His Dark Reign

7. Who's next?

By now, the school pulsed with unease.

No one said Adam’s name out loud, not in the old way. It wasn’t “Rat-boy” anymore. It wasn’t muttered jokes in the hall. It was careful whispers. “Did you see Adam in class?” “Adam shut Sanchez down again.” “Adam’s… different.”

Even teachers looked at him differently. His once-invisible hand now shot into the air with answers, sharp and articulate. He asked questions that made even Mr. Hargrove, the history teacher, pause in thought. A boy who had been the definition of background noise was now unavoidable.

But Adam didn’t care about their stares. Not anymore. He cared about the plan.

Malick had taught him to think of revenge like a staircase. Derek had been the first step, a foundation. Now Adam needed another stone, a bigger one, to keep building upward until Sanchez himself was dragged down.

“Choose carefully,” Malick whispered in his head during algebra. “You must not only punish them—you must make the others watch.”

Adam tapped his pencil against his desk, eyes drifting over his classmates.

There was Tanya—one of Sanchez’s sycophants, a girl who had spread half the rumors about him being a snitch. She’d weaponized her voice against him. Too messy, too soon.

There was Marcus—the one who had tripped him in gym class, the one who called him “worm.” Strong, but stupid. A perfect target for humiliation.

And then there was Ethan Calder. Ethan wasn’t Sanchez’s muscle, but he was dangerous in his own way. He ran the highlight reel—the I*******m account that amplified Sanchez’s pranks and kept Adam’s worst moments alive forever. He was the reason Adam’s potato-slipping video had been seen by nearly the whole school. Ethan had reach. Influence. Breaking him would break the narrative.

Adam smiled to himself. Ethan would be next.

---

That afternoon, Adam sat in the cafeteria with a table of students who, weeks ago, would never have let him near. He laughed at the right times, told a story with just enough flair, and let the others fill in the silence with their own awe.

Across the room, Sanchez watched like a lion trapped outside its cage. His girlfriend leaned in, whispering something in his ear. He didn’t answer. His eyes never left Adam.

It was a silent duel, each glance another strike. And though Sanchez still held his throne, Adam could see the cracks forming.

---

That night, Adam stood in his bedroom, staring at his reflection. The shadows behind him writhed faintly, moving when nothing else did. His face—sharper, more magnetic every day—looked like it belonged to someone else now. Someone he wanted to become. Someone he was afraid of becoming.

Malick’s presence swelled around him, a serpent coiling tighter.

“You taste power now,” the spirit whispered. “You see how easy it is to bend them. Ethan is ripe. Break him, and the rest will crumble faster.”

Adam touched the mirror, his reflection’s crimson-flecked eyes staring back. His smile was calm, deliberate.

“Then Ethan Calder,” he said softly. “Tomorrow, the game is his. And I’m going to end it.”