The Alphabet Superset: Week 16: Pay Evil Onto Evil

Reference Image: https://weather.com/en-IN/india/news/news/2021-03-04-eerie-photos-show-frozen-homes-and-buildings-in-vorkuta-russia

    White Scales glared at the doors of the Barrymore Dorm. It was hard to believe that only a couple of days had passed since he had been freed. He would never admit to fleeing the campus that night. He would never admit to the fear he felt at the school catching him again, forcing some new punishment on him. He vowed it would be the last mark against his pride ever!

    Rage was not a strong enough word to describe what simmered in him these past few months, but it scratched the surface. How many good fights had he been denied by the monster? How many menial tasks had that thing forced his body to commit? Even the fights against the future enthralled had been fouled, his body held back from its full abilities by the Entity and Barrymore.

    Barrymore, the last manipulator in this whole plot, was beyond his vengeance. The Paladins had seen to that when they caught him. Now Mr. Barrymore had disappeared, locked away in some holding cell and guarded by mages equal to him in skill. Mages that White Scales could not compete with yet.

    But the building with his namesake was guarded by little more than a key. White Scales could easily destroy the doors, but then he would risk his vengeance being interrupted. Never again would he risk ANYONE interfering with his business again.

    

    He could not deny the school its credit. Even an race as powerful as the dragon breeds could become stronger with the practice of magic, a power inherently laced into their very blood. A single dragon used to be able to rule a country on his physical abilities alone. Now, the half-breeds could even demand the respect of this world thanks to magic. 

    White Scales watched his body become a white cloud. In that form, he passed through the cracks between and around the doors. As he reformed himself, he watched as a layer of ice froze the doors in place. As long as he had a say in the matter, these halls would never again see human habitation. Neither Barrymore nor the school deserved that right after everything that had happened.

    He turned to the entrance hall, letting the memories manifest. Barrymore barking orders at his body. The students he attacked. Barrymore attacking him from behind with tentacles like a coward. Weeks trapped inside the eye of the Entity, his strength meaningless and magic useless. The loss of control. The restraint. The fear. The powerlessness.

    The rage boiled inside him. A single deep breath. Then violence. The roar tore through his throat as he unleashed a wave of ice from his mouth. The floor in front of him obliterated before ice encased the debris. Every door in the hall thrown open with the force of the blast. Every window frosted over. Furniture, paintings, pottery, statues. All frozen. Even the air seemed to freeze as snowflakes and white clouds filled the hall. He is not calmed down when he stops, but he only has so much air in his lungs.

    He makes his way down one of the side hallways. The hall was lined with the dorm rooms where the enthralled slept. Each room was the same. Spotless, plain, bed, closet, dresser, and a desk. There was nothing to distinguish one from the other. But White Scales didn't need that. He had memorized the route to the one he had been forced to sleep in.

    As he entered his room, there were no real memories to relive. The only thing the Entity and Barrymore had allowed them to do in the rooms was sleep and store stuff. It was the latter that had brought him here. The doors could easily slide open, he tore them from their frames anyway. There in the floor of the closet was the only thing that differed from room to room. A large leather bag with a single shoulder strap. The main feature of the bag was a hand print on the front in white paint. His hand print.

    White Scales allowed his rage a moment of reprieve as he got lost in fond memories. Fond memories that soured when he finally came back around to remembering how long it had been since he had seen. The first thing he had been forced to do when Enthralled was put the bag in the closet and change into the ridiculous suit and tie Barrymore had made the dorm uniform. The uniform he was still currently wearing.

    White Scales tossed the bag on the bed and untied the strap that kept the opening closed. He pulled out his own clothes and laid them on the bed before literally tearing off the suit he currently wore. White Scales had discovered quickly after his release that the suit was thick and uncomfortable. The clothes he wore ordinarily were loose and thin, allowing him freedom to move and to stay as cool as possible. It was clear Barrymore hadn't sees his discomfort as a problem. 

    The other thing he had been forced to lose was the only necklace he ever wore. His family crest imprinted on a coin hung from a silver chain. White Scales wasn't sure if the stories were true, but it was believed that as long a member of the family wore the crest, they grew stronger. Even if it wasn't true, White Scales wore it proudly. It made him feel stronger and reminded him of his roots. And yet for months, he had been robbed of it as well.

    These slights against him would be punished with extreme prejudice. If given half a chance, White Scales would have inflicted his punishment on either the Entity or Barrymore themselves. But one was dead and the other was beyond his reach. 

    The thought enraged him so much that no sooner was he redressed and the bag over his shoulder then he resumed his rampage by flipping the bed in the room. The desk was next, crashing into the dresser as it landed. The dresser was not spared either as a powerful kick smashed a hole in the front, wood splintering before his might. Not even the walls were spared as he clawed away at them, intent on leaving nothing unscathed.

    There was but one more stop to make in his rampage. No place more prominently displayed Barrymore input than his own office. White Scales wasn't sure if it the design of the room that seemed obnoxious or the fact that it was the only room in the whole dorm that actually seemed lived in. But he didn't care. If the Barrymore Dorm was the body of Barrymore's work, the office was the heart and White Scales intended to crush it in his hand.

    He kicked the door to the office open, mildly annoyed at how he kicked right through it and almost got his foot stuck in the remains. Even after it master was gone, the building wanted to humiliate him. But White Scales knew he would have the last laugh as he approached the ornately designed desk in the middle of the room.

    He clenches his fist together. With as much strength as he can muster, he brings them down on the Barrymore's desk. He is pleased with the way is smashes in half before him. He grabs both pieces of the desk before him and throws them away from him, each side smashing against opposite walls.

    He looks up at the painting of Mr. Barrymore hanging on the wall. The closest he will be able to get to the man for a long time. He is slow, putting his claws in one corner of the canvas and tearing across it. The canvas hang limply before him, the face on it obscured by the damage. White Scales smiles at his work. "One day, that will be real." He says as he steps out of the office.

    Once he is a few feet from the room, he turns back and raises a hand. Snow and mist spin around the palm of his hand, turning into a white ball of magical energy. When he is satisfied, he shoot the magic ball into the room. It hit the back wall of the office and explodes outward into a wall of ice spikes. The rooms is filled with ice and the walls seemed to bulge outward and crack. In the ice, the destruction seem frozen in time.

    White Scales, his lust for revenge as abated as possible, took time to grin and revel in the destruction around him. Months of captivity had earned him this reward and he was going to enjoy it. A care free laugh escaped him as he spun in a circle, snowflakes spinning around him in a dance. He wondered if this was how the dragons of old felt when the added to their hoards of treasures.