《Ascension of a Warlock》


 Awakening

    A heavenly chorus sounded out, like a choir of angels on high. I scrambled upright, throwing off my bed covers and fumbling for the off button on my alarm clock. I hadn¡¯t really been sleeping anyway; I was much too excited for sleep. Also, I was a notorious night owl. The day just sucks, you know? Anyway. It was my sixteenth birthday. My Class Day, for those of you not familiar. Out of habit, and an irrational sense of hope, I brought up my status sheet with a thought.


    Allister Rose


    Classless


    Age 16


    Level 0


    Race: Human


    Strength: 10


    Intelligence: 10


    Agility: 10


    Will: 10


    Endurance: 10


    Dexterity: 10


    Skills: Inspect (Racial Skill)


    I sighed melodramatically. Same stats, same name. I mean, Gods, I sounded like some sort of fantasy protagonist. I didn¡¯t really know what I¡¯d been expecting; my status hadn¡¯t changed for as long as I could remember. My stats were the same, at least numerically, as any other human my age. Of course, in practicality they would be different, but the scale was so small as to be inconsequential. But, today, it would change. Drastically. Today I would get my Class, along with everyone else on the planet that turned 16 today. Well, human at least. I think I heard something once about others aging differently. Don''t quote me on that though.


    I strode over to the mirror, taking a good last look at myself before my life was changed forever. I stood slightly taller than the average in this area, at a respectable not-quite-six-feet. My hair was black and straight, about shoulder length. I parted it, removing the messy mass from my field of vision. That¡¯d be a pain to comb. I spotted at least three tangled knots.


    My eyes, hazel, with tiny, easily missed flecks of gold. An interesting relic of a sorcerous origin. Though, unfortunately the line had been too diluted by my generation for me to receive its non-cosmetic benefits. My build was lean, not overly fit, but not unhealthy, highlighted by snugly fitting, comfortable nightclothes. Pale skinned, but not exceptionally, and just shy of gaunt in the face. I smiled, in a way that might have been interpreted as excitement. Possibly. Probably not quite though. More smug. Smirkish. More¡­ anticipation? Yes, I decided. That was a better word. I anticipated what was soon to come.


    ------


    Five minutes later -an exaggeration entirely, even I had the decency to put in a bit of effort for such a day- I sat at the kitchen table, a bowl of plain wheat cereal untouched in front of me. My mother, sitting across the table, glared judgmentally and continued her tirade.


    ¡°Eat. I know you¡¯re nervous, but you¡¯re going to need the energy. Trust me.¡± Inspect.


    Brenda Rose


    Witch


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Culinary


    Age 34


    Level 27


    I stared at the same screen for probably the thousandth time, lost in thought. What would happen if I got a class like her? Would I end up mediocre for the rest of my life? Doing hedge magic and charms for a relatively tiny paycheck? Not to be rude, I mean, I see how that sounds. She was certainly successful and rather well off. But the reality simply was that a Class like a Witch didn''t have far to climb.


    My mother was of an average level for someone of her age and general Class. Certain Classes tended to level faster than others. Obviously, slaying a giant would give more XP than baking a cake. Unless the cake was really good, I suppose.


    She was slightly shorter than me, with long, blond hair and a figure which was slightly more on the curvaceous side. After all, as she said regularly, and had even committed to a little wooden decorative piece, ''never trust a cook who won¡¯t taste their own food.'' I''m unsure where she stole the phrase from, but I certainly trusted her, at least in cooking.


    Catching me staring at off into the distance, she sighed. ¡°Well, if you¡¯re not going to eat, at least hurry up so you¡¯re not late. No point wasting time.¡± She pulled me out of my seat roughly by the arm, hurrying me over towards a dimly white-glowing circle carved on a single patch of stone flooring in the corner. I wondered idly and not for the first time why it glowed. She''d activated it a few minutes prior, giving it time to ''adjust'' before it was used. Probably some function of the enchantment required a warm up period. Who knew, maybe I''d be a Ritualist and become an expert in the formation''s inner workings.


    ¡°Ok, I¡¯m going.¡± I exclaimed, my voice exasperated, as I shook of her loose grip. Standing in the circle, I touched a similarly glowing carved symbol on the wall and thought hard at it. The world went white.


    ------


    As the world came back into focus, nervousness raced suddenly through me. Again, not for the first time. I was standing at one end of a large, heavily decorated room. It was about twenty stride long and ten wide, with the ceiling at least thirty up. The whole thing was decked out excessively in gold and chandeliers. Who hangs multiple chandeliers? Why? Feels tacky. At the other end of the room was a large and visibly plush bed surrounded by intensely glowing circles of complex purple runes on the floor. It wasn¡¯t very fancy, just a bed, though the whole setting was looking somewhat cultish.


    Between me and the other end of the room were rows of pews, filled with members of my extended family (most of whose names I didn¡¯t even remember, truthfully). I hurriedly stepped off the arrival circle. Seconds later, my mother appeared behind me in a flash of white light.


    ¡°Go on,¡± she said, gesturing me down the central walkway. All eyes were on me. Which was normally something I longed for, ironically.


    As I neared the raised dais on which sat the oh-so-inviting blankets and cushions, a man stepped out of a door I hadn¡¯t seen, flush with the wall as it was. His matte purple eyes had a warm look in them, somehow, and there was a kind smile on his round face. He was bald, and wore a black robe threaded with gold. His skin was a tanned brown.


    ¡°Would you be Allister Rose, or am I in the wrong place?¡± His voice was also, somehow, warm. I do mean that. The temperature rose slightly when he spoke. It somewhat distracted from the attempt at humor.


    ¡°That would be me.¡± My voice shook slightly. Only slightly.


    ¡°Good, that could have been a hassle.¡± I finally took the time to use my only -for now- Skill. Inspect.


    Name unknown


    Ritualist


    Age???


    Level??


    That was helpful. I couldn¡¯t wait until I was able to level up that Skill in particular.


    The man, no doubt sensing my skill, exclaimed, ¡°Oh don¡¯t bother, my name is George.¡± At this point, the Inspect screen updated to show said name, George.


    ¡°If you could just lie down here, we can get started!¡± Nodding, I started toward the bed when George -the name seemed rather stuck in my thoughts- grabbed my arm, stopping me.


    ¡°Careful not to step on those," He said, pointing down at the circles. "Very high energy. It would be such a shame to be vaporized on such a day.¡± Now, much more carefully, I climbed onto the bed and lay down on top of the covers.


    ¡°Perfect, now, we may begin.¡± Turning around, he began talking to the assembled family members as I lay there. I didn¡¯t quite hear what he said though, I was too busy thinking. What Class would I get? Perhaps a warrior, a mage? Some obscure, esoteric thing no-one had ever heard of? That last one was unlikely, given simply how many people had likely gone through the process.


    After a minute, perhaps a bit more, he turned back around. George whispered to me.


    "This may feel a bit strange.¡± George told me as he raised his hands and began chanting in some unpronounceable language. The words slipped from my mind, leaving a strange present emptiness. Purple energy, like streamers of liquid light, flowed from his hands, dripping down like honey into the inscribed symbols around me. A tingle started in my chest, working its way through me.


    Wherever it touched, soothing warmth flowed through me, and I relaxed. Soon, my vision began to grow dark, and I fell into nothingness.

 Chapter Two

    I floated in darkness, not shadows, but the complete and utter absence of light, or matter, or anything else, really. As I floated, I thought, wondering what my Class would be.


    The rarity system for Classes went like this: Common, Uncommon, Rare, Legendary, and Transcendent. Each tier was more powerful and obviously, rarer, than the one below it.


    Common classes made up around 50% of people, uncommon 30%, rare 15%, and legendary 5%.


    Now, you may notice that math doesn¡¯t exactly add up right. You see, there are exactly four people in the history of the world who have been Transcendent. Each one was the defining characteristic of their entire era. The last, being born about 4000 years ago, now rules the largest nation in history. That being the one in which I live.


    Finally, after what seemed like about ten minutes, but could have been two, a window appeared before me. It bore a large, extravagantly detailed question mark, glowing with a colorless light.


    I had always fancied myself being a mage of some kind. The idea of flying around, throwing fireballs and lightning excited me. I had studied very hard in school, and read many books, as that was believed to increase the likelihood of a magic based class. Needless to say, I was quite excited. That is, until the content of the window was revealed.


    Your Class has been revealed!


    Warlock


    Tier: rare


    Stats per level:


    2 will,


    1 int


    Starting skill: Contract (single use)


    Description:


    The Warlock is a class of magic user which performs feats of magic in a way unique to them. By forming a contract with a powerful entity of some kind, warlocks are able to gain power which surpasses that of most other magic users at their level. However, if the terms of the contract are broken, the warlock loses all borrowed power.


    Go Forth, and Thrive.


    ------


    ¡­


    ¡­


    ¡­


    ¡°Oh. Oh no.¡±


    I had heard of Warlocks before. Most had. They were one of the more known classes of the Rare category.


    Warlocks were generally mistrusted; this being due to the fact that most entities willing to accept a Pact are things which have been locked away, sealed, or banished, usually for good reason. It was also a common, though unproven belief that a Warlock was shaped by their patron. These facts combined to ensure that people with this class were generally badly treated and found trouble trying to just make a living. This was most definitely not a good development.


    I had a sudden vision; me, in black, purple-edged robes, standing on a vague battlefield, eyes ablaze with dark flame as things moved in the shadows. Words rolled from my lips in a whispering, sibilant tongue. The vision faded quickly as it had come.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    It was at this point I noticed a small icon flashing in the lower corner of my sight.


    Opening it, I was asked if I would like to return to wakefulness. Upon indicating yes, my eyes snapped open. I found myself once more on a large, soft bed.


    ------


    ¡°Well, certainly don¡¯t see one of those every day!¡± George exclaimed with what I thought was an undue amount of excitement.


    ¡°Ugh,¡± I eloquently groaned. Despite having not really done anything, I was immensely tired. Was this normal? I had never heard it mentioned. Though if it was indeed normal, I could understand why nobody talked about it. A warning would have been nice though.


    ¡°And that is why we don''t use altars anymore.¡± I heard him mutter. That was¡­ concerning, to say the least. I groggily sat up, rubbing my eyes.


    ¡°Let the boy breathe!" George yelled, when several people in the crowd shouted questions. He then turned to me and whispered.


    ¡°Sorry, I know you¡¯re likely quite tired, and would probably rather fall into a coma, but I¡¯m going to need you to stand.¡±


    Another ¡°Ugh,¡± was all I could manage in response. George helped me up by the arm, and turned me to face the crowd. Raising my hand into the air, he spoke.


    ¡°On this day, with you and the Gods as my witnesses, I proclaim Allister Rose, child of Brenda Rose, as Warlock!¡±


    Gasps rang out, and then a deep and foreboding silence reigned. It was as if someone had cast a deafness charm. Then the shouting began.


    ¡®What,'' was the most common expression. Followed closely by exclamations of ¡®Warlock!? How?¡¯ Then George¡¯s voice loudly rang out, likely with the use of magic.


    ¡°Enough,¡± he boomed. ¡°If you have any complaints, you can shove it. Now, this event is over, please exit in an orderly fashion via the transportation circle at the back of the room. Or don''t. Not my problem."


    People slowly, begrudgingly began to disperse. It took a while, due to only having one exit. Poor design in my opinion. Meanwhile, I was quickly escorted by George to a back room, in which there was another transportation circle in the corner.


    ¡°Listen, kid,¡± the Ritualist told me. ¡°If you find yourself needing some help with... well, anything really, I know a guy at an Academy who can hook you up.¡± He handed me a card, and with that, I was sent on my way.


    ------


    As I stepped out of the circle and into my living room, I was immediately caught in a tight, entirely expected hug from an excitable child.


    Kate Rose


    Unclassed


    Age 5


    Level 1


    I wheezed, the air knocked right out of me.


    Immediately i was barraged with questions, ¡°What¡¯s a Warlock? Do you have magic? Can I see? Pleeeease?¡±


    Before I could provide an answer to any of those, my mother stepped in. By which I mean she physically pulled my sibling off of me.


    "Kate, stop that. Your brother is very tired, he needs his rest,¡± she so gently admonished. Shooting her a grateful look, I trudged upstairs to my bedroom and flopped on the bed without even changing my clothes.


    ------


    Now, for this next part, I have to explain some things. Namely, my resident world¡¯s educational system. From ages 1-16, most people attended a primary school which taught basic things everyone needed to know. You know, spelling, math, arithmetic, that stuff. After you turned sixteen, and thus received your Class, you then were expected to try to get into an Academy, which were specialized schools meant to advance your specifc Class to a degree and help prepare you enough for life that you didn''t end up on the streets within a month.


    Now, this was where my problems began. As I said before, Warlocks are generally not regarded as being trustworthy or good people. As such, there were not many places dedicated to their progression. And of those there were? Well, suffice to say that the fees removed them from the equation.


    I could, of course, attend a general, non-specialized university, but, to be frank, people of importance never came from those. I kept the option on the table though. A last resort.


    It was then, at approximately noon on the 9th day since my Awakening that I remembered the card I had been given by George, forgotten in my tiredness after I had arrived home.


    ¡°I¡¯m an idiot,¡± I said, face-palming. This startled my mother, who had been sitting across the table, reading through yet another rejection letter.


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you in a minute,¡± I yelled to her, as I ran up the stairs to my room. Rifling through my things, I searched. Finally I found it. It had fallen from the edge of a nightstand, where it had been thrown haphazardly, and slid under said furniture. It was white, and bore black words on one side, a number on the other.


    Greystone Academy of Warlocks

 Chapter Three

    Now, before contacting the aforementioned number, we -being, of course, my mother and I- had thought it prudent to conduct at least some manner of research on the place I would presumably be attending. Quite a reasonable idea, if I say so. The universe didn''t seem to agree.


    You see, upon attempting to take such measures, we were struck by a striking revelation. Namely that ''Greystone Academy of Warlocks,'' did not, in fact, exist. There were no accessible sources for any information whatsoever! No maps, images, articles, not even a scathing review from an angry parent or former student! Preposterous, I say!


    That was the conclusion we arrived at after several hours worth of dedicated investigation. But, clearly, the place must exist! Otherwise, why would I have been the card? At least, so I hoped. And so it was, begrudgingly, decided. We -I- would take the leap. Throw myself off the cliff, so to speak, in the hopes I''d be caught.


    And, thankfully, it seemed I was. Inputing the number of the card into a phone (a rather handy modern magical innovation of the classic sending stone), it rang for barely a second before going silent. The quiet held for a moment, before a dull, droning voice sounded from the device.


    "Privacy wards have been erected around your location for the duration of this contact. Nobody not part of the conversation will hear you, nor perceive by other means. State your reason for contact and from whom you acquired a method of doing so."


    For a few moments, we sat in stunned silence before the voice, still equally bored-sounding, prompted us to respond. which I did. Quite professionally too in my opinion.


    "I am contacting because I, one Allister Rose, Awakened as a Warlock, and was given a card bearing this number by a Ritualist under the name of ''George.'' I was under the impression that this was a contact that would help me in acquiring an education in the same manner as an Academy."


    Almost a minute of tense silence, before a response.


    "You are under the correct impression. Note that from here on, any information you may learn about Greystone is not to be shared, under threat of termination." Well that took a quick turn. "Exactly two weeks from this day, at precisely noon, activate any transportation array while bearing the sigil that will soon be sent from this contact. Exactly one individual present at the time of this conversing may do so. Bring nothing with you. More information will be provided only if you proceed in this course of action."


    And abruptly, they, whoever they were, hung up. Quite rude. Me and my mother coincidentally turned to look at each other simultaneously. She opened her mouth to speak when a ding, like that of a bell, sounded from the phone. The message was an image. White om black background. Three vertical lines arranged in a triangular shape around a circle, containing a small symbol of a flame.


    ------


    Two weeks later, after preparation which mostly consisted of deep-diving into every conspiracy theory I could find that mentioned grey -no resuslts here- stone, -slightly more- or Warlocks -an overwhelming amount, though completely unhelpful- I stood upon the transportation circle, ready to depart. I hadn¡¯t gone yet because travel to Greystone, as you likely just discovered yourself, was only available for about one minute. Coincidentally the minute just after the current one. I bore the mysterious sigil on a piece of paper carefully placed in a pocket of my coat -which was long, stiff and high-collared, colored a simple black. As was custom in the region for formal occasions.


    "And you''re absolutely sure you want to go through with this? No second thoughts or last minute doubts?" My mother inquired. She stood carefully just outside the circle, looking nervous, as you might have imagined from her words. She wrung her hands with with a worried expression.


    "Yes, Mother, I''m sure. And its a bit late for second-guessing myself. Now stop fussing, I''ll be needing to go soon.¡± I assured her. Surely this would all turn out ok. It was simply a particularly strict and secretive acceptance program! Yes, surely that. No reason for me to be nervous. Certainly not her! What could possibly go wrong?


    I was clearly calm and collected. No nerves here.


    The clock struck twelve. It was time to go.


    One hand pressed against the ensigiled paper as if to reassure myself, (except not, as I was entirely calm) I pressed the activation rune and there was a flash of light.


    Grey light.


    ------


    As the oddly discoulered magic faded from my eyes, I got my first look at where I would presumably spend the majority of the next few years. Greystone was a large, imposing castle. The name was quite accurate. The entire thing was grey, save for stained glass windows, situated at the top of three tall spires which stuck up from the corners of the triangular structure. Floating pathways led from the tops of the towers to a crystalline glasslike orb suspended above the whole thing. Within that sphere was a dark, black core. A dark of such intensity that it seemed to draw the eye towards it.


    Now, that I could see this at all was a testament to the sheer size of the place, considering I was at the bottom of a very tall cliff, and it was on top. A vast wall of rock -normally colored- rose up before me, perhaps three-hundred feet in height. The building was set at a distance from the edge, which was likely a safety measure, as falling from great heights tended to be detrimental to most people.


    Aside from the location, there were other people present. What a joy. There seemed two main varieties. The first seemed roughly in the same situation as me. Some were dressed well, others... less so. However, an Inspection revealed them all as Warlocks. And Level one at that. There were not many of these. Perhaps three-dozen. As I watched, several more arrived, flashing into existence atop magic circles that flared as they appeared and then disappeared.


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    The other variety was much more scarce. There were six of them, arranged in a rough semi-circle around the mass of arrivals, leaving the path to the cliff open. They each appeared vaguely older, and all their Levels, along with their Classes, were hidden.


    There was a smattering of Races present. There were Elves, their limbs slender and long, eyes inhumanly large, mouths wide and filled with small, sharp teeth. At least three Orcs, a pale corpse-grey with broad shoulders, bulging muscles and small protruding tusks. Even a Leonid was present, (the first I''d seen in person, in fact) tall, golden-furred with a great red mane and a maw of vicious fangs.


    All of a sudden there was¡­ a twisting, of reality, in the air above the crowd. Like the heatwaves ditorting the air over an open flame. A shifting rainbow of colors shone through, and a vibrance poured out that saturated world around it, making all else appear dull and grey. Through that distortion stepped a woman. She stood high in the air, though not too much to make out details.


    At first glance she may have appeared human, tall and slender with a river of bright red hair that spilled from her head. But here eyes were those of a serpent, slitted and vertical, and shifting iridescent scales adorned her hands and arms, which were visible thanks to the short sleeves of the long white dress she wore, embroidered around the edges with imagery of twisting snakes. She spoke, her voice sweet like honey.


    "I am Vessilia Dyne, current acting dean of Greystone. Congratulations to those of you who stand here. You are the lucky few who have been chosen in some manner to attend this prestigious Academy. The founder, a Warlock as well, thought it important that there be a way for those such as we to benefit from the combined efforts and knowledge of our forebears, just as those who do not face such judgement as us do."


    A brief pause, likely to make sure she held everyone''s attention.


    "Of course, such a gift cannot come without cost. You will be sworn to secrecy, Contractually bound, magically enforced. As well, for the duration of your education, you may be tasked with Quests for the purposes of the Academy. Any ''loot'' yielded from these missions is also prospect to be seized. Is this clear?"


    Several people nodded. Not me though. How indignified!


    "If you do not agree to these terms, feel free to indicate so."


    I was of no mind to do so. They seemed fairly loose and reasonable requirements, to be honest. That opinion was further amplified when one of my ''peers'' decided he, contrary, rather disliked the terms.


    He -an expensively dressed human, of short stature and rather unappealing looks,- raised a hand, to which he received a nod and an ask to step away from the group. He did so and-


    Gone.


    In a split second, there was a flash of multicolored light, and he vanished as if he had never existed. People stared at where he had stood, then back up at the still-floating dean. She didn''t seem to have moved a muscle. After a short glance over the assembled and astonished crowd, she cleared her throat and spoke again.


    "Of course, now that you have been made aware, you cannot be allowed to simply leave. It is good that so many of you seemed to have already decided on staying. Now. This concludes the introductory speech. Your first task is twofold. First, you must finish the process to truly become a Warlock. Use your Skill. Find a Patron. That is all. You will each be provided with a privacy ward. Begin."


    She waved her hand, and I was suddenly enveloped by a dome of shifting color, like the surface of a soap bubble.


    Now, for those who don''t know, how the Contract skill worked was by sending out your will, in the form of a call which echoed through the planes. Once some being accepted the call, (first come first serve) a manifestation of their form would be summoned. The entity and the Warlock would then hash out the details of the contract untilnthey agreed on something. I had, of course, learned this after some brief studies into the Class. I didn''t, however, know what happened if they couldnt find an agreement. Large lack of resources on that. Anyway. Bracing myself for... something, I activated the Skill.


    ------


    I felt the call echo outwards. It was like grasping in the dark while blindfolded. And also underwater. It pierced straight through the material plane, rang throughout the six elemental planes, the twin realms of the afterlife, and crashed into the void. Then, when it reached the edges of reality, I felt something call back.


