The announcement came during breakfast, three weeks after Hermes's midnight raid on the restricted archives.
"Attention, students." Headmaster Velora's voice echoed through the dining hall, cutting through hundreds of conversations like a knife. "Supreme Lord Azrath will be conducting a formal inspection of Genesis Academy tomorrow. All students are required to attend the assembly. Dress uniforms mandatory. Failure to comply will result in immediate expulsion."
The hall erupted into nervous chatter.
Hermes's fork stopped halfway to his mouth. His Core flared involuntarily—black lightning crackling just beneath his skin—before he crushed it down.
Azrath. One of the six names on that authorization document. One of his killers.
"You okay?" Cyrus asked from across the table. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Fine," Hermes managed. His voice sounded almost normal. "Just not a fan of Supremes."
"Who is?" Cyrus shoved eggs around his plate. "They're terrifying. My dad met one once during his military service. Said it was like standing next to a black hole—you could feel the power trying to pull you apart."
That tracked. The six Supremes were the most powerful beings in demon society. Each one commanded a major faction, each one was Rank 0, and collectively they'd ruled for over two centuries. Stable. Entrenched. Untouchable.
Until now.
Aerith slid into the seat beside Hermes without invitation. She'd been doing that lately—inserting herself into his daily routine like they were old friends. To anyone watching, they probably looked like study partners or something equally innocent.
"Heard the news?" she asked quietly.
"Yeah."
"Azrath. That's one of yours, right?"
"One of mine" had become their code for the Supremes who'd killed Alexander Smith. Five of them were still active. The sixth had supposedly retired to a monastery or something equally unlikely for a power-hungry demon lord.
"Yeah," Hermes repeated. Kept his expression neutral even though his mind was racing. "Perfect timing."
"Is it though?" Aerith leaned closer, voice dropping. "You're not ready. None of your abilities are developed. You can barely maintain Doppelganger for five minutes."
She wasn't wrong.
Hermes had discovered the Doppelganger ability two weeks ago during a late-night training session. He'd been alone in one of the unused combat arenas, practicing Core control, when something shifted. His body had... changed. Became someone else entirely. A random student he'd seen in the hallways.
The transformation was perfect. Appearance, voice, even Core signature—all copied flawlessly. But maintaining it took constant concentration and drained his energy fast. Five minutes was his current limit before the strain became unbearable.
Still. The potential was staggering.
"I'm not planning to attack him during the inspection," Hermes said. "That would be stupid."
"Good. Because it would also be suicide." Aerith stabbed at her food. "But you're thinking about it. I can tell."
He was. Of course he was. The idea of seeing Azrath in person, of being close enough to one of his murderers to actually hurt him—it made the black lightning sing in his veins.
But Aerith was right. He wasn't ready. Not yet.
"I'll behave," Hermes promised.
"Liar."
Cyrus looked between them, confused. "What are you two talking about?"
"Study group," Aerith said smoothly. "For Advanced Core Theory. Hermes keeps wanting to skip ahead to the practical applications before mastering the fundamentals."
"Oh." Cyrus nodded like that made sense. "Yeah, that sounds like him. He's always doing things the hard way."
If only Cyrus knew how accurate that statement was.
The rest of the day crawled by. Classes, training exercises, meal times—all of it background noise while Hermes's mind churned through possibilities. Azrath would be here tomorrow. In the same building. Breathing the same air.
What would Alexander do?
But that was the wrong question. Alexander was dead. The Knight of Light had made his choices and paid the price. Hermes needed to be smarter, more careful, more patient.
Even if every instinct screamed for immediate violence.
That night, unable to sleep, Hermes slipped out of his room again. These midnight excursions were becoming habit—dangerous habit, but necessary. The academy at night was different. Quieter. Honest somehow, with all the social masks stripped away.
He made his way to the combat arena where he'd been training. Empty, as usual. The security golems never patrolled this section—structural damage from the war a century ago made it technically off-limits, though the academy hadn't bothered repairing it. Perfect for practicing things he didn't want anyone seeing.
