Reincarnated as an Apocalyptic Catalyst-Chapter 82: Before the Storm

The Academy grounds were the most active by far this last week. I was never a terribly social person, but I had to admit it was nice to get out and at the very least experience other people’s interactions. It was a nice change of pace from the silent, bloodstained nights Ronan and I had spent tearing through the cult’s operations. Students laughed and chattered about their plans for the break, debating whose hometown had the best springtime festivals. Professors walked with a rare sense of ease, relieved to have survived yet another semester of managing students who at any moment were likely to blow up the classroom. The air felt lighter, full of hope, it was refreshing.

It had been four months since Mara arrived at the Academy. Three months since I took this body. And in that time, my life had been turned upside down, and I had joined a war against some faction of Morgana’s forces, taking several lives along the way. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely regretted nothing, they were planning some seriously fucked up shit. Sure, it was a bit hypocritical coming from someone who was supposed to bring about the end, but I had managed to delay my fate for quite some time now, and Morgana had been utterly silent for quite a while. It had been weeks upon weeks since the last time she reached out to me. Part of me wondered if I was being replaced, though why would I mind? This would be a great opportunity to live a normal life–after the mass murder of deadly cultists that was.

Ronan and I had spent nearly every spare moment outside of classes hunting them down. Sabotaging their supply lines, intercepting shipments, and raiding their hideouts. It wasn’t just about retaliation anymore. We were disrupting something huge—something that, despite all our victories, I still didn’t fully understand.

There were a few times that Ronan and I wouldn’t be enough, and in those times I managed to convince Vance to join in. Even Garrett offered some support, though not directly, he was something of a coward, but even so, his mercenary venture was really paying off for both of us. He made a killing by... Killing. And I was able to hire a handful of highly skilled warriors to take down especially entrenched hideouts.

Vance hadn’t been thrilled at first, but after seeing firsthand what we were up against, he hadn’t hesitated to throw himself into the fight. He was reckless—almost as bad as me—but he was useful, and his raw talent made up for his lack of experience. He was still trying to figure out his connection to Mara, but I didn’t have time to dwell on that when every day brought a new fight. I think part of why he was willing to help, was to protect her.

Most of our missions were successes. We wiped out small cultist groups before they could regroup, stole artifacts from under their noses, and forced them to relocate time and time again. But not every mission was such a resounding success. I still had scars from one particularly bad failure—a botched ambush where we had entirely underestimated them.

I guess had gotten a little cocky after all the wins, that I was bound to take a loss. Though likely no fault of my own, a blade managed to find its way into my side, around the lower ribs. I barely escaped before the whole place was overrun. We didn’t spend enough time scoping out the place and had missed some vital intel. Those things combined into the untimely arrival of about a dozen more of those bastards, and Ronan dragging me off as he cauterized my wound with magic. It wasn’t a great outcome, and Vance had been furious with me, with himself, basically the entire situation. That was fairly early on, maybe the fourth or fifth mission we undertook.

The cult was taking substantial hits, and I didn’t doubt we had thrown wrench after wrench in their plans. Still, after everything we did, they were somehow accelerating their plans. They probably didn’t have everything they needed, they were probably doing this more out of desperation, but still, they pressed onward. I was fine with this, it just made the more recent missions a lot easier, as our targets were disorganized and frantic.

I knew I was getting stronger by leaps and bounds, just the level increases alone had their impact on my stats. Then there were the variations of my skills, something I didn’t even know I could do, but apparently shadow magic was extremely versatile. I think the biggest boost came from my technique and understanding of the basic principles of fighting.

The old man had made sure I never forgot that last part. He had beaten every ounce of weakness out of me over the last few months. My training with him had gone from painful to borderline war-crime status. Every session left me battered, exhausted, barely able to stand. He pushed me past my limits, forcing me to use my magic in ways I had never even considered. Shadow Dance was no longer just a teleportation trick—it was a fluid extension of my every movement. I could shift between darkness like water, weave between strikes, disrupt spells before they were cast. Hell, at this point I was able to displace objects or other people without having to enter the void with them. He even forced me to integrate shadow magic into my daggers, further enhancing Void Veil to not only cut beyond armor, but to cut into the void itself.

