Magnus honestly didn’t expect to be in the current predicament he was in right now but yet somehow faith was never kind to him, he was currently in a room with a girl that seemed to be feeding on a bag of blood, Magnus should have found it weird and abnormal but instead he found it strangely intoxicating as he felt extremely dizzy and he didn’t know why as he never had a problem when he saw himself bleed from the cuts on his first from the many times he’s punched something in his anger so he didn’t think it could be from seeing blood or anything.

His sense felt like they were extremely amplified all of a sudden as the smell of blood filled his nose becoming more and more intoxicating, his body started to have reactions he didn’t like one bit, for instance his mouth started to water as if it was hungry for something but this wasn’t a normal hungrier it felt like an unusual hungrier that made him crave something more fulfilling. He started to get urges he couldn’t explain at all urged like biting the bag of blood and draining it dry. But the more he thought about those urges the more morbid it sounded and he wanted to fight those urges but they were getting harder and harder to resist.

He held his hand over his mouth to try and prevent himself from doing something rash but the more he kept fighting it the worse he got as his vision started to go red as he started to feel like his body wasn’t in control, he started to move towards the girl with the urge to entertain these desires.

𝕿he darkly lit room was void of any living presence, as night was gradually falling and students began retreating to their quarters. The training mat shimmered under the moon, light spilling through the single window nestled in the stone walls. There, perched atop a pile of wooden crates, a leg mindlessly dangling in the air, was a girl.

Silver hair like moonlight, or the cold steel of a blade, cascading down her shoulders, she sighed, head tilting backward until it rested against the wall. Cristalline eyes glistened in the ink-black room, a single line of crimson trailed down her chin. Should one unwary soul wander in the bowels of this hellish cave, they would be faced with a vision carved from eerie nightmares — a wraith, skin almost transparent, eyes pools of charcoal and sharp features one would cut oneself on upon a mere look. Though the striking element of this entire scene would be the pouch of blood grasped tightly in her right hand, as well as the slender fangs dug in its heart.

Despite her kind not requiring blood to sustain themselves, at least amongst her family there was a belief it heightened a dhampir's senses, and Viktoriya had regularly been provided with such supplies. She adored it. As much as the trill of sparring released adrenaline and dopamine down her system, ichor was ambrosia to the young heiress' eyes, and though it was strictly aimed to improve her abilities and not for her own pleasure, she regularly found herself downing a pouch after supper, or in the early morning. Not that she was hiding such practices, if anything her family took more pride in their bloody heritage than in the weapons that consisted their income, and she shared such sentiment of superiority — the hound was merely not social, and feeding was something she considered private.

The door creaked open. At first attributing such noise to the wind, she quickly realized a boy was standing there, staring. Weirdo, she thought, nose creasing in displeasure. Perhaps he hadn't recognised her. She herself had positively never seen him. Blonde curls pouring down his head as though he was bathed in gold, he looked every bit like— she stopped herself, instead straightening her position before casting a stone-cold gaze in his direction. Fangs clearly visible, she licked a single pearl of blood dropping before snarling in his direction, "This room is taken. Get lost."

Magnus heard her warning but his body wouldn’t listen to it, it was like he wasn’t in control of his body as if seeing this girl drink blood awoke this weird primal urge inside of him. He could feel the way his mouth kept drooling like he was some wild animal that was starving, but the only thing that was in the room that seemed to have his senses all messed up was the blood bag she was currently sucking on.

Magnus stopped to get a better look at this girl, she had hair that was white as if it was in fact like pure white snow with celestial blue eyes that seemed to have sort of a hint of crimson inside of them at least to Magnus. Then her skin which looked smooth and soft as if she was some kind of fair maiden except her eyes told otherwise. Her eyes told she could be a killer if necessary.