Hermes centered himself. Reached for his Core. Let the black lightning flow.
It came easier now than it had three weeks ago. Still dangerous, still barely controlled, but responsive. He directed it through his body, feeling the power course through channels that shouldn't exist. Lightning wasn't supposed to be black. Wasn't supposed to feel cold instead of hot. Wasn't supposed to make reality shiver when it manifested.
But Alexander's technique had never been normal.
He practiced the basic forms. Strike patterns, defensive rotations, power modulation. Muscle memory from thirty years of training overlaid on a seventeen-year-old body. The combination was... strange. Effective, but strange.
Then he tried the Doppelganger ability.
Focus. Intent. Will.
His body shifted. Bones restructured, skin changed texture, even his Core signature warped. When he opened his eyes, Professor Malthus stared back at him from a reflective surface.
Perfect replication. Down to the smallest detail.
Hermes held the form, counting seconds. One minute. Two. The strain built steadily—like holding your breath underwater, pressure increasing with each moment. Three minutes. Four.
At five minutes thirty seconds, something broke. The transformation collapsed, snapping back to his natural form so violently he staggered.
"Thirty more seconds," he muttered. "Better."
"Impressive."
Hermes spun, black lightning already crackling across his hands, ready to—
Professor Malthus stood at the arena entrance. The real one.
"Relax, Mr. Selenarch. If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead."
The lightning didn't dissipate. "How long have you been watching?"
"Long enough." Malthus walked forward slowly, hands visible and non-threatening. "That transformation ability. Doppelganger, if I'm not mistaken. Extremely rare. Extremely dangerous in the wrong hands."
"Are mine the wrong hands?"
"That depends on what you plan to do with it." Malthus stopped several paces away. "I assume you've heard about tomorrow's inspection."
"Yes."
"And I assume you have... complicated feelings about Supreme Lord Azrath."
Hermes said nothing. Admission was dangerous. Silence was safer.
Malthus smiled slightly. "Alexander Smith was one of the finest warriors I ever had the privilege of meeting. Arrogant, stubborn, and absolutely convinced of his own moral superiority, but brilliant nonetheless. His death was a waste."
The admission hung in the air like a blade.
"You knew him," Hermes said. Not a question.
"I trained with him. Briefly. Before he surpassed everyone in his generation and became the Knight of Light." Malthus's expression turned distant. "He was twenty-three when he achieved Rank 0. Youngest human ever. The Supremes were terrified, though they'd never admit it. A human that powerful, that young, with decades ahead to grow even stronger?" He shook his head. "They couldn't allow it."
"So they killed him."
"Yes." Malthus met Hermes's gaze steadily. "I wasn't there. Wasn't part of the decision. But I knew what was coming and did nothing to stop it. That makes me complicit."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because tomorrow, you're going to come face-to-face with one of his murderers. And you're going to want to do something stupid." Malthus's voice hardened. "Don't. Azrath is Rank 0 with two hundred years of experience. You're barely maintaining your disguise and can't hold a transformation for six minutes. He will kill you. Again."
The confirmation that Malthus knew exactly who—what—Hermes was should have been terrifying. Instead, it was almost a relief. One less person to lie to.
"Then what do you suggest I do?" Hermes asked. "Just let him walk around like he didn't murder an entire ship's crew?"
"Yes. For now." Malthus stepped closer. "Smith was powerful but impatient. He rushed into confrontations believing his strength would carry him through. It worked right up until it didn't." A pause. "You have an advantage he never had."
"What's that?"
"You died. You know what they're capable of. You understand the stakes." Malthus's eyes were intense. "Use that knowledge. Be patient. Learn. Grow. And when you're finally ready—when you're truly ready, not just angry—then you can make them pay."
It was good advice. Smart advice. Everything Hermes had been telling himself for weeks.
He hated it.
"I'm not Alexander Smith," Hermes said quietly. "Not anymore. I'm something else now."
