The Forbidden Path

The library's ancient air was thick with the scent of parchment and candle wax. Asmodeus sat alone at a secluded table, his fingers trembling as they traced the edges of a dusty grimoire. Its leather-bound cover was cracked and worn, and the faint traces of a warning inscription had been nearly rubbed away over the centuries.

He knew the risks of what he was about to do. The professor had cautioned the class time and again about venturing into forbidden spells, and the headmistress had sternly reminded everyone that dark magic was not a shortcut to greatness. But Asmodeus felt the weight of mediocrity pressing down on him.

"I need to catch up," he muttered under his breath, his voice tinged with desperation. "I can't stay at the bottom forever."

Flipping through the grimoire, he found a page that seemed to radiate malice. The spell was titled Umbra Ascensus, a ritual that promised immense power in exchange for channeling forbidden energies. His eyes darted over the instructions, noting the careful diagrams and ancient runes.

Asmodeus took a deep breath. His palms were slick with sweat, but his resolve was firm. "Just one spell," he whispered. "Enough to make them notice me."

The night was still, the only sounds coming from the faint rustling of leaves outside the dormitory window. Asmodeus had cleared a small circle on the floor of his room, using the diagrams in the grimoire to draw intricate symbols with chalk. The candlelight flickered ominously, casting long, wavering shadows across the walls.

He knelt at the center of the circle, the grimoire open before him. His hands gripped his wand tightly as he began the incantation. The words felt strange on his tongue, foreign and heavy, like they weren't meant to be spoken by mortal lips.

At first, nothing happened. The air remained still, and the candles continued to flicker. Asmodeus felt a pang of doubt, his resolve faltering. But then, the temperature in the room plummeted, and a cold wind seemed to seep out of the circle itself. The flames of the candles turned a ghostly blue, and the symbols on the floor began to glow faintly.

"It's working," he breathed, his eyes widening.

But as the spell continued, the glow of the symbols turned from faint blue to an angry, pulsating red. The grimoire's pages began to flip violently, as if an unseen hand were tearing through them. The air grew thick and oppressive, making it hard to breathe.

Suddenly, a deep, guttural voice echoed in the room, coming from nowhere and everywhere at once.

"Who dares summon the forbidden?"

Asmodeus froze, his wand shaking in his grip. "I—I didn't mean to—"

"Foolish mortal," the voice boomed, its tone dripping with contempt. "You are unworthy of the darkness you seek. Begone!"

The grimoire snapped shut with a force that sent a shockwave through the room. The symbols on the floor erupted in flames, and Asmodeus was thrown backward, his head hitting the wall with a dull thud.

The candles extinguished themselves, plunging the room into darkness. The oppressive atmosphere lifted, but the silence that followed was deafening.

Asmodeus groaned as he sat up, his head pounding. He reached for the grimoire, but the book seemed... different. Its once-worn cover now looked pristine, almost glowing with an ominous aura. When he tried to touch it, a searing pain shot through his hand, forcing him to pull away.

"What have I done?" he muttered, cradling his burned hand.

The door creaked open, and Belial stepped inside, her face pale and her eyes wide with alarm.

"Asmodeus, what's going on? I heard something—" She stopped mid-sentence when she saw the scorched symbols on the floor and the grimoire emanating a faint, eerie glow. "What did you do?"

He avoided her gaze, shame weighing heavily on him. "I... I just wanted to get better. To be stronger. So I tried a spell from the grimoire."

Belial's face hardened, her initial shock giving way to anger. "You were practicing dark magic? Asmodeus, are you out of your mind? You know that's forbidden!"

"I didn't think it would go this far!" he snapped, his frustration bubbling over. "I just wanted to prove myself. To stop being the weakling everyone looks down on!"

Belial stepped closer, her voice softening. "You're not weak, Asmodeus. You're learning, just like the rest of us. But this—" she gestured to the remnants of the ritual circle, "—this isn't the way."

He looked at her, his eyes filled with guilt and a hint of fear. "I think... I think the grimoire rejected me. It—it said I was unworthy."

Belial's brow furrowed as she knelt to inspect the grimoire. "That's because dark magic isn't about skill or talent. It demands something more... twisted. And you're not that kind of person, Asmodeus."

Her words stung, but they also brought a strange sense of relief. He wasn't sure he wanted to be the kind of person who could wield such power.

The next morning, the scorch marks on the floor had vanished, as if the ritual had erased its own evidence. But the memory of the voice and the rejection lingered in Asmodeus's mind.

As he and Belial walked to their starter witch class, the events of the previous night hung heavy between them.

"I'm going to report the grimoire," Belial said firmly. "The professors need to know it's dangerous."

Asmodeus nodded reluctantly. "You're right. I don't want anyone else making the same mistake I did."

Belial glanced at him, her expression softening. "You'll find your strength, Asmodeus. Just... not like this."

He managed a small smile. "Thanks, Belial. I'll try."

But deep down, he couldn't shake the feeling that the grimoire wasn't finished with him.