The shadows in the mirror

Lucifer leaned against the cold stone wall of his dimly lit room, his arms crossed over his chest. Shadows clung to the corners like old companions, stretching and shifting with the flicker of a single candle on his desk. He wasn't at the Initiation Showcase—he never attended such trivial events—but he didn't need to be there to know what had happened.

Before him stood a tall mirror, its surface shimmering faintly with an ethereal glow. It wasn't an ordinary mirror but one imbued with powerful magic, its surface a window to any part of the academy. With a mere whisper, Lucifer could watch the showcase unfold as if he were standing among the crowd.

The image on the mirror shifted, showing Madara Uchiha conjuring his impressive display of darkness. Lucifer tilted his head, his sharp features illuminated by the pale glow of the mirror. His lips curled into a faint, mocking smile.

"Not bad for a newcomer," he muttered, his voice low and smooth, like velvet sliding over a blade. "But still far from my level."

His fingers drummed against his arm as the mirror's surface rippled, revealing Asmodeus struggling with his beginner spell. Lucifer's dark eyes narrowed, a mixture of amusement and disdain flickering in their depths.

"A simple trick," he mused, leaning closer to the mirror. "But the boy has potential… raw and untamed."

The mirror shifted again, this time to Belial. Her determined expression caught his attention, and he raised an eyebrow. Unlike Asmodeus, there was a fire in her gaze—a stubborn refusal to be underestimated. Lucifer let out a soft chuckle, the sound low and predatory.

"Interesting," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Perhaps this year won't be so dull after all."

Lucifer pushed off the wall, his movements fluid and deliberate, like a shadow gliding across the room. He stood before the mirror, his reflection staring back at him with the same dark intensity. A sudden smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, sharp and cruel.

The mirror's surface shimmered, its magical display fading as it returned to its ordinary reflective state. Lucifer reached out, his fingers brushing against the cold glass. For a moment, his expression softened, a flicker of something unspoken crossing his face.

Then the moment passed.

Turning away, Lucifer strode across the room, his boots clicking softly against the stone floor. His black robes billowed behind him, the fabric catching the faint breeze from the open window. The night air was cool, carrying with it the distant hum of life from the academy below.

He stopped by his desk, where a small wooden box sat. Opening it, he pulled out a silver pendant, its surface engraved with intricate runes. He turned it over in his fingers, his dark eyes glinting with thought.

Tomorrow was the Witch Ball Game, the academy's most prestigious and challenging event. It was a test of skill, speed, and magical prowess—a game where the strongest could dominate and the weak were quickly forgotten.

Lucifer was the reigning champion.

The thought brought a smirk to his face, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. He was untouchable in the game, a fact he had proven year after year. But for him, the Witch Ball Game wasn't about glory or recognition—it was about control. It was a stage where he could remind everyone of their place beneath him.

The pendant in his hand glowed faintly as he muttered an incantation. Shadows swirled around it, coiling like serpents before sinking back into the metal. He hung it around his neck, the runes flashing briefly as they attuned to his energy.

Lucifer moved to the window, his gaze sweeping over the academy grounds bathed in moonlight. From his vantage point, he could see the Witch Ball field—a vast expanse of enchanted terrain designed to challenge even the most skilled players.

The memories of past games played in his mind. The rush of the wind, the thrill of the hunt, the look of fear in his opponents' eyes as he outmaneuvered and overpowered them. It wasn't just a game to Lucifer—it was his domain, his battlefield.

And tomorrow, he would dominate it once again.

He rested a hand on the windowsill, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the stone. A faint smile tugged at his lips, this one less cruel and more… anticipatory. He wasn't looking forward to defeating his opponents; that was a given. What intrigued him was the thought of who might dare to challenge him this year.

Madara Uchiha.

The name surfaced in his mind, and his smile widened. The boy had potential, yes, but he was still new, unrefined. Lucifer relished the thought of showing him just how vast the gap between them was.

Then there was Asmodeus and Belial. They were far from ready for such a stage, but their presence intrigued him nonetheless. There was something about them—an undercurrent of strength waiting to be awakened.

Lucifer pushed away from the window, his robes swishing around his legs as he turned back to the room. The candle on his desk flickered, casting long shadows across the walls. He raised a hand, and the flame snuffed out instantly, plunging the room into darkness.

In the silence, his smile lingered, sharp and confident.

"Let's see who dares to face me tomorrow," he whispered to the empty room.

As he settled into the shadows, the night deepened, and the academy seemed to hold its breath in anticipation of the coming day. For Lucifer, the Witch Ball Game wasn't just a competition—it was a stage for him to remind the world of his unmatched power.

And he was ready to put on a show.