The four hesitated, exchanging uncertain glances. The air grew heavy with unspoken protests and lingering doubt. But slowly, one by one, they nodded. Without another word, they turned and walked out of the room, the sound of their footsteps echoing softly in the silence left behind.
“So, tell us what we need to know,” Arid demanded, his voice firm.
Mel sighed, leaning forward in his chair. “There are these things called the Seven Deadly Kingdoms,” he began. The students, excluding Bimoth, instinctively leaned closer, their curiosity piqued.
“The Seven Deadly Kingdoms…” Cassius murmured, recalling the name. “Akoni?”
Mel nodded. “Yes. The Seven Deadly Kingdoms are a continent divided into seven domains—Lust, Envy, Greed, Gluttony, Wrath, Pride, and Sloth.” He hesitated for a moment before revealing, “I’m also Fox Bearrington.”
The group erupted into murmurs, processing the revelation.
“You took down the Punarean Kingdom?” Amara asked, her voice tinged with both amazement and concern.
Mel nodded grimly. “They were part of Lust. Their economy revolved around human trafficking—selling women to the Lust Kingdom. I couldn’t let that stand.”
Cassius folded his arms, his brow furrowed. “What do you know about the others?”
Mel’s expression darkened as he began to explain, outlining the sinister economies of the Seven Deadly Kingdoms:
- Wrath: Wrath profits from war, selling weapons, and creating chaos. They supply anyone with enough coin—whether allies or enemies—ensuring endless conflict to keep their coffers full.
- Lust: Lust thrives on human trafficking and forbidden pleasures. Their economy exploits desire and vice, turning dark fantasies into lucrative ventures.
- Greed: Greed dominates black markets and extortion. They control illegal trade, manipulate finances, and extort wealth from anyone they can through coercion and deceit.
- Pride: Pride feeds off vanity and status. They run exclusive arenas and competitions, charging exorbitant fees to nobles and warriors for participation or spectating. They impose heavy taxes on their people under the guise of "glory for the kingdom," all to fuel their ruler's ego.
- Sloth: Sloth accumulates wealth through outsourcing labor and exploiting the desperate. They enslave or heavily tax workers, allowing the kingdom’s elites to enjoy lives of leisure and luxury while the powerless toil.
- Gluttony: Gluttony profits through excess and overconsumption. They control food supplies and luxury goods, inflating prices and hoarding resources. They manipulate other kingdoms into famine or drought, profiting by “saving” them, even as their own people suffer from overindulgence.
- Envy: Envy thrives on jealousy and sabotage. They spread lies, steal secrets, and sell information to the highest bidder. The kingdom fosters distrust among its people, creating a culture of betrayal and backstabbing while the rulers profit from the chaos.
As Mel finished, the group sat in stunned silence, the weight of his words sinking in. Each kingdom, he explained, was a ruthless machine of exploitation and corruption, and it was clear that their influence stretched far beyond their borders.
Soon, the bell rang, and Mel snapped his fingers. “Alright, let’s meet up later,” he said, signaling the end of their discussion. He began pulling on the wolf costume, adjusting it piece by piece. “I’m going to keep working undercover here,” he informed them, sliding the mask back over his face.
The others started filing out of the supply closet, but Renita lingered. As she closed the door behind the last person, she turned to Mel. “Mel, we need to talk,” she said, her tone serious.
Mel looked up from securing the costume. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice tinged with concern.
Renita sighed, shifting uneasily. “While you were... you know, dead, I was in class. With my vampiric senses, I overheard two men talking—far away, on a mountain. They said they wanted to test what Auroria had to offer. Their names were Titian and Howard.”
Mel froze, his heart skipping a beat. “H-Howard Pegas?!” he asked, his voice tight.
Renita hesitated, shaking her head uncertainly. “He didn’t say his last name,” she admitted. “They had two goons fight Amara and Dontai. Amara and Dontai won, but the goons, along with Titian and Howard, just… left.”
She exhaled sharply, tension evident in her posture.
Mel softened his expression and gently brushed the wolf costume’s paw across her cheek. “It’s going to be okay,” he said reassuringly. “Just focus on class for now, alright?”
Renita hesitated before nodding. “Alright,” she said softly, then turned on her heel and left the room.
As the door clicked shut, Mel sank into his chair, rubbing his face in frustration. “Too many new threats,” he muttered under his breath.
From the corner, Shieka padded over, her piercing gaze fixed on him. “Why didn’t you tell them about Donatello?” she asked pointedly.
Mel shook his head, his voice firm. “It’s not important—not yet. We don’t know what he’s planning.”
Shieka rolled her eyes, the gesture heavy with exasperation. “You’re just delaying the inevitable.”
Mel didn’t reply, his mind already racing through the mounting problems on his plate.