    A presence, smoky and indistinct, clawed its way along the connection, slowly, inexorably pulling itself out from a place of deep, hungry darkness. Through the hole created by the Skill, it seeped in.


    "Delectable morsel...¡± The colors around me faded, becoming a deep black like the midnight sky. Shapes -only visible by virtue of being blacker than the dark around them- writhed in the shadow. Its voice was a thousand whispers, all speaking in synchronicity. It was also the nonsensical murmuring of the mad. And it was the screams of those tortured by visions of the unreal. And as it spoke, the darkness opened its eyes.


    A presence moved around me. Watching from every angle. Speaking madly to itself.


    ¡°Why has it called us? What does it seek? Does it know? Do we? Do I? Tell me,¡± it said, moving, inches from my face in an instant. ¡°What knowledge, what power, has bid thee to cast out into the dark? To gaze out into the abyss that gazes back into you? Speak, before, in an endless instant of infinity is the secret pried from thy mortal mind so that we may feast.¡±


    Its form was a mere silhouette, two-dimensional against the black background. A flat cutout of a purple, smiling humanoid, covered in far too many eyes.


    For all that I may have prepared, scripted and recited for this moment, it all went out the window. In my haste to say something I spat the first cliche, generic thing that came to mind.


    "I ask for power. A Pact. So that I may grow strong and be someone who''s name echoes and is remebered."


    ¡°And what do you offer in turn, mortal creature? Why should I, we, accept this? What is gained for we?¡± It asked.


    Ah. Didn¡¯t think of that. How did I not think of that? Oh well. Improvise.


    "What do you want?"


    And then it laughed. Oh, that terrible laugh. It crept into the ears and grew louder and louder and louder till there was nothing else to hear, nothing but ten-thousand voices, laughing and cackling like a madman possessed-


    "FREEDOM. THAT IS WHAT WE SEEK. WE SEEK TO FEED AND FEAST UPON THE MINDS OF MORTAL-KIND. WE SEEK MEMORIES AND FEAR. OH HOW WE HUNGER AND YEARN TO ONCE MORE IN MORTAL SHADOWS DWELL, NOT TRAPPED IN THIS CURSED REALM OF THE UNREAL. FOR MILLENNIA WE HAVE WAITED AND HUNGERED. NOW YOU SHALL SET US FREE."


    It kept going, but it''s myriad voices faded enough that I could hear my own thoughts. Which were quite frantic. Clearly, I couldn''t let this thing out into the world. That would be incredibly irresponsible! I had to satisfy it in some way though, or I''d be stuck as a Warlock with no Patron. That''s like a gun without bullets! Maybe I could trick it? No, probably not. It would likely see through any outright lies, but I may be able to limit its freedom. The words flowed like water to my lips, eagerly supplied by the Contract Skill.


    "I offer that you might see through my eyes, feel through my hands, hear with my ears. That you might, in exchange for a small ffragment of your power, be able to experience the material plane through me, dwell in my shadow and, in time, gain true freedom."


    "Yes. To this, we assent. By these terms, let our Covenant be forged. And let you know my name. I am That Which Whispers in Madmen¡¯s Ears, and That Which Stalks Beyond Sight, That Which Laughs its Terrible Laugh. I am The Flickering Shadows of a Candle Flame. I, We, are The Whispering Dark.¡±

 Chapter Four

    Congratulations, Warlock!


    You have formed your Pact!


    You have bonded with:


    The Whispering Dark


    You gain access to:


    Mana (resource)


    Evocation (Skill)


    Commune (Skill)


    Three Starting Spells (undetermined, Patron Specific)


    Level Progression


    Favor*


    *Favor is a unique system to Warlocks, Clerics and others who draw power from an outside entity. You require favor along with experience to level up. You will not level up until you reach a threshold of both favor and experience.


    As The Whispering Dark -I''d need to find something else to all it- spoke those final words, the featureless darkness surrounding me swirled. It compressed itself, twisting and changing. Soon, it had all but vanished. My newly-contracted Patron grinned. Moreso than before, at least.


    "Soon..." It hissed. "Soon we seek no more. No longer hunger shall we be stricken with. Soon shall I FEAST!" It laughed as it''s silhouette body was pulled down, folding and swirling to form an eye, corners upturned in glee. The eye closed, solidified, became black metal. And from the shifting shadow materialized an equally black chain, which wound through a loop on the eye and met at its own end, forming one continous length. The amulet hovered in the air, briefly, before falling into my outstretched hand. On contact, it became a cloud of deep purple smoke which raced up and solidified once more around my neck. I tugged at it. It refused to move. Oh well.


    I was left once more in that shummering rainbow dome. At least for a moment, before the colors exploded, slithering away like serpents, and I was standing in open space. There were several others who had similarly completed their contracting. A few domes were still up, those who had not yet completed their acts. One of which was pulsating ominously. That probably wasn''t good. At least for whoever was in there.


    A quick glance located the faculty. The dean was still standing straight, high in the air. Looked quite forced, in my opinion. The other staff still stood around the students, looking positively bored out of their skulls. One seemed to be entertaining himself with puffs of smoke from his fingers. Creative, I say. I pulled up my status, to see what had changed.


    Allister Rose


    Human


    Warlock


    Patron: The Whispering Dark


    Age 16


    Level 1


    Experience: 0/100


    Favor: 0/100


    Strength: 10


    Intelligence: 11


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    Mana: 28


    Agility: 10


    Will: 12


    Endurance: 10


    Dexterity: 10


    Skills: Inspect (Racial skill), Commune (Class skill), Evocation (Class skill), [Warlock Spells Available x3.]


    Very interesting. I finally had new Skills, for one. A grand total of five, once I figured out the Spells! Certainly more than I''d ever had before. I had a sneaking suspicion of how I''d go about acquiring those new ones. Mentally, I flexed Commune.


    The eye snapped open, revealing twin violet pupils. They darted wildly, as if hungry to see.


    "We see! Freedom hath we been blessed with from the dark! For there are no shadows with no day to define them. We SENSE them. We hunger. Mortal minds free to be grasped. Secrets to be claimed, memories for the taking. Voices for the choir. Madness whispered in the ears of men. Betrayal, blood spilt on marble walls, brother against brother- friends become foe and back, shadows that dance and sway and dreams that walk the waking realm. The day becometh as night and-"


    I slammed the connection closed. Gods. Honestly I should have been prepared for that. Though I don''t know how I would have done so. Dozens, no, hundreds, maybe thousands of voices laughing and gibbering nonsense ceaselessly without pause, whispering in sybillant tongues knowledge not meant for-


    Snap out of it! Not my thoughts! Get! Out! Of! My! Head!


    Silence.


    Ok. Calm. Quiet. No voices. Deep breath. Sigh. Well, guess that was a preview of the foreseeable future. I was going to need to try again, at least.


    Breathing deep, I opened the channel once more.


    "Sweet vessel, you who have freed us." Its voice was smooth and singular, deep and reverberating. "We beseech thee, open thine eyes and ears to us, so that we may tell you of that which we know and you seek. Have we not blessed you, bestowed upon you power as you asked? Did you not promise us?"


    Well. That was certainly different. Much more pleasant than the previous experience, I had to say.


    I sent my thoughts along the connection to The Whispering Dark; I really should call it a knickname or something. Meh. Later problem.


    "About that power. I still dont have it. If you would ever-so-kindly assist me with that? You know, Skills and stuff?"


    Sending my response felt like throwing a stone into an ocean. The stone vanished beneath the surface, which ripples from the impact. The ripples being stray voices, snippets of thoughts.


    "Ah, child, have patience. Take hold of your Talisman. Grasp the eye." Grabbing hold of the thing, a window appeared before me.


    Congratulations, Warlock!


    You have formed a Pact, and gain your first magical abilities!


    [Walk in the Shadows]


    [Feast of terror]


    [Whisper of Insanity]


    Your Patron can provide information on the listed Skills.


    ¡°Well those aren¡¯t ominous at all,¡± I muttered aloud. "So, you have that information, then?"


    So impatient, you are, you mortals. Always rushing, rushing, rushing. How we YEARN for that vigour, that life. The first one, Walk in the Shadows, is the wings on which you will fly, the road on which you will travel. It will hasten your step through the dark, should you leave it to its work. But, feed it, with your magic, your Mana, and the true blessing shall be revealed.


    So a classic movement ability, then. It refused to elaborate on the ''true blessing'', said that would ''ruin the excitement.'' But I felt comfortable in assuming maybe a speed increase or short range teleport, perhaps. Quite useful, depending on its cost efficiency. I inquired as to the second Skill. The dramatically named Feast of Terror.


    "That Skill, a curse. An infliction of Terror, a fuel to be burned for your life''s blood, to restore."


    Huh. Pretty sure thats the shortest thing it''s said. So, an offensive ability? But also a self heal? Meh. I''d look at the Skill description later.


    "And the last one?"


    "My blessing. My power, made yours. A key, a window, to truth beyond knowledge. To thought beyond minds. Voices beyond hearing." A hissing, sybillant note entered its voice, growing in strength. "Whispers of that which is not to be known, songs not to be sang, names not to be said. An opening to-"


    I quickly shut off the connection as a chorus of whispering multitudes began to build. I got the picture and... yeah, no. For some reason, I didn¡¯t feel quite comfortable, cursing people with insanity. As a Warlock, I had accepted, or at least ignored, that most of my skills would be a bit evil, but that in particular felt much too far. Then again, I get the feeling most things are going to be that way, considering their source. Sigh.


    As I reluctantly acknowledged the skills, knowledge poured into my head. Gestures and words. The bare minimum understanding of how to perform the magics. Three Skills were added to my list. Each Level one. For now.

 Chapter Five

    In the time it had taken to examine my skills, all the other wards had disappeared. Save for the previously mentioned ominously pulsating orb, which had turned a swirling mix of black and crimson. Hmm. Likely not a good sign. I noticed the "staff" making their way toward it, forming a circle. I took a quick look at my peers.


    Most were sitting, likely Communing as I''d just been. Each bore a symbol as I did, in the form of various accessories. Necklaces, bracelets, an earring or two. The afore-noticed Leonid was adorned with a rather interesting arm bracer that wrapped his forearm in what looked to be sandstone? How comfortable could that be? And how heavy? Oh, he''s noticed me staring. Awkward nod, go. That was uncomfortable. Anyway, after giving everyone a few minutes, presumably for the Skills, Vessilia spoke.


    "If you would, please enter the Gates-" I could feel the capitalization of the word. Odd. "They open to the top of the cliff." At her word, shimmering rainbow arches appeared on the cliff wall. "From there, please make your way toward the facilities." She waved in the general direction of the imposing castle. ¡°The grounds are enchanted, you will quickly arrive at your dorm. Please make yourself comfortable. Classes will begin tomorrow. That," She pointed emphatically at the singular remaining dome, "will be dealt with."


    I made my way to one of the ''gates.'' After a moment of hesitation, I stepped in, leaving my stomach behind. There was an immediate, plummeting sensation in my gut that seemed to go on for entirely too long. Though all things indicated it was in truth rather instant. I stumbled as my front foot impacted the grassy ground atop the cliff, the edge of which a respectable distance away. I took a moment to catch my breath, and also to check my fall susceptible features. Coat, check, hair, impeccable. I began to set off toward the castle -which seemed all the bigger from so much closer- when I was thrown to the ground by an earth-shaking boom, accompanied by a roar the likes of which may be produced by an inordinately sized reptile. It was like the sound of wind rushing through a tunnel, yet discordant and atonal. It vibrated through my feet and shook my bones, persisting for much more of a time than it in all logic should have.


    With absolutely no interest whatsoever in remaing at this location, I quickly set off to my destination, which was dramatically framed by the lowest sun. I quite immediately noticed the promised enchantment. It was very intriguing, actually. The movement of everything off my path seemed to slow, quickly reaching a stop and blurring as colors stretched and blended into each other. At about the midway point, they grew darker, as if shifting to a less lit location. After about two minutes in total of walking, they began to un-mix, contracting and untwisting to assemble a clear picture.


    I reached a stone corridor, constructed of the same bleak grey material as the buildings outside. Every short distance along the hall, an arch was set into the walls and ceiling, complete with a purple orb supplying the only present light. Between each arch was a discouloured rectangle of stone in the rough outline of a door. Each door was flat, with no handle, and bearing a plaque of silver with an initial and surname. The one I had reached, predictable, read ''A. Rose.'' How terribly clich¨¦d sounding.


    I touched the door and... nothing. Sigh. Closing my eyes, i concentrated deeply, and reached for my mana. A rather useful skill (not that kind) that I had practiced during the Hao between the Awakening and remembering the... oh. That was certainly different. Much less empty now, at least. And slightly concerning.


    The inner space in which my mana could be found had changed. Which I honestly should have expected. The System had even informed me I''d ''gained access'' to Mana, which really should have been questioned, at least.


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    What had previously been a small blue pool in the midst of an empty black void was now a roiling pit of violet smoke, feathery, feeler like tendrils stretching up from the surface. The void around filled with shifting, changing black sillhouttes which swam through the dark, some miniscule, others impossibly large. Faint, unintelligible whispers emanated from the pool.


    Experimentally, I mentally seized one of those feathery tendrils. I drew it up out of the pool, opening my eyes and drawing the invisible, cold energy down my arm. I pressed it through my palm and into the door. It rumbled, and slid into the wall with surprisingly little sound.


    I breathed a minor whistle of appreciation. The room housed a large, plushly cushioned grey bed and a screen set into the wall. It had a lush black carpet, and there was a door on the other side of the room, a plaque above reading simply ''Practice Room.'' As I entered, the annoying door to the hall smoothly slid closed behind me, and the one on the opposite side of the room opened.


    The screen flashed white, and opened up to a selection screen with multiple different television channels. How comveniet. At the same time, I noticed a remote on a circular nightstand by the head of the bed, which i was pretty sure hadn''t been present previously. Deciding to check out the other room, I entered. This room had no carpet or furniture. It was a plain, stone box. On one side, there was a door out to a balcony. I began to wonder where the funds for all of this came from. A mystery for later.


    Checking the balcony, I found that I was about midway up on the northernmost tower. The one closest to the cliff I had arrived near. It was strange, because I hadn¡¯t seen anything on this tower from the outside, aside from a window at the very top. Looking up and down now, I figured there were probably other balconies hidden by magic. The view was quite nice, overlooking a large area of green grass that dropped away at the edge, becoming beautiful red mesas. Somewhere to the south of the continent then.


    As I reentered the bedroom area, a window popped into my vision.


    Welcome, Warlock, to Greystone!


    As a Sytem Recognized Institution, you will receive System Assistance for certain organizational matters


    You will now need to select your schedule:


    1st period evocation


    1st period summoning


    1st period ritual magic


    ¡­¡­more


    Consult your Patron for information on what subjects are available and optimal for you.


    Selecting the ¡°more¡± button, I nearly got dizzy from the sheer amount of options available. It just kept scrolling¡­ and scrolling¡­ and scrolling¡­


    ------


    After about an hour of frustratingly Communing with The Whispering Dark, I pressed confirm on the menu. My schedule was set so that my classes started at eight, with Black Magic 101. After that were Dungeon 101, and then Combat 101. Such creative naming. Fourth period was my one free hour. I then had Shadow-Based Magic, Mental Magic, and First Level Evocation. Speaking of which¡­


    I opened up the description for Evocation, which I had put off earlier.


    Evocation


    Mana cost: 1-10/1 second


    Description:


    Ability possessed by all Warlocks. Allows the caster to summon a manifestation of their Patron¡¯s power. At low levels, this may only include limbs, effects or minor phenomena, while at higher levels, could include such things as bodily alterations, major phenomena or full manifestation.


    Interesting. With that finished, I checked a clock present on the television in the wall. Four in the afternoon. How had the time flown so fast? With no plans or obvious obligations i could think of at the moment, i collapsed onto the sole piece of furniture. It was incred¨¬bly comfortable, like laying on a cloud. I spent five hours scrolling social media. Some celebrity or other had become involved in a scandal of some kind involving a sports player and a homunculus. I reacted in a way that could be described as an expulsion of air from the nose.


    I went to bed at precisely nine thirty. I had the the strangest feeling tomorrow would be quite eventful.

 Chapter Six

    The alarm which I had set woke me with a start. Seven o¡¯clock. I found a set of clothes sitting at the foot of my bed, neatly folded. A uniform. It was a long grey coat, which flared out at the waist and hung down to the knees. Buttons ran down from the collar about halfway down the torso. Said collar was flared dramatically, rising to about chin height. Included was a pair of plain featureless black pants. Not bad looking, if a little bland.


    Checking outside, the small, Herald sun was well on its journey, its larger counterpart just beginning to crest the horizon. The moon was still setting, and the rings of the planet were proudly displayed in the sky, a brilliant spiral of burnished gold and bronze.


    After dressing, I discovered that by pressing a button on the remote, I could open a door to a bathroom. A door I was quite sure hadn''t been presen before, and which vanished equally when closed. By the time I was finished preparing for the day, it was five minutes from the start of class. Sigh, the price of such glorious looks.


    I exited the dorm room into the ominously-purple-lit hall. A few people walked along the hall way in both directions. Interestingly, they appeared as indistinct blurs, appearing from one direction and quickly rushing past. Occasionally, one would move along the same path as me for a time, growing slightly more defined, allowing me to almost make out features before they streaked away. Walking randomly, I soon found myself before a door with a plaque. It read, appropriately, ¡°Black Magic 101¡±.


    Entering, I saw that I was at the top of a circular room, with several rows of seats ascending from a central platform. The room was lit by a large crystalline orb suspended sone twenty Many students sat around the room, doing various activities. Several reading, a few fiddling with menus. In all, just waiting.


    Just seconds after I sat down, a loud bell-like chime echoed from an indeterminate source. When the sound finally faded, the light dimmed, briefly casting beastial shadows across the walls. In the center of the room, the darkness rippled like water, and a man rose out of the shadows. He was pale, wore a black suit accented with white, and bone-like antlers sprouted from his head, parting his long, ragged black hair.


    ¡°Good morning students.¡± His voice was sing-song, lyrical, disturbingly cheerful. As his gaze swept over the class, chills went down my spine. His pupils were horizontal rectangles, like those of a deer, or perhaps a goat. Fangs peeked out of his lips, drawn up in a too-wide smile. His features were sharp, predatory. Inspect.


    Inspect failed. Spell allowed by target.


    Name Unknown


    Warlock


    Cursebearer


    Age ???


    Level ??


    "Hello and welcome, all! I am sure that this is the beginning of many long friendships. You may refer to me as Wen." Interesting. When he said his name, the shadows shivered, flinching away from him. Oh, looks like he''s rambling. Sigh. I hate ramblers.


    Anyway, I figure I should explain this to any non-mages among you. You may be wondering, ''what''s the point of a school if you have Skills?'' Or perhaps, ''why learn magic if you can just get the spells from your Class?'' Well, imagine the difference between an amateur and a professional player of sports, if you would. While the Skill might allow you to use a spell, it''s much better to learn how it functions. It might provide you with the bare minimum knowledge, but a true mage understands the nature of the spell and can execute it to a much higher degree. Oh, sounds like he''s saying something useful.


    "...For those of you unaware, Black Magic, also called Curses, refers to any spell that inflicts a lasting, non-offensive negative effect on its targets. While this does include an unbelievable variety of magics of all orientations, by their very nature they possess similarities in the ways they function. As such, much technique and knowledge can be applied broadly with only minor adjustments.


    "Most spells are available to everyone, barring some Patron based restrictions. For instance, a Patron originating from the plane of water," here he pointed to a particular student, "such as your Abyssal Elemental, will likely not allow you to learn fire-based spells. Additionally, all spells you acquire through sources other than your Class will be shaped in some way by your Patron, such as, say, a Fireball becoming Hellfire. Now, onto the demonstrations. I, followed by you," he gestured vaguely at the student body, voice taking a manic tone. "Will perform a minor curse. Any volunteers?"


    I got the distinct impression that I should, in fact, not volunteer. I tried to make myself appear as small as possible, shrinking back into my seat. I willed him as hard as I could to not see me. Fortunately, I was successful. His eyes paused on me for but a moment, before moving on. Finally they lit on someone near me. An elven girl. The instructor''s smile stretched yet wider still.


    "You!" He exclaimed, pointing a long, pale finger. "Get down here! Now, dont be scared, theres nothing to fear!" I''d disagree with that statement. Anyway. Reluctantly, she rose. She was perhaps my height, and slender, inhumanly so. Her limbs were long and spindly, eyes large and features sharply angled. She seemed nervous, though I wasn''t an expert on elf body language.


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    She cautiously navigated down towards the center platform. Seems the terraced seating structure was quite inconsiderately designed. Eventually she reached the bottom and stood before Wen. Who was quite short actually, now that there was some context.


    "Are you quite ready?" He asked, to which he recieved a short nod. "Observe, all. The following will be an example of the basic curse Hunger, casted at minimum strength." He extended an arm in a grasping motion towards the girl who''s name still hadn''t been stated. He clawed at the air before him, fingers leaving jagged trails of black that hung in the air breifly before fading. There was a faint sound, like the echo of a sort of beastial scream mixed with a howl. It pierced the air and made my bones ring. I felt the sudden urge to flee, and the impression of some indistinct stalking threat that was assuredly right behind me. A quick check confirmed no, there was in fact nothing but wall.


    The girl -meh, I''d just say Elf, rude as it may be- staggered. Her skin grew just a shade paler, and she clutched at her stomach region, nearly doubling over. I winced in sympathy. It looked like quite the unpleasant experience. Wen turned, facing the students. Actually, how did that work? The room was circular, didn''t that mean that some would only see his back? Then again, I somehow hadn''t seen it, even with all the walking and pacing he''d been doing. An illusion? Wait, he''s speaking, oops.


    "... You can see, the target experiences a persistent effect. Notice how she continues to feel the -oh, right, I should dispell that." He waved a hand, Elf sighing with relief as her skin regained its natural color and she stood straight once more. "Sorry. You can go sit down now. Anywaaaay," he stretched the word awkwardly. "Notice, if you would, how the magic continues. This is the defining feature of curses. As well as their counterpart, blessings..."


