CHAPTER 25: THE MALIVORE MONSTER
POV: Alen
Tuesday morning at Salvatore School started with the deceptive normalcy that preceded supernatural disasters—students debating homework deadlines over breakfast, faculty conducting routine security sweeps, everyone pretending that their lives weren't fundamentally dangerous despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary.
Alen pushed eggs around his plate while scanning the dining hall for threats that hadn't materialized yet. Hope sat three tables away, close enough for Hollow suppression but distant enough to maintain the careful boundaries they'd rebuilt after the soul harvesting revelation. Josie and Lizzie argued about Mystic Falls history assignments with theatrical intensity that masked deeper tensions neither would admit.
"Normal. Everything's normal. Just another Tuesday at supernatural boarding school."
The stone gargoyle crashed through the dining hall ceiling like cosmic judgment made manifest.
Gothic architecture exploded inward as something massive descended from Virginia sky with wings that blocked sunlight and claws that gouged deep furrows in reinforced walls. The creature landed among scattered breakfast trays with impact that cracked foundation stones, serpentine neck extending to reveal fanged maw capable of swallowing students whole.
"THE TRIBRID!" it screeched, voice cutting through chaos like blade through silk. "MALIVORE HUNGERS! THE TRIBRID FALLS!"
Students scattered in every direction—werewolves moving with predatory grace, vampires blurring toward exits, witches grabbing spell components while panic overwhelmed coordination. Tables overturned as supernatural teenagers reverted to survival instincts that prioritized escape over heroism.
The gargoyle's head swiveled toward Hope with mechanical precision, eyes blazing with intelligence that suggested purpose rather than random destruction. It was hunting her specifically, sent by force that knew exactly what it wanted.
"Malivore. First monster. The beginning of everything that will tear this school apart."
Alen positioned himself between Hope and fifteen hundred pounds of animated stone, siphoned power blazing along his arms while tactical assessment crystallized around singular necessity. The gargoyle was immune to most conventional magic—living stone with animating force embedded in its fundamental structure rather than applied from outside.
"Can't drain the magic because the magic IS the creature. But I can siphon its animating force, slow it down, buy time for coordinated assault."
"Through me first," he announced, golden light pulsing from his enhanced systems as he began the drain.
The gargoyle slowed but didn't stop, animating essence proving more resilient than expected. Stone claws swept toward Alen with momentum that would pulverize normal humans, supernatural strength meeting enhanced reflexes in collision of opposing forces.
Hope shifted behind him—full tribrid transformation that made the air shimmer with unleashed power. Vampire fangs, werewolf claws, witch magic combined into predatory efficiency that could tear through supernatural defenses like paper. She met the gargoyle's charge with impact that sent shock waves through the dining hall.
Josie and Lizzie coordinated from opposite sides, ice and fire working in concert to create thermal shock that stressed stone joints. Their twin synchronization transformed complex magic into fluid dance, family bonds translated into tactical advantage that made the impossible look effortless.
Alen crafted binding runes on pure instinct, symbols blazing with power as he etched containment spells directly onto the creature's hide. The gargoyle thrashed against constraints that held its limbs in place, supernatural strength warring with cosmic authority.
"STOP!"
The Word of Command detonated through the dining hall with absolute force, reality bending to accommodate impossible imperative. The gargoyle froze partially—stone limbs locked in place while its head remained mobile, ancient eyes tracking threats with calculating intelligence.
POV: Alen
Combined assault brought the creature down—Hope's claws finding structural weak points while the twins maintained thermal stress that fractured stone from within. Alen's binding runes held it motionless long enough for killing blow that reduced animated stone to rubble and dust.
The gargoyle spoke with dying breath, words emerging from crumbling throat with prophetic weight that made protective wards hum with increased intensity.
"Malivore hungers. The tribrid will fall. The golem rises."
It crumbled to dust that scattered across the dining hall floor, animating essence finally dissipating into atmosphere while students emerged from cover to stare at destruction that would require weeks to repair.
"The golem. Landon. This is confirmation that he's Malivore's creation, sent to retrieve artifacts that will weaken dimensional barriers. And I can't explain any of this because the Entity's curse prevents me from sharing future knowledge."
Alaric arrived with security team, surveying damage with expression that mixed professional assessment with parental concern. "What's Malivore?"
Alen tried to explain, felt familiar pain spike through his skull as cosmic forces prevented revelation. "It's a cosmic pudding disaster!"
Hope shot him a look that mixed understanding with frustration. She'd witnessed enough of his communication difficulties to recognize the pattern—knowledge trapped behind supernatural barriers that made direct explanation impossible.
"He's trying to warn us but can't," she said, addressing Alaric while stepping closer to Alen. "Trust him. Whatever this is, it's serious."
"Research priority," Alaric ordered, activating emergency protocols. "I want everything we can find about Malivore. History, mythology, contemporary references. Someone sent this thing after Hope specifically."
"They'll discover Malivore's nature eventually—dimensional pit consuming supernatural monsters, prison designed to contain threats too dangerous for normal reality. But I can't expedite the process without revealing transmigration knowledge. The curse is systematic torture designed to make me experience helplessness."
POV: Alen
After the battle, Hope pulled Alen aside to empty classroom where they could speak without witnesses. Dust from the gargoyle attack covered their clothes while adrenaline slowly faded from systems pushed beyond normal limits.
"You protected me without hesitation," she said quietly, studying his face for signs of the moral complexity that had driven them apart. "Even after everything. Even knowing what I think about your methods."
"Always," Alen replied, meaning it completely. "That doesn't change. Will never change."
Hope's expression softened, defensive walls lowering as recognition replaced suspicion. "I've been punishing you for doing what I'd do—whatever's necessary to protect people we love. I'm sorry."
She kissed him then—tentative contact that became desperate affirmation of partnership rebuilt through shared danger. The proximity made the Hollow settle deeper into dormancy, ancient whispers fading to barely audible murmur while trust reconstructed itself from fragments.
"No more solo missions," Hope said when they separated, foreheads touching in gesture that carried weight beyond simple physical contact. "We're partners. Equal partners. No more secrets you think you need to carry alone."
Alen agreed, knowing he'd break that promise eventually. Some hunts required solitude, cosmic responsibilities that couldn't be shared without destroying everything he'd built toward family acceptance.
"I'll try to include her when possible. But soul harvesting requires twelve hours of ritual torture that would horrify anyone with functioning conscience. Some darkness I'll have to carry alone, no matter how much I want to share the burden."
"Still, this is progress. Hope understands that moral complexity doesn't negate the necessity of action. She's choosing to stay despite witnessing what I'm becoming. That has to be enough."
The Hollow remained dormant as they held each other, ancient evil suppressed by proximity that made impossible burdens feel temporarily manageable. Outside the classroom, Virginia afternoon settled over Salvatore School while something fundamental shifted in the supernatural balance.
That night brought another monster—shambling corpse animated by necromantic magic, hunting Hope with single-minded determination. Then another arrival at dawn—winged creature that dove from storm clouds with talons designed for supernatural prey.
Malivore's assault had begun, and Alen couldn't warn anyone how many were coming. The curse ensured he'd experience every surprise attack, every moment of helpless foreknowledge trapped behind supernatural barriers.
The Entity's lesson was becoming clear: power without the ability to act on it was just elaborate helplessness dressed in cosmic authority.
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