In the underground casino of the Gluttony Kingdom, a dimly lit den filled with grotesquely overindulgent patrons, Althara Shadowbane rose from her seat. Her sharp features contrasted starkly against the bloated, gaudy figures around her. She absently ran her fingers over the Shadowbane medallion engraved on her skin, its outline glowing faintly under the flickering neon lights.
Her assistant, a wiry woman with nervous energy, hesitantly approached. “W-where are you going, ma’am?” she asked, her voice quivering.
Althara lit a cigarette with deliberate precision, taking a slow drag before exhaling a plume of smoke that coiled like serpents in the air. “Get the Shadowbanes ready,” she said, her voice cold and commanding. “We’re heading to the Auroria Dominion. Now.”
The assistant’s eyes widened in panic. “T-the Shadowbanes?! Ma’am, with all due respect, Toby and The Chef were just taken down! And let’s not forget, former King Bimoth and those others destroyed the Salad. The Shadowbanes are too—too brutal! If they get involved—”
Althara cut her off with a sharp nod and blew a thick cloud of smoke directly into the assistant’s face. “Exactly,” she said, her tone laced with icy determination. “The Chef and Toby are rotting in prison. Our finances are hanging by a thread, and if we don’t act now, everything will fall apart. I’m not sitting here while the rest of them drag us under. We’re going to Auroria Dominion to make our move.”
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Her voice dropped, filled with venom. “And I’m getting my sister back. Do you understand me?”
The assistant nodded frantically, swallowing her protests as Althara crushed her cigarette underfoot. The Shadowbanes were brutal, ruthless, and untethered by any moral compass, but Althara’s resolve was absolute. The Auroria Dominion wouldn’t know what hit them.
In the shadowy halls of the Magisterium, Titian rose from his seat, a sly grin curling across his lips as he sniffed the air with exaggerated flair. “Do you sense it, my people?” he asked, his tone laced with mockery as he cupped Franky’s face in his hands, forcing the man to meet his gaze. “It’s the unmistakable scent of Althara Shadowbane preparing to make her move!”
Christopher frowned, tilting his head. “How can you be so sure?”
Titian inhaled deeply, his expression almost reverent before letting out a low, amused chuckle. “It’s simple. Althara Shadowbane didn’t need to reveal herself; she felt Anita. The bond between sisters—it’s a force of nature, raw and undeniable. She’ll come to Solstice City. She’ll reveal herself soon enough. And when she does…” His voice turned cold, the warmth in his smile evaporating. “Everyone will see her for the vile creature she truly is—the Althara Shadowbane that I created. And then, I’ll kill her.”
The Magisterium remained silent, their gazes fixed on Titian as he paced the room, his confidence palpable. “Judas,” he called, holding out his hand, “my wand.”
Judas stepped forward, presenting him with a wand forged from pure magical titanium, its surface shimmering with an ominous glow. Titian twirled it between his fingers like a predator toying with its prey. “Now, who’s coming with me?” he asked, his tone deceptively light as his eyes scanned the room.
The members exchanged uneasy glances, muttering half-hearted excuses.
Titian’s grin widened, a dangerous edge creeping into his expression. “Ah, I see how it is. You only listen when I’m angry.” His neck cracked audibly as he tilted his head, the sound reverberating through the chamber.
Suddenly, his voice exploded with fury. “EMMETT, STAND UP AND COME ON!”
The room jolted at his outburst, the once-muted murmurs replaced by a tense silence. Emmett shot to his feet, his face pale as he scrambled to Titian’s side, avoiding eye contact with anyone else.
Satisfied, Titian turned on his heel, the sharp click of his boots echoing ominously. “Good,” he muttered, twirling his wand again. “Let’s go make history.”
A few days later, Mel, still disguised in his wolf costume, approached a newsstand and caught sight of a glowing holographic headline floating above it. The bold text read: "The Shadowbanes Wreak Havoc Across Auroria Dominion—Is Solstice City Next?"
Mel’s eyes narrowed behind the mask as he snatched up a physical copy of the newspaper, flipping it open to confirm what he had seen. “The Shadowbanes? What kind of sick joke is this?” he muttered, his voice muffled by the costume’s headpiece.
The stand owner glanced up from arranging a stack of magazines and shrugged. “It’s no joke, kid,” he said grimly. “Reports are coming in from cities all over Auroria. People claiming to be part of the Shadowbanes are causing all kinds of trouble—robbery, assaults, vandalism. Heard one guy got stabbed. Luckily, the wound wasn’t fatal, but still... It’s bad out there.”
Mel’s grip tightened on the newspaper as the man continued. “It’s just wrong, ya know? Melanthius Shadowbane did everything he could to protect us—took down Goldman himself, gave his life for us. He didn’t just die a hero; he died a god. And now these scumbags are dragging his name through the mud.”
The stand owner sighed and shook his head, adjusting his hat. “It’s a real shame, what the world’s come to. Anyway, you buying that, or what?”
Mel stood frozen for a moment, his mind racing as he processed the information. Finally, he dropped a few coins on the counter, clutching the paper tightly. “Keep the change,” he said, his tone low and unreadable.
