Reincarnated as an Apocalyptic Catalyst-Chapter 59: The Ronan Empire Falls

The first time I noticed him, he was laughing. There was no joke being made, nor was there a crazy story being retold–this laughter had a tinge of malice to it, an ugly, sharp series of howls and taunts, the result of a type of humor that only went one way. The kind I ran into often, late at night, when a group of thugs had cornered their prey.

Now, here in broad daylight, were another sort of thugs. A first-year kid stood frozen in front of the howling man, hands clenched at his sides. His robe was soaked, his books dripping with whatever spell had been flung at him. Around them, a few other students watched in uncomfortable silence, some pretending not to see, others too scared to step in.

I had seen him before—loud, smug, always surrounded by a group of lesser nobodies eager to bask in his status. He wasn’t just some spoiled brat flexing his name for fun, he seemed to gain a sick satisfaction by lording his power over those weaker, those unable to stand up for themselves.

The first-year trembled, but the older boy just grinned. "Come on, don’t look so pathetic. It’s just a little water. What, are you too inept to cast a drying spell?"

His lackeys laughed on cue. The first-year mumbled something and turned to leave. That should have been the end of it. But this thug wasn’t done. He flicked his wrist, and a streak of fire lashed out, catching the edge of the kid’s cloak.

The flames flared, quick but controlled. They didn’t burn enough to be dangerous—just enough to scare him. Enough to remind him of his place. I knew I had to keep my cover, and that I couldn’t just go around punching students, but this was definitely testing my patience.

The first-year yelped, batting at his robe as the flames faded. His hands were shaking too much to do anything useful. He didn’t fight back. Didn’t even look at Ronan. Just picked up his dripping books and hurried away.

This was pathetic... Not the kid, he couldn’t do anything about it. It was the whole situation, how there were twice as many students as this kid’s gang, but none of them did anything. No one even contemplated doing anything, it was just the equivalent of thoughts and prayers for the first year. It would be one thing if it were just cowardly young adults, not wanting to risk their future academic opportunities with a tarnished record, but even the professors averted their eyes and gave the group a wide berth. For whatever reason, by the looks of it, this kid could push the boundaries pretty far and was likely to keep testing his limits on others.

He rolled his shoulders, smirking as he turned back to his friends. They showered him with praise, clapping him on the back like he had just won a duel. It was a performance, one he had played out dozens of times before. It worked, so why would he stop, these years would be his peak, something to look back on fondly, reminiscing when he was the top dog and ruled the school. Maybe I could tarnish these memories for him.

Rather than walk away, I watched him, only parting to fulfill my responsibilities–but once those were complete, I shadowed him again. For the next few days, I paid close attention to his routine. It hurt not being able to come to the aid of his helpless victims, but I would avenge them, and hopefully gain something in the process.

While following him, I learned his name was Ronan Vairmont, son of Magnus Vairmont. This spoiled progeny of the Vairmont line didn’t just enjoy tormenting others, he thrived on it. He picked his targets carefully—students without many connections, those from smaller families, those who wouldn’t fight back, and those who posed no risk whatsoever to his schemes. He never went too far, never did anything that would leave much of a mark, and even those who were lightly scarred could be brushed off with a convenient excuse.

He was smart about it. Just subtle enough that professors would ignore it. Just careful enough that the faculty wouldn’t want to risk angering his family.

Wherever he walked, whispered followed, just outside of his perception.

"His father’s on the Academy board. No one touches him."

"Not just that, they say his grandfather founded one of the largest trade networks for magical artifacts."

"You mean he’s from those Vairmonts? Vairmont Artifacts and Enchantments? Doesn’t the school get most of its shit from them?"

"Yeah, and at a steep discount. From the savings alone, they’ve donated more than any other family to the school."

"He’s been like this since the first term. No point fighting him."

"Don’t bother complaining. The professors will just tell you to ’be the bigger person.’"

"The bastard is untouchable, how is this fair?"

"Are you daft? Keep your voice down. Do you want to be his new plaything this year?"

And on and on it went, more of the same everywhere he went.

Ronan Vairmont was a predator, and the Academy was his hunting ground.

I continued watching, listening, gathering pieces of his life like a puzzle I’d soon have completed, something to give me a deeper insight into who he was. His patterns were easy enough to follow—he wasn’t exactly subtle. Every morning, he strolled into the cafeteria like he owned the place, his lackeys trailing just behind, laughing too hard at whatever moronic insult he threw their way. He moved through the halls with the same entitled air, pushing past students like they were inanimate obstacles, always on the look for someone to slip up, to show weakness so he could strike.

He liked power. He liked knowing that people feared him. But most of all, he liked making sure they knew nothing could be done about it.