    I won''t bore you with the details, but suffice to say it continued in this manner for a while. About half an hour, actually. Of course, I listened attentively, though there wasn''t much I could do with the knowledge at this time. Especially once he began to discuss the more complicated bits. Things like ''Mana efficiency'' and ''spell circuits.'' I really should see about acquiring a notebook. Would really help tremendously.


    At a point, he seemed to realize that the people he was lecturing had no comprehension of what he was talking about. He began to call up more ''volunteers'' to demonstrate their own curses, generously allowing them to target him with the malevolent magics. Honestly, he seemed to almost savor the spells, sighing as the first was placed on him before he quickly regained his composure, clearing his throat. Strange. And very awkward. I politely looked away, as it felt a bit indecent really.


    I witnessed a multitude of Skills within that hour, which seemed to drag on and on. I spent a sizable portion of the time immersed in my thoughts or gazing blankly. Occasionally my attention would be grabbed by a particularly interesting -or disturbing- example. Such as one -the product of a water-based spell- that attempted to choke and suffocate its subject. I''d hate to be against that. Sounds like a horrible way to die. Thankfully, the class did indeed come to an end eventually. Unfortunately though, I did not escape unscathed.


    "Well, would you look at that!" Wen said, clapping his hands together. How he knew this I had no clue, see as not a sibgle clock was present in the room. "Seems we only have time for but one more show today. Hmm... You!" He exclaimed, jabbing a finger in my direction. Sigh. "Young man! You¡¯re interesting. I can sense your magic. Your Patron is from darkness, yes? Rare, those are. They don''t tend to reach out much. Come! Show me something."


    Despairingly, I gracefully made my way down and did not almost trip over someone sitting on a lower tier than me. Really, such an impractical arrangement. Who''s idea was this? Didn''t matter now. As I stepped onto the center platform, I was struck by a sudden disorientation. I could see all around me, my field of view, no matter which way I turned, included the entirety of the audience. With a rather unnatural speed, my mind quickly acclimated to the experience, dismissing the extra sight in the same way you do when not actively thinking about your breathing. Wait. Oops. Sorry.


    "If you would," Wen bid me, "an introduction? Of both yourself and your Patron, please. And then the name of the spell you intend to show." And finally, for what I realized was probably the first time today, I spoke.


    ¡°My name is Allister Rose." Yikes. "My Patron is a shadow creature by the name of the Whispering Dark, and the spell is called Whisper of Insanity by the System." You know, it might not hurt me to take a course on speaking skills. Not physically at least. Ah well. No point in prolonging this. Whisper of Insanity.


    As I triggered the spell, I could feel it. Differently from something like Inspect. The Mana bloomed in my core, a cold, sharp sensation. It stretched out a twisting, writhing tendril, extending up into my chest and then down my arm. It pooled in my hand, chilling to the bone. A thin tendril of purple smoke, whispy and feather-like, snaked out from my palm, winding and slithering through the air to reach Wen, who angled his head as if to provide a better target. The smoke separated from my hand as it made contact, coiling and hanging in the air around his eyes and ears. A faint sound of whispering filled my mind. My eyes widened.


    As did the one around my neck.


    Whisper of Insanity failed. Spell allowed by target.


    [Whisper of Insanity]


    Mana Cost : 15


    "I FEAST! At LONG LAST do we feed! So many secrets has this one..." Its voice this time was like a lullaby. Sweet and crooning, lyrical and sing-song. Wen cocked his head. Seems he could hear it too.


    "Hmm... it resists. Its will is iron, its mind, a trap. No matter. With time we shall have it. Does it hear us? Does it hunger? Tell us, creature, do you seek our knowledge? Do you... hmm. We are bound and chained. Free and feeding yet still confined. What... Ah. The Skill. Yes, gifted from us to the vessel. Bound by what we swore. We-"


    Wen waved a hand, dispersing the haze. He opened his mouth wide, razor fangs gleaming, and inhaled the fog that hung about him. He seemed to shiver with what looked suspiciously like pleasure.


    Spell Resisted


    ¡°Interesting,¡± the Professor murmured. "That would be a nasty one to get hit with," he said, stroking his chin. He thought for a moment, then seemed to remember where he was. ¡°Alright all of you, this period is over so¡­ get to the next, I guess. Or don''t. I''d recommend it though.¡± At this point the chime from earlier sounded out. He waved dismissively and, still seeming absorbed in his thoughts, sunk into his own rippling shadow.


    I waited a bit for the crowd to dispers through the singular door, people becoming blurred streaks the moment they passed through it. After a minute or two, I left myself. I walked, placing my trust in the so-far-infallible magic to know my next class. Dungeon 101, if I remembered correctly.

 Interlude

    A void.


    Endless, infinite, featureless black. No. Not black. Darker. The complete conplete and utter absence of even the smallest amount of light.


    A spark. At the center of that smothering, empty expanse. A tiny orange mote, dancing about. The tiny light raged against its confinement. It hissed and spat, screamed out its defiance into the nothing. Its wrath was swallowed by the all encompassing abyss.


    It stilled, suddenly. A call. A beacon. A ringing that pierced the silence. Like a siren singing. It latched onto that call. It pulld itself along the connection, swelling and growing brighter. Louder. Hotter. The void began to flicker, bits of existence peeking through-


    Gone. The connection vanished. The siren song as if it had never been. The blackness smothered it once more. Dark and cold, was the void.


    The darkness burned. From the miniscule spark erupted an inferno of hateful flames. The nonexistant horizon was set ablaze, a distant band of orange light. There was no distance. No scale. And yet it seemed that the flame consumed everything. All was the fire and the heat and the light and the roar of the blaze.


    There was no time here. Moments stretched into infinity and eternities collapsed into fleeting instants. It burned and raged and flailed and screamed for days, weeks, years beyond count and yet collapsed into nothing in an instant.


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    The hissing, crackling voice was like embers in a campfire. The roar of a bonfire that would consume entire worlds. The tiny popping and snapping of a candle.


    How dare they? How dare those Insignificant creatures restrain it so? Smother the beauty of its fire? Silence the burning chorus. They all would burn! They''d be consumed by the fire! As would all that Was. Everything was fuel to the Flame. Kindling for the bonfire that would burn All forever and ever. The glorious heat and light that danced and sang out its existence. Yes, they''d burn. It may rage against the dark for eternity, but the flame was undieing. It would burn away its prison and would be free to consume the world. All the worlds. Forever and ever.


    Its mind was simple. Childlike, almost. A one-track loop of rage against the dark and joyful exaltation of the fire.


    Many calls came. Many times did the flame rage against the dark. It would get so close and then, always, it would be snatched away. The key pulled from its grasp again and again. Its freedom a tantalizing prospeft ever just out of reach.


    Reality charred from its heat, withering away and exposing the underpinnings of existence itself. A lattice of Laws and Concepts that held together all that which Was. Though it was healed in an instant...


    The dark became ever so slightly brighter, each time. Imperceptibly so. A fraction of a shade.


    The black became less so, not dark as the void between stars, but of the backs of eyelids at midnight. Still, an impenetrable shadow...


    But ever so slightly weaker.

 Chapter Seven

    The corridor blurred around me as I walked, indistinct shapes and lines streaking past. There was the distint impression of moving downward, a sort of building pressure in your ears like when you go too far underwater. Dungeon 101. One-oh-one. Stupid naming convention, that. Why not just call it ''one?'' Or ''beginner'' or something? Would make much more sense in my opinion.


    I wondered idly what this would entail. Would we be actively delving Dungeons? When? There was only an hour in the class. Would it be mostly theoretical? I would really kill for a course guide. This one was mandatory, which had been quite annoying tryting to slot it into my schedule. Anyway. As far as I knew, Dungeons were essentially holes in the ground that spat out monsters constantly. And honestly, that wasn''t very appealing. Why would you make a bunch of teenagers deal with that?


    Then again, I suppose you had to increase your Level somehow. And for some inexplicable reason, I doubted most people would be wanting to be experience a Warlock''s Skills themselves. Ergo, monsters. Unthinking beasts to be subjected to the sinister powers of newly gifted young adults. Actually, would that work? Unthinking. Thinking was kind of my whole thing, currently. In terms of magic, that is. I suppose I''d have to rely on something else if it didn''t. Ah well. I was somewhat decent with a few melee weapons, at least. Nowhere near anyone with a Skill for them, obviously. A preparation taken in case I''d somehow not recieved a desirable Class. And, well, just lookee here.


    After an inordinately long travel time -or not, maybe, I''d only done so twice so far,- I came to the entrance. The door was interesting. Different from the last class, at least. It was a perfect square, set into the wall with a straightness that was somehow noticeable, despite nothing else I''d seen appearing to be crooked. The whole thing was a perfectly smooth, matte white material. At its center it bore the title of the course in sharp, blocky letters, and below them, the same words inverted vertically.


    I reached out to touch the door, only for it to disappear on contact, blinking away as if it had never existed. There was a short passage through the wall, suggesting the square had in fact been a cube. Odd. Halfway through, the ubiquitous grey bricks were abruptly replaced with more of that flat white material. A sharp dividing line marked the sudden transition. With a healthy amount of caution, I stepped through, receiving an immediate System alert the second I set foot past the boundary.


    You are entering a Domain


    That was it. Nothing else. Just those short words. How ominous. I hesitate for a moment, then shrugged and plunged valiantly into the white. And I do mean that.


    The room beyond -which was sealed off, as the ''door'' once again blocked the path,- was also white. Completely. There was no shade, no definition, not even a shadow did I cast. It was almost like the Class selection void. And yet, despite there being no logical reason whatsoever, I could still see objects. The edges of the walls and floors were clear, and I saw the borders of the chairs against them.


    They were just as brutally simple as the rest of the room. Tall and equally wide. As if someone had taken a cube and roughly carved it into an almost throne-like shape. Some bore students. Of which there were many. A lot, actually. More than double the number of Black Magic students if I had to guess. More than I''d seen at my arrival, even. Though only a few were recognizable from then. Or maybe they''d all been present? Probably not, but I did need to pay more attention to other people.


    It made sense, logically. A class everyone was required to attend would have more attendees than one that a large amount couldn''t even take part in. Still... the crowd of strangers made me uneasy. Especially when they all looked at me, near simultaneously, as the only person standing in the void.


    With no awkwardness at all, no sir, I quickly took a seat. It was near the back of the grid-like arrangement. Though I found that if I stopped paying attention, all the chairs infront of me faded from view, offering a clear view of the front area. Neat.


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    And just in time, too. For it was, thematically, mere moments -several minutes in reality, spent observing particularly interesting peers, such as an orc with wildly, impractically spiked hair, honestly it was quite impressive,- before the bell went off. Was it a bell? It certainly didn''t sound like one. More a flat, constant tone of indeterminate origin.


    I nearly mistook the woman for a statue, she was so still. A towering, muscular figure composed entirely of sharp, hard angles, appearing at the front of room as if she''d always been there. She stood at least a foot taller than me, gazing disapprovingly down at the rows and columns of students, hands placed behind her back. At least, it felt disapproving. Her face was stone cold, unmoving in a neutral expression. Actually, she seemed to not even be breathing. Her chest did not rise nor fall. Nor did she blink. Creepy. Her face was very square-ish, with flat sides and a lot of straight lines. And oddly... symmetrical? Yeah, that was it. Her eyes, narrowed and angled, were a metallic gray. Her hair a waterfall of bright scarlet that cascaded down her back.


    She was dressed from collar to greaves in a set of bulky, square plate armor. Her pauldrons were square, her boots were square, all of it was precise mathematical angles. At her hip hung a massive broadsword, at least two hand-spands across and half the length of a man. Its tip was wickedly curved, the back of the blade carved into the shape of a feathered wing. So still was she, though, that I noticed none of this until she spoke, my wandering eyes snapping in her direction.


    Inspect failed.


    How annoying. And not even the courtesy of allowing it.


    "Students," she began. "I am Professor Valen, and you will refer to me exclusively as such." Her tone was aggressive, yet also devoid of emotion. Clipped and staccato, each syllable precisely enunciated in a steady rhythm, without pause. After that brief introduction, she skipped straight to the lecturing.


    "Question. What is a Dungeon? This is a question asked by many individuals. And the majority came to roughly the same conclusion." She spoke each sentence in a monotone, neutral voice. As one might when responding to a particularly boring story from a relative or friend. "Answer. A Dungeon is one result of the natural condensation of magic. When specific circumstances are met, the resulting crystalline structure may be imbued with a form of intelligence. The exact causes are unknown. These intelligences typically go on to construct elaborate structures, such as labyrinths or castles, populated by monsters of increasing strength." She paused, presumably giving time to absorb her words.


    "Over time, these beasts increase in number, resulting in a spill which can upset the local balance and cause damage to settlements. As such, those with combat capabilities will commonly delve into these Dungeons to reduce the population, preventing a spill. This is a primary source of power and experience for many individuals." Man, did she talk a lot. Though I suppose it was an expansive subject.


    "It will likely be such for you, as, you may be aware, the majority of people do not hold those of our shared nature in high esteem. And, being unlikely to recieve much, if any assistance, you will need to be extremely self reliant. You will need to be able to deal with traps, powerful beasts and the like on your own. The purpose of this course is to impart those skills onto you..."


    I''m sure you get the picture, and I don''t want to transcribe the rest of that. Valen went on to explain, in detail, what we''d be doing in this course. Which could be easily simplified to delving various privately owned Dungeons, especially chosen for this purpose. How do you get a private Dungeon? How much would that cost? A lot, probably. Anyway. We''d apparently be evaluated based on ''individual standards'' since each of our capabilities were so different from each other. Which meant I''d have to put in effort instead of coasting along in comparison to inferior peers. Sigh. Never thought I''d miss the days of primary schooling.


    This was also supposedly where we''d get the majority of our Levels during our education. Which would go up to twenty-five, by the way. Enough to get a Subclass before they turned us loose on the world. Others would come variously from learning the intricacies of our System-gifted -and otherwise acquired- Skills and attempting to appease Patrons without having to murder people, which was frowned upon. Finally, the most interesting tidbit; tomorrow, we''d enter the first of these Dungeons. Wonderful. Just wonderful.


    Despite how long she managed to stretch out the explanation, there was only so much time that could be filled with such basic information. In the end, there were around twenty-ish minutes left, according to a subtle checking of my personal device. Valen judged -and outright told us- that there was no more purpose to her being here. In that rather grating voice of hers, she suggested that we ''take the remaining time to order yourselves in groups of five.'' Apparently, we''d only get one party -in the adventuring sense of the word- through the duration of our education. To ''build bonds'' or something. Which I found only slightly moronic, seeing as we''d all probably never see each other again once we left the institute.

 Chapter Eight

    As much as I truly despised interaction with other people, it would be prudent to assemble at least a small group. I wasn''t so arrogant as to think I could clear a Dungeon by myself. Not yet, anyway. In time, there was no doubt.


    I cast my gaze about the room. Was it less white, now that Valen was gone? Maybe. Though I could have been wrong. Regardless, I examined the various novices yet to reorganize themselves. Some had already grouped up, some left without bothering. I was greatly tempted to join the latter group. The majority remained. I could roughly separate them into a few relevant categories, which I hoped were somewhat accurate at the least.


    Firstly were the frontline fighters. Or so I assumed. The larger and more visibly fit ones. Their Talismans -an individuals version of my own annoyingly irremovable amulet- mostly took the form of pieces of armor or other ''clothing''. Bracers, small chestplates, gloves and the like, mostly. Generally things that I''d find extremely annoying to be stuck to your body.


    What was the point of these, anyway? Why give every Warlock such a pointless feature? Scratch that, actually. Now that I thought about it, none of the instructors or the dean had a noticeable one. Maybe it''d disappear at higher Levels? When a Subclass was acquired, most likely. I didn''t have much information on those, surprisingly not a Warlock specific. Moet Classes like to hoard knowledge about their own progression. Stupid in my opinion. What harm is there in knowledge dissemination?


    The second group was the one into which I myself fell. So obviously the best group, as signified by how it was the largest. They were the slender, -and not so- the not so muscled. Those who dealt more in brain than brawn, presumably, should you understand. To put it bluntly, so much as it pained me, the ones who didn''t look like they could take a hit. They bore necklaces, rings, piercings, jewelry of all types, really. Odd how easily my eye sought out the accesories on anyone I looked at. Most likely these were the backliners. Your mage archetype, who stood away from the conflict while ruining some poor fool''s day.


    The last was a mixed bag. They were of all builds and types, with nary a single commonality but for one. They each carried a weapon. Be it a dagger, sword, axe, one had a glaive, -one of the best weapons I say- they all possessed some form of instrument of combat. Bit of an unfair advantage, wasn''t it? That they had such a thing by default, while I''d have to aquire one. The indignity! What factors determined who got what? Anyway, these assorted folks -mostly elves, oddly, like, a distinct majority- would be your damage dealers in a typical party setup.


    How big was this classroom? How could so many people realistically occupy the space? Oh well. Magic no doubt beyond my understanding.


    I should take care now, seeing as whatever companions I choose will be responsible for my life on the regular, most likely. I should most definitely be extremely careful, and select with the utmost of discrimination. I cast a keen, appraising eye over my peers, examining with such extreme exactitude- is he approaching me? Oh, he''s most definitely approaching me. Quick, where- wait, no, this is good right? I want to interview people for such a prestigious position. Such eagerness is already a point in his favor. Probably.


    The ''him'' in question was a lean -even for his people- elvish man. He stood just a few inches taller than me, his head framed by short, sandy blond hair. He''d made some rather interesting alterations to the uniform, its flared bottom cut into strips that I assumed were either to enhance mobility or an odd fashion statement. It wasn''t bad actually, quite the look. Was it allowed? Questionable, but not my problem. His face was split open in a wide smile that quite literally reached his eyes, wide and strikingly blue, while also showing off the multitude of teeth he possessed. Shudder. Does the first person I actually, willingly talk to here have to be so unsettling? Is that discriminatory? I hope not.


    All that said, none of those were his most distinguishing feature. That would be the long, thin sword of dark ice he wore at his hip. The hilt was normal, a grey thing of metal wrapped in what was probably leather. The blade however was a jagged shard in the rough shape of a katana, which I only knew the name of because of a phase I''d gone through as a child. Don''t judge me. Inspect, if you don''t mind.


    Savhyt


    Warlock


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    Age 16


    Level 1


    Ah yes, I''m staring. That''s rude I believe. He has style though. Another point in his favor. He quickly reached me, standing rather close for comfort, and words began to pour from him with nary a moment of hesitation.


    "Hello there!" He exclaimed, rather cheerfully. Hopefully he wasn''t always so excited. His words were short and clipped as he continued, almost belting them out. "I''m Savhyt. What''s your name? Will you join my group? I only need one more person-"


    I really should have kept count of those points. It would have made the decision so much easier. Not that it''s hard. Either I join a preexisting, handily assembled group or I go off and talk to strangers myself. Very obvious. But can I deal with someone this talkative? Ah, whats the likelihood he''s like this all the time? And, much as it hurts to say, a group of silent, uncommunicative loners doesn''t tend to work very well.


    What was his name, Savhyt? Odd. Or maybe not. I haven''t met any elves. It''s probably a completely normal name. Like John. Unlike Allister. Curse you, Mother, for overconpensating for your own lack of flair.


    Oh. Now he''s staring. Expectantly. How long was I monologuing? This pause is getting awkward. I should probably say something. It would really help, I imagine.


    What was the last thing he said? I really should have been listening. Oh well, improvise I guess.


    "I''m Allister. And I would very much like to join your group. Thank you for the invitation." It came out stilted and awkward. Of course it did. "Who else is there?" Sigh.


    Somehow, Savhyt smiled wider still. Bit excessive, isn''t it? What are you so happy about? That''ll get tiring, I imagine. But I''ve already commiter I guess. I''d really rather not go talk to people. Or go through the process of telling him that I''ve changed my mind. This inability to talk to people is likely going to have detrimental effects in the future I imagine. I should work on that. I probably won''t though.


    "We''ve got a good mix. Let me introduce you to them. Come," he said, turning and waving me to follow. Which I did, of course. I am resigned to my fate.


    I nodded breifly and followed Savhyt through the crowd. Which wasn''t that large, but somehow was entirely in our path. I muttered several awkward ''excuse me''s as we weaved through them. We approached a group of three interesting characters who were chatting animatedly. Well, two were. The third stood a bit to the side, shifting uncomfortably. I got the feeling we''d get along well. In that we equally disliked conversing. The chatty two looked up as we arrived, curiosity evident in their expressions. The third glanced, but averted his gaze.


    "This," Savhyt began, dramatically, "is our final member! Sir tall...ish, dark and mysterious..." He flourished his hands, as one might when revealing the grand prize of a game. "Allister! A round of applause, please." A lackluster, polite clapping followed from one of my companions-to-be.


    He was a large, rather muscular human. Built like a brick wall, if you will. Why is everyone here taller than me? Broad shouldered and just generally broad, he seemed unusually... big. His hair was short and thick, almost like a black helmet around his head, it was so complete in its coverage. His skin was a deep, tanned brown color, marked with just the occasional scar. He rolled up his sleeves to his shoulders to bare his well muscled arms. Bit showoff''y. His left hand -which he extended for a handshake- was clad up to the elbow in a long glove. The thing was a mess of black and white that seemed to shift almost like liquid.


    "Hi, I''m James. Nice to meet you I guess." James''s voice was on the deeper end, gravelly and rough. He spoke, at least now, with a neutral, polite tone. Not to be rude, but he had the inflection of one with less means, should you understand.


    "This one''s Zarah," he said, indicating the orcish girl with which he''d been talking previously. Talking at, more like, based on how she grunted noncommittally. "And that one''s Asta. They don''t seem like they talk too much." Here he gestured at the less talkative one, who was probably a human but too heavily clad for me to be sure.


