After dealing with the cops, giving his statement, and later hearing Jackson’s screams as he demanded that the police arrest him, Leon felt exhausted.
‘He tried to leave me there to die, and then he acted like the victim.’
Jackson had yelled at the officers, but after hearing the full story, they had ignored him completely.
[Key Plot Point Altered]
[The group (Scott, Stiles, Lydia, Jackson, and Allison) managed to escape the school without playing the Alpha’s game.]
[Supernatural Energy Acquired: +50]
[Current SE: 127]
Leon glanced at the new SE total and immediately opened his ability panel.
He had three upgrades in mind.
[Spatial Pocket — Lv3]
[Upgrade: Lv3 → Lv4 — 50 SE]
The available space expanded dramatically with each upgrade.
[Current SE: 77]
Next.
[Spatial Sense — Lv2]
[Upgrade: Lv2 → Lv3 — 25 SE]
[Effective Radius: 20 yards]
[Current SE: 52]
Finally, he selected the ability he expected to get plenty of use out of in a world full of supernatural students.
[Passive Charm — Lv2]
[Upgrade: Lv2 → Lv3 — 25 SE]
[Current SE: 27]
Leon leaned back.
That was enough.
Saving the remaining SE to increase his Template percentage was an option, but the cost had become ridiculous.
A single 1% increase now required 320 SE for what amounted to a negligible boost.
At his current level, upgrading his active/passive skills made far more sense.
He opened the System again and switched to the Multiverse Mission Board.
He had already been eyeing one of the available missions.
The Board offered hundreds of choices, though he’d filtered them to missions suited to his current power level.
Some missions were outright assassination contracts for targets he wouldn’t dare touch—including one for Homelander himself, which was almost ironic considering whose Template he was carrying.
Three missions caught his attention.
[Mission 302LYC4: Retrieve a vial of Corvinus bloodline (Underworld)]
[Reward: 7500 SE | 100 MC]
[Duration: Unlimited]
[Mission 745FDV4: Retrieve the Codex Umbrarüm/Book of Shadows (Wednesday)]
[Reward: 5000 SE | 50 MC]
[Duration: Unlimited]
[Mission 554SUP3: Secure Compound V1 (The Boys)]
[Reward: 8000 SE | 150 MC]
[Duration: 24 Hours]
The rewards made Leon’s eyes widen.
All three looked tempting.
The Underworld mission offered a ridiculous amount of SE, while Compound V1 was especially lucrative if he could secure it within the time limit.
But the Wednesday mission immediately stood out.
He knew that world.
He knew the school.
He knew the students.
He knew the secrets, the villains, and the major events that were supposed to happen.
Most importantly, he knew where the Book of Shadows would eventually end up.
Thornhill would have it.
Morticia would eventually burn it.
The real question wasn’t whether he could take it.
It was when.
Admittedly, his choice might also have been influenced by a certain rainbow-haired and black-haired pair, but he pushed that thought aside.
“I’ll go with the Wednesday mission,” Leon decided.
He’d watched the show not long before ending up in Beacon Hills, so the world was still fresh in his mind.
He knew exactly how the story unfolded, and more importantly, he knew where its biggest dangers were.
He also knew what could go wrong if he interfered too early.
Leon wasn’t sure whether he’d be able to return to his current world during the mission, but he didn’t mind.
The Wednesday universe was rich with supernatural bloodlines, ancient creatures, and hidden powers.
There was plenty here worth taking.
The next morning, Leon went through his preparations meticulously.
He had Kate drive him around town to finalize his affairs—withdrawing cash, securing a burner phone, and gathering whatever supplies he might need.
He also made sure to leave a trail that wouldn’t raise suspicion: a fabricated school trip form, a few casual texts to Stiles and Derek about taking some time off, and a carefully worded note for his parents that Kate would deliver once they returned.
He hadn’t told them the truth.
‘Hey, I’m hopping dimensions to steal a magical book from a goth boarding school.
See you in a few days.’
Instead, he’d crafted a believable cover: he went on a trip and will be back in a week or so.
It was thin, but with Kate helping maintain the illusion, it would hold long enough.
Sitting in Kate’s car as she drove him to their temporary base at Sarah’s house, Leon reviewed everything one last time.
“Is everything in place?” Leon asked.
“Yes, master,” Kate nodded.