I took note of the students he tormented. The quiet ones. The ones who flinched when he passed by, eyes downcast, hoping he wouldn’t notice them that day, but he always did, because unbeknownst to them, those were the tells he was acting hunting for. Whether it was a flick of his wrist to send their books scattering, or a muttered spell to trip them up, he made sure his presence was felt.

I learned his schedule. Morning meal in the east hall. Combat lessons on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Private tutoring in advanced elemental manipulation once a week. Dueling practice every other night. His father wanted him strong—he wanted an heir worthy of continuing the Vairmont legacy. That meant expectations. And expectations meant pressure.

I wasn’t the only one watching him, either.

Mara had noticed me. She caught me leaning against a column, arms crossed, as I watched Ronan disappear down a hallway. I didn’t have to look to know she was staring at me, her gaze sharp as ever.

"You’ve been watching him." Her voice was low, calm, and maybe even a little concerned?

I didn’t respond.

"You don’t like him," she continued. "But rather than avoiding him like everyone else, I always find you following him, like you’re trying to figure something out."

I shrugged. "So?"

Mara studied me for a long moment. "Most people look away, what’s the deal?"

I met her gaze then. She didn’t sound accusing—just curious. Suspicious, but not hostile.

"He’s interesting," I said. It wasn’t a lie.

She scoffed. "He’s a waste of air."

I smirked. "That, too."

She didn’t press, but I knew this wasn’t over. Mara was smart and she saw more than most. I would need to be more careful.

The hardest part of taking someone down wasn’t the fight. It wasn’t even the planning. It was patience.

I had all the information I needed. I knew when Ronan was alone. I knew where he let his guard down. But I couldn’t just attack him outright—not here, not in the Academy where the wrong move could unravel everything I had built.

By the end of the week, I had everything I needed. I knew where Ronan would be, when he’d be alone, and most importantly, how to get close enough to infect him.

It was time to make my third spawn. freēwēbnovel.com

Spawning wasn’t something I did often. It took effort, energy, and control. My first attempt had been myself, inhabiting my first host. I suppose it wasn’t quite like making a spawn, but rather a more complicated version of taking over a body. Back then, it was just me, fighting for survival.

When I created Garrett, it was too simple, incapacitate the enemy, and watch over my creation while it did its thing, already knowing exactly what it needed to do to attach to the prey. Then the third time with Vance, also a simple task. I had become so much more powerful at that time, and my biggest threat was Garrett, but even he crumbled before my willpower.

Finally, when I needed Caidan, it was like night and day compared to my first attempt. I shed my previous shell and slipped right in, taking control and manipulating the body with little to no effort.

Sure, the process was unpleasant when I thought about it from the perspective of my previous life, but now it had become second nature.

I sat cross-legged in my dorm, eyes closed, focusing inward. My control over mana was still rough, but this wasn’t magic. This was me. My nature. My gift. My curse. I reached deep, deeper than I had since I first woke in this world, tapping into the part of me that wasn’t human.

It started in my head. A slow, twisting pressure, like something was unraveling inside me. My skin felt tight, my breath shallow. I kept my focus, directing it—containing it. This wasn’t like taking a body. This was creating

The first tendrils stretched, unseen, curling under my flesh, testing the boundaries of their new form. The pain was dull but constant. I was accustomed to pain, but it was clear that Caidan wasn’t the best with it, not yet anyway. I couldn’t focus on that now, I had to keep working, I needed a spawn that could handle Ronan’s magical powers. He might not be a good person, but he got a lot of practice in with all of his wicked acts. I controlled every fiber, shaping the parasite, condensing it, and making it potent for its unnaturally small size.

It took time. By the end, sweat clung to my skin, my limbs heavy. But in my palm, nestled between my fingers, was a success.

A single black parasite, no larger than a grain of sand.

Tiny. Harmless-looking. But just what I needed.

I had made significant progress with these spawns. Even my last attempt left me unconscious for an indeterminate amount of time. Sure it wasn’t quite as bad as passing out on the rooftops late at night, as I waited for my prey, but I had still passed out. Now, I was just tired, so very tired, but still, not bad. I chalked it up to all of the work I had put into pumping mana into my body and reinforcing myself.

I held the parasite up to the candlelight–not too closely, I needed it in peak condition– watching it pulse faintly, alive and eager for the last command it needed to become something more. I had poured a lot more of myself into this creation—my instincts, my control, my will. I only hoped that this wouldn’t be another Garrett incident because roughing up this spawn would be harder to do, I wouldn’t be able to corner it in a dark abandoned building, I would have to do it on its terms because I doubted it would let itself be alone one it took control. There were always my abilities to consider, I could use Echoed Will at quite a long distance, and that would have to be enough.

