My Classmate Is A Monster

Chapter 7: Dormitory Siege

The lock of the dorm door clicked, a sound that felt entirely too loud in the dead of the night. Devan pushed the heavy oak panel open, his hand hovering near his chest where the mark pulsed with a faint, warning heat. He didn't expect the room to be empty, but he didn't expect it to look like it had been hit by a localized hurricane.

Bookshelves had been upended, the contents shredded. The mattress was sliced open, stuffing strewn across the dark floor like falling snow. Every drawer of the vanity was pulled out and emptied.

"They didn't even bother to close the drawers," Devan muttered, his voice tight. "So subtle."

He stepped over a pile of ruined parchment. His eyes darted to the hidden compartment beneath the floorboard where he had stashed the data-tab he’d pinched from the lab. The floorboard was shattered, a jagged hole staring back at him like an accusation.

"Gone," he hissed, clenching his fists. "They got it. They already got it."

"Looking for something, Fairfield?"

Devan spun around. Kalista Worthington stood in the doorway, framed by the dim amber glow of the hallway lanterns. She wasn't alone; two of her sycophants a hulking youth named Thorne and a sharp-featured girl clutching a mana-stave flanked her. Kalista’s expression was one of bored, aristocratic amusement, her eyes tracking the wreckage of his room with clinical distaste.

"Worthington," Devan said, his voice dropping an octave as he kept his weight on the balls of his feet. "You’re late. The janitors already finished the demo."

Kalista glided into the room, her designer boots clicking on the stone. "Don't be glib. It doesn't suit your station. We’re conducting a mandatory inspection. It seems some sensitive materials have gone missing from the lower levels. Care to explain why your quarters look like a dumpster fire?"

"I’m a messy roommate. You should know that, given you spend your free time rummaging through my belongings," Devan retorted, his pulse thrumming in time with the mark on his chest.

Thorne stepped forward, his knuckles cracking. "Watch your mouth, stray. You’re talking to a legacy."

"And you’re talking to someone who doesn't care about your family tree, big guy," Devan said, eyes flicking from Thorne to the stave-wielder. "Did you find it? The tab?"

Kalista laughed, a cold, tinkling sound. "Oh, we found something, but it wasn't the information we were looking for. It was a digital lock, heavily encrypted. A rather pathetic attempt at security, really. Now, be a good little test subject and hand over the override code. We’d hate to have to extract it from your brain the messy way."

"The 'messy way' sounds like a lot of paperwork for you," Devan said, glancing toward the door. He needed space. "Why don't you ask the High Proctor for a key? Or is this a side project of yours?"

"This is an intervention," Kalista corrected, stepping closer until she was within striking distance. Her scent sharp jasmine and expensive ozone filled his nostrils. "You’ve been playing with forces you don't understand, Devan. You’re holding onto a secret that belongs to the foundation of Aethelgard. Hand it over, and we might leave your bones intact."

"And if I say no?"

"Then we’ll see if your 'link' is strong enough to hold your ego together while we pry it open," she whispered.

"Thorne, restrain him," Kalista commanded, not breaking eye contact with Devan.

Thorne lunged, his hand glowing with a heavy, gravitational hex. Devan didn't wait. He didn't try to parry; he used the momentum of his own body to dive into the debris-filled center of the room. He grabbed the heavy, iron-wrought leg of his ruined bedframe and heaved it upward, slamming it into the wall-mounted lamp.

Sparks showered down, plunging the room into chaotic, strobing shadows.

"Darkness won't save you," the girl with the stave hissed, chanting a light-burst spell.

"I’m not trying to hide," Devan called out, his voice echoing as he sprinted toward the narrow bathroom door.

He didn't head for the main exit. He shoved a heavy wardrobe across the floor, blocking the path for Thorne, and ducked into the cramped, tiled space of the washroom.

"He’s trapped!" Thorne roared, crashing into the wardrobe.

"Get him!" Kalista shouted, her composure finally fracturing into genuine irritation.

Devan gripped the pipes of the sink. He could feel the cold, sharp presence of the building’s plumbing, linked to the deeper conduits he had tapped earlier. Come on, let’s see if we can make this personal, he thought, channeling his energy into the iron.

