The clerk gave them both a long, condescending once-over, then let out a clipped sigh. "As I said, absolutely impossible. The dorm rosters are divided by… time-honored parameters."

  Mo's brow furrowed. "Parameters? You mean you're separating housing by illusions of gender? It's a demon-run school with, I don't know, shapeshifters and spectral entities. Why would any of that matter?"

  The clerk stiffened, adjusting his tiny spectacles. "Umbra Academy still adheres to time-honored traditions. We must avoid… incidents."

  Nyx tilted their head, their form flickering in annoyance. "Incidents? Like what—someone conjures a pillow fight demon if we share a room? Are you genuinely worried I'll shift into a unicorn at midnight?"

  The clerk gave a dismissive wave. "You know perfectly well what kind of incidents I mean. Anyway, rules are rules. We keep records of each student's documented form, as provided by their House, parents, or caretaker at birth."

  Mo felt her jaw tense. "You're telling me you can handle an entire realm's worth of curses, yet can't manage a dorm setup that accommodates a person who might not fit your neat little categories?"

  The clerk lifted an eyebrow, rifling through the battered file folder before him. "I'm telling you your forms list you as 'female succubus' and 'male demon.' Therefore, separate dormitories. Unless you have official documents stating otherwise."

  Nyx tried to smile, but it looked more like a snarl. "Official documents, huh? Should I supply a live demonstration that I'm not male, or… would that be frowned upon?" Their silhouette stretched upward by an inch, then shrank again as though proving a point.

  The clerk pursed his lips. "Don't you make a scene, Nyx Obscuris." He looked at Mo as if she was the more sensible one. "If you want to challenge the dorm assignment, you may file a request with the Housing Committee. It's typically a four-to-six week deliberation, depending on the complexity of the forms."

  The air thickened around Mo as if the walls leaned closer with every heartbeat. The clerk's stubborn expression crystallized behind his absurdly tiny spectacles, like granite set in place by centuries of pointless tradition. The mention of a "four-to-six-week deliberation" echoed in her head like nails on glass.

  Beside her, Nyx let out a bitter laugh that barely masked their frustration. "Four to six weeks?" Their form flickered in irritation, shifting just enough to catch Mo's eye. "We'll have burned down half the campus by then—strictly theoretical, of course."

  The tension in the air was thick, almost suffocating. And suddenly, Mo realized something undeniable: logic wouldn't work here.

  Not with a system so tangled in outdated traditions it couldn't recognize reality if it slapped it across the face.

  Her hand clenched tighter around the strap of her bag, nails biting into the worn fabric. She felt the familiar, unwelcome heat rising from deep inside her, pressure coiling like a snake ready to strike. A part of herself she had buried for years, kept at bay out of fear and stubbornness.

  But this wasn't about her discomfort.

  This was for Nyx. Mo often felt this compulsion to defend somebody else, while in other situations, she may retreat to her shell when someone attacked her. Like it was when she was sent to study on Earth. Like it was in this earlier encounter with Valerius.

  Mo drew a breath. Deep, slow, deliberate. No cracks. No panic. Not here.

  The air around her seemed to shift. Growing warmer, heavier. Not limiting her. On the contrary, waiting for her actions. A pulse of energy stirred beneath her skin, a low, humming awareness that sent a shiver across the room.

  The clerk's eyes snapped back to her, his smug confidence wavering just a bit. Even though Mo hadn't shifted a muscle, he also seemed to feel the minute change. But he didn't yet know what was going to happen.

  "Look," Mo began, voice dropping just enough to smooth over the air like silk, gaining overtones that Mo rarely allowed to surface. Not sultry, not seductive. Compelling. Unavoidable. "I get it. You're following rules. Outdated, irrelevant, but ancient and persistent rules."

  The clerk shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

  "But let's be practical," Mo continued, stepping closer. "We're in a school where reality can be rewritten by sheer will. And we're seriously clinging to a crusty old parchment written by someone who probably thought female demons should be kept busy sewing hexes into curtains."

  Her voice wrapped around the words like velvet. Soft, but impossible to ignore.