I urged the parasite to bore back into my hand. Now, I just needed to get close to Ronan.

A noble’s son, an entitled little princeling–not literally but I’m sure he felt like a prince, if not a king– with a gang of hangers-on who never strayed far. But even a king had to be alone sometimes.

I had been watching him long enough to know when he dropped his guard. After classes, after he was done tormenting his victims, there was always a moment. A moment where he would wander off, smug and satisfied, ready to bask in the glow of his own importance. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

The Academy had a dueling hall—an area where students could practice their magic in a controlled environment. Ronan used it often, more for appearances than anything else. He didn’t need to be the best, just good enough to make sure no one questioned his strength. That meant staying late, practicing alone, away from the prying eyes of his peers.

I waited until he was wrapping up, pretending to linger in the hallway, eyes down on my notes. When he stepped out of the hall, wiping the sweat from his brow, I made my move.

"Vairmont," I called.

He turned, irritation flashing across his face at the sheer audacity of someone speaking his name like they had a right to. That irritation turned to mild confusion when he saw me. Not one of his usual victims. Not a professor. Not a noble looking to curry favor.

"Caidan, right?" His tone was casual, but I could see the calculation behind his eyes. "You need something?" I had expected him to be more aggressive, but I guess the natural way I held myself after weeks of constant threat must have indicated I wasn’t someone worth fucking with. If anything, I was more surprised he didn’t want to fling a few insults just to make himself feel better.

I nodded. "I heard you were the best duelist in our year. I wanted to see for myself."

Flattery. A language he understood. His posture shifted just slightly, shoulders squaring, a smirk playing at his lips. He was ecstatic at my words, and I could see him fill with confidence. I’m sure it helped that I had been acting like a wounded animal the last week or so. It would be an easy win for him, and I planned to give it to him.

"Finally," he said. "Someone who appreciates true talent."

I forced a smile, rolling my shoulders. "I could use the practice, and someone of your caliber could teach me a lot."

Ronan studied me, still smirking. I had seen this look before, on men who thought they had already won before the game had even begun.

"Alright, why not?" He cracked his neck, already walking back toward the dueling hall. "I’ll go easy on you."

I followed him inside, my pulse steady, I let nervousness show, "I appreciate it, you’re the man Ronan!"

This was almost too easy.

The duel started as expected. He let me throw the first spell, testing the waters. I aimed low, a simple burst of fire that he blocked without effort, and laughed. It wasn’t the same cruel laugh, but rather one that someone would let slip when they watched a cute cat video, where the kitten fell off a bed, or something equally embarrassing.

"Not bad," he mused. "For a beginner."

I let him talk. Let him believe he was in control. I let him land a hit, a stinging shot of wind magic that pushed me back. I staggered, just enough to sell it.

"Come on, Caidan," he chided. "You asked for this."

I grit my teeth, exhaling sharply. "You’re right. Let’s see if you can handle something a bit different." His brow raised at my words, but his cocky disposition never shifted.

I surged forward. Not with magic, but with movement. I reinforced my legs, and my arms—just enough to give me the edge. I closed the distance before he could react, throwing out my arm.

He nearly dodged me, which was a feat in itself. I didn’t think he would expect me to be physical in this duel of mages.

My hand barely brushed against his shoulder, the briefest contact, but it was all I needed. The tiny, near-invisible parasite that had been nestled in my palm latched on before he even noticed.

He jumped back, sneering. "Getting desperate?"

I looked at my feet sheepishly before returning to my position. "I’m not the best at magic, I thought maybe I could throw you off your groove."

He flicked his wrist, sending another blast of wind my way. I let it hit, let it knock me back as he let out a bellow of laughter. It grated on me, but his false sense of victory meant nothing as my parasite worked its way toward his brain. Mere robes, human flesh, none of it mattered. My spawn had numbed his shoulder, a feeling he likely brushed off as tingles from my light hit against him.

The parasite had already taken root.

By the time we left the dueling hall, Ronan had already forgotten about the match. He had won, as far as he was concerned. He had put me in my place. That was all that mattered to him.

The parasite was small. Almost nothing at all. But it was there, inside him now. It wouldn’t take control, not yet, but it would listen. It would observe. And when the time came, when I decided, it would act.

Ronan Vairmont had no idea he had just lost the most important fight of his life, the last fight of his life.

And the best part? He never saw it coming. As we nearly left one another’s perceivable distance, I heard him thud to the floor, writhing as he tried to overpower the will of my child. It wouldn’t be enough. IT would take a man of overwhelming willpower to resist my power.

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