Conquest Of The Fallen: Dark Dominions

The Academy's fourth-years started their pickings for druid orb-staffs, wands, cloaks, brim hats, and longbrooms—as the case may be, and [God Iron] practicals the weekend after the Spring Games finals and the Headmistress's announcement.

The finalists wizards and witches of the Corynthian college only enjoyed one night of debauchery to celebrate with their Arcs, which was possibly their last time before graduating, before the Inclusion Rituals began.

The rites of Magdalena.

An infamous induction ceremony conducted by all four factions of the academy to induct the Fourth Years into [arcane orders], realistically, and where they might best serve the realms.

"As you all know, darlings," Nicara instructed in assembly that Mir'sday early, "our schools finalists have already begun their exams to take off into the world and create more magic.

—so would the rest of you." She dipped her citrine eyes meaningfully at the other Years in the froward seats and adjusted her glasses. "But there won't be any total emancipation for you, unlike our finalists. Not yet anyway.

For some of you, it's just another year before the Öath Couragio is within reach. For some again, it's two years left to graduate. Others, three. But don't fret; you all will get a chance to prove that you are worthy of the rune of Magdalena into your skin—or to sit in these seats like our fine graduating class..."

She smiled at the section of Fourth Years in the assembly hall. "...mind you, they too have got to pass their Inclusion Rituals and ace mystic theories before they are free to wander to any corner of the realm they so desire. Our best graduants shall serve as elites of the Court of Whispers at Titans Landing. Isn't that wonderful?"

A few murmurs in the seats, but no one clapped.

"Yeah! Just sublime—" someone scoffed in the sophomores rows, prompting soft sniggering.

These days, no one was eager to visit the Capital of the continent. Not even halfblood demons.

The Usurper, King Thebault of House De Vríes, and infernal name of Mephistopheles had made one of the greatest polis of the known world into an abyss-verse. It wasn't that Titans Landing lacked the color or decorum, or even splendor it did during the days of the fae. No. It was that the colors were more of shadows, decorum divided amongst brethren, usually favoring the hellions. And as for splendor, the Dowager, Lilith Firstborn spared not a chunk of coin or copper of soul for the city's outfit.

The facade of Titans Landing was beautifully goth; one could see the towering spires and Blackstone fortresses, and steepled edifices from ships on the Cold Sea. In the reign of the Fallen, Titans Landing had grown much more wealthy. So that even the noble Lords and ladies formerly acrimonious to their power seizure now supped with the demon king when he organized banquets.

But the richness of Eldoria's land, the prosperity and stability of the mortal empire wasn't by the hands of no Usurper. It was Lilith who had forged the polis back into a state of the continental attraction it had once been, from a war-torn nation troubled by a bloody putsch to a rich, vast, slightly noir land that from the seascape looked settled in black shimmering gold.

As for the seasons, they wandered. Gone were the days of perpetual summer in the golden capital. As the city had lost its former name, so did it lose its fine country sun.

"I hear it even snows there now," one Fourth Year put a hand over her mouth and whispered to her friend. "Can you imagine it? The Capitol? Freezing over? I always counted on that place to spend my summer breaks. Next to our tropical weathers here, they had the luxurious shores, with these strange funny vases you could catch the sunlight in." The girl hissed at her friends. "Sheesh! Who wants to go there now?"

The friend covered her mouth as she responded too. "If in the capital it snows, imagine how it must be at Frostholm?! Gods! Once I ace my Rites, I'm picking the one of the other realms. That place may be sunken into gold for all I care, but I ain't canoodling in the can with no damn demon."

"Definitely. Me too. My mama says she's got me a place up in Rocasus."

"The western Republic?"

"Yes."

"Oh golly. I just might consider it too. After all, I hear the new General's a woman. A Legata!"

"Yes! And her son goes here. Did you know?"

"Really?!"

"Yes, fuckin' really. Time to make a friend, babe."

The girls giggled into each other, looking around and relaxing back in their seats. Their conversation was perhaps the right way for any graduant to be thinking. Any young magician aspiring to level up in mana-tap and dignitas.

At Titans Landing, the Dowager controlled every aspect of the city, from Lord's District to the undercity; her police of one-horn Maulers and sprites kept the peace. One look at them and you'd sure as hell keep your shit tight. Lilith didn't rule as much with an iron fist as Baeleon the Bold, or quite the madness of High Queen Cristabel and her holy nun-jas.

Yes. Nun-jas! . . .like Ninja.

Lilith ruled more with stout respect, a great dose of fear from the politicos, and the literal wisdom of the former queen; who had now gone from being her bitchy captive to her favorite lover.

To the Archdemoness, Giselle Van Imperia had become a most enchanting faerie delight.

Yeah! Talk about a warped sense of duty and love.

"...alright dears. Hop to it! Off! Off you go." Nicara shouted her concluding words from the podium in the assembly hall. "Make me proud. Hail Corynthia! May Fortuna bless your exams!"