“The school was informed of the trip you’ll be taking.
Your parents are currently in a different town, handling some vampire problems.
They won’t be back for at least another week.”
“Good,” Leon said, leaning back.
Having Kate by his side had been invaluable.
Through her, he’d learned the full scope of his parents’ activities.
The Lockhart family, it turned out, was a famous line of Hunters, rivaling even the Argents.
The difference was that the Lockharts hunted anything that threatened society—werewolves, vampires, rogue sorcerers, and everything in between.
They were equal-opportunity exterminators – straight hands with everyone.
The news hadn’t surprised Leon much.
He’d already had his suspicions.
But confirming it gave him a strange sense of validation.
After ensuring everything was settled, he entered Sarah’s house and took over one of the bedrooms.
He locked the door, sat down on the bed, and took a steadying breath.
“Alright, let’s try this out.”
He opened the Missions Board and selected Mission 745FDV4.
The moment he confirmed, the world went dark.
A wave of nausea hit him—like being spun around for hours while the universe folded itself inside out.
His stomach lurched, and for one disorienting moment, he felt as though he were falling through an endless void.
***********
Then light returned.
Leon found himself standing before the magnificent gates of Nevermore Academy.
The structure before him was breathtaking—a massive, dark Gothic archway flanked by weathered stone pillars topped with carved gargoyles that seemed to watch him with silent, knowing eyes.
Heavy black wrought-iron gates blocked the path, their sharp spikes and intricate cobweb patterns gleaming faintly through the mist.
The word NEVERMORE stretched across the top of the ironwork in a sharp Gothic font, surrounded by dense fog and twisted, leafless trees.
“Damn,” Leon breathed.
His senses settled as he stared at the gate with genuine awe.
[Current Universe: Middle Variant Universe T854F12]
[Mission Time: Unlimited]
[Return Function: 1 Month Cooldown]
[Current Identity: Orphan Outcast | Name: Leon Lockhart | Story: Found by the Outcast Council after displaying his abilities in a normie school, he was registered and sent to Nevermore Academy to integrate amongst his peers.]
“I even have an identity,” Leon said, reading the notification with surprise.
“And I can return to my original world after a month.”
He paused, another thought striking him.
“What about the Divine Leaderboard countdown?”
[Time runs differently between worlds.
Lower ranked Universes function on a slower time path than higher ranked Universes.]
[Time Difference: 30/1 Days]
Leon felt a wave of exhilaration wash over him.
It was as if the pressure had suddenly been lifted from his shoulders.
One day in his original world meant a month here.
The countdown that had been hanging over him like a sword was now, for all practical purposes, irrelevant.
With renewed confidence, he approached the gate.
Creak.
As he drew close, the gates swung open on their own, revealing a pathway leading to a sprawling estate.
Banners and flags bearing the Nevermore crest hung from its towers and walls, snapping softly in the cool breeze.
The architecture was a blend of Gothic grandeur and dark, whimsical charm—turrets rising toward a gray sky, ivy creeping up stone facades, and windows glowing with warm amber light.
Leon walked for a while before reaching the main entrance.
Waiting for him was a tall woman, nearly seven feet in height, dressed in a sharp professional suit.
Her bright blonde hair was impeccably styled, and her heavy makeup gave her an air of theatrical elegance.
She stood with perfect posture, hands clasped in front of her, studying him with cool, appraising eyes.
“Welcome, Mr.
Lockhart,” the woman said, her voice smooth and measured.
“You must be our new student.
I am Principal Weems—Larissa Weems.
Welcome to Nevermore!”
***********
Leon stepped into Principal Weems’ office, and the room immediately commanded a sense of restrained authority.
Founded in 1791, Nevermore Academy wore its age like a second skin—mahogany furniture dark with centuries of polish, tall windows draped in heavy velvet, shelves crowded with leather-bound books and curiosities that looked as though they’d been confiscated rather than collected.
A vintage inkwell anchored a desk buried in paperwork.
Portraits of past principals lined the walls, their painted eyes tracking him with the particular smugness of people who had died still being right about something.
The air smelled of old paper, wood polish, and lilies from a crystal vase near the window.
“Please, sit.”
Weems gestured to the chair opposite her desk, her voice warm in the way of someone who had learned warmth as a professional skill rather than an instinct.
She folded her hands.
“I’ll admit, your file is unusually sparse.
