CHAPTER 26: MONSTER WEEK
POV: Alen
Day three of monster attacks found Salvatore School transformed into fortress under siege, emergency protocols stretched beyond breaking point while exhaustion accumulated like poison in everyone's systems. Students moved in tactical groups, faculty maintained constant patrols, and even routine activities required supernatural awareness that drained mental resources faster than coffee could replenish them.
Alen's magical reserves depleted despite constant siphoning from defeated creatures, cosmic batteries running low under relentless demand. Each monster brought different challenges—animated stone immune to conventional magic, necromantic constructs that regenerated from scattered pieces, dimensional parasites that phased through physical barriers. He was learning to adapt in real time, but the learning curve was steep and the consequences of failure terminal.
"Eleven monsters in three days. Each one hunting Hope specifically, each one more dangerous than normal Malivore threats. Someone or something is escalating the assault, sending elite forces rather than random dimensional garbage."
The banshee materialized during night patrol like nightmare given form, wraith-pale figure that moved through school corridors with ethereal grace. Her beauty was terrible—ancient creature whose voice could shatter minds, reduce trained supernatural warriors to gibbering madness through sonic assault that bypassed conventional defenses.
Alen, Hope, and Josie responded to emergency alarms, enhanced senses tracking supernatural signature that made protective wards scream warnings. They found her in the main corridor, hovering three feet above polished stone while students collapsed around her with blood streaming from their ears.
The banshee drew breath that lasted eternity, preparing scream that would lobotomize everyone within hearing range. Alen felt time slow as tactical assessment crystallized around desperate necessity—normal magic couldn't stop sonic attack that operated on frequency beyond physical sound.
"Word of Command. Absolute authority imposed on reality itself. But the cost..."
"SILENCE!"
The word detonated from his throat with cosmic force, burning through vocal cords like swallowed acid while fifteen percent of his remaining reserves vanished instantly. The banshee's voice died permanently—not muted but erased, fundamental ability severed by command that rewrote her essential nature.
She clawed at her throat in terror, mouth opening and closing without sound while ancient eyes reflected horror at existence reduced to pantomime. Hope delivered mercy kill with claws that ended centuries of predatory existence, putting the creature out of misery Alen's command had created.
Alen collapsed against corridor wall, throat torn internally while blood painted his lips with metallic taste that spoke of damage beyond quick healing. The Word of Command was destroying him slowly, vocal cords scarred by cosmic authority that human anatomy wasn't designed to channel.
"You can't keep using that power," Hope said, kneeling beside him while genuine fear colored her voice. "It's killing you."
"What choice do I have?" The words emerged as hoarse whisper, throat burning with each syllable. "Students die if I hold back. You die if I'm not strong enough."
"But she's right. Each Word of Command carves away pieces of my humanity, leaves scars that won't heal completely. At what point does the cure become worse than the disease?"
POV: Josie
The next monster arrived at dawn—earthen golem animated by primal magic, fifteen feet of compacted stone and soil that moved with surprising grace. Students scattered as it smashed through gymnasium walls, hunting tribrid scent with single-minded determination that brooked no compromise or negotiation.
Josie felt the black crystal pulse in her pocket, dark artifact calling to enhanced abilities that normal siphoning couldn't access. She'd been using it incrementally, small doses of amplified power that made routine magic feel effortless, but this situation demanded more dramatic demonstration.
"What if I could be that strong? What if I could match Alen's mysterious abilities, prove I'm more than supporting character in everyone else's story?"
She siphoned from the crystal with abandon, power flooding her enhanced systems like electricity seeking ground. The sensation was intoxicating—strength beyond natural limitations, magic that responded to will rather than careful technique, ability to reshape reality through concentrated intention.
The compression hex shouldn't have worked. Spatial magic required years of study, precise calculations, understanding of dimensional theory that contemporary magical education barely touched. But amplified siphoning made impossible seem effortless, power flowing through enhanced abilities like water finding its natural course.
The golem imploded from inside, earth and stone compressed into singular point before exploding outward with force that cratered gymnasium floor. Debris scattered in every direction while supernatural silence settled over witnesses who stared at Josie with expressions mixing awe and concern.