  "Especially when these female demons are the ones bringing in gold and making sure this circus keeps running?"

  The clerk blinked, hand hovering near his folder like a drowning man reaching for a lifeline. "It's… tradition." His voice wavered as if the certainty behind it was draining away.

  "Tradition," Mo echoed, drawing out the syllables until they dripped with quiet accusation, dressed up as gentle understanding. "I'm sure you're just doing your job. Following the script. But…" She leaned in slightly, not close enough to invade space—just close enough to pull him in. "Wouldn't it be easier if you just… handled this? Quietly? Efficiently? No paperwork delays. No reports. Just done."

  The clerk swallowed audibly, his spectacles slipping down his nose like they, too, wanted to escape this confrontation.

  Inside, Mo's gut churned, the old familiar weight of guilt twisting tighter with every breath.

  Every second she let that magic seep into her voice felt like stepping back into a cage she thought she'd escaped.

  This isn't me. This isn't what I want to be. This is what they wanted me to be.

  But Nyx had helped Mo without any hesitation earlier today. They deserved better than to be boxed in by ancient rules written by people who didn't understand them. And Mo had the perfect tool to fix the problem.

  So she kept going—just a little longer.

  "Imagine how much simpler your day could be," she whispered, each word drifting through the air like thick, cloying smoke—impossible to ignore, harder still to resist. "One simple approval. No complications."

  The clerk's breath hitched. He looked like he could faint at any moment. With a jerky motion, he reached for the housing forms. "Fine," he muttered, stamping the paperwork with a heavy, reluctant thud. "One exception. But if anyone asks, I was hexed into doing this."

  Mo let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, the magic snapping back inside her like a door slammed shut.

  Nyx blinked, their form rippling ever so slightly as if sensing an unseen current shift in the air. "Okay, what was that?" Their voice cut through the tension, edged with suspicion—and something that felt dangerously close to concern.

  Mo forced a tight smile. "We got the room. That's what matters. Let's talk later. Not here."

  "That was…" Nyx narrowed their eyes. "You did something, didn't you?"

  "Seriously? Is it later already?" Mo's voice was flat. She turned toward the hallway, feeling the weight of what she'd done pressing against her shoulders.

  Nyx stopped just long enough for the silence to sting. "You didn't have to do that, you know."

  "Yeah," Mo muttered. "But I did anyway."

  They walked silently for a moment, the buzz of magic lingering faintly on Mo's skin. Every step felt like dragging guilt behind her.

  "Hey," Nyx said, hurrying to step in front of Mo and block her path. Suddenly, their voice sounded softer. "Thanks. Really. I mean it."

  Mo didn't respond. She couldn't.

  Because deep down, all she could think was: What did I just unlock? And what will happen the next time I have to use it?

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  ***

  Mo followed Nyx in a haze, her footsteps automatic. The shapeshifting demon unrolled the new copy of her orientation letter and traced the path on the map, following the highlighted route. But for Mo, everything that was further away than her new friend faded into the background.

  Around them, the chaos of Umbra Academy unfolded like a carnival of madness. Students hexing each other mid-laugh, shadows slithering along walls, and a shriek from somewhere deep within the halls. But it all faded into white noise. All Mo could focus on was the heaviness clamped around her chest and the faint, lingering taste of power on her tongue.

  Mo blinked back into awareness as Nyx swung open the heavy door of their room with a theatrical flourish. The creak echoed like a warning—or maybe a welcome, depending on how much doom and gloom one expected. Mo's breath hitched, surprise flaring in her chest. "Well… that's… not what I was expecting."

  The room before them was a study in contrasts. Plush velvet curtains framed windows that offered a view of a sky torn apart by endless storm clouds. Overstuffed armchairs lounged near a crackling fireplace, the flames casting golden reflections against the glossy mahogany bookshelves lining the walls. They stood ominously empty for now, waiting for the repositories of knowledge to fill them, if not the students' minds. Somehow, there were no grotesque gargoyles or leering demon heads anywhere in the room. It was just unsettlingly cozy normalcy that felt more like a trap than comfort.

