Villainous Instructor at the Academy
Chapter 170: Voices

Chapter 170: Voices

I didn’t flinch. I should’ve, but I didn’t.

Felix stiffened beside me, his grip on his staff tightening until his knuckles went white. The others were still, like statues—watching, waiting, but none of us dared to speak.

The voice—if you could call it that—lingered in the air, heavy and cold. It wasn’t the kind of voice you expected. Not sharp or angry. It felt like an old, forgotten thing, reaching out after years of silence.

"Lucian," the voice repeated, smooth as silk. "Still pretending to be alive?"

I swallowed. The rune wasn’t just a seal. It was a window, showing us what was left of whatever had been sealed away.

Cassandra’s glow flickered as she stepped back, her face pale under the weight of whatever she was sensing. "It’s... the soul isn’t alone," she whispered. "It’s scattered. Shattered."

"Shattered?" Mira asked, leaning in. "How can a soul shatter?"

I didn’t have an answer, but the chill crawling up my spine was answer enough.

The shadows on the walls twisted, forming shapes—people, maybe—disfigured and writhing. Their faces were familiar in a way I couldn’t place. As if I’d seen them before in dreams or nightmares.

"Why are you here?" I finally managed to ask, my voice rough. It didn’t seem to matter that I was asking a sealed spirit. I needed to know.

The man in the vision—his grin stretched unnaturally wide. He stepped forward in the space between the past and the present. His eyes locked onto mine again, and for a brief moment, I felt something twist in my chest. It wasn’t fear. It was something worse.

"I told you," he said, his words almost tender. "I’ve been waiting."

Waiting for what?

The air in the chamber grew heavier. Felix took a cautious step back. "Professor..." he started, voice trembling. "We need to stop this."

I didn’t move. My mind raced, connecting dots faster than I could follow them. The Blood Mist, the rune, the way the voices felt wrong—this wasn’t just some trapped soul. This was something far bigger. And it was watching us. It had always been watching.

"You’re not going to stop it," the voice continued, its tone amused. "Not unless you break the seal. And even then..."

Even then. The words hung in the air like a threat, but I wasn’t sure what kind of threat it was. It felt too personal. Too close.

"Let’s just get this over with," I said, straightening up. I wasn’t sure if I was trying to sound confident or if I was convincing myself. "We break the seal, deal with the spirit, then figure out where the hell the Dorne family fit into all of this."

Mira, standing to my right, glanced at me, her dark eyes sharp. "That’s your plan? Break it open and hope for the best?"

I didn’t have a better one.

"We don’t have time for anything else," I muttered, drawing my sword. It wasn’t the best tool for the job, but it would work.

The seal pulsed again, as if agreeing, and then the air around us thickened. The light dimmed.

Cassandra’s face went hard. "It’s moving."

The shadows on the walls flared, twisting into something more solid, more alive. The smell of decay filled the chamber, and for a moment, I thought I saw something—someone—standing behind the wall, just out of reach. A silhouette.

The voice again, colder this time. "Come, Lucian. Come see what’s been waiting for you."

I stepped forward, my hand tight on the hilt of my blade.

The rune flashed once more. A sharp crack sounded, followed by the snap of something ancient breaking. Something that hadn’t been touched in centuries.

I held my breath.

The rune split.

And the chamber, already heavy with tension, exploded with a burst of cold, like stepping into the heart of a frozen wasteland.

We weren’t alone anymore.

The world returned in pieces.

Sight first—the cold shimmer of runelight tracing the chamber’s edge. Then sound, low and pulsing like a heartbeat muffled by earth. Then sensation. The weight of presence pressing down on us like a second gravity.

No one moved.

Even Julien, usually the first to run toward or away from danger, stood rooted. Garrick’s grip on his axe tightened, knuckles pale. Mira’s brows furrowed, her lips moving in a silent counter-chant, just in case.

But Cassandra—Cassandra didn’t flinch. She stepped forward again, eyes narrowed.

"You heard him," she said quietly.

It wasn’t a question.

I nodded.

Felix whispered, "Who is he?"

I didn’t answer.

Because I didn’t know. Not fully.

But I knew the name.

Drevash.

He wasn’t just a warlock. He wasn’t just a name buried in old Academy annexes and sealed libraries. He was one of the first—a forerunner to the madness that would one day become the Blood Mist. A scholar of forbidden souls, a surgeon of memory, a builder of echoes.

And he had remembered me.

The chamber quieted again, shadows retreating. The rune’s glow dimmed, though the pulse beneath it continued—steady, mocking.

Wallace broke the silence. "So... what now? We fight a memory?"

"No," I said. "We confront it."

Cassandra glanced at me. "He saw you, Lucian. He knew you."

"That’s what scares me."