"Then be something better. Be what he should have been." Malthus turned to leave, paused at the entrance. "Tomorrow, keep your head down and your Core signature suppressed. Azrath's paranoid—he'll be scanning every student, looking for threats. Don't give him a reason to look twice at you."
Then he was gone, leaving Hermes alone with his thoughts and his barely-controlled power.
***
The assembly was held in the main arena—the big one that seated ten thousand. Every student in the academy was required to attend, arranged by rank and class year. Faculty lined the upper levels. Security golems stood at every entrance.
Hermes sat in the Rank 3 section, surrounded by a hundred other students of similar power level. Anonymous. Unremarkable. Exactly where he wanted to be.
Except his Core was screaming.
It recognized Azrath before Hermes's eyes did. Felt the Supreme's power signature approaching like an oncoming storm. Black lightning thrashed against Hermes's mental restraints, demanding to be released, demanding vengeance.
He crushed it down brutally. Not yet. Not here. Not now.
Azrath entered through the main doors.
He was tall—even for a demon—with horns that swept back like a crown and eyes that burned with amber fire. His presence filled the arena despite making no obvious display of power. Reality bent slightly around him, space distorting like heat shimmer.
This was a being who could crack moons.
"Students of Genesis Academy," Azrath's voice carried effortlessly. "I'm pleased to see such a fine gathering of future leaders."
Hermes watched him. Memorized every detail. The way he moved, the cadence of his speech, the subtle tells in his body language. All information. All useful.
"Power is what defines us," Azrath continued. "Not birth, not faction, not heritage. Pure power. Those who have it shape the future. Those who don't become footnotes in history." He smiled. "You are here because you have potential. The question is whether you have the will to realize it."
Standard inspirational speech. Variations on the same theme every powerful being used to justify their position.
Then Azrath's gaze swept across the arena. Slowly. Deliberately. Hermes felt it pass over him like a physical pressure, and his Core flickered despite his best efforts.
For one terrible moment, those amber eyes locked onto him.
Time stopped.
Azrath was looking directly at Hermes. Really looking. Assessing. Measuring. The Supreme's power pressed against him, trying to pierce through his disguise, feel the truth beneath the surface.
Hermes didn't breathe. Didn't move. Kept his Core signature locked down so tight it felt like trying to hold back a tidal wave with his bare hands.
Five seconds. Ten. Fifteen.
Then Azrath's gaze moved on.
Hermes exhaled slowly, quietly. His hands were shaking. Had Azrath seen something? Suspected something? Or was it just random attention?
"Impressive students," Azrath said to Headmaster Velora, who'd joined him on the platform. "Particularly the Rank 3 tier. I sense several who might reach Rank 2 within the year."
"Genesis produces excellence," Velora replied. "As you well know, having trained here yourself."
They continued talking. Hermes stopped listening. His mind was replaying that moment—the weight of Azrath's attention, the feeling of being one wrong move away from discovery.
This was one of the beings who'd killed him. Who'd destroyed The Excalibur and everyone aboard. Who'd signed the authorization for his execution like it was routine paperwork.
And Hermes had sat there. Done nothing. Let him walk away.
The black lightning raged inside him, furious at the restraint.
Beside him, another student whispered to their friend. "Did you feel that? When the Supreme looked at us? I thought I was going to pass out."
"Rank 0s are terrifying," the friend whispered back. "Can't imagine fighting one."
Hermes could. He'd done it before, in his previous life. Sparring matches with other Rank 0s, testing limits, pushing boundaries. He'd been good at it too. One of the best.
Then six of them had ambushed him at once, and being "good" hadn't been enough.
The assembly dragged on for another hour. Azrath gave more speeches about duty and strength and the natural order. Students asked carefully prepared questions. Faculty nodded along like everything was perfectly normal.
Normal. As if a mass murderer wasn't standing fifteen meters away, accepted and celebrated.
Finally, it ended. Students filed out in organized chaos. Hermes moved with the crowd, keeping his head down, blending in.
"Hermes Selenarch."
