Transmigrated as the Villainess Princess - Chapter 153

Chapter 153: Fighting Destiny (Special Chapter)
Magnus Bloodstone knew that unveiling the truth was only the first step.

To put an end to the cursed cycle, he needed more than just knowledge, he needed power, preparation, and the will to stand against forces that had woven themselves into the very fabric of the academy.

He left the Forbidden Library that night with a fire in his heart, but the shadows did not let him go easily.

As he ascended the spiral stone steps leading back to the academy halls, he felt it, the weight of unseen eyes pressing against his back, the chilling whisper of something ancient stirring awake.

His fingers clenched around the book he had stolen, the forbidden text that carried the secrets of the academy’s darkest deeds.

The stone walls pulsed with an unnatural life, the torches flickering wildly as though struggling against an invisible wind.

The moment he stepped into the upper corridors, a cold gust slammed into him, carrying the scent of decayed roses and burnt parchment.

Then, the world twisted. The corridor stretched unnaturally long, the walls warping, the shadows deepening until they swallowed all light.

Magnus felt the grip of something pulling him backward, a silent force that clawed at his limbs, desperate to drag him down into the abyss.

He struggled, planting his feet firmly, channeling his magic into his fingertips. But the darkness was relentless.

A voice slithered into his mind, hollow and resonant, echoing with centuries of suffering. You should not have seen it.

It wasn’t a warning. It was a death sentence. The air around him grew heavier, thick with unseen malice.

Magnus gritted his teeth, his free hand twisting into a spell formation. The shadows recoiled at the light sparking from his fingertips, but it wasn’t enough to banish them.

Then, the walls moved. Figures began emerging from them, spectral hands, twisted faces, their eyes hollow and gleaming with an unnatural glow.

They were the lost ones, the students consumed by the academy’s cursed cycle. They reached for him, mouths opening in silent screams, fingers brushing against his skin like icy daggers.

A wave of nausea crashed over him as he felt their despair seep into his very bones. Magnus forced himself to move.

He had read about such entities, trapped souls bound to a place of suffering, doomed to repeat their agony until freed.

He had no time for sympathy. If he hesitated, he would become one of them. His magic flared brighter, raw energy exploding from his palm.

The blue flames surged outward, creating a barrier around him. The spirits shrieked and recoiled, their wailing voices merging into one, forming a single, chilling sentence.

You cannot stop it. Magnus ran. The corridor twisted, folding in on itself, but he no longer relied on his vision.

He reached deep into his core, drawing from his instincts, from the knowledge embedded in his very blood.

The Bloodstone lineage carried more than just royal ties, it carried ancient power, power that had long been dormant within him.

His brothers had protected him, thinking he was weak, but he had been watching, listening, learning.

He whispered an incantation beneath his breath, the language of the old gods slipping from his lips as though it had always been there.

The darkness shrieked as golden sigils flared beneath his feet, cutting through the warped corridor.

The spirits lunged one last time, but the spell forced them back into the walls, their forms dissolving into mist.

The corridor snapped back into place. The torches burned normally again.

Magnus stood at the entrance of the academy halls, his breathing ragged, the stolen book still clutched tightly in his grip.

He had won this battle. But the war was just beginning. He wasted no time. He locked himself in his quarters, warding the walls with protective runes before opening the book.

Page after page, he studied, absorbing every forbidden word. The curse of the portal was old, far older than the academy itself.

It was woven into the very foundation of its creation, linked to something beyond mortal comprehension. Undoing it would require more than just magic.

It would require a ritual unlike any performed before. A blood sacrifice. A willing soul to sever the contract. And an artifact of immense power to stabilize the imbalance.

Magnus grimaced. He could handle the magic, could prepare for the ritual, but the artifact was another matter.

According to the texts, it had been hidden away, locked in a place beyond reach.

It was said to have been forged from the remnants of the first eclipse, a shard of celestial light that could cut through the bindings of any curse.

The location, however, was vague. Buried within the abyss where light and darkness converge. Magnus closed his eyes.

He knew where it was. The Abyssal Trench, Riverenda’s deepest, most forbidden waters. He had heard the myths, the legends.

No one who had ventured into the trench had ever returned. It was a void of unrelenting darkness, a graveyard of lost souls.

But he had no choice. If the portal’s curse was not undone, the academy would continue its cycle of death.

More students would be sent into the shadows. More lives would be lost to the greed of those who sought to preserve their power.

Magnus would not let that happen. He made his preparations swiftly. He gathered rare spell components, strengthened his protective charms, and reinforced his mental defenses.

The journey ahead would not only test his body but his very soul. He left the academy under the cover of night, unseen and unheard.

The road to Riverenda was long, the ocean vast and endless beneath the starlit sky.

The closer he got to the trench, the colder the air became, the waves shifting unnaturally, whispering secrets long forgotten.

When he finally reached the edge of the abyss, he felt it, a force so old, so overwhelming, that it sent shivers down his spine.

The waters below churned, an unnatural darkness swirling beneath the surface. The entrance to the trench was open, waiting.

He inhaled sharply, tightening his grip on his staff. The battle ahead would be unlike any he had faced before.

But he had no fear. He was Magnus Bloodstone, the sickly genius, the one who had been underestimated his entire life.

He had uncovered the truth, fought against the horrors of the academy’s past, and now he stood at the precipice of the unknown. The abyss called to him. And he would answer.