As Magnus got a closer look to it he noticed she seemed to have sharp teeth almost like fangs, his eyes widen as he had read stories about creatures like her. They went vampires but half of them and were called Dhampirs. There was only one issue with Magnus assuming she was a Dhampir, two of Magnus’ teeth looked Excatly like her fangs but…Magnus couldn’t be a Dhampir right..his mother she wouldn’t have kept that from him…would she?

He didn’t have time to think that as his senses began to be overwhelm as he heard a sudden voice in his head beckoning him to listen to these urges he was feeling. “We must feast…drink the blood…drink the blood….DRINK THE BLOOD!” The voice for louder and louder in his head as it was repeating over and over again and getting louder, and louder and louder till Magnus couldn’t even think straight as he felt like he wasn’t in control anymore.

His body acted on command like it was made for this, he moved forward before getting closer to her as he attempted to fight off the hunger he felt, that seemed to never be satisfied. “Yeah well no shit I see that” He grumbled as he continued to hold himself back, his eyes started to change a bit as a hint of his natural crimson color started to pour through his contacts.

𝕭londe curls shimmered under the sun, catchign the light and reflecting it in thousands of directions, diamond bathed in holy light, as the coal stared from afar, seething. He was laughing. That— he was laughing. The morning was cold, as always whenever Mstislav decided a demonstration of what skills they had honed this week was in order. The outdoor terrain was pooling with ounces of fake blood, destroyed mannequins scattered at every corner. Enchanters stood in the other side of the field, articulating the wooden dummies, adding perks and difficulties here and then. Beads of sweat pearled down her neck, the freezing shards of russian air unable to cool down the pools of heat rising from her every pore. Both knees were sunk to the ground, chest rising and falling frantically. Fingers were wrapped so tightly around the hilt the blood had retreated from her veins, turning a distinct shade of ivory. If stares could steal the breath of life from one's lung, he would be already fallen under the strength of thousands of daggers sunken into his back, wheezing for air as he pathetically attempts to crawl away from the impending sword of damocles looming over his neck.

Hatred was not what she would have used to describe her feelings towards the moronic fool that posed as her brother. Cain complex was perhaps a more accurate depiction, yet still a twisted version of what was merely and simply a righteous sentiment of unserved justice. Yet again, she had proved her skills and wits surpassed this blonde idiot in every way. And here he stood, laughing, one defeated enemy at his feet. One. Praise poured from the skies, the sun itself gracing him with light as though the one addressed as God by the occasional prayers of her father — though she was certain his heart did not possess room for anything, let alone faith — had chosen The Golden Heir, yet again. One defeat, and suddenly it was as though he had seized the heavens themselves. Something darker swirling in her heart, she rose, ancient gods humming her song below the bowels of the earth as she stood, staring, forty nine lifeless mannequins at her feet.

A scowl deformed the smooth skin of her forehead, as the intruder on one part did not seem clever enough to take a hint, on another resembled her dearly detested, former brother in such an uncanny way she had to muster quite a great deal of reason not to send a dagger into his weirdly shaped face. Unruly blonde curls, tall figure and odd eyes, empty mind hidden behind banal features. And without doubt a confidence in his own abilities that tingled the already irritated nerve coursing through her system.

"Are you deaf or simply half-witted ? Get out."

Was he drunk? Or a simple minded idiot, apparently inbred as well for how little he appeared to understand russian. Stumbling on every step, as though something plagued any braincell he might have possessed. At last, he had stopped, and the thought he had at last understood crossed her mind, before he walked closer, mumbling a weird reply to her previous warning. Eyes narrowing, she set the bag of blood beside her, planting a dagger in its heart, turning back to face him as crimson liquid poured from the wound. "Take one more step and you will be sent into that wall."

Besides his senses acting up from him craving blood Magnus was getting aggregated with this girl as she seemed to make very snarky comments which was stating to piss him off. It reminded Magnus one of the many reasons he was glad his mothers decided to not have any more children one because she said Magnus was too much to handle already and made her life hell anyway but he was sort of thankful for that, as if he had a sister and it ended up being a bitch like this girl here he don’t think they’d be living together without trying to kill each other as right now there was only one thought on Magnus mind. I want to kill her so bad right now god.