The Outcast Council gave me your name, your origin, and a placement recommendation.
Nothing else.
They were remarkably tight-lipped.”
Leon offered a polite smile.
“Not much to tell.
I showed some abilities at a normie school, and they decided this was the better fit.”
Weems’ eyes had the appraising quality of someone who had spent decades sorting teenagers into categories and rarely got surprised anymore.
“The council’s report said ‘superior physical attributes’ and left it there.
We like specifics here, Leon.
It affects curriculum, dormitory placement, and so on.”
He’d rehearsed this on the walk over.
In a world built on bloodlines and monster taxonomy, his strength, speed, and durability could plausibly belong to half a dozen categories.
Hybrid was the one that explained the inconsistencies before anyone thought to ask too many questions—and it gave him a reason, later, to ask outcasts for something as personal as a blood sample without making it seem strange.
“I’m a hybrid,” he said.
“Vampire and werewolf.”
Her eyebrows lifted a fraction.
“That’s exceptionally rare.
The bloodlines don’t mix well, as a rule.
Which side is dominant?”
“Vampire, for now,” Leon said smoothly.
“The wolf side hasn’t come in yet.
Speed, strength, the senses, all present.
Still working out the rest.”
Weems made a note.
“Fascinating.
I’ll update your file.
Any instability?
Conflicting urges, that sort of thing?”
“Nothing I can’t manage.”
She studied him a moment longer, then let the smile return, smaller now, more genuine.
“Welcome to Nevermore.
I hope you find it more accommodating than the place you came from.”
***********
The dormitory wing was a museum trying to also be a home—stone arches, tapestries depicting a werewolf hunt on one wall and a siren luring a fishing boat to the rocks on another, torch-style sconces that had clearly been rewired for electricity sometime in the last century without losing any of their original menace.
Leon found it oddly comfortable, the way a well-worn coat could be comfortable even when it didn’t quite fit.
“Most students share rooms, but you’re arriving mid-year and we’re at capacity,” Weems said, stopping at a heavy oak door and producing an old-fashioned key.
It was small—a single bed, a desk beneath a narrow window, a wardrobe, and a worn rug that didn’t quite reach the walls.
Spartan, stone-cold, and entirely his own.
“It’s perfect,” Leon said, and meant it.
“Settle in.
Herbology is in an hour, with Ms.
Thornhill.
She’s excellent—and exacting.
I’ll send someone to walk you over.”
***********
The greenhouse was a glass cathedral, vines climbing toward a domed ceiling and flowers with petals that seemed to hold their own faint light.
Students clustered in twos and threes, talking quietly as class had yet to begin.
Then the door opened.
Leon stepped inside.
The conversation died.
He’d seen the effect of Passive Charm before.
At Level 3, it was impossible to miss.
People noticed him before they consciously decided to, their attention catching on him for just a little too long.
The greenhouse went quiet in a wave.
It wasn’t only his face—the deliberate symmetry of it, the way the light seemed to catch him first.
It was also the way he moved, unhurried and certain, as though the room had already agreed to watch him.
Enid Sinclair—pink-streaked hair, halfway through a sentence to someone else—went rigid, her mouth still open as color slowly rose in her cheeks.
At the edge of the group, a girl in black and white sat with her expression locked into perfect neutrality.
Wednesday Addams.
Her gaze lifted toward him.
Her expression barely changed.
Barely.
Her eyes lingered on him for a fraction longer than they should have before she looked down again, turning her attention away.
Well, Leon thought.
That still counts.
Ms.
Thornhill broke the silence with a sharp, cheerful throat-clear.
She had red hair and a smile that was bright, practiced, and perfectly appropriate for a teacher welcoming a new student.
“You must be our new student.
Leon, was it?
Welcome.
I’m Ms.
Thornhill.”
‘Laurel Gates.’
Leon smiled politely.
“Thank you.
Yes, I’m Leon Lockhart –”
The class gradually came back to life in scattered whispers.
Thornhill retrieved a thick, leather-bound text from her desk.
“Mid-year transfers tend to be behind on Herbologie.
I doubt the normie curriculum covers much of it.
Read the first three chapters by next week.”
Their fingers brushed as he took the book.
He smiled at her—not calculated, just polite.
Thornhill’s composure slipped for the briefest instant.
Then it returned.