The voice froze him mid-step. He turned slowly.
Azrath stood three paces away. Up close, the Supreme's power was even more oppressive. The air around him felt heavy, dense, wrong.
"Supreme Lord," Hermes managed. Kept his voice steady through sheer will.
"You're the one who demolished the training constructs during evaluation." It wasn't a question. "Impressive performance for a Rank 3. Where did you train?"
"Nowhere formally, Supreme Lord. My father was military. I learned from him."
"Kael Selenarch. Logistics officer, if I recall correctly." Azrath's eyes narrowed slightly. "Not exactly known for combat expertise."
Damn. He'd done his homework.
"I had other teachers," Hermes said carefully. "Private instructors. My family wanted me prepared for the academy."
Azrath studied him for a long moment. "You have potential. Don't waste it. Power like yours could serve the Supremes well someday."
The irony was so thick Hermes almost laughed. Instead, he nodded respectfully. "Thank you, Supreme Lord."
"One more thing." Azrath leaned slightly closer, voice dropping. "Your Core signature. There's something unusual about it. Almost familiar, though I can't place where I've felt it before."
Hermes's blood turned to ice.
"I'm not sure what you mean, Supreme Lord."
"Neither am I. Not yet." Azrath straightened. "But I'm very good at remembering power signatures. If I've encountered yours before, I'll figure out where."
Then he walked away, leaving Hermes standing frozen in the corridor.
That was bad. That was very, very bad.
Hermes made it back to his room on autopilot. Locked the door. Sat on his bed and tried to process what had just happened.
Azrath suspected something. Not the full truth, probably, but something. The black lightning was distinctive—Alexander's signature technique. If Azrath remembered it from their fight fifteen years ago...
A knock on the door made him jump.
Aerith slipped inside before he could respond. "We have a problem."
"I know. Azrath noticed my Core signature."
"Not just that." She pulled out a data crystal. "I've been monitoring academy communications. There's been chatter about unusual power signatures among new students. Specifically yours. They're planning to do detailed scans of anyone who caught Supreme Lord Azrath's attention."
Of course they were.
"When?"
"Tomorrow. Maybe tonight if they're paranoid." Aerith set the crystal on his desk. "You need to either learn better suppression or get off this moon before they figure out what you are."
"Running isn't an option."
"Then hiding better is your only choice." She crossed her arms. "I might know someone who can help. A skill specialist—teaches advanced Core manipulation techniques, including signature suppression. Very exclusive, very expensive, very illegal."
"How expensive?"
"Information. He wants secrets about the Supremes. Things they've kept hidden. Things that could be used against them." Aerith's expression was grim. "Think you can provide that?"
Hermes thought about the documents in his hidden stash. The authorization for his execution. The names and seals. Fifteen years of conspiracy and murder documented in careful detail.
"Yeah," he said. "I can provide that."
"Good. Meet me at the western gate after midnight. Wear dark clothes and bring your combat gear." She moved toward the door, paused. "This is serious, Hermes. If we get caught..."
"I know."
She left.
Hermes sat alone with the weight of everything pressing down. Azrath was here, suspicious and dangerous. The academy was about to scan his Core in detail. And he'd just committed to trading classified information to a black market specialist for techniques that might not even work.
This was spiraling out of control.
But what choice did he have? Sit and wait for discovery? Run and abandon his revenge? Neither option was acceptable.
He reached for his Core, let the black lightning flow briefly across his skin. It responded eagerly, always ready for violence.
"Not yet," he told it again. Told himself. "Soon. But not yet."
Outside, the academy's bells chimed for evening curfew. Students returned to their rooms. Faculty completed their patrols. Security systems activated for the night.
And somewhere in the faculty housing, Supreme Lord Azrath sat in his temporary quarters, reviewing reports and wondering why a seventeen-year-old demon's Core signature felt so disturbingly familiar.
The game had begun. And Hermes Selenarch—who used to be Alexander Smith, who used to be the strongest human alive—was playing for his life.
Again.