I Copy the Authorities of the Four Calamities-Chapter 206: The Price of the Void

The question hung in the quiet air of Villa 1. It felt heavier than the suffocating pressure of Nyx’s Justiciar aura.

"Do you want my Authority?"

Vane stared up at the girl straddling his chest. His mind systematically broke down the situation. He was intimately aware of how the Usurper worked. It was the tool that had kept him alive in the mud of Oakhaven long before Zenith Academy was even a thought in his mind.

He did not steal. He copied. He replicated the abilities of others, leaving the original perfectly intact. To copy a simple skill, the Usurper required a bridge to bypass the natural defenses of a mage’s soul. That bridge could be profound emotional intimacy, or it could be purely physical. In the slums of Oakhaven, Vane had only ever used sex. He had spent countless nights in dingy taverns, buying cheap ale for passing mercenary mages, using physical intimacy as a pure transaction to copy the combat skills he needed to survive the brutal gang wars of his home.

But an Authority was different. An Authority was the absolute concept of a person’s soul. To copy an Authority, Vane needed both. He needed the physical act, and he needed a genuine emotional anchor to sustain the weight of the concept.

Nyx knew this. She had read the surface ripples of his thoughts in the residual mana of her Dreamscape.

Nyx leaned closer. The curtain of her lavender hair fell around them, the tips darkening into midnight blue as they brushed against his collar. Her perfectly symmetrical porcelain face hovered inches from his.

She turned her head slightly and gently caught the shell of his ear between her teeth. She gave it a deliberate, sharp little nibble.

Vane took a slow breath. His heart rate did not wildly accelerate. He did not flush deep red, nor did he stammer. He was not a sheltered noble heir who had never felt the touch of a woman. He was a survivor who was entirely experienced in the transactional nature of intimacy.

He was just profoundly shocked that the apex of the Second Year class, an untouchable low Justiciar who viewed reality as a boring suggestion, was currently treating him like an interactive puzzle.

"What exactly is your angle, Nyx?" Vane asked. His voice was a low, steady rumble that vibrated against her knees.

Nyx pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes. Her swirling violet vortices widened slightly in genuine surprise. Then, her lips curved into a deeply satisfied smile.

"You are not trembling," Nyx observed. Her syrupy voice dripped with quiet approval. She shifted her weight, making herself comfortable across his hips. "A boy your age, pinned to the floor by a Justiciar who just offered him the keys to the kingdom, should be a blushing, stammering mess. But you are just lying there. You are running a risk assessment algorithm in your head. Your pulse is completely steady. You really are a professional."

"Panic is a tactical liability," Vane replied smoothly. The ambient cold of her rank was still making his skin prickle, but he kept his expression perfectly neutral. "And you do not do anything without a reason. You are bored. But you are not careless."

"I am incredibly careless," Nyx corrected him. She trailed a pale finger down the line of his jaw. "But you are right about the boredom. The elites in this terrarium are so terribly predictable. But you copy the uncopyable. You are a mirror that reflects the gods."

She rested her small hands on his chest, her thumbs lightly brushing the fabric over his collarbones.

"It makes me wonder why you are holding back," Nyx mused. Her tone turned analytical, though the wicked smile remained. "I saw the residual echoes of Valerica Sol and Isole Sylvaris in your core. They are practically suffocating under the weight of their own affection for you. It was radiating off them during the second practical evaluation. It is so thick it is almost nauseating."

Vane frowned. His stoic mask tightened. He knew she was right, but acknowledging it out loud felt like stepping onto a landmine. "My squad’s dynamic is highly functional. I will not compromise their focus or their political standing."

"Oh, please," Nyx said, rolling her eyes. It was a remarkably childish gesture that contrasted sharply with the terrifying aura she projected. "Politics are for weaklings who need armies to do their killing. You want to survive the absolute chaos that is coming to this continent? You want to protect that little brown haired girl sleeping in your bed? You should sleep with the Imperial heir and the High Elf."

Vane stared at her. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Nyx said. She was completely unbothered by the sheer absurdity of her advice. "If you need both physical intimacy and an emotional tether to copy an Authority, then you are currently sitting on a goldmine of absolute power. You are refusing to mine it because you are worried about making breakfast awkward. It is a massive waste of your potential, Vane."

"They are my squad," Vane said, his voice hardening slightly. "I do not use them."

"You copy them," Nyx corrected him, tapping his chest for emphasis. "You do not take anything away from them. You just mirror their strength so you can stand in front of them when the monsters come. And believe me, little rat, the monsters are coming."

The playful amusement in Nyx’s eyes suddenly vanished. It was replaced by a heavy, ancient lethargy. The temperature in the room plummeted again, the shadows lengthening across the wooden walls.

"The Transcendent witch you saw in the crypt is just a symptom," Nyx whispered. Her gaze dropped to his lips before rising back to his silver eyes. "Headmistress Evangeline knows it too. The borders of our reality are thinning. You think Mourn Hold was bad? You think a Grave Warden is a nightmare? They are just stray dogs compared to the Dark Worlds."

Vane felt a chill that had absolutely nothing to do with her Justiciar mana. "The Dark Worlds?"

"Hush," Nyx murmured, pressing a soft finger to his lips. "Do not ask questions you do not have the mana capacity to hear the answers to. Just knowing the name is enough to crack a weak core. You are too fragile right now, Vane. If you step into the Dark Worlds as you are, you will be nothing more than fertilizer."

She removed her finger and slowly lowered her body, melting against him. Her loose academy uniform shifted, pressing the soft curves of her small frame directly against his chest and recovering ribs. The heavy scent of shadows and raw mana flooded Vane’s senses.

"You need to be stronger," Nyx whispered. Her breath ghosted across his lips. "You need to widen your mana channels. And since I am so terribly bored, I will help you start."

She did not give him a chance to respond.

Nyx closed the final inch between them, pressing her lips firmly against his.

Vane’s eyes widened slightly, but the tactical machine in his head instantly recognized the shift in the mana. Her lips were soft, but the kiss itself carried the crushing, suffocating weight of a Low Justiciar actively opening the gates of her soul.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, cuddling deep into his body. The cold of her rank vanished entirely. It was replaced by a sudden, intense physical heat. She kissed him deeper, demanding a response. Her lavender hair acted as a veil that sealed them together in the quiet dark of the living room.

Vane felt the familiar phantom itch flare violently behind his ears. The cold wet hook of his Usurper dragged across his brain. But this time, there was no resistance at all. Nyx was guiding the hook herself.

A shockwave of violet light, invisible to the physical eye but blinding to the soul, rippled through Vane’s core. A fraction of her power, a foundational piece of the Dreamscape, began to flood into his silver mana channels.

Nyx finally broke the kiss, pulling back just a fraction of an inch. Her eyes were half closed, swirling with vibrant, chaotic joy.

"Copy it, little rat," Nyx breathed against his mouth, a victorious smile curving her lips. "Take a piece of my power, and let us see what you can build with it."