Funny.
Leon had expected the ability to work on students, but apparently teachers weren’t immune either.
***********
At the break, Enid got to him first, practically vibrating.
“Hi—oh my god, you’re the new student, obviously, I mean you just walked in—I’m Enid, and you’re really pretty, not that that’s the only thing, I’m sure you’re smart too, okay, I’m gonna stop talking.”
Leon laughed.
“Leon.
Good to meet you.”
“You too!
So—what are you?
If you don’t mind.
I’m a werewolf, technically, I just haven’t wolfed out yet, which is super frustrating.
My mom won’t stop texting me about it—”
“Hybrid,” Leon said gently, before she could spiral any further.
“Vampire and werewolf.”
Her eyes went round.
“That’s not even supposed to be possible.”
“I was told.”
He kept it subtle—a lean here, a glance held a beat too long, his hand grazing her arm as though by accident.
Enid’s breath caught.
Her next sentence lost whatever point it had started with.
“I should—class is—I’ll talk to you later!”
She fled, ears burning.
Leon watched her go with an amused smile.
***********
After class, Wednesday peeled off without a word and headed for the black car idling at the front gate—her twice-weekly appointment in town, court-ordered and non-negotiable.
Leon watched the direction she went and filed it away.
The moment the car cleared the drive, he moved.
His enhanced speed carried him over the iron perimeter fence, spikes and all, before he pushed off the ground and cleared the whole wall with ease.
He landed on the other side and disappeared into the tree line in a blur, leaving little more than a disturbed patch of ferns behind him.
Jericho unfolded below the hill: a small, tired town that had clearly built part of its economy around tolerating the school on its doorstep and the rest around resenting it.
Leon reached the diner.
Inside, a lanky kid with tired eyes and a name tag that said Tyler was working the counter.
“Hey—sit anywhere.”
Leon took a stool.
“Coffee, and whatever’s good.”
Tyler’s smile faltered.
“Coffee machine’s dead.
Been fighting it all morning.”
“Mind if I look?” Leon nodded toward it.
“I’m decent with this stuff.”
“Be my guest.
There’s a manual somewhere, but it’s in Italian, so—”
“I can read it.”
Tyler blinked at the phone Leon pulled out.
He was already searching for a translation of the manual.
He worked through the manual aloud, Tyler handing him tools, and fifteen minutes later the machine hissed back to life.
“Damn.
You’re handy.”
Tyler studied him.
“You’re from Nevermore?”
“Just transferred.”
“Food’s on the house, then.
For the assist.”
Leon ate in comfortable silence.
Half an hour later, the bell over the door chimed.
Wednesday walked in.
She moved with purpose, scanning the room.
Then her eyes landed on Leon.
For the briefest instant, surprise crossed her face before vanishing.
“What are you doing here?”
“I was exploring the town before I got hungry.” He nodded toward the seat across from him.
“Weren’t you supposed to be with Principal Weems?” This story is hosted at g.com.
“I left.”
“Trying to catch a runaway and leave town, then?”
Something flickered behind her eyes.
“How would you know that?”
“Lucky guess.
You don’t seem like someone who goes willingly.”
She said nothing, but the crack remained.
“Sit.
Eat.
I’ll take you to the station after.” Leon had already got himself a car on the way, compelling one of the rich town residents for one.
He smiled.
“Why would you help me?” she asked.
“I’m bored.”
He watched her eyes analyze him.
“What do you have to lose?”
She sat, with the air of someone conceding a point under protest.
“Fine.
But if I miss that train, I will end you.”
“Deal.”
She ate in silence, gaze drifting to the window between bites, and twice caught herself glancing back at him as though he were a puzzle she hadn’t solved yet.
The door slammed open.
Three locals entered—the kind of boys who traveled in a pack because none of them was anything alone.
All three were dressed in matching buckle-shoed, wide-collared outfits that looked like a costume department’s idea of Puritans.
They spotted Wednesday, then Leon, and their grins sharpened.
“What are Nevermore freaks doing out in the wild?” the tallest one said.
“This is our booth,” said another.
Wednesday looked up from her plate.
“Why are you dressed like you walked off a wanted poster from 1650?”
“We’re pilgrims.
We work at Pilgrim World.”
“Ah.
A whole theme park built around men who thought smallpox blankets counted as diplomacy.