“One I’m not deaf, two the only half witted one seems to be you sitting here sipping on blood like a lunatic..” He scoffed when he asked him if he was half witted, as just who did this bitch think she was he was smarter than people gave him credit for and honestly he was starting to get sick of her and other people thinking he wasn’t. It seemed this girl angering him was distracting him from the fact he was craving the blood she was snacking on at the moment. Magnus didn’t think any one could get on his nerves as much as his mother but he was wrong, he was so wrong she was a demon in her on right.


He glared at her when she threatened to shove him into a wall as because who did she think she was to lay her hands on him. “you wouldn’t dare touch me if you know what’s best for you” The angrier he got the more his natural crimson eye color pierced through the contacts.

𝕺ne would argue arrogance can be quickly dismantled if the confidence in one's abilities was not followed by immediate proof of said abilities. A child claiming he was the fastest ever to exist would be given little credit, should he move at a similar velocity than a passing snail. Crowds believe in what they can witness, and a fall from a pedestal one set himself on would be more quickly remembered than any preposterous claim shouted afterwards.

Viktoriya was not arrogant. There was this confident aura surrounding her every limb, found in the way her chin tilted upward, or in the light smirk curving the edge of her lips. One radiating from every pore of her skin, the certainty she rose above all of those she met. The heiress was not merely arrogant, she was a bearer of the truth, wielding it like a blade. And it was plain, simple, and understandable even to the dull-minded fool standing before her — she was better than the rest of those weak, fleeting humans roaming the earth like cockroaches waiting to be stepped on.

"Hmm. And yet you are still standing before me, arguing like a child. That defeats your point."

A loud scoff escaped her. Daring? If she wanted his head on the platter, she would have no one to consult but herself. Her reputation as a hellhound would be but highlighted, and his unimportant family would be quickly dealt with by her father's advisors. "How charming that you believe your warnings carry weight." A slow, disdainful demeanour echoed through every inflexion of her voice as she rose, slowly circling him — a shark, a wolf before a prey idiotic enough to step foot in its den.

"If I wished to send your pathetic self through that window, your opinion on the matter would hardly enter my calculations."

If anyone was to ask Magnus what irritated him the most in life he would have said his mother every single time, now if someone asked him this right at this moment then that answer would turn into this demonic creature of a woman that was in front of him right now.

Calling him a child was setting Magnus off a lot as he didn’t like being called a child or a kid, the more anger he felt the more crimson bled through his contacts giving glimpses of his actually eye color. ““God you are so annoying I pity any siblings you may have as how they deal with such a bitch I’ll never know!” Magnus internally cringed as he realized he sounded just like his mother which he didn’t like at all but this girl was pissing him off and he honestly couldn’t deal with it for much longer as he might actually hurt her.

what set him off the most was her acting like she was so high and mighty and would be able to do anything to Magnus, she couldn’t do shit and she wasn’t about to attempt it either. “It’s pathetic how you think you can do shit, just because your a girl does not mean I’ll go easy on you so I’ll gladly throw you out a window right now” one thing Magnus valued was strength, so he didn’t care what gender they were if they were picking for a fight he would gladly beat there asses to prove his point and this girl was no difference.

𝕺nce, not long after a thick liquid as dark as charcoal had rained down her throat, enveloping her heart and hardening until its beating was heard by none but her, Viktoriya had been thrust onto a cardboard stage, fragile and its fondations trembling. This stage was a late dinner, held by the highest spheres of Russian wizarding aristocracy, officially to present her father with condoleances upon the loss of his wife, though it was clear to all the truthful objective of this gathering had been to assess the newest heir of the House of Petrovskikh. Or rather, Heiress.