Mira crossed her arms. "If he’s a fragment—just a soul echo—then how is he still thinking? Still speaking?"

"Because the seal wasn’t just containment," I said. "It was transference. Something got out. Not the whole of him. But enough."

Julien scowled. "And we’re just supposed to poke it with a stick and see what screams?"

"No," I said. "We’re going to breach it. Fully. On our terms. With full countermeasures."

Felix took a shaky breath. "And if we lose control?"

I looked at him. At all of them.

"Then we bury it again. With us if we have to."

Silence.

Then Garrick nodded once, slow and sure. Julien followed, cracking his neck. Mira muttered something about idiots with hero complexes and summoned her spell-circle anyway. Wallace sighed. Cassandra just waited, eyes locked on mine.

I raised my hand, and the Grimoire opened again.

Pages turned.

Lines aligned.

And the circle responded—not with rejection, but recognition.

It wanted to open.

And that was the problem.

The seal broke like glass under silk.

Not with violence—but with grace. Lines unwound from the center, dissolving into glowing threads that arched into the air like rising embers. The runes didn’t shatter—they released, as if this had been a door all along, not a prison.

The room didn’t grow darker. It grew quieter.

Not silence.

Hush.

A pressure you feel in the chest more than the ears. Like walking into a chapel where something holy—or unholy—waits behind the curtain.

And from that silence came the voice again.

"How many years has it been?"

It echoed not in sound, but in thought—a whisper that bypassed language and logic, striking at something more primal.

"Get behind me," I said, stepping forward.

The circle flared, reacting to my movement.

And then, at the center of the seal, he formed.

Not flesh. Not fully.

But a shape of roiling ink and coalesced will, bound in swirling lines of red and gold. Cloaked in memory, his features refused to resolve. His face blurred, like an idea no mind could hold clearly. But I saw eyes. They were the only constant.

Burning. Gold.

"You are not him," the thing said. "You are not Lucian Drelmont."

I froze.

Every student behind me tensed.

I could lie.

But the thing already knew.

So I spoke the truth—my truth.

"No. I’m not."

The shape tilted its head, curious.

"Yet you wear his bones. You echo his hate. You carry the wound of memory."

A flicker of static ran through my mind, something trying to surface—a half-remembered dream of chains and blood-soaked floors.

"What are you?" I asked.

The thing smiled. Or I think it did. The shape shimmered, rippled like oil.

"I am what he sought to become. I am what you fear to awaken. I am... the answer that requires too many corpses."

Julien whispered, "Yeah, we’re definitely burning this place down after."

Drevash didn’t react.

Instead, he raised a hand. Runes spiraled from his fingertips—ancient, looping glyphs that made my Grimoire ache to copy them.

And then—

"A gift, impostor. Or perhaps... a curse."

The runes leapt forward, striking me square in the chest.

I staggered, breath ripped away.

The world tilted.

My students’ voices became muffled screams.

And then—darkness again.

But not unconsciousness.

Memory.

Mine. And not mine.

Blood on marble floors.

Runes scrawled in desperation.

A circle carved into a child’s back.

And through it all—Drevash’s laughter.

I stood in a memory not my own.

But I felt everything.

The pain in my fingers as they etched desperate runes onto a cold floor. The sting of chains biting into young wrists. The iron taste of fear mixed with obsession. And overhead, the echo of Drevash’s voice—not chanting, not preaching. Teaching.

"There is no true gate without sacrifice. No permanence without pain. What is given freely may be taken. What is carved—endures."

The boy—me, but not—nodded.

Another child lay before us. Gagged. Struggling.

My stomach turned, but the memory didn’t flinch.

The rune circle completed.

The child screamed.

And the rune sang.

Not with beauty. With truth.

Something ancient responded—watched. For a moment, the veil thinned. I saw a shape beyond comprehension, a watcher cloaked in an ouroboros of eyes.

Then everything shattered again.

I gasped back into my body.

The seal was gone. The chamber was dark.

My students circled around, faces pale.

Julien had his sword drawn.

Mira was gripping a charm hard enough to bleed.

Felix looked like he was about to vomit.

"...Professor?" Wallace’s voice cracked.

I looked down.

The runes Drevash had launched into my chest hadn’t disappeared.

They’d embedded.

Glowing patterns now coiled around my sternum, visible even through the fabric of my shirt. Shifting. Breathing. Waiting.

And the Grimoire of Patterns—it was shaking.

Pages flipped open on their own, revealing new entries in a language I didn’t remember learning.

I closed it with a snap.

"We’re leaving," I said. My voice came out rougher than intended. "Now."

"But—what the hell was that thing?" Julien demanded.

I looked at the circle where Drevash had stood.

Gone.

Not destroyed. Released.

"I don’t know," I said, turning away. "But I think I just inherited a nightmare."

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