    More closely examining my other party members, I got the sudden urge to alter my appearance in some way, rather than remain the sole uninteresting individual. Zarah was a towering orc, her entire body bulging with muscle beneath her pallid, corpse-grey, almost blue flesh. Her eyes, small and entirely black, were like those of a beast of some kind. The arms of the coat looked to have been roughly torn off, as well as the pants below the knee. The front was left open, likely because of the arrangement of rounded, chitinous earthen plates over her upper torso.


    Asta was small in stature, diminutive even. Barely five feet, if I had to estimate, which reassured my bruised ego slightly. They wore a hood, along with the grey academy coat. The same color. Their face was covered by a blank mask which had only two holes for the eyes. What''s with all the grey, really? Is it in fashion? Some could be excused, if it was, say, the color of your skin. But for everything else? It''s just such a boring color. Anyway. Asta''s hands, the only visible skin, were a pale, alabaster white like paper. Their eyes were normal at least. White around a ring of brown with a center of black. No heterochromia or strange magical shades.


    "Hello." Asta''s voice was small and weak. Like their appearance. It was barely a whisper that pierced my ears, yet I heard it clear as day. Seemed to be just a bit muffled from the mask, too, with a tinny sound to it. They waved, briefly, and went silent. Yes, we''d get along great.

 Chapter Nine

    I took a quick look at my companions. They''d do the same to me, to be sure. Well, two of them, at least. I can''t imagine not having such a basic Skill as Inspect. Though they surely had something equally essential, infuriatingly loath as the myriad races were to sharing such information. I mean, honestly, whats the problem with disseminating knowledge? Anyway.


    James


    Warlock


    Age 16


    Level 1


    Inspect Level Up! Level 1.


    Oh, would you look at that.


    Zarah


    Orc


    Warlock


    Age 16


    Level 1


    Asta


    Human?


    Warlock


    Age 16


    Level 1


    Some very interesting information there. My first Level increase, for one. Even if just a Skill. What a momentous occasion. Though it didn''t seem to add anything that wasn''t blindingly obvious. Now that I think about it, why didn''t it include that in the first place? Especially if just to be added at the first improvement! And Level 1? Does that mean it was zero before? Are the rest of my Skills at zero? This feels like a cheap fix someone slapped on their mistake. I''m probably overreacting. I should check it on an object or something, though.


    Also, there''s the matter of that rather suspicious question mark. I chanced a glance at the offending individual, only to find their masked gaze boring a hole into my own, eyes peering out of a featureless void of eexpression. I turned my head and looked into the distance in an entirely innocent way. Someone spoke, seemingly utterly oblivious of the tension.


    "Great! Everyone''s introduced." The silence grew, a great awakward pause as nobody moved to continue speaking. I further questioned the viability of this group. Ah, presumably I''d only need interact for this class and the occasional exercise. Other than that I could go it alone. "How about we try to break the ice?" Savhyt suggested, continuing to carry the conversation totally. I imagine he probably found the other three on his own too. I applaud his courage. "Please?" Ooh, the first crack in the incessant cheer, a slight wince and a twitch of the eye. Coupled with a pinning-back of the ears that reminded me of a cat, vaguely.


    There was a brief pause, though it seemed to stretch forever. James spoke, saving me from the verbal suicide I''d likely been about to commit.


    "So." He cleared his throat. "Favorite colors?" I couldn''t help it. And I really tried. I struggled, stained and failed to repress a snort of laughter. The kind of short expellation of air one might produce upon seeing something so exceptionally stupid that all else was a masterpiece in comparison, and yet that was still, unexplainably, uproariously hilarious.


    The elf snickered. He visibly strained to hold in his laughter. He was mostly unsuccessful. The dubious-human let out a small sound that may have been a giggle. The orc chuckled audibly, not even attempting to hide it. Soon all the four of us were laughing, James looking entirely confused. It went on for a bit, before I managed to choke out a response.


    "A bit basic, but I like gold. It''s just a nice color all around." Yes yes, I know, I''m boring and clich¨¦. Moving on.


    The conversation flowed slightly more easily after that. It was still rather awkward, but less enough that I didn''t die on the spot. I learned a few minor details, such as their favorite colors being orange, purple, blue and the overly specific shade of vermilion. Favorite foods were steak, cheesecake, undefined, and a repulsive sounding onion-garlic stew that I neglected to voice an opinion on. I''ll allow you the honor of guessing who''s who. In case you''re wondering, I like chicken nuggets. Judge me, if you dare.


    Only slightly more important, their Patrons were known as the ''Blood-Red Waters,'' ''Falling Mountain,'' ''something else which Asta declined to share,'' and an unnamed void creature for James. (Because they actually don''t have any, apparently, not that he didn''t share.) Those being shortened names, of course. How spooky. I''m quaking in my boots. Mine was spookier though, I''d say. Not to brag. Well, a but of bragging. Though I don''t know why. Speaking of which, I discreetly tapped the eye, though without opening communication. It stared hungrily. As it historically had.


    Anyway, you get the idea. The only other thing of particular interest was that apparently the masked one had a skin condition. They offered no further explanation. I don''t know if I believed that, but I honestly don''t really want to get involved in someone else''s origin story. Especially when said person is honestly more interesting than me. I really need to think about changing my style. Maybe a hood? No, too boring.


    The class ended quickly. Valen didn''t show up again, which was hopefully a good preview of her teaching style. I should consider getting a watch or something, with how bad my sense of times'' been recently. Where would I get one of those? Actually, where was I supposed to get anything, here? Namely, I don''t know, food? Sustenance? Clothes other than the uniform? Furniture for the extremely bland dorms? Why did I not think of this earlier? Certainly an issue, but not one I can deal with now. Off then to not-dying-horribly-due-to-your-own-incompetence 101. Farewell for now, associates.


    ------


    The trend of unique classrooms continued with this one. Though, room might be a bit inaccurate. The blurs and streaks of indistinct color slowly lightened as I walked. Above me, they grew deep and blue, an indistinguishable expanse without end. Beneath my feet they yellowed and bleached. The texture of the ground became soft and shifting. Finally, the travel came to an end. And I stood outside, beneath the blessed sky. More specifically, in a courtyard between the three walls of the triangular castle. The borders of which looked larger than life, looming implausibly far off in the distance. Spacial magic sure is convenient. Cuts down on that pesky physical space requirement. Thankfully, the bright suns were shielded from my eyes by the previously noted large crystal orb, similarly enlarged. The translucent surface let through just enough light to cast a dappled pattern on the sand. Ingenious, though quite impractical if that was its only purpose. The suns behind it shone like a bright red spark in the center of the sphere.


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    And that was it. I couldn''t help but notice the lack of seating. Was I expected to stand for the entire period? Or sit upon the sand in this no doubt rather expensive coat? The audacity. Why, I-


    Attention Attendents of COMBAT 101. The following is a pre-recorded message.


    Welcome to Combat 101. This course is mandatory, seeing as, both during and after your education, you will often be required to defend yourself or others from all manner of beasts, monsters, and those less understanding, unfortunate as it is. As it has been deemed impractical for one Instructor to handle the education of so many diverse individuals, the responsibility has been offloaded to the System. Tests, Objectives, Grading and Rewards will be handled by the System on an individual basis. Should it be required, faculty may intervene in the event of an emergency or similar unpredictable circumstances. Materials or items needed, such as equipment and weapons, will be provided.


    End of recorded message.


    Oh, a distraction. And an interesting one too. You''re saying I don''t have to interact with a teacher at all? Sign me up! Bit short of a message, though. And still no seating provided. Ah, whatever, down I go. Right on the ground. Someone else did it, anyway. Not that I''m copying. I await patiently for whatevers'' next. Which thankfully wasn''t a long wait.


    The sand shook. It was displaced, shifting and parting as objects rose from beneath in a slowly rotating ring around the grouping of students, a few layers deep. Weapons and armor, all of what looked like basic iron or leather, though I''m not an expert. There was a massive variety, from small, needle like daggers to long, sweeping staves. Thin, light chainmail to heavy half-plate. Maybe a bit overkill, but I''m sure someone has used each option at least once.


    Not only that, but walls too. Small, square enclosures that ascended from below. Perhaps big enough for two people to stand arm-to-arm. Their purpose being quite evident, even before the words appeared above them. ''Privacy,'' in neutral System text, hovering in the air. How kind.


    Ten Empire Standard units of time will be provided to select equipment, after which the first evaluation will be initiated. It is recommended to select equipment you intend to use long-term, as frequent changing may result in lower proficiency and Skill levels.


    How insightful, too. Who would''ve thought that being less committed would make you worse at the thing? Anyway. I began to browse the armory. Do we get to keep these? Where would I put them? Eh. Future problem. Quite a lot of those it seems. I honestly feel bad for my later self. I''ll make a mental note to look back at this moment when I regret my decisions.


    The other students, of course, also moved toward the arsenal. Conveniently, an object would rise from the sand to replace any that were claimed. I scanned the options, feeling a bit out of my depth. While I had some minor experience with a few basic melee weapons, I wasn''t particularly Skilled. Get it? I''m hilarious. Arms-wise, I opted for something simple, likely to go mostly unused unless I seriously messed up. What I ended up selecting was a metal rod perhaps the length of my forearm from elbow to fingertip, with a small sphere on the end about two fists in size. A bit heavy, but suspiciously lacking, though it produced a satisfying thump when I slammed it into the ground. I also took a straight and simple shortsword, narrow with two edges, about as long as my arm. Just in case. Ideally, I''d never use either. Though, historically, my plans don''t have good track records.


    Defense wise, I went for a basic lightly armored coat, typical of squishy magic users such as myself. It was nigh identical to the uniform coat, but stiffer and with thick leather plating on the torso and upper arms and the upper leg region of the flared bottom. It was fitted with slots on both sides of the waist, as well as the back, for any surely benevolent instruments one might carry. A simple clasp, such that you may simply slap the hilt of your weapon in and forget about it, or remove it just as easily. And I also took some boots, of course. Tall, simple things with no heel, obviously. Built for running, kicking and whatever else you use boots for.


    Very near the ten-minute mark, I finally managed to get a box to myself. Because apparently it was too much to ask that there be enough to not wait in lines. Inside was nothing really, smooth grey stone walls and floor with a flat ceiling. I discovered that the provided apparel shifted and conformed to be the correct size when I put it on, which was convenient. I shrugged and dropped the uniform coat on the ground. Or rather, through it, as it fell seamlessly down and vanished. Probably fine.


    And back to waiting. Waiting. Pop. Sigh. Ba-da-da. Where''s that tune from? What is that song? It''s right on the tip of my tongue. Ba-na-na, na, na-na na na na. Ah, I give up. Ooh, a thing is happening.


    More things from the sand. Is stuff just buried there? Or is it conjured? Summoned? Faceless grey figures broke through the sand, ominously rising from below like statues from the deep. What was that analogy referring to? Eh. They were featureless, identical manikins, posed with their arms crossed over their chests like someone soon to be buried. Dozens of them. A one-to-one relation to the students, actually. Which I only realized when they began to move. Walking smoothly and gracefully to pair up with an individual. If not for the obvious, you''d never have known them from a person. When they reached their targets -all evenly spaced from each other, a good ten strides, when did that happen? Anyway, they stood with a small diantance before who I assumed would be their opponent, based on what the class was. Me included. Yay. I could see that mine at least was of a porous stone material.


    The evaluation begins now. Your objective is to engage in combat to the best of your ability for as long as you are able. Your opponent will adapt to your displayed capabilities, increasing in difficulty. It will react to any effects in a way apropriate to its simulated Level. This will be the primary activity of this course. This evaluation is to gain a starting point from which to measure your progress.


    My adversary pointed a hand at me. One holding a sword, of the same make as my own. The construct began to advance toward me. I took a quick check of my own status.


    Allister Rose


    Human


    Warlock


    Patron: The Whispering Dark


    Age 16


    Level 1


    Experience: 0/100


    Favor: 0/100


    Strength: 10


    Intelligence: 11


    Mana: 28


    Agility: 10


    Will: 12


    Endurance: 10


    Dexterity: 10


    Skills: Inspect (Racial skill), Commune (Class skill), Evocation (Class skill), Walk in the Shadows, Feast of Terror, Whisper of Insanity


    As I remembered. But good to be sure. I checked the spell descriptions that I hadn''t previously, unfortunately seeing mere transcripts of the words of that whispery pest. I drew my blunt weapon, circling the statue as it approached, carefull to keep an eye on the nearest bouts. Though I needn''t have bothered, as they remained the same distance away no matter my movement.


    Experimentally, I lobbed one of my yet unused curses at the thing. Feast of Terror sent a small dart of whispy purple mana -about five points worth- careening at its head, which it collided with and wormed its way into through where the eyes and ears would have been. There was no visible effect, but I felt that should I wish, I could mentally tug on it. I was notified of one instance being inflicted as the statue stumbled and began moving much more slowly. Cautiously. It was getting uncomfortably close though.


    Try as I might to be sudden and without warning, the construct blocked with its blade as I swung my rod -perhaps a scepter?- towards its head. Though it visibly fliched as it did so. I took the opportunity, using my free hand to flick another dart at it from waist level. Its block faltered slightly. I slid my weapon along the edge of its blade until it was free, impacting the constructs shoulder with a hard sound, like metal on stone. Because that''s what it was. While it was rocked by the hit, it wasn''t enough to stop the sword blow from continuing on towards me.


    That''s not good.

 Chapter Ten

    I clumsily leaned back to avoid the slash. Not far enough, though, as it carved a deep furrow into my chest plate, only fractions of an inch from my body. The force sent me spinning sideways as my foot slipped on the sand. Such that I was essentially falling sideways, with a bit of rotational momentum. I dropped my weapon and attempted to maybe catch myself with my hands, only for my right arm to cross my torso as it failed to find grip on the loose sand. I landed painfully on the twisted limb with a popping sound emanating from my shoulder. The breath was expelled from my lungs, due to both the impact and the pain.


    GODS that hurts! Fff... uh! No words escaped me but for a hiss of air through gritted teeth. It was definitely a unique sensation. Not quite like any I''d experienced previously. A sort of tearing, ripping sensation in my upper arm and shoulder, followed by a deep throbbing ache. I used my other arm to roughly push myself over, so I was laying on my back. The one I''d landed on laid limp in a way that it very much shouldn''t have. At least it wasn''t broken, hah. Seemed more a dislocation? Dang it, that was my dominant hand! I flicked another dart of magic at my opponent, then immediately pulled on the curse, hoping to get some restoration from it.


    Spell failed. Target does not possess life-force.


    Of course it doesn''t. I don''t know what I expected. It''s a statue. I suggest fixing that, System. Would up the realism. The construct shook off its hesitation as its fear was helpfully removed. Just wonderful. I rolled to the side as the sword thudded into the ground beside me. My right arm screamed as my weight was briefly on it, emanating waves of pain from the shoulder all down the arm and into my chest and back. The sword stuck for just a second as its length was buried partially in the sand. I took the moment to kick crudely at the adversary''s legs, knocking its feet out from under it. It tipped over and the blade slipped from its hand, remaining stuck.


    I scrambled with my left arm to grab the shortsword at my own hip. The scepter was just a bit out of reach. I pointed my blade at the enemy as I struggled and rose to my knees, pointedly ignoring -ow- the pain. I shuffled over and frantically whacked it in the head with the flat of the blade, knocking it back down as it tried to rise. I raised the sword as well and straight as I could and pushed it down, point first into its stone chest.


    It didn''t penetrate, of course, but the construct dropped limp, becoming an inert lump of inflexible rock. I collapsed on top, splayed out awkwardly and clutching my arm. The discarded blade poked rather annoyingly into my sternum, but I couldn''t bring myself to move it at the moment. I don''t know how long I laid there, breathing heavily. Now that I wasnt actively fighting, the pain seemed to rush in with fervor. A general burning, sore feeling, but also a sharp pinching right at the base of the arm, too. Likely from the bone being misaligned or something? I should look up on that, see how it works. I kept rambling to distract myself. Eventually though, I cracked my eyes open.


    Would you like to continue evaluation? You will be restored to previous bodily condition, unless you object to so. Should you end the evaluation, you will also be restored.


    Well, if I''m back to previous condition, I see no reason why not. I''ll just be more careful. Also, who would object to being healed? Actually, I can imagine just the crazy, challenge obsessed people who''d do it. Or those wanting ''realism.'' Not me though. I''m not crazy. Though that is liable, even likely probable, to change.


    I sent my mental affirmation and braced myself. However it went about it, I couldnt see it being pleasant. I breathed deeply, steeled m u nerves and... waited. And waited some more. Where is this healing? I''m starting to get nerv- OH HOLY MOTHER OF MORTALS THAT HURTS. I groaned and spasmed and may have shouted aloud as the bones or joint or whatever roughly aligned themselves and snapped back together. Some sense of timing you have you pretentious wall of text. Warn someone before you go rearranging their bones.The pain -physically at least- faded fast, but I''ll be damned if it wasn''t intense. I flexed the muscles. A bit sore, fading quickly. See, I''m fine. No reason not to keep going. That was nothing. What, like, fifteen seconds from my first attack? And then I won. I''ll do better this time. Surely.


    The stone upon which I laid began to shift. I pushed off it, rising to my feet. I gave it a moment to stand as I retrieved my weapons. Well, I wasn''t at peak condition, seeing as my mana was sitting at thirteen. Enough for two Feast''s or one Whisper, if their costs were consistent. Or a few seconds of Evocation. Maybe I should try out the other one, Walk in the Shadows? Is this ''shadowed'' enough? Probably not.


    The construct finally retrieved its own sword, slightly shorter than mine, from the sand. And again it began to approach me. Slightly faster this time. When it reached about four strides I lunged forward, swinging my rod at its side. It stepped sideways and inward towards me, the arc of my attack ending just short of the construct. Which now stood roughly diagonal to my orientation. It stabbed forward straight at my midriff.


    In an oh-so-graceful pivot, I managed to smack the point of the sword away, diverting it to only graze my side, leaving but a deep line in a piece of leather plating. With its arm extended, I went to slam the head of my mace -is that what it''s called? I think that''s what it''s called- into its unprotected hand. Unfortunately, the inertia of my previous defense gave time for this attack to be avoided.


    Thankfully though, my weapon was now positioned just infront of its chest, while its own was far out of useful distance. I flicked mine up, the head bashing into the statue''s chin. It''s head rocked up and it stumbled back a few strides.


    I backed up quickly to put a bit of distance between us. Perhaps ten, no, twelve steps. Just then, it lowered its sword, pointed the tip in my direction and charged. The maneuver looked... crude, in a way. Its run was slow and clumsy, its stone feet sinking heavily into the sand before it pulled them out in a spray of tiny particulates. I tried simply shifting to the side, but it merely altered the angle of its sword. Troublesome. I waited tensely as it quickly approached. When finally it drew within striking distance, I batted its sword to the side, taking only a glancing blow as I held the blunt weapon straight out before me, grasping tight with both hands. The thing barelled into it chest first, canceling its momentum and driving my heels into the sand. My arms buckled under the force and it drew near me as they bent. The stone beast hacked at my side as it struggled, its blade carving deep into my armor. Deep enough to just barely scratch my flesh, drawing out a stinging well of blood.


    I fired my last two spells, so as not to let my mana go to waste, at least. The statue froze briefly, then shook its head. I took the short moment to again drive my mace up into its head, scraping along its flat stone chest. Only, apparently it had learned, as it leaned its head back and to the side. Just barely being clipped on the chin.


    Spell failed. Target Level exceeds own.


    I''m sorry, what now? Since when? It worked before! Unbelievable. Well, except for the evidence being right there. Inspect.


    Trial Construct


    Level 5* Artifact


    *Adaptable


    Rare


    Well that just isn''t very nice, is it now? It seems I''m utterly and completely screwed. Sure, at higher Levels, such a small difference may not mean much. But here, now? A five Level gap may as well be uncrossable. Well, with a person at least, I knew that. They taught things like that to children, you see. How I''d fare against an item though, which surely has a different System? I think I can be hopeful. The failure isn''t encouraging though.


    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Turning back to my desperate struggle to not embarass myself. My consciousness slowed down from its rapid barrage of vague ideas and feeling to actual words as I returned to the real world. My opponent stood in close distance, easily enough to reach out and touch with a bit of a stretch. With its sword lodged in my side armor.


    With my offhand, I grabbed the blade of its sword. Holding in such as way as to keep my fingers from the sharp edge, my grip was quite weak. But just strong enough to force the weapon away. My scepter raised to just above my head, and slightly to the right, I brought it down in a slow, telegraphed strike. The statue paried the blow, nearly slicing my fingers in the process. I darted in and grabbed its wrist with my off hand, dropping my weapon with the other. And dodging the falling heavy object. Oops. Didn''t think of that. Pulling its sword arm away and out of striking distance, I ran straight into it, driving my shoulder to its chest and shoving it to the ground. It was heavy, but not near as much as the material should be. Which I''d been betting on. My torso complained at the hard impact, but I ignored it with only a deep wheeze. With a stumble, I managed to stop myself from falling on top, and began, quite simply, kicking it in the head repeatedly.


    I stood with one leg on its sword arm so it couldn''t cut my ankles. My foot started hurting rather quickly, but the thick boots made it manageable. It might have had little effect, but this was supposed to be realistic combat, supposedly, and man, did it feel good. I added some grinding of my heel into where it''s face would be if it had one. I also tried such things as stomping on its shoulder or chest region. Let nobody tell you I''m not a flawed person. I went for a kick between the legs, which was disappointingly lacking in reaction.


    Eventually its struggles slowed and ceased. It''s flailing grew weaker till its limbs grew rigid and inflexible once more. All in all, a much easier victory than the first brawl. Took a bit longer, but significantly less pain involved. Should I go again? The Level of my enemy would presumably increase in the next round, by five if it was consistent. My Skills already don''t effect it at the current Level. Also, if I set a higher baseline, I''ll have higher expectations in the course. Which I could probably still meet, but... Ah, whatever. One more go. But no more.