As he walked away, the weight of the news settled heavily on his shoulders. His name, his legacy—everything he stood for—was being twisted and tarnished. But if they wanted to use the Shadowbane name, they were about to find out what it really meant.
Moments later, in the seldom-visited Atlantis castle, Mel stormed into the grand hall and slammed a newspaper onto the table. Bimoth picked it up, skimming the headline with a frown. “Yeah, I’ve heard of these Shadowbane wannabes. Haven’t seen them myself, but they’ve been stirring up trouble,” he said casually.
Mel’s chest heaved as he yanked off the wolf mask, his eyes blazing with fury. “No shit!” he snapped, his voice sharp. It was rare for Mel to curse, a sign he was beyond enraged.
Bimoth glanced back at the paper. “Looks like they’re trying to keep a low profile, though. What’s the plan here?”
Without a word, Mel reached into Shieka’s back pocket and pulled out a massive, intricately designed sword. Before he could take a step, Shieka smacked him hard on the back of the head.
“I told you to ask before grabbing stuff off me!” she scolded, glaring at him.
Ignoring the reprimand, Mel gripped the sword tightly. “I’m taking everyone down!” he declared, storming toward the door.
Bimoth lunged forward, grabbing the tail of Mel’s wolf costume to stop him. “Hold on, let’s not rush into this! We have no idea what these people are capable of. For all we know, they could be heavy hitters.”
Mel exhaled sharply, his frustration clear as he dropped the sword with a clang. “Alright, then what’s your brilliant idea?” he asked, folding his arms.
Bimoth rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Well... I did tailor that Fox Bearrington costume to fit me,” he said slowly, giving Mel a sideways glance. “And you’ve still got your Wolf Wolfington getup. There are almost fifty cities in the Auroria Dominion, and right now, we’re probably the strongest duo in the kingdom.”
Mel’s eyes narrowed as he caught on to the plan. “You’re saying we suit up and hit the cities. If we find any Shadowbanes, we take them down.”
“Exactly,” Bimoth confirmed. He reached under the table, pulling out the Fox Bearrington costume, and quickly slipped it on, mask and all.
Watching the absurd scene unfold, Shieka crossed her arms and shook her head. “You two are absolute idiots,” she muttered, but there was a faint smirk tugging at her lips.
Moments later, in Mel’s car, the engine roared as he floored the pedal, the vehicle tearing down the road at breakneck speed. Bimoth sat calmly in the passenger seat, completely unfazed by the reckless velocity.
“Let’s hit Vrada first,” Bimoth suggested casually, his tone as steady as if they were cruising at a leisurely pace.
In a dark alleyway in Vrada, a masked man had a suited man pinned against the wall. With a slap to the face, he snarled, “I said, give me your wallet!” He followed up with a swift kick to the man’s leg, causing him to stagger, then landed a punch to his face. The suited man groaned in pain.
“Please, I need it!” he begged, his voice shaking, but the masked assailant was preparing to strike again when the sound of footsteps echoed through the alley.
“We don’t need a duo name,” Bimoth said, his voice muffled by his fox mask, his tone casual as if he were discussing something trivial.
Mel scratched the fur on his costumed arm, “It’ll be cool though,” he said, a grin tugging at his lips.
The masked man turned to see them both: Mel in his wolf costume and Bimoth in his fox costume. The masked man eyes narrowed as he pulled out a knife. “You should scram. We’re from the Shadowbane gang, and we don’t take kindly to bypassers,” he threatened.
Bimoth tilted his head slightly. “We should hold back our punches.” He cracked his knuckles nonchalantly.
Mel nodded, his gaze steely. “Of course. Dead men don’t give information.” He cracked his neck.
The masked man lunged at Bimoth, who swiftly caught his arm and twisted it into an arm bar. “Do any of you have magic?” Bimoth asked, his voice calm despite the struggle.
The man grunted in pain. “AHH!”
Mel grabbed the man’s hair, yanking his head back. “Fox asked you a question.”
The masked man, desperate, spat in Mel’s face and wrenched himself free of Bimoth’s grip. He lunged at Mel, but Mel was quicker—he kicked the man’s shin with a swift strike, sending him flipping over.
“If they’re this weak, we could just take out their head,” Bimoth muttered, watching the man groan in agony.
Mel wiped his mask where the man had spat. He then knelt down, holding out his palm, from which an electric webbing shot out, crackling with energy. “If I activate it, it’ll send 100 volts of electricity straight to your heart. Or maybe I’ll just use my black lightning,” he said, his voice cold as the man began to panic.
“Okay! Okay!” the masked man sputtered, his breath ragged with fear. “We work for someone! But we don’t know who they are! All we know is we were ordered to wreak havoc in Auroria!”
Mel stood up, running a hand through his hair. “I hate getting serious,” he muttered, his frustration evident as he turned to Bimoth.