Deadly Nightshade MXMXM

XXI

After the encounter with Damian, a twisted satisfaction curled through Azrael's veins. Seeing Damian destroyed, seeing him weak and defeated, brought a dark pleasure that Azrael couldn't ignore. It was a new, unsettling feeling, but one that he embraced. The brutality of the academy had started to shape his thoughts, making him more callous, more ruthless.

Yet, as much as he relished Damian's pain, the way the twins had intervened gnawed at him. Their act of saving him only underscored his status as an omega, a weakness that required protection. This rescue didn't earn him respect; it reinforced the perception that he was just another frail omega who couldn't stand on his own. The conflicting emotions twisted inside him: resentment at being saved, but also a strange, begrudging appreciation that the twins cared enough to step in.

Azrael felt a numbness begin to settle over him in the days that followed. He distanced himself emotionally, focusing on his training and his studies with a single-minded intensity. His encounters with the twins were tinged with a complexity he couldn't unravel. They were his mates he knew that deep downbut their way of showing care was through dominance and control. It was a paradox that left him torn.

One evening, after a particularly grueling training session, Azrael returned to his dorm. As he approached his door, he noticed a small, wrapped package sitting on the floor. A chill ran down his spine. He glanced around, but the hallway was empty. Suspicious and wary, he crouched down to inspect the package. It was neatly wrapped in dark paper, with a note attached to the top.

His hands trembled slightly as he picked it up. The note was simple, written in an elegant, almost delicate script "Come find me."

Heart pounding, Azrael carefully unwrapped the package. The contents made his blood run cold. Inside was a pair of severed hands, their lifeless fingers still and blood-stained. He recoiled in horror, dropping the box to the floor. The hands landed with a sickening thud, their grisly appearance stark against the clean, white tile.

A wave of nausea washed over him, but he forced himself to look closer. There was no mistaking the message this was a warning, a twisted invitation. Whoever had sent this present was playing a deadly game.

Azrael's mind raced. Who could have done this? Was it Damian, seeking some twisted revenge? Or was it someone else, someone more dangerous, pulling the strings from the shadows? The academy was full of threats, and this was a stark reminder that he was not safe, not even in his own room.

As he stared at the gruesome gift, a dark resolve began to form within him.

He would not be a pawn in someone else's game.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart. The academy had already begun to change him, harden him. This was just another test, another challenge to overcome. He would not be weak. He would fight, and he would survive.

Opening his eyes, Azrael picked up the note again, reading the words once more. "Come find me."

A trail of blood snaked along the floor, leading away from his door. His breath caught in his throat as he realized the blood was fresh, the crimson streaks still glistening under the dim lights. He glanced around, hoping to see someone, anyone who might offer an explanation. But the other students moved about their business, completely indifferent to the macabre scene unfolding before them.

Azrael's stomach churned. The academy's casual acceptance of violence was something he'd never get used to. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to follow the trail. Each step felt heavier, as if he were wading through a nightmare.

The blood trail led him down a series of corridors, each more silent and eerie than the last. The blood smeared along the walls, pooling in spots where the victim had clearly paused, perhaps trying to crawl to safety. But there was no safety here, only the ever-present danger lurking in every shadow.

The trail led him outside, to the academy's common area. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the courtyard. Azrael's eyes followed the blood to its end, and his breath caught in his throat.

There.

In the center of a large pool of blood, lay the body of Delores.

Her form was sprawled out, lifeless and grotesquely still. Blood soaked through her clothes and pooled around her in a horrific display. Her eyes, wide open, reflected a final, agonized expression.

Azrael's heart pounded in his chest. The sight was a brutal shock, a violent end to someone who had once seemed like a motherly figure .

The academy's cruelty had claimed another victim, and Delores had been its latest prey.

The image of her body, discarded and cold, twisted something inside him. It was a stark reminder of how merciless this place truly was.

He staggered back, struggling to process the scene. The realization hit him with full force
Delores shouldn't have been here. She had no reason to visit him in this twisted hellhole of an academy.
Her presence was a violation, a cruel joke played by those who had orchestrated her death.
It was a chilling message that went beyond simple violence  it was a testament to the academy's capacity for cruelty.

The blood trail leading to Delores's body only deepened the sense of betrayal and anguish. Azrael wondered how they had even found her. The fact that someone had managed to track her down, drag her here, and kill her in such a brutal fashion was a testament to the academy's sinister underbelly.

As he stood over Delores's body, a dark resolve began to crystallize within him. The academy had taken something precious from him.

The note in his hand felt heavier now, a grim reminder of the twisted game he was a part of.