"Jo, how—?" Lizzie began, twin connection detecting power signature that defied normal classification.
"I've been practicing," Josie replied, high on dark magic that made honesty feel unnecessary. The crystal's influence whispered that she deserved recognition, that hiding her abilities only encouraged others to underestimate her capabilities.
Alen noticed the crystal's glow but misinterpreted the evidence, assuming it was magical battery he hadn't known about. His expression carried approval rather than concern, validation that fed the corruption spreading through her enhanced systems.
"I can be powerful too. Just as strong as my mysterious brother, just as essential as Hope's tribrid nature. The crystal makes me equal rather than inadequate."
But underneath euphoria lay something darker—moral flexibility that expanded with each use, ethical boundaries that shifted to accommodate convenient interpretations of right and wrong.
POV: Alen
Alaric called war council that evening, gathering faculty and senior students to address tactical reality that emergency protocols couldn't solve. The conference room felt claustrophobic under emergency lighting, exhaustion and tension making routine discussion feel like crisis management.
"Monsters keep coming," Alaric announced, spreading tactical assessments across the table like battle plans. "Three days, six attacks, escalating intensity. Our current defensive posture isn't sustainable."
"Eleven monsters total, but I can't correct his count without revealing foreknowledge. Some attacked during periods when normal people wouldn't have noticed—night raids, dimensional phases that bypassed conventional detection."
"I can create magical batteries," Alen suggested, demonstrating by siphoning ambient energy and imbuing it into bracelet with shield spell. "Store power in objects for emergency use. Distribute to students so they're not defenseless during attacks."
The bracelet blazed with contained magic, protective ward that could deflect supernatural assault or absorb kinetic impact. Simple enough for untrained students to activate, powerful enough to save lives when monsters exceeded their combat abilities.
Alaric studied the demonstration with professional interest. "How many can you produce?"
"As many as we need. But it'll take time and most of my remaining reserves."
"Do it. Priority distribution to non-combat students, backup supplies for faculty."
Alen spent the night in systematic production, siphoning from every available source while imbuing jewelry, weapons, even door handles with protective magic. Emergency batteries that could shield against supernatural assault, healing reserves that could stabilize traumatic injuries, communication spells that could summon help across impossible distances.
By dawn, Salvatore School resembled armed magical fortress—every surface inscribed with protective wards, every student carrying multiple batteries, every room equipped with emergency teleportation anchors that could evacuate civilians during major assaults.
The effort left Alen collapsed over his desk, exhaustion beyond physical fatigue while golden veins pulsed beneath marked skin. Hope found him unconscious among scattered supplies, magical strain having pushed enhanced abilities beyond safe limitations.
"You're not invincible," she whispered, helping him to bed while protective wards hummed with increased intensity. "You can't save everyone by destroying yourself."
"But I can try. I can push harder, sacrifice more, become whatever the situation demands. Stefan's death taught me that hesitation costs lives. If exhaustion is the price of preparation, if pushing beyond safe limits keeps people alive—then I'll pay it."
One week, eleven monsters, school defended but everyone fraying under relentless assault. Students jumped at shadows, faculty questioned whether normal education could continue under siege conditions, everyone wondered when the attacks would end or escalate beyond their ability to survive.
Alen studied Landon obsessively, knowing he was key to Malivore's assault but unable to prove it without revealing cosmic knowledge. The phoenix-golem moved through school life with innocent confusion, genuinely unaware of his role in dimensional crisis that would reshape supernatural reality.
"The Entity's curse forces me to experience every moment of helpless foreknowledge. I know what's coming but can't prevent it, can only react after damage is done. This is psychological torture disguised as cosmic responsibility."
"But at least the school is prepared now. Batteries distributed, defenses enhanced, students armed with tools that could save their lives. Whatever comes next, they'll face it with more than hopes and training."
Outside his window, Virginia night gathered like promise of future disasters. Somewhere in that darkness, Malivore stirred in dimensional prison while monsters gathered strength for assaults that would test everything they'd built toward protection and survival.
The real war was just beginning.
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