Deadly Nightshade MXMXM

VIII

The next morning, the harsh reality of the academy hit me like a sledgehammer. Expecting to start the day with grueling physical training, I was stunned to find a pair of uniforms neatly folded on my desk along with a roster detailing ordinary classes: mathematics, history, literature, and science.

I dressed quickly, the stiff fabric of the uniform feeling strange against my skin. The corridors were silent as I made my way to my first class, the eerie stillness only amplifying my sense of unease. As I entered the classroom, I was met with a chilling sight—my classmates. Their eyes, sharp and cold, followed my every move, sizing me up like a predator would its prey.

I took a seat at the back, trying to blend into the shadows. The instructor, a tall, stern-looking woman with a voice that could cut glass, began the lesson. "Today, we will be exploring the philosophical underpinnings of power and control," she announced, her gaze sweeping over the room.

As the class progressed, it became clear that these students were not ordinary. Their answers were laced with malice, their discussions veering into dark territories. They spoke of manipulation and dominance with a chilling casualness that made my skin crawl. I realized then that this was no ordinary school—it was a breeding ground for psychopaths.

During a break, one of the students, a lanky boy with a twisted grin, approached me. "So, you're the omega everyone's been talking about," he sneered, his eyes gleaming with sadistic curiosity. "How long do you think you'll last?"

I met his gaze, refusing to show any fear. "Longer than you expect," I replied, my voice steady.

He laughed, a cold, hollow sound. "We'll see about that."

The rest of the day passed in a blur of unnerving lessons and tense interactions. Each class revealed another layer of the academy's dark purpose. In literature, we dissected the minds of infamous tyrants. In science, we studied the biological aspects of fear and pain. Every subject was twisted, turned into a tool for creating monsters.

By the end of the day, my head was spinning. I returned to my dormitory, the small room feeling even more oppressive than before. As I lay on the bed, I couldn't shake the feeling of eyes watching me, even here. The darkness outside seemed to seep into the room, wrapping around me like a suffocating blanket.

One afternoon, during a break, I was startled by a soft knock on my door. I opened it to find Delores standing there, her face etched with concern. "Azreal, I heard what they're doing to you here," she said softly. "I had to see for myself."

I felt a surge of anxiety. "Delores, you shouldn't be here," I said urgently. "This place is filled with monsters. It's not safe."

Her eyes were full of worry. "I know, but I couldn't stay away. I had to make sure you were okay."

I glanced nervously down the corridor, knowing that being seen with her could make me a target. "Please, just go. You'll be safer outside."

Delores hesitated but finally nodded. "Alright, Azreal. But remember what I told you. Don't lose yourself."

As she left, I felt a pang of guilt, but the safety of my position was paramount. I returned to my room, only to find myself preoccupied with an unsettling observation. During classes, I had noticed that my classroom always had two empty seats. They were positioned at the front, an eerie void in the otherwise tense atmosphere.

The empty seats seemed to symbolize something sinister. They were always there, never filled, and the students avoided looking at them as though acknowledging them brought bad luck. Curiosity gnawed at me, but fear kept me from investigating too closely. I wondered if these seats held a darker purpose or if they were simply a reminder of the academy's cruel and arbitrary nature.

One evening, as I was preparing for bed, a conversation among a group of students caught my attention. Their voices were hushed, but the words were clear. "The twins have finally returned," one of them said with a mix of fear and reverence.

"The seats have been waiting for them," another whispered. "Their father will be pleased."

Confusion gripped me. I had heard nothing about any twins or their father, let alone the significance of these empty seats. I had assumed they were merely a morbid tradition or an artifact of the academy's cruelty. The twins' sudden appearance only added to the growing dread that had become a constant companion.

The following day, my confusion turned into stark realization. As I entered the classroom, the empty seats were no longer vacant. Two new students occupied them—identical twins with an imposing presence. They moved with a predatory grace, their every action commanding instant respect from the rest of the class.

The first twin had a dark, piercing gaze, while the second's eyes seemed to burn with a fierce intensity. They were the very embodiment of power and dominance, their aura of authority casting a long shadow over the room.