  "It's like someone mashed together evil overlord chic with grandma's Sunday tea room," Mo mused, coming out of her reverie, running a hand along a nearby desk's smooth surface. "If only I had a normal human grandmother… But I'm half expecting to find doilies under the skull-shaped paperweights."

  She shuffled towards one of the doors that led to the adjoining rooms. Both were bedrooms, one for each of the students. A thought swiftly passed through Mo's mind that she'd probably have to discuss which bedroom was for whom. But when she got to the nearest bed, her legs suddenly felt like lead. The day's events crashed over her like a wave, and Mo found herself collapsing face-first onto the silken comforter.

  "I can't believe this is real," she mumbled into the fabric, her voice muffled. "Villain school. Actually villain school. With seminars on cape-twirling and… and whatever else. My parents would be having a field day if they could see this."

  Mo rolled onto her back, eyes fixed on the ceiling's intricate carvings—twisting vines that seemed to writhe if she looked too long. "I thought I left all this behind. The posturing, the legacy, the stupid expectations. But here I am… already doing the thing again."

  She let out a bitter laugh.

  "And the worst part?" Mo continued, looking at Nyx, who appeared in the door frame. "I can't even bring myself to hate it completely. It's just so... so..."

  "Absurd?" Nyx offered, entering the bedroom and settling into one of the armchairs with fluid grace. "I hope you don't mind me entering your bedroom. Is it your bedroom? Should we discuss it? Ah… Never mind, we'll figure that out."

  "Exactly," Mo sighed. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I still think it's completely stupid. But there's a part of me that's almost... curious? Like, how bad can it really get?" She groaned, throwing an arm over her eyes. "Oh no. I'm getting sucked in, aren't I? Quick, Nyx, remind me why this is all terrible before I start taking 'Maniacal Laughter 101' seriously."

  Nyx's lips curled into a sardonic smile as they gazed out the ornate window, watching lightning crackle across the turbulent sky. Their form began to shift. The only constant was the obsidian skin that flowed like liquid shadow. Until a few moments later, Nyx adopted an androgynous form. Something in between all the shapes Mo had a chance to see during that hectic morning. The clothes also changed. In a way, they were mimicking Mo's attire now, with a nerdy T-shirt and a pair of jeans torn on the knees.

  "Oh, darling," Nyx purred, their voice a melodious contralto, "this is only the beginning." They turned to face Mo, eyes glowing with mischievous fire. "We haven't even scratched the surface of this delightful cesspool of villainy."

  Mo pushed herself up on her elbows. One brow arched with genuine disbelief. "You're actually enjoying this circus? Also—seriously, teach me how you do that clothes-shifting trick. I pack light, but that is next-level survival magic."

  "Oh, thank you, I'm glad that you find my transformations entertaining," Nyx said. "But I'm not sure if this skill is for everyone. There are some… downsides to it."

  "I'm sorry, Nyx," Mo said. "I didn't mean it that way." She paused, winding a strand of her ginger hair around her finger. And then glanced at Nyx mischievously. "Whatever the downsides, it's a handy skill, there's no denying that!"

  "Oh, well…" Nyx laughed, the sound reminiscent of tinkling glass. "As for enjoying this mess? Perhaps. But more importantly, I see... potential." They stood up and walked across the room to the large window that opened to the outer territory of the Academy, giving a view to a bizarrely planned park. "Think about it, Mo. All these rigid structures, these absurd expectations… They're begging to be shattered."

  Abruptly, Nyx turned back to Mo.

  "And you have already started doing that!" they said. "I was ready to comply… When the clerk misgendered me… I didn't expect this to happen here. You were right, it's a school full of shapeshifters and even people who are non-binary or couldn't be gendered at all. I just… I didn't expect the same old mess to follow me from my parent's home here…"

  Mo frowned, her brow furrowing. "I'm not sure I fully follow."

  "This thing with Valerius?" Nyx said. "It was nothing. Just some banter between two students that happened to go to the same school. But what you did with that clerk… You've already started doing something I had only dreamt about. You inspired me! Now I want more!"

  "And what exactly is that?" a chill went along Mo's spine. She could probably guess where all that was heading. But it wasn't for nothing that she decided not to use her powers during her extended stay on Earth.

