Reincarnated as an Apocalyptic Catalyst
Chapter 61: How to Train Your Tyrant

Chapter 61: How to Train Your Tyrant

Ronan was still a mess. I watched him move through the academy, stiff and hollow, like a man wearing his own corpse. His lackeys stuck close, whispering when they thought he wasn’t paying attention. He didn’t talk, didn’t smirk, didn’t even react when a student bumped into him—just turned his head, slow and deliberate, and kept walking. The original Ronan would have sent the kid flying with a flick of his wrist.

This wasn’t going to work. If people started asking questions, if the wrong professor noticed the shift, it wouldn’t take long before someone started digging. The parasite was keeping him functioning, when I desperately needed him to fit in. I honestly didn’t care if he pushed around a couple people, just do it in a way that doesn’t leave lasting damage. Just enough torment to show that Ronan was still the top dog. I was now banking on him to win his father’s approval and actually contribute to my efforts, instead of eliminating a false threat.

Then there was Mara, someone I wanted nowhere near this, and yet my body ached to be near her. To inhale her scent, to watch her simply exist, to have her talk to me, even if she was insulting my current host for its lack of tact. I caught her staring again, standing across the courtyard, arms folded. She hadn’t said anything yet, but I knew she was close. Watching me, watching him. The gears in her head were turning, and I had to act before she pieced something together.

I needed Ronan alone, and thankfully he made it easy. The parasite still followed patterns, and Ronan’s habits hadn’t been completely overwritten. Every day, after morning drills, he wandered off. Before, I assumed he was sneaking off to haze some poor first-year. Now? He just went, like his body remembered what to do but not why.

I moved ahead, slipping through the side halls, taking a shortcut to intercept him. The place I had in mind was an old storage corridor near the practice fields. No students, no prying eyes. I waited, keeping to the shadows.

A few minutes later, his footsteps echoed down the hall, slow and even. I could tell it was him due to his recent ranges, and his mechanical movement, there was no one who moved like him in the human world.

I stepped out. "Vairmont."

Ronan stopped. Turned. His eyes met mine, empty but focused. "Yes?"

I nodded toward the corridor. "We need to talk."

He hesitated—not like any human I had encountered before, but like a robot, accepting the input, contemplating the proper response, and providing an output. Then, without argument, he started walking. It blew my mind how easy this was, I just needed to provide him with a command and he would accept it. Don’t get me wrong, the simplicity of my lure was great, but it set off alarms in my head about how easily someone else could manipulate him.

We stepped inside, the door shutting behind us. Dust lingered in the air, undisturbed. No one came here anymore. I leaned against a crate, arms crossed. "You know who I am?"

Ronan stared. "Caidan."

"And who are you?"

A pause. "Ronan Vairmont."

Good. At least he still knew the basic things.

I stepped closer, watching his reaction. Nothing. "What’s the last thing you remember before this morning?"

His head tilted slightly. "Combat training."

I narrowed my eyes. "And before that?"

"...Dueling hall."

He was recalling facts, not experiences. Like he was reading from a list instead of remembering.

I sighed. "You’re not acting like yourself."

Ronan didn’t respond.

I tapped my fingers against my arm, thinking. The parasite was working—it had control, it kept him moving, it functioned as a basic set of rules and behaviors that would keep him alive—but it wasn’t using him right. Something was missing. Personality? Instincts? I had taken over bodies before, but I was still me. Ronan had been completely hollowed out, which was by no means useful to me. At this rate, he would do better as a corpse than a minion.

I pushed off the crate and circled him. "When someone insults you, what do you do?"

Another delay. "Respond accordingly."

"What’s accordingly?"

A pause. "With superiority."

I stopped in front of him. "Then why haven’t you?"

Silence. He didn’t know how to answer.

I exhaled sharply. This was worse than I thought. He wasn’t resisting the parasite—he just wasn’t functioning. The parasite had taken control but hadn’t adapted to his natural responses. He wasn’t Ronan anymore—he was a body waiting for input and I had to fix it.

And that meant training him, like a dog learning new commands, only more simple than a dog. It was more like a program, I supposed.

I sighed. "Alright. Let’s start simple. When someone greets you, how do you respond?"

Ronan hesitated. "...With confidence."

"Show me."

He straightened his posture, and lifted his chin slightly. It was stiff, and rehearsed, but a step in the right direction.

"Better." I gestured for him to continue. "Now, someone questions your authority. How do you handle it?"

Ronan blinked. Then, slower than it should have been, he smirked. "I remind them who they are speaking to."

It was wrong. The timing, the delivery. But it was better than nothing.

I nodded. "Again."

And we kept going.

We ran through more scenarios. Basic interactions. How to react when someone greeted him, when someone challenged him when someone dared to stand in his way. At first, he hesitated with every answer, taking too long to respond, his voice flat and rehearsed.

But with each repetition, the delay shortened. The parasite was learning.

"Alright," I said, arms still crossed, watching him closely. "You’re in the cafeteria. Some kid bumps into you and spills your drink all over your robes. What do you do?"

