. This was Isaac's secret necromancy rune—the exact mark he had used to summon the king. "Stop it!" Isaac hissed, lunging forward to wipe it away, but the blood was already drying, staining the priceless historical artifact. Footsteps clicked sharply on the stone floor around the corner. "What is going on here?" a deep, resonant voice asked. Professor Vance stepped into the corridor, his dark eyes scanning the scene, his tall, imposing frame casting a long shadow. Isaac's heart stopped. Vance was the young, brilliant runes professor—the only teacher Isaac actually respected, and secretly, the only man in this cursed school Isaac found attractive. Stammering, Isaac tried to block the bloody portrait with his body, his hands waving in frantic panic. Vance's gaze flicked from Julian's unconscious body to Isaac's pale face, and finally to the dripping blood on the wall. "Isaac, what have you—" Vance started, stepping forward. Suddenly, Vance's body went completely rigid. His dark eyes rolled back, showing only the whites, before snapping forward again. Warm, intelligent brown of Vance's eyes vanished, replaced by a cold, burning gold. Terrifying, dominant aura erupted from the professor's body, making the air freeze in Isaac's lungs. "Ah," Vance's mouth opened, but Alistair's smooth, mocking voice poured out of it. "This is much better." Vance—now possessed by Alistair—flexed his long, elegant fingers, looking down at his hands with a cruel, satisfied smile. "I can feel your heart beating faster, Isaac," Alistair said, stepping closer, using Vance's towering height to loom over him. "I know how you look at this man. I know you desire this body." "Alistair, stop," Isaac gasped, backing away until his spine hit the cold stone wall. "Leave him alone! Get out of him!" "No," Alistair purred, reaching out to grip Isaac's chin with Vance's strong hand, his thumb stroking Isaac's bottom lip. "I claim this body as my semi-permanent vessel. It fits me perfectly. And to ensure he never tries to fight me for control..." Alistair's golden eyes flashed with a sickening, violent light. Inside Vance's mind, a terrible, tearing sound echoed, a silent shriek of pure agony that resonated directly into Isaac's soul. Isaac watched in absolute horror as a translucent, fractured light—Vance's very soul—was violently wrenched forward, gasping and trembling in the mental plane, only for Alistair's dark, suffocating energy to wrap around it like a vice. With a sickening, metaphysical snap, Alistair brutally crushed Vance's soul in front of Isaac, extinguishing the professor's consciousness forever.

Chapter 3: Whispers of the Dead King