Chapter 64. Doubled Down
Succubi Chapter 64. Doubled Down
Young—probably not even thirty. Dark hair tied back into a low ponytail that somehow didn’t look lazy but lethal. Tall. Lanky. And dressed in full ‘I’m a high ranking mage’ cosplay. Long black cloak with silver runes embroidered along the hem, formal boots that clicked just right on marble tile, and…a monocle.
Yes.
A monocle.
Who even wears a monocle in modern times? This man apparently.
He didn’t look like a professor. He looked like he was about to summon a cursed grimmoire and challenge us to a duel under a blood moon. And his vibe?
Stone cold.
Face like someone who had never laughed in his life.
Aura practically whispered “Try me and die.”
But then.
As he took his first step into the lecture space, he raised his hand—just a flick of his fingers—and bam.
All the window blinds slammed shut at once.
No chant. No delay. Just a synchronized, telekinetic snap that drowned the room in shadow like we’d been pulled into a dungeon boss cutscene.
And as if that wasn’t enough?
The lighting spell above us flared into this soft, eerie bluish glow—cool and quiet, like we were suddenly underwater. His cloak swept behind him, trailing slightly like a spell effect. It was theatrical.
And I hated how cool it looked.
Because I knew where this was going.
He strode toward the podium like a man about to drop the darkest arcane truthbombs we’d ever heard. Not even Adrian dared to breathe too loud beside me.
And then.
He tripped.
Hard.
Right in front of the entire class.
His boot caught the edge of the stage.
And this so-called harbinger of arcane doom went full-body airborne for like, half a second, arms flailing slightly, monocle flying clean off his face. The sound when he hit the podium? A cross between a hollow thunk and the universe whispering “F.”
Silence.
I mean, dead silence.
Nobody moved.
It was that special kind of tension where my lung want to explode from holding in a laugh, but my brain is like, “If I crack, I’m failing this class.”
Adrian’s book was up against his face so fast it nearly tore in half. His shoulders shook from the effort to keep it together. A few students coughed, but everyone was on the brink.
Me?
I kept the most deadpan expression I could manage.
Not blinking. Not twitching.
But I had to physically pinch the back of my hand under the desk just to survive.
Like, hard.
Leave-a-mark hard.
Because watching this man’s cloak splayed dramatically around him while his face kissed the floor?
That was comedy gold.
He didn’t say anything for a moment. Just laid there.
Collecting what was left of his dignity.
Then—without moving—he muttered, voice dry and muffled,
“…That was intentional.”
Oh gods.
It somehow made it worse.
Like bro. Bro.
We could’ve helped you recover.
You could’ve laughed it off.
Made a joke.
But no.
You doubled down.
Slowly, stiffly, he stood up, scooped his monocle off the ground like it hadn’t just betrayed him, and walked the rest of the way to the podium with the posture of a man whose soul had just left his body.
He placed a stack of ancient-looking spellbooks on the desk with a shaky exhale and muttered a quick spell under his breath—probably to calm his own heartbeat. Then he adjusted his cloak and looked out across the room.
His expression snapped back to “Don’t fuck around with me” like we hadn’t all just seen him eat floorboard.
And then I saw his face properly.
And froze.
No.
Way.
That was him?
Professor Nyx Callahan.
Otherwise known as "The Cradlestorm" in the underground dueling circuit.
A battle genius. Not just an academic prodigy—this guy rewrote close-range casting theory when he was like 19. Developed hybridized combat spells that stitched together elemental sequences in ways that defied normal structure.
He was the first recorded Arcana to beat three Valor duelists at once without using a single barrier spell—just precision-boosted teleports, momentum-locks, and weaponized illusions.
His moniker came from a custom spell he built himself. Cradlestorm—a vortex of mana threads designed to collapse enemy skills mid-cast.
He used to post anonymous clips online. Black cloak, face half-hidden, casting with one hand like he was playing piano in a lightning storm. I’d watched those duels at like 2 AM back in high school.
And now he was… here.
Falling on his face in my lecture hall.
Callahan tapped the desk once and a shimmer passed across the surface. The sigil of Arcana House flared to life underneath him.
“This,” he said calmly, “is Multi-Threaded Spell Logic. If you’re in the wrong room, leave.”
No one moved.
“Good. Because I’m not going to slow down. And I’m not going to dumb it down. This is Arcana. You’re here because you’re supposed to be the best. Prove it.”
He scanned the room with sharp eyes. “By the way. Yes, the fall was intentional. I wanted to teach you about unpredictability in spell momentum.”
I nearly choked.
Adrian leaned over and whispered, “Bro is still coping.”
“Hard,” I muttered back.
But Callahan didn’t blink. “In battle, you will fall. You will stumble. You will lose balance. What matters is how fast you recover. And whether your enemy sees hesitation—or control.”
…Okay, fine.
That line was kinda badass.
He raised one hand, fingers twisting mid-air, and conjured a flickering sphere of rotating mana threads—color-coded by element. It hovered above the desk, pulsing with heat, frost, shock, and void.
“This,” he said, “is a basic structure. Anyone with enough mana can generate one. But to modify it mid-flight, during a duel, while evading or casting something else?”
He flicked his wrist.
The orb split. Spun. Fragmented into five distinct lines of elemental script that rearranged themselves like shifting strings of DNA.
“Welcome to thread logic.”
I sat forward slightly, all thoughts of the trip long gone.
Callahan’s voice remained calm, steady. “Today, we’ll learn to identify instability triggers. Tomorrow, we’ll learn to weaponize them. By next week, if you’re not instinctively catching miscasts in real-time, you’re failing. Not metaphorically. Literally.”
The board behind him lit up, filling with a glowing diagram that pulsed in sync with his words. Every rune, every circuit line shimmered with active feedback.
“This course is about control. Not flash. Not force. Precision.”
He raised his gaze again.
“And if you want to impress me? Don’t do it with power. Do it with restraint.”
Okay.
That hit.
Arcana students around me leaned in too. Even the elf girl stopped blushing long enough to scribble notes. The lamia uncoiled, her tail swaying slowly in rhythm with the orb. The fox girl actually reached for her pen like it was the first time she’d touched it all week.
Adrian whispered, “This dude’s terrifying. I love it.”
I nodded slowly. “Yeah. He might be a disaster in boots… but he’s our disaster.”
Callahan clapped once, sharp and commanding.
“Now. Who here thinks they’re good at elemental sequencing?”
A couple of hands went up.
He smiled thinly.
“Great. Let’s see how long that confidence lasts.”
And just like that, the first real class began.
No more shared lectures. No more Valor sneers.
This was Arcana.
And I was exactly where I needed to be.
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