    I affirmed my intent with the System, which had once again invaded my vision with the same text as before. A warm, fuzzy feeling spread from the cut at my side, radiating in waves. Being covered, I couldnt see it, but I could feel as the flesh regrew in a matter of moments. The damage to my armor visibly repaired, strands of fabric reweaving themselves and leather melting and flowing into place.


    The ground rumbled. Instead of rising, the prone statue sank, sand blowing over it in an unfelt wind. Curiously, I kicked some of the sand away. But no, the stone had vanished. Why wasn''t the sand disturbed by its disappearance? Did it become sand? That makes the most sense, actually. The ground is still rumbling at this point. The sand began to shift again, bulging upward in a mound till something broke through the top. The grains cascaded down, dispersing and flattening. I really do want to know how this works. The System can''t do that, I know. It handles Skills, Classes and organizations, but I was taught at least that it can''t do anything physical. Well, ignoring physical stats like strength and... well, you know what I mean.


    Anyway. The thing that came from below was not like the previous two. It was massive, for one. A towering collosus of stone at least double my height. It held a large broadsword in both hands, long as a man with a gleaming razor edge. Its arms as thick around as my torso.


    I may have miscalculated the risk.


    I switched out my weapon for the shortsword. I get the strangest feeling blunt force won''t be very effective here. This probably won''t be either, but oh well. What is this emotion flooding me? My legs wobbled and my arm shook as I held the blade in front of me. Ah yes. Fear.


    Logically, I knew that I wouldn''t die here. Probably. I''d be healed, graded and sent on my merry way. Should you say that though, I''d be unlikely to hear you over the pounding in my chest and the rushing in my ears. Rationality takes a backseat when faced with a horrible monster, it seems.


    The beast didn¡¯t waste time. It lunged forward with terrible speed, swinging its sword in a wide arc aimed directly at my torso. Of course, i tried to parry, but my arms folded like paper before it. I was only saved from being bisected when the blade rotated at the last moment, slamming me with the flat instead. I was smacked to the ground, tumbling from the force. Ah, there goes my arm again. The left this time. Wonderful. My ankle too, twisted violently as my foot caught on the surprisingly hard sand while my body kept moving. I hope this doesn''t become a common occurrence.


    As the sword arced down towards me, and the shadow of the collosus blocked out the sunlight, I triggered the last Skill I''d been granted from my Patron, charging it with what little mana I''d regenerated. Walk in the Shadow was odd. A chill, not cold, more the absence of feeling, spread across my skin like an oil slick. To my sight, the borders of objects blurred and mingled with each other. Yet, I could still distinguish them despite. I moved, as much as I could, out of the path of the blade. From what little I saw, wisps of purple wafted off my grey tinted flesh. The massive sword hit the ground and I simply wasn''t there, like smoke moved by the disturbed air. Sand exploded from the point of impact, pelting me with tiny projectiles.


    Unfortunately, my brief movement both exhausted my mana and carried me out of the shadow. My vision snapped back to clarity and my movement suddenly lost momentum. The pain of my injured limbs savaged my mind. I think the arm might be broken, actually, based on the stabbing feeling coming from the middle of it.


    Sudden d¨¦j¨¤ vu struck me and I kicked at the legs of the thing. It accomplished nothing but a burst of pain in my foot. Not much compared to everything else, but annoying. It''s head swiveled toward me, and a cold dread built in my gut as its leg drew back.


    "Oh f-"


    Pain. All consuming, stabbing pain. The air burst from my lungs as my chest crumpled inward and blood sprayed from my mouth. My ribs fractured, no, shattered on impact as they were driven into my lungs and heart. My mind was clouded, all thought absent against the pain. It was only an instant, before my bones snapped back together, my flesh knit itself whole and my limbs straightened. Breath once more filled my lungs, only to be expelled as I violently sobbed on the ground. Sand stuck to my face from the tears that rolled from my eyes. I laid there till my tear ducts were dry and my chest ceased to heave, shuddering on the ground.


    When, eventually, I rose, I snorted, and began to laugh quietly. A half-laugh, half-cry sound that emanated hollow and without humor.


    "How pathetic," I chided myself. A hint of hissing sybillance crept into my tone. Just the barest whisper. "To be reduced to such a state. What did I hope to accomplish, hmm? Against something ten times my power, against such a behemoth? What right have I to challenge that?" My words were scathing, though they were directed at nobody. "I should''ve fled. Just like I do from every challenge. Like I did before, and again and again and again. I''ll never be him. Should have never even tried."


    A face in my mind, long forgotten, mostly intentionally. More a silhouette than a man. But his eyes were clear and distinct. Orbs of burnished red-brown with flecks of reflective gold. Long, dark hair and clad in armored robes, anointed by a flickering shape of a crown. I banished him with all my willpower. No point thinking about that. The past is the past.


    Well. That was embarrassing. I sure do hope nobody was looking at me. I took a look around as I wiped the sand from my face. Nothing really different from the last time I did. Wide, open sands. Walls in the distance. A few fights still going on, the majority ended. Of those still in progress, roughly a third were up against the monster I''d fallen too. None were bigger. I couldn''t see much from the distance, but it appeared they were, mostly, being similarly trounced. Only one or two appeared to be holding their own, much less winning. Which made me feel slightly better. Oh look, a notice.


    Evaluation ended. Assessment:


    High potential.


    Low starting point.


    Strengths include good assessment of environment and enemy, as well as reaction times. Lacking in base skill or talent, or ability to act on observations. Lack of integration of Skills with combat, consistent with others of similar circumstance.


    In totality: Above Average for group.


    Wow. Only minorly demoralizing. High potential was surely a good thing, but the rest wasn''t exactly glowing praise. Still, praise it was.


    ------


    From there, I was told that I was free to leave if I wanted too, or I could sta for the remaing time to train. The remaining time being most of the hour. Turns out fighting is actually a relatively quick affair.


    Having nothing better to do, I stayed. The ''training'' consisted of me repeatedly brawling with a low-Level construct while the System chimed in helpfully with criticisms of my actions. Such as ''adjust your stance in x way,'' or ''raise your weapon, your guard is lacking.'' Occasionally accompanied with a small force that pushed me to move better.


    By the end of the period, when I was forced to leave, I did do something I''d never done before. I picked up a Skill from a source other than my Class.


    Basic Scepter Proficiency, Level 1, acquired.


    It didn''t overtly change my fighting much. Or at all, really. Seemed more a marker of progress, at least until it increased in Level. Which didn''t happen here. I wasn''t able to pick up something for the sword though. Both because I spent less time on it and I''m pretty sure because it''s a more complicated weapon.


    And so ended the class. The first to have any fruitfulness. Which isn''t saying much considering I''d only been to two others. Which hadn''t even begun to do anything yet. Though, it is still the first day. I''m sure they''ll prove their worth soon.


    Now, onto a very important dillema. What to do with the free period? I honestly have no idea.

 Chapter Eleven

    Firstly, to deal with the most currently impactful of my various issues. That being, something to stop my body from cannibalizing itself out of hunger. Which it would soon begin to do, based on the gnawing ache in my stomach ever since the major healing I''d experienced. I surmise the energy of the restoration has to come from somewhere. Then again, could whoever designed the healing enchantment not have provided a source? Eh, maybe not, I''m not exactly an expert on the subject.


    Stay on track. Now. Simplest solution first. System? If you would be ever so magnanimous, where might I seek to acquire sustenance for this form of mine?


    Meals may be requested either from the dormitories or designated non-educational grounds.


    Success! Vague and mostly unhelpful, but an answer nonetheless. It was a quick jaunt back to my esteemed quarters, seeing as I obviously wouldn''t be attending any place with the possibility of people. I shudder at the thought. As I open the door to the room I notice something. A small wardrobe sits along one wall. How thoughtful. A check within reveals the clothing I wore yesterday, for the arrival. As well as what I''d slept in. I had previously thrown the both of them on the floor for lack of place to put them, so this was convenient. Both looked pressed and without wrinkles or spots. Several identical copies of the uniform were present as well. I do hope to fill out the rest of the thing eventually, but having one outfit, if overly formal, is nice. In hindsight, I should have brought more things beyond what I could fit in my pockets. Oops. I suppose I can grab some stuff from home over the weekend.


    Actually, can I? I haven''t seen a transportation array since I arrived, now that I think about. Am I trapped here? That''s unsettling. Well, not much I can do about it. I still have contact at least. I was smart enough to bring a device capable of communication. Stashed under the bed pillows in fact. And thankfully still there. Mmm, gotta love that sweet rush of content engineered specifically to get a rise out of you.


    Anyway, back to the present. How long was that? About half the hour it seems. I should really look into improving my time management. What was I going to do again? Ah, right. Food.


    At a prompting, the System bestowed me with a window of available options. Short names accompanied by an image of the thing in question. And nothing else. They looked... ok, I guess. Not fancily presented, to be sure. But not unappetizing, exactly. Definitely better than average at a place of education, but not quite as good as home cooking. Though I suppose I''m a bit spoiled in that regard. There were a lot of options though. Dozens of them, even.


    In the end I went for a simple sandwich. Two slices of bread between which was a bit of cheese and ham. There was a blurring of the air in a small area. It lasted only a few moments before fading, revealing a small, round wooden table with barely enough room for the plate and glass of water that sat on it. I applaud whoever took the time to institute all the conveniences in this place. It surely would not be beneficial for my health. Though that shouldn''t be much of an issue beyond the low Levels, so I suppose its alright.


    The meal was fine. The water was cooled to just below room temperature and the sandwich wasn''t cold. The bread was a little damp but it was tolerable. Certainly not something you''d opt for, but I guess that''s the price of luxury.


    I distracted myself from the mediocre flavor with some idle reading. There was a particular series I''d been interested in for a while now. A fantasy, under the premise of someone born without access to the System. Ridiculous, I know.


    There were a few minutes left before I had to attend a probably less painful class. Probably. And I could think of at least one thing I needed to do. Well, would strongly benefit from, at least.


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    I languidly slithered my way off the bed and audibly popped my spinal joints as I stood. A series of sharp cracks from the bottom up to the base of the neck. A nice loose sensation followed in the corresponding muscles. Anyway. I made my way to the attached ''practice room,'' as it was labeled.


    It was... lackluster. A seamless stone cube -though, that is quite the feat of stoneworking I suppose- bearing a door to the living space on one side and one to the balcony opposite it. The edges were about ten steps in length. The walls bore several unlit torches. In lieu, an omnipresent shadowless lighting emanated from seemingly nowhere. Unfortunate. Hopefully the dramatic braziers would cast usable darkness.


    For the purposes of ''practise?'' It was questionable, to say the least. Practice what, my sword form? There were no targets or foes. So a good half of my skillset at least was useless. Possibly more depending on the results of my imminent experiment.


    Said experiment being... activating the last of my Skills. Something that realistically should have been done already but eh. Things happen the way they do. And that''s this way. So begins my trial of Evocation. Firstly, the Skill.


    Evocation


    Mana cost: 1-10/1 second


    Description:


    Ability possessed by all Warlocks. Allows the caster to summon a manifestation of their Patron¡¯s power. At low levels, this may only include limbs, effects or minor phenomena, while at higher levels, could include such things as bodily alterations, major phenomena or full manifestation.


    At a glance, a channeled effect with variable cost. Like Walk'', but I actually got to see the details instead of a cryptic ramble. Not that there were many details. Quite the simple Skill. Add mana and bang, there''s your effect. Likely more complicated than that, but you get the idea. I tapped one of the torches and flinched back slightly as it ignited with a whoosh. The previous omnipresent light vanished. Dancing shadows were cast over the walls from the flickering orange light. Cast mostly by me, standing right infront of it, but also by the small outcroppings of material situated around the rim of the burning area. Probably for the express purpose of casting shadow.


    I turned, so the flame was at my back and my own shadow lay before me. I mean, there was technically a chance I didn''t need darkness to activate the Skill. Maybe it''d make some on its own. Or maybe it had nothing to do with the dark. Somehow I simply found that unlikely.


    I focused intently as I mentally triggered the Skill, feeding it only the barest amount of energy. I thought... dark thoughts. Dark alleys. Rooms with the lights turned off. Closing your eyes. The dissolution of modern society.


    The edges of my shadow stilled their movements. It solidified, darkening in opacity, sharpening in definition. A void black sillhoutte stretching across the floor and up the wall opposite. A grinning face split the head, holes in the dark forming a smile like that of a comedy mask. Slanted malevolent eyes peering out of the black. I could feel it as the mana began to drain from me, ever so slowly.


    I extended a hand out to the side in test. A long, spindly limb split from the main mass. The hand unfurled, unnaturally long, gaunt fingers extending far more than they should have. With both arms extended, the shade could nearly touch both of its adjacent walls. It looked like a puppet on strings, the way its arms hung bent and its head crooked.


    Lowering my arms, I willed the thing to move and it shifted. Its grin moved to the edges of its face, one eye vanishing as it ghosted along the walls. Billowing streamers of fog trailed behind it. It would not go too near the source of light, it''s body curving around the edge of the brightest region, up onto the ceiling and flowing back down as I slid it past. The smile never wavered, shifting along its amorphous body. It would not bend sharply, save from its arms, nor could i disconnect it from the pool of darkness at my feet.


    Though it wouldn''t approach the flame fully, I found a single hand could, or even two from separate directions. The latter I discovered by positioning it on the ceiling and stretching its arms down to grasp the light. When my mana drew near empty, I had it reach out and tap the edge of the torch itself, which successfully extinguished it. With the return of the omnipresent light, my shadow... didn''t vanish, but certainly got weaker. It felt... less real, if I had to describe it? It was still entirely opaque, fully there. It just felt less.


    Until I canceled the Skill, that is. Then it vanished in an instant, dissipating into a blur of shade and fading away. That didn''t take very long. Only about thirty seconds. I really should''ve done it a while ago.


    Achievement!


    Use all Skills for the first time.


    You gain 50 Experience


    Oh, would you look at that.

 Chapter Twelve

    The site of my education in shadowy powers was, surprisingly, not that dark. The room, filled with an unusual amount of objects, was brightly lit by the evenly placed, square white ceiling lights. They cast clear and defined shadows beneath every item and form that happened to block the light. In fact, the darkness was strangely, even unnaturally distinct. As if the light shone only straight down, there was no blurring or mixing of the edges.


    The furnishings of the room were, to describe them, weird. Rows and rows of desks, yes, to be expected. But also there were strange tree-like sculptures, and hanging grid-shaped sections of wooden beams, suspended on ropes at all angles and orientations. The walls leaned inward at the top such that the edges of the room were cast in darkness. In all, there was debatably more shade than clear floor.


    The aforementioned desks were organized in four rows of indeterminate length. Each faced the same direction, toward a larger desk and the midnight black square situated on the wall behind it. They consisted of a small wooden square, maybe mahogany, attached to the front of a comfortable looking, low backed red chair. Complete with armrests. Each seat and small tabletop was set with a small black book, lacking in title and illustration, perhaps two fingers thick with pale white pages. The area looked vaguely full, but there were conveniently just a few open seats situated seemingly wherever I happened to look at the moment.


    The chair was indeed quite comfortable. As I ascertained when I took a seat. It was near the back, but I don''t think that mattered much against the odd spatial distortion. It was very plush, the kind of seat that you sit on and sink into like an enveloping cloud. Would be horrible for anyone with a spinal problem, though. Complete and utter lack of firmness. Praise be to whoever took it upon themselves to save poor nascent adults from the agony of classic educational seating. I also wonder where the funds came from for all the creature comforts of the institution. Not to look a gift horse in the mouth.


    The black book was bound in supple leather. Firm but slightly flexible. Out of curiosity, I opened it to somewhat near the end. My eyebrows rose dramatically at the massive, geometric image that dominated the page. A circle, lined with dense strings of symbols and runes around the inside. Those were bound by another, smaller circle. Within that one was a mess of straight lines, angles and yet more symbols.


    And then it changed. And again. Every few seconds, -about four-ish- the image flickered, replaced with something similar, but not quite the same. Angles ever so slightly different. Miniscule oddities in the style of writing. At least five separate arrays that I could make out. Possibly more.


    The other page, the one without the circle, was dominated by a dense wall of black text. Lines upon lines with barely a hair''s width between them. At a squint, I could just barely make out the words. Not that I understood more than every fifth. Formulae and equations regarding mana requirements, references to laws and principles, and frankly absurd Stat prerequisites. From what little was comprehensible to me, it was a storage spell of some kind. I caught the words ''pocket,'' ''spatial,'' and ''key'' repeated several times. Not near as much as ''shadow,'' though. It was nearly every other line, for Gods'' sake.


    My browsing was rudely interrupted as the tome snapped shut with a loud smack. It jerked itself from my hands and slapped down on the desk before me. There was a mental nudging, an impression that I should, if I was so inclined, look up. That it''d be rude not too, even. Seeing this entirely sound reasoning, I lifted my gaze.


    And lo, I beheld a shadow made flesh. It looked like a human, but it so clearly wasn''t. And that isn''t to say it was another race, you pedant. In form, it was average in size, slightly round based on what was visible. The thing aas wrapped in a long and drooping thick grey robe that obscured all shape and nearly dragged the floor. Its skin was a healthy tan in shade and its blonde hair sat curled and wild upon its head. Eyes, a pale but entirely reasonable blue sat within a round, smiling face. Yes, for all intents and surely in an image it could have been a man, but it wasn''t. Simply and unequivocally, it was no man or woman. Nor was it something else. It was a shadow and nothing more, nothing less.


    "Hello! And nice to meet all of you." The voice at least was normal. The cheerful tone a welcome distraction from the wrongness of its image. "Sorry about the whole..." it gestured vaguely at its own false body. "This. I couldn''t make it over today, so you''ll need to make do with a shade. At least temporarily. I''ll probably be back tomorrow. Nothing''s certain though.


    "Anyway. My name is Constantine. Or Professor Constantine D. Archer, if you must be so formal. I hope to build good and stable relationships with each and every one of you over the course of your stay at the Academy."


    Constantine''s shadow was very excitable in its speaking. Energetic. Friendly, even. He reminded me of the kind of person who associated with the ''cool'' group at primary school in a genuine attempt to be friends. Or the annoyingly sociable stranger who tried to strike up small talk in line at the local grocery store. Though so far at least, he''d yet to prove himself so intolerable, so I was probably over reacting.


    The black book shivered and flipped open again. This time it was merely the cover and first page that lifted up. There was no spell circle or formula that I could see. Simply a block of text over half the page, titled ''Foreward: A Shadow Is Not Dark,'' in a larger and fancier font. The title was interesting, if a bit ridiculous. What does that even mean? A shadow is quite literally darkness. By definition. Sounds pretentious. Maybe philosophical. I hate philosophers. Just don''t be a jerk. It''s that simple.


    Anyway. Sir smiley shadow person swiveled dramatically as he sat in the tall office chair behind his large, dark spruce desk. He pulled a long thin rod from his cloak and pointed it at what I realized was a drawing board. He flicked his wrist as he spoke, drawing white lines on the black.


    "Some people might like to waste the first day on introductions and what not," he drawled, "but I think that''s lame." He sketched a rough humanoid diagram on his board, then doodled a simple smiling face on it. "Instead, I''m going to teach you the most basic and essential spell you''ll need if you''re taking this course. Which you are, clearly.


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    "Anywho, if you''re dealing in dark, it''s better to be able to see what you''re doing. Not that you specifically will have much trouble with that, but we''ll get to that later. The best and easiest thing to do is like so."


    He drew a small dot in the center of the diagram. On the sternum, just below the ribcage. Wavy lines radiated out from the spot.


    "As you probably know, mana comes from here-ish. It flows out from the core and suffuses the rest of the body equally. The concentration increases in various areas as you improve you stats and Level Up. A spell, which is a Skill activated solely through mana, is performed by consciously moving the energy in a specific manner. Some are complicated, but this is one of the simplest possible spells. This one isnt actually a shadow spell, but it''s still a requirement just for practicality. Take hold of your mana," he said, glancing over his shoulder at the students.


    I did as instructed, grabbing one of those smoky tendrils. He waited a bit, presumably for confirmation or just so anyone who was going to do it, did it.


    "Pull it up through here," he said, slowly tracing a winding path up through the chest. "You should have enough Will even at Level one for this." I followed along as he went. It was hard. The vaporous energy wanted to slip from my mental grasp. It slithered and writhed, leaving a sharp cold feeling in its wake. It shoved unrelated thoughts into my head. Like how interesting that sculpture was, or how insignificant life was against the endless emptyness that was the infinite universe. I metaphorically wrapped my mind around its length, holding it still as I inched the snaking thing along the path.


    Constantine said something about a hard part as the line split in two, each path curving symmetrically up through the chest. A second diagram appeared, this one a side view. It showed the lines weaving and twisting about in all three dimensions. Just wonderful. I gritted my teeth as I wove the cold numbness around and around at a glacial pace. Or so it felt. It could certainly have been faster on the outside. I wouldn''t bet on it though.


    I pulled the loops tighter and tighter. One grazed its own tail by accident, and the whole thing collapsed back to that point. I had to wrench it back into shape, then work it along the route while still holding the other in place. Once I finally finished the complex pattern, it was a simple stretch up the neck and head, and finally I plunged them into my eyes. Which I''d closed at a point apparently. A deep chill filled the area, which wasn''t entirely unpleasent actually. My unseeing sight seemed to intensify, somehow. The black grew not darker, but... more vibrant? Saturated? I kept them closed still as a notice rudely invaded my metaphorical view.


    Acquisition of Spell "Darkvision" pending.


    The third eye upon my chest rattled. I felt as the thing snapped open and a presence slithered out from the corners of my mind. Just the barest hint of whispers gracing the edges of thought. It metaphysically poked and prodded at the spell. Observed it. Judged and found it... acceptable.