The memory had been engraved into her skull — the imperceptible twitch of their lips, the recoil of their hands and the mocking disbelief flashing in elderly eyes. One had laughed. Viktoriya had sensed Mstislav tense behind her, hand tightening around the hilt of his blade, a cloud of smoke obscuring the scene. A theory she had been considering was that her father had, through unspoken and wandless magic, an absolute control over the atmosphere of a room. Already intimidating from his mere presence, Mstislav had learned to influence the general sentiment through obscuring a window at the appropriate moment, playing with scents and sensations such as frost, and other manipulative endeavors.

Though the laughter had swiftly died down, the attempt at intimidation was limited by the general sentiment that had forged itself upon catching a sight of the Petrovskikh's future. A future draped in silk, armor and capes, one with such determination etched on her face it could tear mountains apart. Her father had walked forward, carrying presents for their host, in the midst of which rested a weary teddy bear, dried blood encrusted in its worn out furr. All colour had vanished from the previously amused aristocrat's face, and the sheer terror woven with indignation that replaced his superior grin was drilled down Viktoriya's spine, a sensation of such power and pride curling around her chest, temporarily lifting the steel weighting down her shoulders ever since a frantic farmer had been thrown at her father's feet, a few months prior.

From this moment, she relished admiring the recoil her presence brought, and tolerated no mark of disrespect addressed towards her, neither towards her House. Bitch. The singular word echoed between them, the walls of the room suddenly tightening as the atmosphere grew heavier. I will have your tongue for that. A light chuckle escaped her, eyes narrowing to slits as she finished circling him before halting right in front of him. "Such language. One can practically hear the absence of an upbringing," she noted, on eyebrow raised. It was as though he had been raised in a barn, merrily striding alongside porks and other disgusting creatures.

His attempt at provoking her made her innerly cringe. Perhaps he genuinely believed himself capable of catching her, or perhaps he genuinely believed he was making a statement by stomping his foot and insulting like a toddler in the midst of a tantrum. "Now now," she scoffed, head tilting to one side, "Your mother would be ashamed of having raised such a filthy to-" Before she was able to finish her mockery, she was — rudely so — interrupted by a whiny gibberish and a sudden lunge. Lovely.

Hearing Viktoriya mention his mother made something snap inside of Magnus, how dare she act like she know anything about his upbringing or his mother. She didn’t understand what he had to go through with her and how challenging she made life be for him. There was noting that pissed Magnus off more than people trying to assume they knew everything about him. No one knew what he went through when he was home with his mother.

She didn’t know how they would scream and yell at each other constantly or how she would berate Magnus on anything she deemed not worthy of her approval, Magnus couldn’t even remember the last time his mother has ever been proud of him. But maybe that was because she has never been proud of him even when he was born she still just saw him as a disappointment someone who would never matter to what she wanted him to be. Because she couldn’t stab her fangs into him and control him. Speaking of fangs that was another thing Magnus felt hurt as being near this girl made him realize why he was the way he was as well as why he had red eyes and was currently feeling feral due to the blood he smelt.

He was a dhampir and the fact that his mother may have known since he was born and that was something that pissed him off more than anything above all. He suddenly felt his anger boil over before he yelled at her. “WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT WHAT MY MOTHER WOUlD BE ASHAMED OF HUH! I don’t care what she thinks, nor do I care what you think! God I pity your family for having such a horrible wench of a daughter” As he yelled he lunged forwards at her his hand reaching out towards her and grabbing her.

He was honestly so sick of hearing her speak, her voice sounded as if she was forged in the darkest pits of hell and she was summoned to bring death, poverty and despair to the world. Who knew a woman with okay looks in Magnus book could be such an evil little wench. Could Magnus maybe had left when he found her feasting, absolutely in fact he wanted too but the issue was the blood, it had filled his senses and made him feel overwhelmed with hunger.

A hunger he couldn’t quince or even explain, it was like he was some kind of wild animal acting on instinct and he couldn’t fight it. Speaking of instinct while he attempted to attack her he felt the urge to try and grab the blood bag from her for just a taste.