  "We'll use their own methods to subvert this institution," Nyx said, their eyes sparking with anticipation. "Just you wait! You showed some skills there, at the Registrar's office. I… I have some stuff as well."

  Nyx swirled as if to show off their look. Then stopped and noticed Mo's appraising look. "Not only that. I have other skills as well!"

  Mo's laughter bubbled up, sharp and unexpected, slicing through the heaviness that had been clinging to her all morning. The dark cloud of suspicion dissipated, and she thought she saw Nyx for what they really was. She saw the person beneath the defiance and dramatic flair—someone who understood what it felt like to be out of place, forced into a role that didn't fit. Nyx's laughter soon joined hers, bright and clear like cracked glass catching the sunlight. They spun in a lazy twirl and landed back in the armchair with a flourish that felt less like a performance and more like a release.

  "So," they said, suddenly becoming very serious. "Back at the Registrar's office… what was that? You used your magic, didn't you? Something deeper than charm or persuasion. Ancestral power?"

  The smile drained from Mo's face as swiftly as the warmth left the room. That old instinct roared back louder than before. This was a mistake. You can't trust anyone here. Not in this place. Not ever. Her heart clenched, and the familiar armor slammed back into place, shutting the door on vulnerability before it could even crack open.

  "Ah…" said Nyx. "I'm sorry…"

  They stood up, and the armchair creaked softly as if complaining. Mo's only response to Nyx's words was subtle; she shifted to her side, her back now facing Nyx, and fixed her gaze on the blank wall across from her.

  Nyx hesitated in the doorway for a brief moment. "Do you want to learn a secret of mine?" they said, not looking at Mo. "It would be only fair, I think. As I learned yours. Even if it didn't seem to be a secret. As, you know, you are a succubus."

  Mo shrugged off the question, still not looking at Nyx.

  "This form…" Nyx said. "It's my favorite. It feels the most… me. But in public? I shift—male, female, in-between. Depending on the reaction I'd like to get from other people. From my… opponents."

  Nyx turned their head back, glancing at Mo.

  "That's not the real secret," Nyx continued, voice barely more than a whisper now. "The truth is… none of my forms were ever enough. Not the graceful, delicate ones. Not the strong, unbreakable ones. My parents—Titanborn royalty—expected rigidity and absolutes. No… aberrations. That's what they called me. An error in the bloodline. A glitch in their perfect system.

  They paused. "Our archivist told me it had never happened before in the whole history of our clan. I have my thoughts about that, though."

  Finally, Mo sat up on her bed and looked at Nyx. Her hand stretched toward the shapeshifter, but it was too late. Nyx had already turned away, slipping through the door with a soft click that felt louder than it should have.

  The silence in the room felt heavier now, thick with all the uncomfortable moments that filled their lives, which were so different but somehow felt so similar at the same time. Mo's fingers twitched against the comforter, restless, drawn to the lingering warmth left in the air from where Nyx had stood moments before.

  And then she felt it.

  The pulse—faint at first, like a whisper under her skin. A seductive thrum of power stirring deep inside her, hungry and sharp, coiling through her veins like smoke made solid. It reached for the memory of Nyx's voice, their vulnerability laid bare mere minutes before. You could help them, it murmured, slick and persuasive. Ease their pain. Just a touch… a suggestion…

  You could help yourself…

  Mo's hand drifted forward before she even realized it, fingers curling slightly, the heat of compulsion sparking behind her ribs. Like slipping into something too familiar, too easy. She could feel the connection sparking in the air, like reaching across the gap between them wouldn't just comfort Nyx—it would bend them ever so gently. Fix the connection they started to build today. Make it the way it should be.

  Her breath hitched.

  No.

  Her hand snapped back as if burned. The power recoiled, leaving a hollow ache in its wake. An echo of temptation she couldn't afford to answer. Mo clenched her fist tight, nails digging into her palm until pain grounded her again.

  "I won't let that happen," she whispered.

  But as she sat alone with the weight of everything she had almost done, the truth settled over her like a storm cloud. The power was still there. It would never go away.

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