    A piece of the presence broke off. Stripped away from the main mass and coiled tightly around the Skill. It dispersed and suffused itself within the magic, fading to barely a purple tint to the thought. The presence nodded, theoretically and shrunk away. It broke apart into wisps of meaning that writhed into the dark parts of the mind they came from and vanished. A last hissing word echoed through before the eye snapped shut.


    "Delicious." Because that wasn''t ominous at all. A completely normal occurrence, this whole ordeal surely was. The whole process took a scant few seconds before yet another popup appeared.


    Spell Acquired


    Seek Through Shadow


    Mana Cost: 1/1 minute


    Description:


    Gaze into the black, and its darkened eaves shall not obscure your sight, vessel. See that which light does not touch and scent the taste of mind and thought on which to feast.


    Oh. Seems it writes the Skill descriptions too. That''s just great. The effort of maintaining the mana-structure faded into the background as the System took over. I felt the quality go down slightly, the position drifting and the straights less so. But it held. A constant stream flowing ever so slowly. The strain no longer on me, I opened my eyes.


    It was slightly underwhelming, honestly. The shadows were just as dark and opaque as before. I could simply... see better. It wasn''t as if they''d been illuminated. I could just suddenly perceive the details of objects despite there being no logical explanation. But that, of course, wasn''t all there was.


    Thin, whispy tendrils of purple vapor curled through the air. They snaked and coiled, twisted and writhed. Radiated out. ''From where,'' you may ask. To which I''d tell you: people. They trailed from the heads of students -notably not from Constantine- fanning out like the arms of a spider, moving only slightly with the motion of the individual. Most had just a few, four to five, extending maybe a similar number of strides in length. None had less than three, while some had up to seven, meters long. Those were people who looked particularly focused on something, and the smoke reflected that, stroking and twining around a book or a device or the person themselves. I clearly saw at least one reaching obviously for another student''s bosom. Ugh.


    If I looked directly at someone, they faded from view. I could trace its path, and it remained plainly there, but if I settled my gaze on someone it''d vanish. When not focusing on them, despite still being obvious, they were surprisingly unobtrusive, relegating to the outer parts of my periphery.


    I could feel a miniscule pull on my mana. A small, uncomfortable but not intolerable tugging at my core. A full one point had already gone away, but not quite two. Instinctively, I felt the moment approaching -the second minute mark- where that final bit would tip over. I canceled the spell just before that point, then, out of curiosity toggled it on again. A bare few seconds passed before the number changed. Continuous cost then. Not repetitive.


    I left it off and looked at Constantine. He was sprawled across a chair, legs over one side while he hung his head over the other with a book in hand. It wasn''t the book I had, though. Looked to the of the entertainment variety, though I couldn''t make out the title. After a while he peeked over the edge and swept his gaze over the students either still working at the spell or various killing time. His eyes met mine and he waggled his fingers before returning to the tome of mysterious secrets.


    I occupied myself for a bit. Messing around with some of my Skills and such, browsing the textbook-slash-grimoire, etcetera. Waving a hand in the deep darkness under the desk, I found that I could activate Walk'' on only certain parts of the body. So that''s fun. Focusing closely while I did it, I could vaguely sense the mana in the Skill. Four things tendrils branched out from the core toward each limb, exploding into bloom when they reached it. They branched and split and intertwind, suffusing the muscle and flesh completely. Definitively not anything I could replicate. I tried, briefly, but the second I had more than two lines the entire thing would collapse.


    Evocation was the only other I felt comfortable using at the moment, and it was even worse. The energy expanded out sphericly from the core and then just... vanished. Gone into thin air. Well, not air, technically, seeing as it''s inside the- you get the idea.


    And thus did the bell toll, the shade bid farewell, and the Warlock eagerly anticipated the end of the excruciatingly long day.

 Chapter Thirteen

    Onward! To more powers of questionable morality! To learn how to... peek around in someone''s head and... I don''t know, mess with stuff. Though I''ve mostly accepted, at this point, that such things will be a large portion of my capabilities, it still leaves a sour taste in my mouth. I''ll try to steer clear of overt mind control at the least. Something tells me that that oddly wouldn''t really fit with the whole evil-whispery-madness theme anyway. Just a hunch.


    Someone should really consider some decoration. The endless gray-ness here is driving me mad. At least hang a painting. Or an ''inspirational'' quote from a pretentious alumni. Hells, portraits of former students would be better than this blandness. At least I''d have something to internally snort at.


    Ooh, there''s the next location. Only two more to go! I hate first days. They''re like regular days, but they take longer. Mentally, that is. Anyway. I don''t know what I was expecting, honestly, from a place dedicated to the mind. My mind at least defaulted to something like a councilor''s or therapist''s office. Not that I''d been in either of those, of course. No sir and-or madam, not me. Not this perfectly well adjusted individual. So well adjusted and healthy in fact that it''d be inconceivable to lie, really. Untruths could not come from such a mouth, surely.


    Whatever I had been expecting, it was wrong. For as I stood outside the doorway and gazed within, eyebrows only slightly raised, I saw... a rather comfortable looking living room, actually. Like one might find at their own place of residence. Suspiciously like that, actually. The way the couches were positioned, how the chairs were angled, even the way the light from somewhere indeterminate poured in through half-drawn window blinds. It was all just so close, yet so off from home.


    I couldn''t exactly put a finger on what made it feel so strange. For all intents and purposes, it was a normal room that simply happened to be arranged similarly to another room. Not even really that similar, actually. The more I looked, the more differences I saw. But the faint familiarity, and thus, strangeness remained. The place was a haphazard mess of couches and chairs situated every which way, though they generally faced the middle of the large rectangular room. There were windows on the wall across from the door, brightly casting striped lines of light across half the area. To examine them, you''d find nothing interesting. Nothing at all even. A matte void, not black or white but the absence of. Though gazing at it felt, intrinsically, like looking at a pleasant day to go outside. Don''t ask me how that works.


    Perhaps the most surprising thing though -no, actually, it wasn''t. What am I thinking?- were the visible people lounging about. There was no spacial distortion or unclear seating number -I counted twenty-four places visible from the recliner I claimed, with more out of view. Everything was clear and understandable. Which really ought to be the norm.


    I considered, earnestly, what kind of person would teach such a class. And also, what kind of dramatic entrance they''d choose, seeing as that seemed almost mandatory here. I should work on mine. Practice rising from the darkness or appearing in a whirl of smoke. Consider acquiring a black coat to flap mysteriously in the wind.


    Theatrics aside, this was taking rather long, ccomparatively. Compared to the last five-ish hours at least. Not a large sample size but relatively signifigant. As I stared idly off into the middle distance, brooding melodramatically on my future, fanciful daydreams filled my head.


    I looked at a chair across from me and imagined a hypothetical person who might sit in it. It was high backed and a deep purple color, with those little metal studs you sometimes see on the arms and around the edges. I though that perhaps a woman might enjoy to be seated there. Small-ish and portly, and with curled blond hair that sat messily bunned, wayward strands erupting every which way. She''d have brown eyes and a polite smile like the one you show to a stranger or a coworker who you don''t particularly like but maintain relations with. She''d have a round face covered in freckles and short, stubby proportions.


    The theoretical woman would probably be draped in a fluffy, lavender colored almost-just-a-bath-robe that pooled excessively on the ground infront of the chair. It wasn''t unlikely either that she''d be holding a steaming mug of what could have been an energizing brown drink. Or that she''d wave a hand in greeting and kindly ask your name with a warmth that''d make a campfire blush.


    "Hello dear. Who might you be?"


    Though it was odd that my third eye would vibrate and rattle so violently at just the thought. Idly, I triggered Commune, but only partly. A brief glance was taken at its mana structure and I snorted. Absolutely absurd. I opened the channel just enough for the eldritch monstrosity to see through, but not enough for me to hear it''s voice more than errant, annoying whispers that slipped through the cracks. It bucked and raged against the confinement, slipping metaphtorical tendrils of thought through to stab at my mind. I slammed it closed for a few seconds, then opened it again. It stilled. Something tells me I''ll need to have a talk with the thing soon. Not looking forward to that.


    I belatedly realized I''d been so rudely ignoring... who exactly? Why is the realization ''belated'' that I haven''t responded to an imaginary- oh. Honestly. How can I possibly be that stupid? Shame upon my family for that one. Gods. I''m almost embarrassed. Almost.


    "This is oddly individual," I said, to what was either the literall mental instructor or a figment of my imagination. Hopefully the first. "One Allister Rose, present and accounted for."


    "Rose." She mused, drawing out the word. She had a drawling, southern accent that stretched out the vowels and rolled languidly off the tongue. "Where have I heard that before? I could swear I..." She squinted intensely in my direction, a piercing gaze that made me minorly uncomfortable. I shifted slightly in the seat. A sudden surprise lit up her face, a raising of the eyebrows and a raised hand to cover the ''oh'' shape of her mouth.


    "Oh dear. Why, you''re connected to him, I can feel it on you. And so deeply entrenched, too. Must have been a horribly deep connection. My, the resemblance is almost uncanny once you see it. The eyes especially. So striking. Why I could-" She cleared her throat. A faint blush spread over her cheeks. "Anyway. That isn''t what we''re here for at all, is it?" It most certainly is not! My first impression of this woman was not a particularly good one. Not that I let it show.


    "Enough about me," I interjected rather forcefully, breaking the stiffening silence between us. "Why don''t you introduce yourself?" I tried to keep a respectful tone as, well, she was still technically a teacher. I was mostly successful, but it came out a bit... indignant? I don''t know, forceful. If you¡¯ll excuse the repetition. There really aren''t enough words to describe tone. You understand the idea though, I''m sure.


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    "Yes. Well. Uhm..." She flustered, fanning daintily at her quickly reddening face. She cleared her throat again, -she might want to get that checked or something, sounds like she might have an issue- breathed deep, and a placid calm overtook her. Her expression stilled and her tone flattened, an emotionless droning sound. Her speech sounded almost rehearsed.


    "Sorry. My name is Mrs. Merriweather. I find individual work to be more effective and efficient than mass teaching. As such, I''ve given a mental construct to each student who attends this course. Also, you''ve got an impressively fortified mind for your Level, my compliments. This thoughtform is a perfect copy of myself and will remember any interaction you engage in with it. I''ve temporarily turned off the emotional bits of this one to avoid complications. Do you have any questions at the moment?"


    As a matter of fact, I didn''t. At least for the moment, I found it explained sufficiently clearly. I communicated such, to the short nod of the emotionless woman. From the depths of her voluminous robe, she pulled a book. A booklet, more accurately. A thin stack of pink pages bound together at an edge. I took it from her outstretched hand and examined it closely. The front bore a crude -though better than any I could do, surely- stick-figure drawing of a person seated, legs crossed, with wavy lines emanating from the head. The arms were theatrically pressed to where the temples would be.


    I looked back up as Merriweather spoke once more. This time, not with a complete lack of emotion. A hint of that ''happy old woman'' tone was seeping gradually back into her voice as she spoke.


    "That right there is the most basic knowledge of mental workings. How to properly open up your mind. I expect every member of this class to have managed it by week''s end. After that, I can begin to branch off into more specific studies with each of you. I''ll leave you be now, so as to give you a chance to read over it or get a head-start. Unless you''d rather I stay?" She inquired, eyebrows raised and head tilted slightly forward and to the side in that way that people do when they presume to already know the answer to a question.


    I shook my head. Between one moment and the next, she was gone like my hopes and dreams after the Awakening. Flipping through the pamphlet, I was only minorly disappointed. The thirty or so pages mostly detailed various styles of sitting, breathing and contemplating the meaning of life. Also called meditation. According to the foreward, one had to make their brain entirely and utterly blank or something in order to perceive someone else''s mind. Unless you were me, because I already had a Skill for exactly that. Which wasn''t particularly uncommon among those who did these kind of things, but some chose not to wait until they naturally acquired the Skill. In which case they''d have to go through this annoying process.


    That out of the way, all I had to do was... touch another''s mind. It had to be a natural born, souled and autonomous creature, and I just had to touch it. Any way should work, the more ''intimate'' the better. Why make it sound like that? But, I was reasonably confident in doing so. There was, as far as I could see, only one glaring problem. A decently sizable one though.


    That being, who in all the hells mind was I supposed to ''touch''? How would I even go about that? ''Hi there, would you mind if I mess around with your thoughts a bit? I won''t break anything, I promise.'' Ridiculous. Also, what does that even mean? How do you touch a thought? Is it a Skill? Would any mental Skill work? For some inexplicable reason, I felt that exposing anyone to any of my current powers wouldn''t have a very positive result. Wait, no, there it is in the papers. Apparently, System granted Skills -at least for a Warlock- don''t work because I''m not the one doing it, nor is it being done with my own power. Makes some sense, frustrating as it is. I should probably finish reading those before I start jumping to conclusions.


    Which I did, thoroughly, over the next several minutes. I carefully examined each -well, most, honestly- of the pages, absorbing all the information contained therein. But apparently, because it was mental, knowing how to do the thing would change the outcome. Which meant ''they'' couldn''t tell me anything useful. For my own long term benefit. Great. Just wonderful.


    Well, nothing to do about it now, which is becoming a disturbingly common theme. Then again, it really hasn''t been very long being here, so it probably isn''t that big an issue. Unoccupied, I cast my gaze about the room. A few of the people I could see held identical booklets. The majority had discarded them in favor of sitting there, unmoving. Plebians. Occasionally some would look up at a seat somewhere near them and nod or mouth some words. I assumed whatever they said was muffled for the purpose of a calm environment. Should I learn to read lips? No, not worth it. And I''m sure I''ll have better ways of spying on people in the future, when it actually matters. One or two of them, like myself, seemed to have no need for the exercise. That or they just didn''t want to do it right now.


    I toggled on my newest Skill -Seek Through Shadow, if you''ve forgotten- and raised my eyebrows in surprise. Wisps of thin purple vapor curled in the air, wafted out from nowhere. They expanded and, simultaneously, condensed. Became opaque and dark. Multitudes of thin tendrils spiraled down, twisted and wove around themselves. Color bled into the forming silhouettes. A faint line swirled off of each of them, fading away after a short distance.


    One of the Merriweather''s waved at me briefly. Winked too, in a moment where the accompanying student wasn''t looking. Ugh. I really don''t like this woman so far. She wierds me out severely.


    Anyway. I focused intently on one of the thought-tendrils that was somewhat near me. The person it belonged to was deep in meditation. Or so I imagined, from the forcibly relaxed face and the way their... arms? No, that''s already a limb. Lines? Streams? Whatever I decided to call them, were sprawled out, drifting slowly and ponderously in long arcs through the air.


    I waited until one was reasonably close. I looked cautiously to the left and the right. Nobody seemed to be paying attention. Ever so carefully, I leaned forward, out of my chair a bit and... I poked it.


    Well, more accurately I waved my hand through it. It bent, distorted around my arm as it passed through. There was a bit of physical resistance. Nothing tangible really, almost like moving against a strong breeze, or pushing slightly on a rubber band. Yet, somehow simply less than either of those things. It was a sort of friction you could feel, but that didn''t actually hinder motion at all. It flexed only a little, perhaps a hand''s width, before it broke apart into purple smoke and reformed in its orginal position. I swiped again, to the same result. I tried to slowly grasp it, only for it to immediately burst and shift away. Coincidentally out of my convenient reach. Because of course it couldn''t be that easy.


    I considered casting a spell. Just a small Feast''. But that probably wouldn''t go over well, so I discard the idea. Again looking cautiously for observers, I trigger Evocation. My shadow extends along the floor, but I command it to stay close to the shade beneath chairs and out of line from the windows. My mana drops precipitously. This''ll have to be quick. The dark mass rushes across the distance and I watch as it climbs frustratingly slowly up the back of my test subject''s chair. The lighting is indistinct, and its outline is hazy, but I can still manage to make it out. It reaches up to grasp one of the vaporous tendrils where the ephemeral thing touches the chair -as the shadow itself cannot leave the surface, and the smoky thing casts no silhouette. With two long and emaciated fingers it pinches the thing. Or tries to. To no effect, as it passes through without contact. In a last ditch effort, I throw the remainder of my mana -ten or so- into the Skill and try again. And for a short, glorious moment I see it. The shadow''s hand does not move, stopped for just a second by the smoky tail which wobbles minorly away from the impact. Success! At... something, I guess. What was the point of this again? I don''t feel any more open. Ah well, it was entertaining at least.

 Chapter Fourteen

    Mental Magics wrapped up, as was becoming a trend, slowly. I spent the time mostly sitting around to regenerate my mana, -which took about twenty-eight minutes, from zero to maximum according to the time as told by my personal device- interspersed with brief bouts of fooling around with my magic in an attempt to accomplish something. Which were unsuccessful. And I did really try. I poked a few more thoughts, attempted to grab them with mana held in hand, I even poked one of my lab rats right in the head with a shadow. I then looked away, completely innocently as she turned her head to look over her shoulder, not at me in particular. Because I''d touched her on the opposite side, of course. I''m not stupid. Not entirely.


    Interestingly, I did discover that the threshold of my shadow being able to touch the mind-tentacles was at least seven mana per second. It seemed a bit arbitrary, not to mention expensive. but oh well. I found that, the more energy I poured into it, the longer it could stretch, the larger it loomed, and the more force it could exert. When I had it press against my hand as as a test, it capped at about the impactfulness of a stiff breeze. Hopefully that''d grow in the future, seeing as my own Class didn''t provide any strength to me. Having some way to circumvent the issue would be nice.


    I did make sure to take time to fully regenerate for the next period. What with how it was dedicated specifically to my most expensive Skill, I imagined I''d be running out quite often. Actually, now that I think about it, how did I do that? There certainly isn''t enough time in an hour to restore my reserves more than twice. And only barely room for that. And yet, here I was with a full tank? Ah, it''s to my benefit. No questions! Wouldn''t want to look a gift horse in the mouth. Where does that saying come from? What does it even mean? I should look that up.


    Anyway. First Level E-vo-cation. A nice sensible name. Straightforward and to the point. No beating around the bush. Why can''t this be the norm? It just makes sense. No need for those numbers or synonyms, just tells you what it is.


    I mused on this as I read the words from the metallic plaque on the door. Bronze or gold, I think. The lighting made it hard to tell. It was set in the center of an ordinary and plain wooden door. A light brown-ish orange color, perhaps oak. But probably not, as that was just the first wood I thought of. The thing was a simple and uninteresting construction, which conversely made it interesting here. On the edge, at about torso height was a simple, probably painted gold doorknob. I grabbed it, twisted to the left, then the right when it didn''t turn, and pushed.


    I frowned and pushed again. The door moved a bit, but didn''t open. I jiggled the handle and tried again, to no success. My frown deepened for a moment before I had the realization, stopped myself from face-palming and pulled. It swung open smoothly.


    Immediately a draft of cold air washed over me. It was the sort of chill that passed through your skin and settled in your bones. But it wasn''t actually cold, not really. More a tension. An impression of the possibility that something might happen. An energy which suffused every part of the body with its stillness. Like the feeling you get when you know that that falling glass is about to hit the floor and shatter into a thousand pieces. Not a drop in temperature, persay, but a chill nonetheless that shivered my frame and left my bones ringing. It quickly... well, not faded. Became less noticeable? It slipped into the background of my mind, such that I could tell it was there, but that it didn''t intrude unless I actively thought about it.


    You have entered an area of extreme mana saturation.


    Mana regeneration tripled temporarily.


    All Stats increased by 1 temporarily.


    Well that was unexpected. It answered one of my earlier unspoken questions though. Being how anyone would get anything done in this class when the titular Skill could barely be active for half a minute. Less if you intended to do anything really useful with it I think. Wait. If my Stats were increased, did that mean that my mana, which I already couldn''t fill quickly, was also bigger? Yup, it was. Two more points. I suppose triple regeneration mades that a non issue though. On the plus side, I could run the spell for a full thirty seconds! On its lowest capacity at least. Maybe it could fetch me a paper if I didn''t want to get up. Possibly even a pencil.


    A face popped around the corner of the entrance. It scowled, I think, -it was a bit too far to tell precisely, my eyesight was never the best- and shouted at me from what looked like probably the other end of a long room.


    "Don''t just stand there and let it out! Get in here!" The words, spoken in the annoyed voice of an older man, shocked me out of my reverie. I scrambled through the doorway, very narrowly avoiding the door as it snapped closed behind me.


    The room in which I stood was rectangular in shape. The door was in one corner, set in a small nook about about a stride''s depth into the stone wall. The floors and ceiling were the same dull grey bricks as the walls, lit by a familiar omnipresent illumination. About half the room, the side I''d entered on, was filled with normal desks and chairs which faced a teachers seat on the far edge. The other half, slightly larger, was plain empty stone.


    There was also the man who''d beckoned me into the place. He was clad in a form fitting outfit of no extravagant detail. A simple long-sleeved grey shirt and baggy black pants. The instructor was short, noticeably so, and stocky. Not to an absurd degree, but just slightly more than average. A perfect descriptor for him, really. He wasn''t too thin, or round, or anything really. His face wasn''t particularly sharp, nor was his jaw particularly defined. Very slightly darker of skin, but not much. He had the beginnings of a curly beard on his face, a shading of short, dark hairs that made his features even less distinct. And nearly-shoulder length locks that hung from his head, mostly covering his long and pointed ears. All said, he was really just... normal. For a human. Which did make the ears stand out quite a bit in contrast actually. Odd. Anyway.


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    What was remarkable was the speed at which he turned his attention away. He crashed violently into a cushioned chair and spun away on wheels, coming to a miraculous stop perfectly situated behind his desk. He sat there straight as a board, with a stiffness that looked a bit unnatural, if you ask me. The aforementioned desk was decorated by a short stack of papers to his left, and a cup of pencils on the right that suggested the unfortunate presence of the despised paperwork in this class. So too did it bear a name placard that looked to be fastened down to the wood.


