The Bully’s Reincarnation

Chapter 2: The Mark of the Tyrant

They woke him in the dark with no torchlight no words, just iron boots on stone and the sound of keys grinding like bones.Kai blinked against the cold. He hadn’t slept, not really. The cell had no clocks, but he could feel it—time slipping like water between his fingers. He was sweating, even though the air was freezing. The mark still pulsed faintly under his skin, like a second heartbeat.

The door opened with a deep groan.

Two guards stepped in. One held a metal collar and the other, a blindfold.

He didn’t fight,didn’t even flinch when the cold iron locked around his neck.They didn’t speak.

Just shoved him forward, and he walked, legs sore, breath shallow. He couldn’t see, but he could hear the halls breathing—stones creaking with age, torches flickering as they passed. Somewhere far above, he thought he heard the wind scream.

Then silence.

Then voices.

Then… light.

They pulled the blindfold off.He stood in a small stone chamber. Bare and circular.One flickering lantern hung from the ceiling like a dying star.

In the center stood a man in long blue robes, with ink-stained fingers and thin wire glasses perched at the edge of his nose. His hair was white—not silver, not pale blond, but white—as if something had scared the color clean out of it.

The man didn’t speak at first.

Just watched Kai.

With something between fear and… hunger.

Kai shifted on his feet. His wrists were still bound. The collar weighed on him like shame.

The old man stepped forward, close enough that Kai could smell old paper and dried herbs.Then, softly: “Your name.”

Kai licked his lips. “Kai.”

A pause.

“No surname?”

“I don’t remember.”

The man nodded slowly. “Convenient.”

“It’s the truth.”

Silence stretched. The man circled him, eyes fixed on the mark through the torn shirt.

“You don’t remember being Rafe Malvorn?”

“No.”

“Not even a flicker?”

Kai hesitated.

That was the thing. He had in flashes,in dreams. Blood on his hands. Fire behind his eyes. But they didn’t feel like memories—they felt like curses.

“I… I don’t know.”

The man sighed.

“You’re lying to yourself, then. Or something in you is still buried.”

Kai swallowed.

“I’m not him.”

The man’s eyes flicked up. Cold and calculating….

“You bear the mark. That alone is enough.”

“What does it mean?” Kai whispered.

The old man didn’t answer right away. Instead, he turned and opened a locked drawer near the wall, pulling out a dusty black tome—its cover etched in gold, runes twisting along the edge like vines. When he opened it, a low hum filled the room.

Magic. Heavy. Old.

The man flipped a few pages, then turned the book toward Kai.

An illustration.

A sigil.

Identical to the one on his chest.

“This,” the man said quietly, “is the Tyrant’s Mark. It binds to the soul, not the flesh. It only appears in one of two conditions: either you are a direct blood heir of Rafe Malvorn—”

“I’m not.”

“—or you are Rafe Malvorn.”

Kai took a step back.

“No. That’s not… I’m not him. I swear.”

The man closed the book with a sharp snap.

“Swearing won’t change the nature of your magic. Or the fear it inspires.”

Kai’s fists clenched. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“No,” the man said simply. “But destiny does not ask.”

They took him back to his cell. No answers. No comfort.

But that night, the dreams came again.

Not fragmented.

Vivid.

He stood at the top of the Tower of Mages, overlooking Arcadia. The sky was burning. Screams below. Shadows moved through the streets—some human, some not. Fire licked the rooftops.

He looked down.

His hands were soaked in red.

And he was laughing.

That was the worst part. Not the violence or the destruction but the laughter.His own voice, but darker, colder. A version of himself with no fear and no guilt.

He woke with a jolt, chest heaving.

The mark glowed brighter now.

When morning came—if it was morning—they didn’t send guards.

They sent a professor.

Not just any professor.

Her name was Elira Voss.

She didn’t wear the standard robes. She wore all black, with gold trim and gloves stitched from dragon-hide. Her eyes were strange—one gray, one pale green. She stepped into the cell like she owned it, and glanced once at the cuffs on his wrists.

“Remove those.”

The guards hesitated.

“That’s an order,” she snapped.

They obeyed.

When Kai rubbed his raw wrists, she didn’t apologize.

Instead, she studied him the way you might study a dangerous creature in a cage.

“You don’t feel like him,” she murmured. “But magic doesn’t lie.”

“I’m not him,” Kai repeated, weaker this time.

Professor Voss walked to the far wall and touched the stone.

A rune lit up beneath her palm. A portal opened—soft blue, humming gently.

“Come.”

“Where are we going?”

“To the Academy.”

“I thought I was—”

“Expelled? Executed?” Her voice was flat. “You’re not hun not yet. Headmaster’s orders.”

Kai stared at her. “Why?”

“Because even if you are Rafe… Arcadia needs power.”

They emerged from the portal in a forgotten corridor near the east wing of the Academy. Kai hadn’t seen this part before. It smelled of old dust and spell ash. The stones pulsed faintly under his feet.

“Is it true?” he asked as they walked.

She didn’t slow. “Is what true?”

“That he was evil.”

She stopped and turned….“Evil is a human word. Rafe Malvorn was a force. Unchecked. Unstoppable. He burned professors alive. Enslaved beasts of shadow. He nearly destroyed this school. And some say—” Her voice dropped, “—he wanted to.”

“Then why let me back in?”

Professor Voss tilted her head. “Because this generation is weak. Soft. The Council fears what’s coming. And you, boy, are a loaded gun. The question is: will you aim yourself? Or wait until someone pulls the trigger for you?”

By the time they reached the main campus, word had spread.

Students paused mid-spell.

Classmates whispered in corners.

One girl dropped her books and didn’t pick them up.

Kai walked behind Voss like a shadow. Shoulders hunched. Heart pounding.

Then, just as they neared the courtyard, a voice rang out.

“Move.”

Kai turned.

A student stood blocking the hall. Tall. Blonde. Polished. Class A robes gleaming.

He didn’t look afraid.

He looked… amused.

“So this is the Tyrant?” he said.

Kai didn’t answer.

“Pathetic,” the student sneered. “Should’ve stayed dead.”

Professor Voss didn’t even flinch.

“Mr. Corvan,” she said tightly. “Do you have a reason to obstruct a Council-designated transfer?”

Corvan’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Just curious how many of us he’ll murder before the semester ends.”

Kai opened his mouth—but nothing came out.

Corvan leaned in.

“Don’t get comfortable, Kai. Reincarnated or not, Class E doesn’t last long.”

Then he walked off, surrounded by his entourage.

Professor Voss turned her head slightly.

“That,” she said, “was a warning.”

Kai stared at the ground.

“I don’t belong here.”

She didn’t argue.

Instead, she pulled open the door to the lowest dormitory wing—the place where scraps went to rot.

“Class E,” she said.

“You’ll survive, or you won’t.”

That night, he sat on the edge of the bunk.

The room was small. Cramped. Smelled like mold and failure. The mattress creaked. No light. No warmth.

The mark still pulsed.

He stared at it in the dark, fingers trembling.

“I’m not him,” he whispered.

But no one was listening.

Not even himself.