And now, the rest of the backstory...
Elsewhere in Castle Marik, a tall dignified demon with pale skin and hair sit in a luxuriously appointed room behind an enormous polished treant-wood desk and thinks to himself. After a minute he straightens his shoulders and snaps his fingers. A shadowy humanoid figure forms out of the darkness behind his left shoulder and waits.
"Chancellor Are, your orders, sir?"
"Yes, important ones. Very important. It seems Overlord Marik has decided to go through with his idea to send Zeist to school, although not where I had originally anticipated. He seems to have sent Zeist to another dimension for schooling, and not to Evil Academy. While this makes my plans easier, yours I'm afraid will be slightly more difficult."
The shadowy figure waits soundlessly.
"It seems that Zeist will be attending a place called Twilight Academy. From what Marik has confided in me, it exists in a pocket dimension tied to that universe and seems to be nearly impenetrable. Also, the Headmistress of the school, if this information is accurate, is more than capable of holding her own against the Legendary Baal. To be precise, she could 'beat the living fucking hell out of him while she is blindfolded, with both arms and one leg tied behind her back while drinking a vanilla shake'.
The shadow shivers. "I can't believe that's possible, Your Excellency."
"My thoughts as well. Still, it behooves us to be cautious, and a direct confrontation would most certainly give us away. However, being a Magical Combat School, the students are sent out on missions as part of field training. So my orders are to assassinate Zeist using triple level native agents ((hire somebody to hire somebody to hire somebody)) with zero chance at resurrection or reincarnation, and it CANNOT fail. We have time, so be patient." Are reaches into his desk, pulls out a manila envelope and tosses it over his shoulder. "Here is all the information I can provide for you. Not much, but I know with your talents it will be sufficient. Take whatever resources you need, but go alone. That is all."
The figure disperses as Are pours himself a Styx brandy and props his feet on the desk, imagining thousands of demons chanting Overlord Are.