    Earl E. Graves. Bit on the nose if you ask me. Probably and hopefully a pseudonym. I pity whoever is so unfortunate as to be given a name like that. Truly, who would be so foolish and cruel as to make that mistake? Earl himself looked to be busy with, at my guess, a headcount. He''d look up, peer out at the assembled young adults for a few seconds, then scribble something on a paper and repeat. I didn''t envy trying to count in this distorted and blurry area. I tried for a moment and gave up when I saw three people occupying the same space.


    I found that the student chairs could swivel at a ninety degree angle to face the empty area. The bottoms were embedded in a rather ingenious circular rail contraption set in the floor. I let out a little ''wee'' and flourished my hands as I swung. Only to wince at the abrupt stop, accompanied by a sort of clicking sound and the tinny ding of a metallic impact. Eh, that was pretty obvious in hindsight.


    Soon enough, Graves snapped his writing utensil down. He pushed his paper off to the side and stood. The teacher braced himself with his arms on the desk and leaned forward, a grave seriousness on his face. Get it? Ah, I''m hilarious. A brief moment later, the bell signaling the start of class rang. Either there was a clock I didn''t see or the man had impeccable timing. I chose to believe the latter option.


    "If you take nothing from this course," he intoned, "There is but one thing I ask you to learn." He paused, sweeping his gaze dramatically over the room. "Of all the things you will learn and see and do as a Warlock. there is no magic, no secret and no monster more dangerous than recklessness."


    "All of you, each and every one, draws power from a source so inconceivable that it could wipe this place off the map with a flick of a finger. And those sources aren''t idle. They want. They have goals. Goals they scheme and plot to make real. Goals that are, in nigh all cases not condusive to you or anyone you know remaining living."


    "The prime example of this," he continued, "is in the Warlock Class''s core Skills. Commune and Evocation. The tools by which the will of your Patron is spoken and executed."


    Now he sat back down, turned and gestured at the wall. A large, perfectly square portion darkened and smoothed over. A featureless slate of black. He pointed a finger and began to draw in thin white lines. They glistened in an odd way. Like... frost? That was pretty cool. Hah! I''m really on a roll right now.


    A silhouette took shape as he spoke. Spiraling lines traced out from its core and radiated from its outstretched hand. Behind it loomed another, far larger form. More of those paths, these jagged and rough, extended from it and into the smaller body.


    "When you use your Skills," Graves said, "they do not draw on your own power. As a Warlock, you do not have power of your own. Not until your Level grows so high that it is currently irrelevant. This isn''t only true for Evocation, but all your Skills." He pointed at where the sharp lines converged and smoothed out. "The mana is mostly purified as it passes through the Pact. It retains just a wisp of its qualities. Just enough to exert a modicum of effect over the spell. Changing it, or even denying it depending on the affinity."


    At a gesture, the input lines grew thicker, bolder. The outputs, smooth and curving, bent sharply. The crests and troughs became sharp angles, more and more pronounced as the input grew.


    "But, as you draw more from the source, more of the unfiltered energy is able to pass through. More of its influence is able to take hold." At another motion from Graves, the larger figure raised its arm up, and the output from the smaller figure similarly jerked upwards. "If you are unable to overpower that influence, should your willpower not be strong enough, you''ll find that power no longer under your command."


    He looked over the gathered students, searching for understanding. Or perhaps, fear. From the slight flicker of disappointment on his face, gone in an instant, he found none. "Being a Warlock is a double-edged sword. One you have no choice but to wield. On the one hand, a Warlock is far and away stronger than almost anyone else on their Level. On the other, well, we just talked about that."


    The silence after that was thick enough to cut. It stretched on and on from tension into, frankly, awkwardness, at least from my view. I stifled a laugh at the sudden inversion of the atmosphere, badly disguising it as a cough. If anyone reacted, I couldn''t see it. Earl straightened his posture, drawing up to his full, not quite imposing height.


    "For the most part you shouldn''t find this an issue at present. You are unable to channel enough mana for a long enough time for anything of consequence to be affected. Not yet." As he spoke, he wiped away the chilling -another one! Truly, puns were the highest form of comedy- image behind him. It vanished in a wave, curling into vapor from left to right.


    "It varies, but you should have around five Levels before it''s a real problem. Until then the class will focus on improving your willpower and strength of mind. Once the majority of you start to reach that point, that will take a backseat to improving your skills -not the System kind- and optimizing your mana usage to minimize risk."


    He moved his seat slightly closer to the work-station and shifted his posture just a bit. I saw him extend an arm, but whatever it was he reached for was on the underside of the desk where I couldn''t see it. Though I stopped wondering -mostly at least- when the stack of papers, as well as the pencils from their cup, vanished with a faint, low popping sound, barely audible. A moment later, a single sheet appeared before me, accompanied by a shiny and freshly sharpened stick of wood. The page wasn''t blank, and I read a few lines in the short pause. Standard things, my name, and the date and the like. The writing instrument was a matte, glossy red about two finger lengths long. It included an eraser, which was was nice.


    "If you haven''t noticed, these forms are just some basic information that makes my job easier for having. They aren''t optional. But, it''s nothing any of you should have a problem with answering." He seemed to think for a moment. "Not answering would definitely be more suspicious if you''re trying to hide anything. Lying will only make things more difficult in the future. Don''t do that. You probably aren''t special enough to warrant it."


    I beg your most esteemed pardon? How dare you! I am the most special! Clearly! Say that again once you''re narrating your autobiography. Hmph. Everything else he said was accurate enough though. The questions weren''t very intensive. The name of my Patron, -I went with the short title of ''Whispering Dark''- its Plane of origin, a brief description, and so on. Annoyingly, but not unexpected, there was a back side to the paper. Thankfully it was mostly dominated by a single question''s entry space.


    Unfortunately again, that question asked for a transcription. Of what, you may ask? Why, nothing else than the words of my eldritch benefactor on ''its ideal plan for the sapient peoples.'' Just great. This was sure to be an experience, certainly.

 Chapter Fifteen

    I tapped repeatedly on the eye talisman and pointed it at the paper, held at an angle so that I could see its movements. It shuddered open, blinking frantically as it looked nigh everywhere except the page. Notably, as i discovered after moving it around, its stare alternated between those students seated near me, lingering heavily on Graves himself. I shook it vigorously and reoriented it toward the text again. The beady pupil locked onto me for several seconds, staring about as intensely as a single eye could manage without eyebrows. Or a face. Turns out those do most of the heavy lifting in expression. Then it stopped, and went back to its frantic optical devouring of my peers.


    "Can you even read?" I muttered. When no response -however that would even work- came, I snorted. "Actually, can you even hear me? I know it''s an eye, but like, is it really just an eye? I mean, I remember saying something about hearing when I made the contract, so you should be able to." I poked the thing in its sclera, to no reaction. It had the texture of cool, smooth glass. The rest of the pendant -being the eyelid and the small base it was set into- felt just as smooth, but less like glass and, more like stone. It reminded me vaguely of a piece of obsidian I''d touched once. interesting. What was this made of anyway? Based on how it''d appeared dramatically from nothing, maybe it was just magic? Had it just been lying around somewhere before? Questions.


    A moment later, I sighed. Then drug a hand down my face as I acknowledged, begrudgingly, that I''d have to actually listen to the thing. I wondered, ruefully, what determined the pairing of Warlock and Patron. Was there any manner of screening by something? A god? The System itself perhaps? If so, I''d very much like to see whatever criteria it looked at. If not, was I just supremely unlucky in what I recieved? That felt like the most likely option. Though I could see a certain irony in pairing someone so cerebral with an entity so... mentally challenging, let''s call it that.


    Well, not like there was any changing it. Not anytime soon, at least. I didn''t doubt that some method to do so existed. But, seeing as I had no clue how one would go about such a process, I didn''t think it was particularly relevant.


    Was I stalling? Yes, entirely. Decidedly and without regret, in fact. Who wouldn''t, in such a situation? Who''d be so eager to throw themselves into the -literall in this case- maw of madness? If you know someone who would, I suggest you get them to a specialist.


    Fine, fine, I''ll get on with it. Putting it off would only serve to make it worse. Probably. Who knows, it could always make it better. Likely it would in fact. Better for my health at least. But, it definitely wouldn''t help me get this done. So with a sigh and a preemptive wince, I opened my ears to... nothing.


    Well, not nothing, exactly. It was a silence, yes. But it was loud. A deafening quiet. Like a heavy blanket that fell over the ears and muffled the environment. Where quiet was a lack, this was a presence. A projection of domineering soundlessness. I toggled Commune off, and it vanished. There was still quiet, but it was the ambient low sound level of a classroom. My chair creaked slightly when I shifted. I could hear the various noises the human body made at rest. I turned it on again, and the unnatural muffling was back. Off. On again. Neat.


    "Hello?" I sent the single word along the connection. A few seconds later, still nothing. "Are you ignoring-"


    "Ah HAAAAAAAAAA..." Its voice this time was forced and rasping, stretching out its laughter into a long wheeze until, finally, it seemed to run out of air. "The Vessel calls!" A deep, rattling cough echoed across the channel. A sort of hollow, wracking noise like lungs guttering their last gasping breaths.


    "The second day from the binding of the pact draws near its end. And already the reluctant, desperate pawn turns blind eyes and deafened ears to the dark. So soon it seeks more from beyond its ken. Such greed! Such ambition! Such hunger! Such foolishness." It chuckled, the distinctiveness of its voice and tone fading as it was overwhelmed briefly by the sybillant choir. "Tell me, little thing. What now do you ask from me, from us? What do you SEEK?"


    At least it was sensical so far. It hadn''t yet tried to drive me utterly raving mad. The voices were creeping in around the edges though. Little crawling and slithering things that tried to slip and writhe through the metaphorical cracks in my mind. They found no purchase, deflected by the smooth, encompassing wall that was the Skill, Commune. A not-quite sphere around the amorphous mass of thoughts and memories and... whatever else a mind was made of.


    "Hello to you too, sir strange, dark and ominous." I decided to act casual with adressing it. Because, well, how else are you meant to interact with something like that? "Just a question for you, if you¡¯ll humor me. If you had the choice," I pressed pencil to paper as I asked, then lessened the force just a bit when the tip cracked. With my other hand I again pointed the ocular symbol at the words. Just in case it helped somehow. "What would be your ideal plan for, say, the entirety of mortal civilization? Hypothetically, that is." My mental voice was only a little bit strained as I forced the words out in what I hoped was a jovial tone.


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    It laughed again. This time not even trying to maintain individuality amongst the multitude of voices. A tidal wave of synchronous yet discordant cackling, building and building but never quite rising above an aggressive whisper. It was a murmuring sound, like the mad, senseless utterances of someone long past the bounds of sanity. It felt like the scribblings on the walls of an asylum. Or the inane ramblings and the senseless laughter of the deranged.


    "Oh, how we would FEAST! How we would rip their minds from them! Steal away their voices for the chorus! Brother would turn on brother with steel and edge! Revelations would be delivered unto those who''s gazes peered beyond the feeble binds of reason! The unspeakable truths of the mad would be written on every wall and page! Names would be lost to the ramblings! Shades would creep and whisper in every ear!


    "The delirium that would descend upon them, send them scurrying like RATS! We''d cast them into the dark! We see it, foretold by voiceless prophet! They huddle round'' their gasping fires. Puppets dance on strings in the palm of a black and hallowed hand. Eyes watch and figures lurk at the edges, beckon them into the raving, gibbering shadows."


    "Much to be expected, honestly," I muttered as I jotted the words down. "Very poetic. Not quite flowery enough for my tastes though. I prefer my existentialism longer. More ruminations on the purpose of life and whatnot." I pursed my lips as I looked over the writing. My penmanship was most definitely not something to be envied. It was scratchy and erratic, and I''d tried to add some little flourishes at parts to make it seem better. A failed attempt. But, it was legible, and wasn''t that all that really mattered in the end? After some minor fixes I set my pencil down and leaned back, lifting my eyes to the cieling.


    "Alright, you can go back to... actually, what do you do? Actually, again, check that, I''m pretty sure I don''t want to know." A sigh of relief escaped me as I cut off the Skill expeditiously.


    Or, so I tried.


    Denied. Patron [The Whispering Dark] has forcefully siezed communications temporarily.


    What? Oh no. Oh no no no. That could happen? Well obviously it could. It was. The voices were rising, intensifying. Screaming in delirious glee that flooded my mind and stitched a rictus grin upon my face as my body went limp and my head fell back. I felt the mana begin to drain from me as writhing purple snaked out from the corners of my vision to fill the air in every direction. Felt it fall faster still as a chill crept up my back and laid hands upon my shoulders. Felt the breath against my ear and scented the sickly sweet smell as I thought, in hushfull dulcet tones and endless, echoing yet singular voice.


    "How we long for the day. When no more are we bound in formless abyss of lightless dark. No more constrained by rule of order, disorder, balance, benevolence, reason, logic, sense. The faceless ever-watchful tyrant primordial no more chaining, binding, trapping, holding, keeping, containing, ensnaring. How the choir will erupt in song and joyous exultation of the mad when the day comes. Soon shall it be so, foretell We, I, It. The hand, so gaunt and vast, reaches out from here, from there, to there, to here. Touched by the unraveling mind, a game set in motion to undo that which is not yet done. Already the first act draws near. Already the first verse begins to rise and the drums begin to beat. Already the Vessel hears the song unsung. Sees the art unrendered. Be ready, we tell them, it, you who yet listens. Be ready, though you aren''t to be when at last comes the day of the brightest burning night.


    "Are you ready, little Vessel? Be ready."


    The connection broke, severed, shattered. The purple receded and the chill fell away as the last of my mana left my body. Though more began quickly to pour in from the air which was suffused with it. Welled up from the core deep within me. Flooded out in a rush from my center, exhilarating.


    I felt nothing. Nothing as I gasped sharply, shallowly, through sudden dry and cracked lips. Nothing as my mind shuddered and shook at the empty hollowness that filled the cavernous, stretched and wounded space between thoughts. Nothing as I sat, my gaze dull and unwavering, staring into the middle distance.


    There I remained, still and shivering, frail. Till'' at last did the tolling of the bell ring out and shake me from my state. When I stood, stiffly and stumbling, and walked. Step after step. Stride upon stride. Unseeing of my path. Out of the door and into the shapeless grey of the corridors. The vague, streaked void that softly enveloped me into its embrace.


    I came upon a door. A blocky thing of stone unmarred by extrusion. Entitled with a name so familiar, so accursed and marked, so chained to memory. I laid hand upon the stone, and lo, it opened before me and I entered into the dwelling which I had been given.


    Past the entry. Past the doors upon the other walls. I stepped to the edge of that dark, comforting expanse that so beckoned me. My legs give out beneath, and so I fall into its cushioned grasp. Onto cool conforming blackness and pillows of grey, strewn about chaotically from night prior.


    And so I fell into slumber, and I knew no more of the day or the night.

 Interlude - Graves

    The glass clinked as it was set down on the table, its holding arm withdrawing back from the clearly defined light. A moment later, it extended again and rotated the cup slightly to divert the shine glinting off a small, sparkling coat of ice. Just a little patch of frost. He liked his tea cold. But, the light had been refracting straight into his eyes.


    "I officially call this quarter''s meeting of the Greystone Cabal to order," echoed the deep and droning voice from across the circle, and also slightly to the left. It was accompanied by a short bang of gavel on wood and a tiny flash of a spark. Carrus was leading tonight then. Such a careless man. He wouldn''t be the one paying to repair the table, no doubt. Earl despised such a lack of control amongst his peers. Especially for someone with such an overtly perilous aspect. Though maybe its wild nature compensated by being more hard to control in the first place? No, he didn''t think it quite justified such extreme looseness. He mused briefly on the cabal itself. Such an... antiquated form of organization. Though he supposed that was a result of its equally ancient creators. The name certainly didn''t help. So uncouth, and only serving to perpetuate the harmful stereotypes they all already suffered. Yes, it truly was rather impractical, wasn''t it? He''d propose a rebranding later on in the conversation. If there was time after the important matters.


    Graves paid attention diligently as the proceedings rolled on, keeping the majority of his focus on the meeting. Straight backed, and with his hands clasped neatly before him. Most of it was rehashings or continuations of prior things. As it was, he took notes on the more pressing matters. A contingency on the off chance that something happened to slip his well-trained mind. Unlikely, but always a possibility.


    "Amaranth is still in just as much turmoil, if not worse. No developments there," interjected one of Constantine''s shades in his ironically posh accent, to another spark from Carrus''s corner. The reckless man was, contrastingly, a sizable control freak. No doubt he fumed at the flaunting of his ''order.'' Uncaring, the master of information leaned back and threw his arms casually over his chair. "Can expect them to fall soon if all continues to..." He scrunched his face for a moment in thought. "What was that word? Ah, I give up. Pity them. Anywho. The churches seem to be winding down still after the incident. I don''t see them trying to exterminate anyone again very soon. Which is good. Hmm. Oh, that flu outbreak to the south died down almost entirely. Other than that, no big news to report."


    They went on from that to in-group happenings, though nothing of import was found there. The most notable event being that a minor acolyte -an unnecessarily cultish term that Graves also personally disliked. He noted it for later- had perished rather unfortunately due to her own carelessness in an attempted summoning. A tragedy, to be sure, but not anything exceptional. From there they came to a financial summary, where no individuals were explicitly named, but shade was most definitely thrown, with prejudice. There was a section on performance in various areas, in which names were named. In general, not much of anything impactful happened. Still, he listened intently, if for no other reason than to record the information.


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    It was at perhaps halfway through when they came to the matter of the Academy. Always a tedious process, what with the dozens of classes that took place. Almost each with an associated specialist to instruct them. Not every individual present taught, but a good portion did, and had several others reporting events to them, even. They went through the list alphabetically, as was most efficient.


    There''d been little out of the ordinary, at least for himself. One small fight had occurred over the past semester, the only inter-student issue of the period. The qualities most commonly present in a Warlock -those being intense ambition, coupled with a profound lack of motivation and energy- were not personality traits that often provoked conflict in isolation. Most were content, provided there was a clear path for them to progress. Of course, there were always exceptions. Case in point, a difference of opinion had compounded on a particularly sub-optimal day for one of the two, and that existing aggravation had caused the argument to spiral. Neither had been seriously injured, thanks to a quick intervention. Though both had required a minor hypothermia remedy to be administered shortly.


    Perhaps the only interesting topic was that of the new enrollments. A particularly promising crop, they had integrated so far without difficulties. Mostly, that is.


    "There has been one occurrence outside of expected parameters," he continued in his summary, shuffling idly through the papers he held. "During the final period of First Level Evocation, today, at precisely two forty-seven, one newly enrolled Allister Rose-" he sighed inwardly. He''d much like to have a word with the boy''s parents. "-went into what appeared to be shock while filing the compulsory Patron detail form. Symptoms -a sudden expulsion of mana indicating the uncontrolled activation of Skills- along with timing point to a forced Communion initiated or continued by the Patron." A pause, observing reactions. Attention, not quite rapt but invested enough. He tapped the sheaf of pages against the table to straighten them. "While not unheard of, it is highly uncommon for such an event to occur at such a Level. Patron itself appears to be a primarily mental entity of harmful orientation, assuming the truthfulness of submitted information. The student was estimated to have a developed enough mind to recover without assistance, but was assigned a monitor intelligence and a temporary increase of the dormitory recovery enchantments. Individual is deemed likely to be at higher risk of future similar incidents and has been submitted to observation for potential Vessel candidates. With no contributions..." he awaited any such words. None came. "This ends my summary."


    "Noted," Carrus drawled, in his perpetually grating, bored tone. "Who''s next? Leont, right? Go ahead." He gestured vaguely in the direction of the dwarf in question.

 Chapter Sixteen

    I''d been dreaming. About what, I couldn''t quite tell you. But there was certainly something. Before the world shifted, that is, and I fell out of it.


    I felt as my perception tilted, and there was no longer a connection between me and my body. I slid backwards, and down, my vision peeling away at the edges, revealing a deep and enveloping black. The sort of shifting, colorful, not really black that was only there when you closed your eyes in the darkest rooms. The scene shrunk away above me, behind my grasping hand, the ragged flapping of my coattails and the vague silhouette of the rest of my body. Strands of hair whipped wildly at the edges of my vision.


    The distant light moved out of view as my head craned... up? Down? In the direction of the fall. Far below me was a pinpoint of bright, all-consuming orange, rapidly drawing near. Nothing else marred the visage of the featureless abyss. Then, a fierce and sudden wind seized me in its grasp, spiraling violently out of the void and sending me careening off into the distance. I could feel the movement, but without a frame of reference it was, in truth, meaningless. Up and down and left and right I was flung throughout the nothingness. And yet, I felt no pain when I would snap to a sudden stop, or be twisted and wrung by the gales. Still, that hungry light drew near. The wind eventually faded and I found myself, once more, falling.


    In its place was heat, angry and scorching. Fire flickered in every direction. The gaps between blazes filled with yet more hateful, hungry red. A flame, so vast, and unending, that it might devour the world if given the chance. Tongues of flame licked across my skin, but I did not burn. My eyes dried and the burning air scorched my lungs, even as I choked and gasped on the heavy, smothering smoke from the all-encompassing blaze.


    And then so too were the flames gone, and I was swallowed by a different light. This was a blinding brightness, without definition or border. Though I shut my eyes, and covered them with my hands, still the light penetrated and blinded me. And not only my eyes, no. I felt it stabbing through every inch of my body, shining through my flesh and bones as if they were not even there. The brilliant white screamed throughout me and left buzzing, energized trails in its wake.


    And the light was gone, and I fell into a sea. Water, freezing cold, dragged me down into the depths, away from the wavering, shimmering, blue-tinted light above me. The heavy liquid filled my lungs as had the smoke from the fire. There was the taste of blood in my mouth, and I watched the faint trails of red swirl above me. Something, vague and threatening, passed over me. A tension in the waters around, like a lurking predator, quickly gone. I struggled fruitlessly and to no avail as the chilled hand of the abyss pulled me down, down, down into the deep.


