Executioner yanked his leg out of the hole with a loud grunt, twisting his ankle in the process. The pain shot up through his leg like a burning knife. He hissed through his teeth, biting down on his lip to stop himself from yelling. His foot throbbed, the muscles twitching, but he didn't stop. No time. Limping fast, half-hopping, half-dragging his body, he forced himself forward.
The window. That was the only way.
He threw his weight against it, pushed it open with one rough shove, and scrambled through, landing hard on the wooden floor. His ankle screamed again, but he didn't. He just clenched his fists, his jaw tight, and lay there, breathing like he'd run miles.
Down below, in the darkness, voices echoed through the quiet.
"Bryce, the target's ready. Two watchers are in place. Stay alert," came a voice from somewhere in the shadows.
Bryce nodded without saying a word. His jaw was tight, his eyes sharp. He didn't hesitate. He took off, leaping into the trees, moving fast. Not a single branch cracked under him. He was a ghost in the wind—silent, deadly.
Back in the garden, Jaxon stood completely still. His eyes were stuck on the blood. So much blood. The corpses didn't look human anymore. Twisted, torn, limbs bent the wrong way. There were so many… and all of them were his people.
He rubbed his eyes, thinking maybe he was seeing things. Maybe he was tired. Maybe it was all a nightmare.
But the bodies didn't disappear.
They just lay there—cold, stiff, soulless.
"What in the...?" he whispered.
His voice cracked with disbelief.
Then it changed.
His whole face darkened. His jaw clenched, his fists curled. That calm Jaxon everyone knew—he was gone.
"Assassins!" he barked, loud, voice booming across the temple. "Clean this mess up now! I want names! I want answers before the damn sun rises!"
High above, hidden behind the thick glass of his room's window, Executioner watched it all with a crooked little smile. His face was half-lit by the moonlight, and there was a strange look in his eyes. Like pride. Like he was proud of what he'd done.
His eyes locked onto Jaxon's face. For a split second, Jaxon looked up, straight at him.
Executioner didn't move. Didn't blink. His heart jumped once, hard, like it forgot how to beat.
Then Jaxon turned away.
Executioner let out a soft breath and pulled back from the window. His body was tired now. His ankle pulsed with pain again. He limped back to the bed and dropped onto it, face first.
He let his eyes close.
Sleep came fast. Too fast.
And with it came the storm.
The dream hit him like a punch to the head. It dragged him under, deep, where he couldn't breathe.
He saw himself.
Not as he was now—but older. Taller. His skin covered in black shadows. His eyes weren't normal. They were glowing. Burning. Blood-red. Like fire lived behind them.
His mouth was twisted into a cruel smile. His teeth looked like fangs. Sharp. Meant for tearing.
People ran from him, screaming.
They shouted, "Raven is back!" and "It's the devil's apprentice!"
Dark marks spread across his body like vines, but they weren't tattoos. They were alive. They moved on their own, pulsing like they had hearts. They wrapped around him, controlling his arms, guiding his sword. He wasn't even the one killing.
His hands moved like a puppet's—slashing, stabbing, cutting.
Blood flew. Screams rang out.
Executioner didn't feel human anymore.
He woke up with a jolt, gasping for air. Sweat dripped down his face, soaking into the blanket.
He sat up slowly, chest rising and falling.
"...What the hell was that?" he whispered.
He wiped the sweat off with the back of his hand. But his hand was shaking.
Then—he smiled.
Not a normal smile.
A slow, twisted one.
"Raaaaven..." he said, dragging the name out. Like he wasn't just saying it—but summoning something.
Then came the whispers.
Soft. Hissing.
Not from outside.
From inside his head.
"He's gotta pay... make him bleed."
"Please... no more..."
Then a laugh. Cold. Hollow.
"No mercy. Wipe them out."
Executioner stood up. His body didn't hurt anymore. The ankle—gone. Like it never happened. He took a step. Nothing. No pain. No limp.
He walked to his bag, pulled out his sword. The blade shimmered in the low light. Like it was happy. Like it knew it was about to drink blood again.
He kicked open the door.
The sound echoed down the hall like thunder.
"RAAAVEN!" he shouted, loud enough to shake the whole building.
Assassins and masters came running.
They stopped when they saw him.
Executioner didn't look like a boy anymore. He looked like something else.
He was taller. His eyes were glowing. His sword rested easy on his shoulder. His smile was cold.
One master whispered, "That's... not him..."
Jaxon stepped forward, holding his hand out. "Executioner... stop. The soul inside you—it's not yours. It's taking over. We can help you."
Executioner just laughed.
Not normal laughter.
Mad. Loud.
"Help me?" he said. "You all should be begging for your lives."
Then he moved.
Fast.
Too fast.
His sword flashed. One assassin's head flew off. Another got ripped open from chest to gut. Blood spilled. Screams followed.
Executioner didn't stop. He spun. He stabbed. He danced with his blade, slicing everything in sight.
Bodies hit the ground. Heads rolled. The hall turned into a bloodbath.
His laughter echoed.
He only stopped when no one was left standing.
Executioner stood in the middle of the massacre. Blood covered his face. His chest rose and fell slow, steady. He licked blood off his lips and grinned.
"Mmm. Tastes like victory."
He swiped his sword to the side. Blood sprayed across the masters who hadn't dared to move.
They stepped back, faces pale.
"You're going to regret that," one growled.
Executioner grinned wider. His teeth were red.
"Good," he said. "I want to regret it."
He turned and ran. Leapt from wall to tree, vanishing into the dark.
His laughter stayed behind.
The academy was ruined.
Blood on the walls. Corpses on the ground.
A graveyard.
Bryce returned with two watchers. They stepped through the gates and froze.
Dead silence.
The place was destroyed. Blood dripped from the ceiling.
They moved slow. Careful.
Jaxon stood near six masters, one dead at their feet.
Bryce's voice cracked.
"What... what happened?"
Jaxon stepped forward. His voice shook—but not from fear. From rage.
"What happened? YOU happened!" he yelled. "You brought that demon into our lives!"
Bryce's heart sank. His lips moved, but no words came out.
Jaxon pointed, shouting, "Executioner! He did this! He's not a child! He's a curse!"
"...Executioner," Bryce whispered.
Then a sound.
The wind picked up. The trees groaned. A faint noise came from above.
A whisper.
Like something was watching.
They all froze.
Bryce's face turned pale.
"...What... was that?"