Ronan blinked. "Establish dominance."

I smirked. "And how do you do that?"

A pause. Then, slower than before, the faintest flicker of something familiar crossed his face. "I make sure he knows his place."

I stepped back, studying him. It wasn’t natural yet, but it was progress. His voice had a little more weight behind it. His posture was less robotic, more like the entitled prick he used to be.

Good. I needed him useful. Needed him to function like the spoiled brat he used to be.

I stepped closer, watching his eyes. "What do you feel when someone disrespects you?"

Another pause.

"Nothing," he said.

That was the problem. The parasite controlled his body, and understood his habits, but it didn’t feel anything. It was a puppet, and puppets didn’t act on instinct. Ronan had been fueled by arrogance, cruelty, and pride. Without those, he wasn’t Ronan.

I exhaled. This was going to take more work.

I needed to make him believe he was still himself.

I circled him again. "You’re better than these people, aren’t you?"

Ronan’s head tilted slightly, processing. "...Yes."

I nodded. "You always have been. They fear you. Admire you. They respect you because they should."

His posture shifted, just slightly.

I pushed further. "You’ve trained harder. You’ve proven yourself. No one here is your equal."

His fingers twitched.

I watched carefully. "And when someone disrespects you? When someone dares to challenge your authority?"

The smirk returned—sharper this time. "I remind them."

Now that was better.

I could feel the parasite adjusting, syncing with his natural behaviors. The instincts were still buried, but they were surfacing, piece by piece.

I gave him a slow nod. "Good. You don’t just say you’re better—you show them."

The way he held himself changed. His shoulders squared, his stance more grounded. It wasn’t perfect, but he was regaining the presence he used to have.

"Now," I said, stepping back. "We test it."

He watched me, waiting.

"Let’s go for a walk."

Ronan straightened his robes, then followed. No hesitation. No delay.

Yes. This was more like it.

We walked through the Academy halls, side by side. Ronan’s movements were smoother now, more deliberate. The stiff hesitation that had plagued him earlier was fading, but I needed to be sure.

Students glanced at us as we passed. Some out of habit, wary of Ronan’s usual cruelty. Others because they could sense something was different. I watched them closely, waiting for a reaction, waiting to see if anyone would call him out. No one did. Not yet.

A group of second-years loitered near the courtyard entrance, talking amongst themselves. Ronan had tormented one of them just last week. A scrawny kid with messy hair, still wearing the faint scowl of someone who’d been humiliated in public.

I nudged Ronan. "Him. How would you handle this?"

He stopped, tilting his head. "He is beneath me."

"Yes, but how do you remind him of that?"

Ronan stared for a moment, his fingers flexing at his side. Then, he strode forward.

The kid stiffened the moment he noticed, his body going rigid, eyes darting for an escape route. Ronan didn’t speak. He just walked through them, shoving the scrawny kid aside as if he were nothing more than a piece of furniture in the way.

The kid stumbled, barely catching himself. His friends tensed, but none of them dared to intervene.

The old Ronan would have laughed. Mocked them. Thrown in a sneering insult for good measure. This new Ronan just... moved on.

I sighed, rubbing my temples. Progress, but still not enough.

We kept walking until we were alone again. I glanced at him. "Why didn’t you say anything?"

Ronan blinked. "Was it necessary?"

I frowned. The parasite was still thinking too much. The old Ronan acted on impulse.

I stopped in my tracks, grabbing his shoulder. "You’re overanalyzing. You know what he deserved. You know what you should have done. Say it."

Ronan hesitated, but something flickered behind his eyes. A memory, maybe. A piece of what he used to be.

"I should have humiliated him," he said slowly. "Should have made sure he never forgot."

I nodded. "So why didn’t you?"

A pause.

"I did not feel the need."

And there was the problem.

The parasite had learned Ronan’s habits, his words, his mannerisms—but it wasn’t tapping into his drives. It wasn’t giving him the same emotional pull that made him who he was.

That needed to change.

I stepped in close, lowering my voice. "You’re not just some noble brat. You’re a Vairmont. People don’t just respect you, they fear you. And that’s because you make them."

His jaw tightened.

"They look at you, and they know their place."

"They remember what you do to them."

His eyes sharpened, his breath coming in slow, steady inhales. Something was clicking into place.

"And when they don’t?" I continued. "When they forget who you are?"

His mouth curved, just slightly. A smirk.

"I remind them."

There it is.

I let go of his shoulder, stepping back. The parasite was no longer just imitating Ronan—it was syncing with his instincts, channeling his past thoughts, and his desires. It was him now, fully. Or at least, it would be soon enough.

I turned. "Come on. Let’s see how well you remember."

Ronan fell into step beside me, with no hesitation this time. His posture, his movements—it all felt right again.

I doubted my work was done, but I would let things play out, and if he became out of control I would reign him in. Still, this was progress, and I needed him to return to at least a shadow of his former self.