Very on brand for this town.”
The tall one’s jaw tightened.
“My dad owns Pilgrim World.
You calling him stupid?”
“If the buckled shoe fits.”
“Guys, come on.” Tyler started around the counter.
“Back off.”
“Stay out of it, Galpin,” the tall one snapped.
Wednesday, without even glancing at Tyler, added her own flat:
“Yes.
Stay out of it.”
The boy’s friends snickered.
The tall one leaned over the table.
“So tell me, freak.
You ever been with a normie?”
“I’ve never met one who could handle me.”
Wednesday’s face didn’t move.
“Boo.”
He actually flinched.
His friends laughed at him.
Humiliation did the thinking his brain wasn’t.
His hand shot toward Wednesday’s collar.
He never reached her.
Leon moved.
A blur.
Then the boy was on the ground, unconscious.
The other two stared at their friend, then at Leon, then at each other.
Whatever they saw in his face made the decision for them.
They grabbed their friend and dragged him toward the door, throwing nervous looks back over their shoulders before disappearing outside.
Wednesday set her fork down with exaggerated patience.
“I didn’t need your help.”
“I know,” Leon said.
“I just didn’t want you to kill him.”
Tyler stood frozen, staring at the empty space where the boy had been standing a second earlier.
The door swung open again.
Sheriff Galpin entered first, Principal Weems a step behind him.
Both scanned the room as though they already knew roughly what they’d find.
“What happened here?”
“Three guys came in looking for a fight,” Tyler said, raising his hands.
“Went after the Nevermore kids.”
Sheriff Galpin’s eyes moved between Leon and Wednesday.
Neither one had so much as a scratch.
His gaze landed on his son.
“You help with that?”
“Dad, I swear, I wasn’t involved.
Wasn’t even in reach.”
Weems stepped smoothly into the conversation, apology already loaded into her voice.
“My apologies, Sheriff.
These ones slipped away from me.”
She turned to them.
“Come on, Miss Addams.
Mr.
Lockhart.
Time to go.”
“Hold on.”
The sheriff’s eyes sharpened on Wednesday.
“Addams?
You’re an Addams?”
His jaw tightened.
“Gomez Addams’ kid.
Man belongs behind bars for what he did, far as I’m concerned.
Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, I guess.”
His eyes cut briefly toward Leon, as though deciding whether to lump him into the same category.
“I’ll be keeping an eye on both of you.”
“Understood,” Weems said, in the tone of someone ending a conversation whether he agreed or not.
“Let’s go.”
Outside, the door swung shut behind them.
Weems exhaled.
“Your first day, and you’re already on Sheriff Galpin’s radar.
Wish I could say I was surprised.”
“What did he mean,” Wednesday asked, “about my father?”
“I don’t know,” Weems said, and it sounded like a truth she wasn’t entirely comfortable with.
“But take some advice.
Stop collecting enemies and start collecting a friend or two.
You’re going to need them.”
Her eyes moved briefly to Leon.
“Both of you might.”
***********
The drive back was quiet in the specific way that meant Weems was choosing her words.
Wednesday stared out the back window.
Leon rode up front, watching the trees blur past in the last gray light.
“I expected trouble from Miss Addams,” Weems said finally.
“I didn’t expect you to match her pace on day one, Mr Lockhart.”
“They started it.”
“You’re fortunate Sheriff Galpin is inclined to let it go.
His son vouched for you.”
Weems exhaled through her nose.
“I’m going to have my hands quite full with the two of you.”
“You volunteered for the job,” Wednesday said flatly from the back.
They rounded a bend in the road, headlights sweeping across the tree line.
A truck sat pulled crooked onto the shoulder, driver’s door hanging open.
“Looks like an accident,” Weems said, easing off the gas.
“I hope the driver’s okay.”
“He’s dead,” Wednesday said.
Weems glanced toward her.
A siren wailed somewhere behind them, lights sweeping up the road as another car arrived on the scene.
“Broke his neck.”
“How can you tell from this angle?” Weems asked quietly.
Wednesday didn’t answer.
***********
Back at Nevermore, Weems walked them both inside without another word about it.
“You.”
A finger at Leon.
“Room.
You’ve had enough excitement for one day.”
Then, to Wednesday:
“We’ll discuss your stunt tomorrow.
For now—dormitory.
Don’t leave again.”
************************************
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