Of course Ronan progressed as well, he wasn’t just following me to keep me company. His abilities were invaluable and were the difference between life and death a dozen times, at least. In between all the fire and destruction, he had started changing.

He still had that absurd, robotic nature, but there were cracks in the mask. He had begun making small observations—statements that almost passed as opinions. His humor was strange, dry, sarcastic in a way that suggested he was still figuring it out. And his magic–good lord–his magic had grown even more terrifying.

He didn’t just throw fire, trigger explosions or any of that. He actively shaped it, bent it, wove it into entirely new forms with entirely new effects. I had watched him reduce a group of cultists to ash without so much as raising his voice. He had learned spellcraft that took mages decades to master, and he did it without hesitation. It really made me think about what the old man said, and start to question him. It seemed that Ronan was living proof that Sorcerers were not just children tossing around uncontrollable fire, they could refine their art and soar past even the most diligant wizards. Well, that or it was entirely me, all thanks to my masterful creation.

The cult was still a threat, and while we had made progress, Veldrin had made his own progress. We had delivered three additional artifacts to him over the past few months. Each one was connected to the same ancient force as the first. Each one held a sliver of power that the cult was desperately trying to reclaim, something older than the gods themselves.

Which is why he had requested that I meet with him before the semester ended. He claimed he had a mission for me over the break, something that could really turn the tide in our favor, he just had a few more kinks to work out. I couldn’t say I entirely trusted the guy, this was sounding more and more like the classic double agent trope, but who else did we have to turn to? He was supposed to be the expert, and if we needed to take him out because the fucker betrayed us, I would make it slow and painful.

I sighed, dragging a hand down my face as I wandered through the Academy courtyard. It was like nothing had happened for them, they already forgot about the multiple summonings, the threat that was looming over their heads. In their defense, we had done much to prevent it from ever happening within the Academy any time soon, but still.

Their energy felt foreign to me now. I had spent so long consumed by the constant conflict, that I had forgotten what it felt like to live a normal life. A life where the biggest concern was exams and winter trips home. Finally, with a short moment to breath, to take a little bit of time off, I envied everyone around me.

All of my thoughts went out the window when I saw her. Mara stood near the entrance to the library, half-listening to a conversation between a few other students, and half-lost in thought. She looked the same as always, well, not quite. Something was off.

Specifically her eyes, they weren’t cold, weren’t filled with hatred or frustration like they had been the last time we spoke. At first I thought of it as a positive thing, but it still felt wrong. They were distant and unfocused, like she was looking past those around her. The more I watched, the worse it appeared. She was giving some serious early Ronan vibes as she went through the motions of a student, but that’s all it was, just habitual motions.

I frowned as my stomach twisted. Did the whole Lucian thing really fuck her up that bad? Sure, it fucked me up that bad, but with the cult situation, I was able to keep myself distracted. I thought for sure she would be nearly as distracted with final exams and everything winding down.

I’m an idiot... Classes are over now, she’s going to have to go back out into the world. She’s going to be reminded every day about what Lucian took from her, what I took from her. I could go on, I could live with myself because she was here, nearby at any time I needed to reassure myself. But for her, there was no one, she would be stuck with her own thoughts until classes resumed.

I should just come clean... Even if she hated me, she deserved some clarity, some closure.

The urge to approach her was overwhelming, I even began to take steps toward her, trying to steel myself for the confrontation. Just as I gathered enough courage, she turned and walked away. Not so much as a glance towards me, she just left.

I forced myself to move on, weaving through the crowds of students as they laughed and chattered about their break. These people had no idea what was lurking just beneath the surface of their world, how close they had come to disaster time and time again. I wasn’t about to fool myself, I knew that despite nefarious activity within the Academy, the cult was still here–still watching, still waiting.

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