She released the students to their proceeding day, the rigors of which many were already debating as they trudged out together from Magdalena's Hall and the vibrant, cheering face of the Headmistress behind. Nicara believed there would be no flunkers in the graduating class. But it was not up to her. It was up to them—to prove they were worthy of the weight of magic to the Wiccan Creatures.

She watched one particular redhead's profile all the way to the door; the tall lad didn't act like he saw her peeking.

Israfel since the Spring Games had avoided Dr. Nicara Shetty. He didn't trust his [Mind Barriers] to cordon her.

He decided to play it safe: distance.

Turns out his exams structure was quite different from the other students. As the only bi-magical pupil of the [C.A.W], his timetable was his alone and very detailed with all his prerequisite courses, both for Raven and Phoenix Arcs. He had [Dark Arts Cultivation] on the morrow, free days until Freyja's day, and three theory papers on [Sanguine History] and [Lore of Dragonkind].

But today... this morning, he had his first exams on a grooming course: a mandatory for Raven Arc.

[Spellica Nosferatu]

From the old tongue, it roughly translated as Names of the Dark Ones. It was a course on fables of strange and arcane creatures of the roaming, very necessary for all those in the Shadow faction who might already have one of this dark spectres as their familiar. Rafel took one glance at the huge grandfather clock ticking in loud chimes of the grey hallway and teleported to the Stonehouse. The instructor was already waiting with the papers.

Weirdly, it was Sister Melissandre from the night of the Holocaust Spell.

Sister Mercy. . .

'What a nun?'

Rafel reminded himself countless times of the nun part when he found himself following the sway of her big breasts under her white habit as she walked around handing out papers. He put his eyes to the table when she reached him.

And when she softly said, "you may begin." He rushed to do just that.

His first question was easy:

[How can one cast out a fiend?]

A Demon's true name.

Rafel scruffed his answer in with the ink feather. The second was a bit tricky.

[How can one cast out a fiend who's possessed the body of a willing?]

"Death." He whispered aloud. "Only death. Simple and short."

On and on he went, answering the tough sections of the paper. And before long, the day was over, and he had successfully written two papers.

The week rushed by. The examinations of magical theories and laws lasted a fortnight; interspersed with practicals and a lot of fieldwork with Griffins and Wyverns and smaller dragons, and mergers with other Arcs for [Land Navigation] scoops. And no; they didn't run into the Autumn angel again. It was some truly heckling two weeks.

The experience could only be felt.

However, the tumultuous studying and short sleep hours of Israfel and his friends could not be compared to the rigors the Fourth Years of the academy were going through. Their own Rites and final-year examinations lasted yet another week, with Tutors of all [Mage Orders] flown in on dragonback to grill them fit for Magdalena's rune. In fact, Rafel had seen his hot dreadlocked sentinel, Bolta Olympian wander the halls at the dead hours of night, her fine hands clasping a time rather than a [light baton].

One those occasions, he did ease her back into bed. And when she would touch his arm and drag him in with her, he made her forget tests and drills with his cock—at least for a good, sweaty two hours.

The daughter of Zeus caused many a storm that three weeks of examination; some lightning and thunders in the sky the best wildlings couldn't explain.

The examinations ended as the days began to gloom over.

Fall.

"It won't be long now, till we see the first murder."

It was Percival who spoke on the week's end after it all was done: the examinations and the theories and the flight and field testing, everything. He spoke not about murder like killing a person. But murder... like crows. A murder of crows.

Rafel collected the bottle of Royal Red the blonde Imperian passed him and took a great swig before passing it over to the next person: Corazón.n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

He and his adventure-loving friends sat in a high balcony overlooking Professor Ivy's gardens, the loch Næss to the south. And then a serenading view of the island's prominent beach from up there. It was very picturesque. And with the evening sun dipping into marigold waters of the sea, it was a near miracle. The upper-storey panorama was a splendid loggia from Bolta's Aerium: her colossal belvedere of a house which was practically half hidden in the white clouds.

This far up, Rafel and his friends could see the ships distant on the Cold Sea, little as thumbs.

The noise of campus didn't reach up this house. No. Not if the Olympian god-king could help it. He wanted his daughter as close to him as possible, hence the heavenly edifice. Bolta was out on one of the other isles, on an expedition before her graduation ceremony. Only a few days remained.

Rafel was house-sitting.

"Fall is quite different here in Corynthia," said Rosa, when the passing bottle of wine reached her. Like the others, she drank straight from the neck.

"How different?" Ravenna asked, grasping the half-empty flagon next.

"You'll see." Read latest chapters at empire

Rosamunde was the only one in the friend group native to the isles, and so she divined clearly the terrain. She intended those two words in some humor, but then Rafel said,

"I'm not sure I'll be here for that."

And everyone paused. Smiles faltered. The bottle had reached Percival again, but he froze with the cusp to his lips. Ravenna broke the silence.

"Where will you go?"

She sidled close to him, and paraphrased: "Where will we go?"