The pipes began to hum, glowing with a violet, liquid heat.

The bathroom door burst open as the girl fired a bolt of light, shattering the mirror behind Devan. He whirled around, his hands glowing with that same violent, unstable energy.

"Back off!" he yelled, unleashing a shockwave of kinetic pressure.

The force caught them mid-stride. Thorne was thrown backward into the main room, tumbling over the broken furniture. The girl’s stave went flying, clattering into the corner, and she scrambled back, wide-eyed.

Kalista remained standing, her palms glowing with a protective shimmer. She looked at Devan with a mix of surprise and grudging admiration. "You’ve been practicing. I suppose that parasite you’re bonded to has been teaching you some tricks."

"She’s not a parasite," Devan spat, his breath coming in ragged hitches. "She’s the only reason I’m still standing here to tell you to get out of my room."

"Hardly. You’re just a conduit for someone else’s power," Kalista sneered. She flicked her wrist, and a lash of solidified shadow whipped toward him.

Devan ducked, the lash biting deep into the stone wall behind him. He pushed off the wet tiles, lunging forward to close the distance. He didn't have her precision, but he had the raw, reckless drive of someone who had nothing left to lose.

He punched a conduit, and a surge of electricity flared, arcs of white-violet lightning dancing across his knuckles.

"You want the code?" Devan stepped into her guard, his face inches from hers. "Here’s a taste."

He pressed his hand against the air between them, releasing the built-up static. The discharge sent Kalista skidding back, her hair flying in the sudden gust of displaced mana. She hissed in pain, grabbing her wrist where the arcs had burned her skin.

"You animal," she growled, her eyes flickering with a dangerous, predatory gold.

"I’m a student, remember?" Devan straightened, the sigil on his chest burning so brightly it shone through his shirt. "Now, get out of my room, or next time, I won't aim for the air around you."

Thorne groaned, trying to stand, but Devan glared at him, his eyes glowing with that terrifying, alien light. The hulking boy hesitated, glancing at Kalista.

"This isn't over, Fairfield," Kalista said, her voice shaking with rage. "You’ve made a mistake. You think you can act like a wolf among hounds? We’ll see how long you survive the night."

"I’ve survived longer than that already," Devan replied.

Kalista turned on her heel, her robes swirling, and stormed out of the room. Thorne and the girl scrambled to follow, the heavy thud of their retreating footsteps fading into the distance of the dormitory wing.

Devan let out a long, shuddering breath, his hands dropping to his sides. The hum of the energy began to fade, leaving him feeling hollowed out and shivering. He leaned his forehead against the cracked tile of the wall, closing his eyes.

"That was stupid," he whispered to the silence. "So stupid."

He turned back to the ruined room, the smell of ozone and burnt stone hanging thick in the air. He was alone, but the silence felt heavy, as if the walls were listening. He walked toward the window, intending to check the hallway, but a sound stopped him cold.

It wasn't a footstep. It was a scratching sound like claws against stone coming from the other side of the exterior wall.

"What is that?" he murmured, stepping toward the glass.

The air outside the window suddenly pressurized, the glass groaning as if pushed by a massive, invisible weight. He instinctively dove away, throwing his hands up to shield his face.

BOOM.

The entire exterior wall of his dorm room exploded inward. Shards of stone and brick rained down, filling the room with a thick, suffocating cloud of dust. Devan rolled, cough-racking his lungs, trying to see through the haze.

Emerging from the hole in the wall wasn't a student, or a guard, or a Proctor. It was a creature of shadow and jagged, calcified bone a construct of the Academy’s darkest secrets, tall and spindly, with eyes that burned like the pits of the lower levels. It tilted its head, sniffing the air, its presence chilling the room to freezing.

It wasn't here for the evidence anymore. It was here to prune the branch.

Devan scrambled backward, his boots sliding on the debris, his hand instinctively clutching the burning mark on his chest.

"Shaila," he breathed, the name a silent prayer. "Tell me you’re watching."

The creature let out a soundless, psychic shriek, and the shadows in the room elongated, reaching for him like fingers. The trial hadn't just begun; it had finally decided to kill him.