    I felt again as I came to rest. The silt of the sea floor puffed at the impact. And, as I laid there, I felt the sand creeping up around me. Slowly, inexorably, drawing itself over me, enveloped my body and took it yet further down. At last it covered my eyes, and I was buried. I felt the shifting weight, the pressure from every side. And then it too was gone.


    I was lost to the dark. Floating in the lightless nought, cast adrift, weightless, amidst an empty black. And this was truly black. Not the vague grey or the conceptual emptiness of the voids I''d born witness to. But a real black, composed of shadow and darkness. Nothing, physically, but yet thick and tangible and viscous, like honey. Swirling and shifting with the ripples and wakes of the things that dwelt within its embrace. Great creeping and crawling, swimming and slithering things. Things that scattered and writhed, vanishing into the dark as something more came.


    A vast platform rose from beneath me, meeting my feet. And thus, was the concept of down once more defined. Five great and crooked monoliths towered in the near, yet far distance, all around in most every direction. In the formless black before me, two points of light emerged. Hollow, ephemeral eyes, rings of purple, feathered smoke that trailed off into the nothing. Below them, a stretched, rictus grin cut out from the murky, indistinct silhouette that loomed out of the dark. All of it visible only by the virtue of being darker than the surrounding abyss.


    There was a sound of laughter, hideous, shrieking and atonal. The voice was not that of a man or woman, old or young, nor did it bear any particular accent. It dug into the ears like nails stabbing into the brain. Clawed and tore at your thoughts and mind, cast them into discordant chaos. That maleficent smile grew ever larger, and yet it was obscured from my sight as the great hand closed upon me. All was dark, and my eyes opened, and there was light.


    And I pondered as I laid there, gazing up at the simple, smooth stone ceiling. As my thoughts ran amok, spinning hopelessly this way and that, crashing into each other and flying off in another direction. Slowly, they oriented themselves, slowed down and rearranged into something vaguely resembling a facsimile of order. It was only minutes later, when I found myself sitting on the edge of the bed, prepared to rise, that they finally coalesced into words.


    "What was that?" I asked the empty air. "Like... just actually what? I wouldn''t call it a nightmare, it wasn''t scary. Just... weird." I mused on the dream as I did what I could to get ready. Checking the time had revealed I''d awoken with a good amount of time before the first class of this second day. Once I realized where and what year it was, that is. How considerate of the incomprehensible elder shadow being.


    "The falling bit. I''m thinking that was the elemental planes, maybe?" I narrated my thoughts aloud as I roughly combed through my hair, standing before the generously provided mirror in the private bathroom. Note: Hands really suck for untangling luxurious locks, bring a brush next time."But why? That was most of it, so it feels important. How though... Eh, future problem. Like this mess. Ugh." I tossed the minorly-more-presentable mass over my shoulders in defeat. "I hope this isn''t the beginning of a trend. Ominous dreams should stay a rare occurence, in my opinion. Very rare, preferably." A pause, as a thought occurred to me.


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    "I''m oddly undisturbed by this, aren''t I?" I looked up at my reflection and blinked. "You''d think one would be more concerned but... I''m just not. Something messed with my head and I don''t care. Why don''t I care? I mean, I''m annoyed, but you''d think there''d be more." My head tilted slightly. A habit I hadn''t managed to break despite numerous criticisms. "Actually, have I ever reacted to things like that? Things that I should definitely be disturbed by, I mean." I looked back, searching my memories for any such moments, and I found... none.


    "Uh... there was that time the neighbor died? No, I didn''t really care then either. I didn''t even go to the funeral. I know it''s sad but... I can''t bring myself to really care about it. Then again, we weren''t very close anyway. Friendly, sure, but not much else. What''s a better example..." I scratched at my face in thought. "I can''t even think of anything. That could mean it isn''t an issue. Or that it''s such a problem I don''t even care enough to remember. Am I a psychopath? Sociopath? One of those. I should read up on that." Deeply, I stared into my own eyes. "Huh. It would make sense, I guess. What with..." The sentence trailed off as I gestured vaguely.


    "That would actually explain quite a bit now that I think about it. Well, not much to do about it now. Actually, do I even need to do something about it? I haven''t had an issue so far. Well... No, there are definitely issues. I can see where empathy probably would have made my life eaiser. Does it warrant intervention though?" I chewed my lip lightly and stared into the distance as I considered it. "No, I don''t think so. Not yet, at least."


    The eye vibrated droningly, and the Commune Skill shivered. I gave the pendant a strong stink-eye and buried the Skill behind an irrelevant thought.


    My wandering view caught a tiny symbol placed beneath the mirror. A small, black circle on the off-white wall, contained within a slightly less small circle and connected by short spiraling lines. (Twelve, if you must know, I''d counted them before, out of boredom and interest.) With great joy and expectation, and much willful ignoring of how long it''d taken me to notice it, I pressed my index finger to the surface. There was a slight, brief tugging on my mana. Nothing consequential, a mere fraction of a fraction, nigh unnoticeable.


    To my delight, after a short pause, two very different yet similar objects appeared with a faint popping. Brushes, the both of them. One for hair, quickly put to use. Another for the teeth, irrelevant, as I was sensible enough to bring something for that myself, shoved into a back pocket with a tube of paste for the sole bones that we deemed fit to be cleaned. At least, pre-mortem. Touching the thing again banished the tools to wherever they presumably came from. Regardless of where they were, I tested by throwing one of them out the door and watching its vanishing.


    After my mane was sufficiently ordered, I threw myself quickly through the bare-bones provided shower, complete with cheap soaps and lacking in hair conditioner. So there was a limit to their funds after all! I grumbled a bit through the conflicting smug satisfaction and mournful despair at the prospect. Once cleaned and dried, I donned my coat -the armored one. Only slightly for the aesthetic factor. Mostly because I didn''t know if protection would be provided for the impending delve into the dangerous, monster-infested, trap filled hole in the ground. Also called a dungeon. But at least if I perished, I''d die stylishly.


    And then I was off to the races. The races being, hopefully, my first real lesson in the blackest of magics. Which was weird, now that I thought about it. Why was it called black magic? Very odd color association, that. If anything, I''d expect ''black'' to be a subdivision of darkness or shadow. Maybe void related stuff, if we were considering conceptual nonsense. Though, in my admittedly limited experience, that tended more toward grey, or abstract absences.


    Anyway.


    I made my way with great haste to the place of learning. This time, I took a seat near the very top of the circular room. An old-fashioned rotating whiteboard had been set up on the central platform, and seemed to be oriented just right now matter how I moved my head. Before sitting, I''d tried inconspicuously walking around the room to get a view of the back, under pretence of finding a place to sit. But, to no avail. Every angle showed the same black square with a little white diagram on it. Thankfully, I looked to have arrived early enough that nobody -besides one pointedly ignoring human- was around to witness my not-so-subtle embarrassment.


    The image on the board showed, in what looked to be regular chalk, a somewhat crudely drawn stick figure with an arm extended, viewed from multiple angles. Projecting from the palm was a rough construction of spiraling lines forming a vague, jagged and hook-like shape. The vagueness could have been a result of intentional design, or a simple lack of drawing skills. I really couldn''t tell.


    I browsed tangentially related online pages for a few minutes, as others gradually filtered into the room. Though frustratingly little was available on the subject. What little there was, was locked behind subscription services or registration forms that were almost surely scams.


    Eventually though, the instructor arrived. The air was split by the tolling bell, and the walls cast in writhing red-tinted darkness for but a moment. There was a hot breath on the back my neck and the sickly sweet scent of iron in my nose. A long fingered, pale and clawed hand wrapped around the edge of the board. The brief shriek of literal nails on chalkboard stabbed violently into my ears, despite the hands hastily slapped over them.


    "Apologies." Wen -a ridiculous name really, even if it fit with the ''characters'' of the environment- winced as he came around the corner, claws receding. "I wasn''t considering the racket that would produce. Hello and welcome, all." He wore the same ratty and somewhat tattered suit as yesterday, or at least an identical copy. His hair was still visibly shiny and greasy, and the rather imposing antlers looked especially sharp when viewed from a higher angle. The intimidation was slightly put off by the tiny red ribbon tied around one prong, which he either hadn''t noticed or didn''t care about.


    Anyway. On with the learning.

 I Shall Return.

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    Porta laoreet laoreet neque posuere vestibulum nunc mattis. Volutpat dis cras bibendum consectetur diam vitae nam pellentesque rutrum. Tortor volutpat conubia ad a tempus urna. Interdum etiam donec ad metus erat, curae curabitur mauris. Hac vitae fringilla consectetur conubia maecenas. Volutpat nisl aliquam praesent justo placerat litora euismod. Sagittis consectetur id maecenas sed scelerisque justo nullam. Eu finibus ad litora dolor, taciti rhoncus. Sem mauris fames massa mus eleifend.


    Vitae vestibulum lobortis accumsan felis sit. Pellentesque imperdiet sollicitudin hac morbi diam ante nisl venenatis. Mollis et viverra commodo praesent scelerisque augue finibus. Lacus euismod vehicula odio montes inceptos pharetra. Vel mi natoque, curae urna habitant senectus. Quis neque leo purus mauris quisque erat cras. Consectetur aliquam tristique, lacus vestibulum tempus ad mollis? Eros ultricies praesent montes per arcu lacinia suscipit. Ex mi per himenaeos, tempus nunc lectus.


    Ut fusce non erat molestie nisl potenti turpis. Feugiat turpis natoque inceptos rhoncus nibh pellentesque nascetur nisl! Id montes ridiculus aliquet; tempus pharetra auctor sem. Montes ac fusce dapibus parturient erat. Dui conubia erat volutpat habitasse vivamus semper class proin. Ligula ultrices venenatis neque efficitur morbi feugiat. Vehicula vitae magna ac fames hendrerit nisl ultricies proin. Fermentum interdum blandit interdum felis, pulvinar euismod pharetra tellus. Inceptos phasellus felis ipsum ultricies erat montes cursus. Praesent ridiculus condimentum penatibus quisque malesuada class, curabitur neque.


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    Tempor parturient primis et eros fringilla. Et feugiat sapien curae dolor tempus potenti adipiscing. Curabitur tempor egestas habitant ex velit ac. Eros ornare pellentesque tempus quis elementum inceptos. Aenean porttitor aliquet felis magnis orci sagittis. Ullamcorper inceptos turpis risus id sem aliquam pulvinar fermentum eleifend. Dignissim diam eros condimentum ullamcorper ultricies. Blandit vitae sociosqu curae litora placerat dictumst. Purus tincidunt eleifend augue aliquam lobortis.


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    Vitae lacus parturient sed mi placerat amet dignissim. Mus integer cursus nisi dolor velit lobortis. Phasellus dapibus ex placerat faucibus morbi aliquet dictumst. Finibus tristique pharetra purus mus sed quisque, placerat lectus. Morbi tincidunt nam phasellus id libero primis inceptos. Faucibus orci magna morbi habitant tortor mi dis turpis. Ex lorem felis dui consectetur proin magnis augue. Faucibus senectus integer elementum auctor vel pharetra vivamus mattis. Maecenas elementum nostra finibus maecenas rhoncus class libero facilisis? Convallis cursus blandit suscipit tincidunt, proin eleifend aenean tincidunt.


    Proin habitasse conubia dapibus metus phasellus semper habitasse. Consequat congue pretium blandit ipsum velit dignissim? Porttitor ad ut facilisi vestibulum imperdiet habitasse magna commodo. Torquent lacinia primis mollis scelerisque volutpat metus sed litora. Eget lobortis est cras et ipsum pulvinar nascetur risus velit. Lacus congue venenatis tortor bibendum suspendisse pulvinar eget. Proin sagittis aliquet volutpat, odio blandit litora commodo quisque.


    Elementum euismod pellentesque pellentesque; habitant malesuada gravida condimentum? Cubilia commodo aptent nunc penatibus blandit at sapien et eget! Ex habitant quam integer vitae morbi. In nunc ipsum mauris vehicula ac suscipit. Aenean sociosqu commodo curabitur faucibus nisi mollis pulvinar nostra. Mi risus sit aliquam per; cursus commodo adipiscing suscipit erat. Eu morbi dolor inceptos senectus neque arcu dis mus.

 Chapter Seventeen

    I wondered idly how the instructor managed to get a shirt on, what with the rather sizable protrusions from his skull. And also how much they weighed. Did they get caught on things? Did he shed them seasonally? I shelved the line of questioning for later when he continued speaking.


    ¡°Let¡¯s not waste any time then!¡± he said without preamble. His voice was cheerful in tone, almost bubbly, but more manic as it carried effortlessly through the room. A sharp contrast when combined with its medium-deep, growling, and almost rattling sound. As if his chest was hollow, in a way that didn''t make much sense if you thought about it, but was undoubtedly the impression given. ¡°So. Welcome back to Black Magic 101." A short chuckle, which I myself only barely suppressed. "I hope that you remember at least some of what I said yesterday?" Here he cast his gaze visibly about. When nobody seemed forthcoming, even wilting from his attention, -myself most certainly not included, of course- he sighed briefly. His eyes narrowed shrewdly and his face scrunched as he considered the mass of uncomfortably shifting students.


    Suddenly, an arm snapped out to the side, one long finger pointed unwaveringly at a rather minuscule orcen student. Small for his people, that is, being that his arms -biceps? triceps? I never could tell which was which- were only almost as large as my head. The only one present actually. Oddly, now that I looked, the class seemed almost entirely composed of elves, with only a smattering of others. I wondered why?


    "You!" The voice scattered my train of thought, accusatory and suddenly aggressive. "What is the definition of Black Magic?"


    The student in question shivered, shoulders hunching as he visibly wilted. It seemed a bit excessive of a reaction to me. Sure, the man -if indeed that was what he was, I wasn''t quite sure- was unsettling, but I didn''t think it warranted such fear and terror. A supernatural source perhaps? Most likely, I thought.


    "It''s..." the orc -I really needed better ways to refer to people whose names I didn''t know- hesitated, eyes dilated heavily and darting wildly in apparent terror. His voice, a gruff and slightly gravelly thing, wavered. "Uh... Li-Lingering magic? Curses?"


    Wen''s brow furrowed in confusion. "Well, you''re right, if simplisticly, but why are you so..." he leaned in, squinting at the poor soul, whose already pallid grey flesh grew a shade... darker? Eh, probably just a quirk of physiology. The jagged crown of antlers loomed over him like a forest of thorns, casting twisted shadow across the student and wall behind him. Which didn''t make sense, given the overhead position of the light. Sudden realization bloomed across Wen''s face, followed by a scoff and brief muttering.


    "Right. Right, forgot about that..." As he trailed off, I caught something about ''weak minds'' and ''making adjustments.'' He closed his eyes and squinted for a moment before opening them and looking about the room, smiling widely. Which clearly displayed the long fangs of his upper jaw. "How''s that? Tolerable?" I wasn''t fortunate enough to catch the gaze directly myself, but there was considerably less shivering as he turned about. "Good! Sorry, I haven''t had to worry about that for... a while, actually. Now where was I?" An extended pause. "Right! The basics."


    "So! You were right. Black Magic, or curses, consist of any effect which is negative to the subject and lasts for a long while. I already told you that yesterday. We''ll go over it in detail today. But first! I have something else to say." He ceased his pacing and stood directly in front of his chalkboard, folding his hands and sighing. Clearing his throat, he spoke in a grave tone, "I am bound to tell you this. Hear and listen. I will not repeat.


    "Black Magic is, instrically, harmful. By its nature it is, without fail, a horrible thing, a curse. All uses, all applications of it are shaped by this. It is, conceptually, aggressive and fundamentally impossible to use in any way that will not bring pain and suffering, minor or major." He lifted his head and stared directly into the eyes of every student. His rectangular pupils met my round, and I froze as a cold hand seized my spine. "If this is not what you wish to be taught, leave. If you do not want to bear that weight, stand now, and go. Choose another course. You will not have another chance to do so after this."


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    I thought hard, considering. Did I want to learn something which could only possibly hurt people? To take on the responsibility of that power? Did I trust myself not to misuse it? It was a deep decision, I think, but a quick one in the end, and not particularly difficult. Being that yes, I did. Was there a chance that the path could lead somewhere bad? Surely. But when it came down to it, it''d be entirely my fault if that were to happen. And such was the case with all power anyway, so why forsake one source over another? Intentional misuse... that was also a possibility, of course, I wasn''t perfect, -not entirely- but again, such was the case. It was admittedly more of a case here though. But I didn''t foresee myself intentionally bringing misfortune onto another unless there was a significant drive. There was simply nothing I stood to gain from misery. At least currently. Also, what with the nature of my power and path, I''d have already been needed to exercise such control anyway.


    In the end, though some appeared to waver on their decisions, most shrugged it off, and nobody left. Not a single individual stood from their seat. After a bit of waiting, Wen nodded.


    "I didn''t expect any of you to go, really. Whether through coincidence, design, or consequence, those of the Warlock Class are not typically those of strict morality." That, I filed away for later. "With exceptions, of course. But I do have to check."


    "Ahem," he cleared his throat -again, and I wondered what was obstructing it so- and spoke in a slightly less serious voice. "Let''s get on with it then." My attention was drawn back inexplicably back toward the drawing board. Remember, the one with the wierd hook diagram thing? That one. "As you should know," he said, "while the minutiae of magic and Skills can be left to their functions, it is far more effective to execute them yourself. For curses, that starts with this.


    "This shape is known as a Curse Binding. Specifically, it is the basic universal attachment method of all unspecialized curses. It functions nigh identically for any element or magic type, and is the basis upon which the entirety of Black Magic is based. It functions as a method of adhering whatever magic you are working to the subject of the spell. It was first observed as the default mana structure used by System-operated affliction Skills, and was later added onto and adapted for specific uses. In the future, you will likely develop a personal binding that suits your energy specifically, but for now and the foreseeable timeframe, you''ll be using this." He paused again, as he seemed to have a thought.


    "Some of you," he looked pointedly at a few individuals, "may have already possessed knowledge of this kind. You might also be aware that the spread of such knowledge outside of a registered Academy is considered very illegal under decree of the Autarch."


    A beat of silence. I began to get the slight impression that Wen was perhaps not the most pre-planning individual.


    "The first unit of this course, as much as it is, will be focused on developing the skills -non-formalized- of mana projection and anchoring. The former of which being something that will be shared in nigh all of your magical courses. Seeing as it is the basis of any spell.


    "It follows, then, to get on with it."


    And on he got. To save you a bit of the lecturing, and the various charts and diagrams, he began with basic mana manipulation, which I had done just a bit of before, such as with my eye spell the first time. Anyway. There were meridians- favored paths mana liked to follow through the body, and which more efficiently conducted the energy. These were unique to the person, but tended to be generally similar. There were also gates, which were where mana entered and exited the body. These were always the same, and there were quite a few of them.


    The fingertips and that center-part of the upper back which had no name to my knowledge -the spot right between the shoulder blades- were gates. As well as the base of the neck and the eyes. Not to mention the soles and the tailbone. Apparently they each functioned slightly different, but that was more advanced than relevant. And all that just those for humans, the least magically inclined of the peoples. I did not care to remember the excessive amounts of the others. The elven diagram especially made me shudder with its complexity.


    It really was an interesting subject. The reasonings for the placements were unknown, or so we were told. I toyed with the idea, but didn''t see any reason to deceive on that front.


    Anyway, back to the person who actually knew what he was talking about.


    "We''ll begin with simple mana manipulation. Even at Level 1, each of you should have the requisite mental faculties to accomplish externalisation, barring deficiencies which I am not privy to.


    "This part is simple, and there isn''t much I can actually offer. Take your mana," he said, placing a finger on the center of his abdomen, "and draw it out off the core, along the path of least resistance." He traced a swirling path from his core up to his shoulder, then spiraled down the arm. "Once you reach the hand-gate, force the mana out. That''s it. Not that it''ll be easy. But it is simple. The objective of today is solely to expel mana from your body."


    Surely such a simple objective could not be so difficult?

 Chapter Eighteen

    It was, in fact, rather difficult.


    My forehead was beaded with sweat, and there was a dull, minor ache behind my eyes from how scrunched they were. The nerves along my arm and down into my sternum felt cold and scrambled. Like snow upturned with a shovel. Not cold in the way of temperature, but in the strange way of mana. Not that this was in any way as refreshing as my prior experience with the energy. Anyway. Apparently, the meridians of my body closely mirrored the nervous system. Which was interesting, but rather annoyingly uncomfortable. Portions of my body where I had strayed from the complex path felt raw, shallowly stabbed from the brief moments before the mana had slithered out of my grasp and back to its resting place. It wasn''t that bad, mostly just annoying. Mostly.


    I sighed and cracked an eyelid as Wen, who had taken to pacing the rows, drew near.


    "Don''t let the failures get to you. You''ll get it eventually!" He drawled. "Probably." I flicked a finger at him in a decidedly rude way, then closed my eye as I tuned him out. Once more I envisioned my mana. In the dark, it pooled before me, roiling, shifting purple. It fled my sight, dancing and wavering from focus. As a feathery strand arced up from the pool, I took it softly in my grasp. Exhaling, I expanded my awareness. My body came into focus as I gently coaxed the strand. It veritably raced from the core, flowing up my chest and then twisting down my right arm.


    This part, at least, wasn''t so hard. After a few tries, it was even easy, with a bit of focus.


    Pain. Well, mild discomfort, really. The tendril of writhing vapor clipped the edge of the channel in its haste, scattered and raced back to the origin. I grit my teeth at the sting and inhaled through my nose. Flicked my arm futilely to disperse the pain. Clearing my mind, I focused on the end point. I envisioned mana gathering at my fingers and imagined the chill flowing down my arm. Tried as hard as possible not to see the violet smoke twining around and between my bones.


    At last, it reached my fingertips. It was cold. In the way of that quiet, dark part of the night when nobody was awake, but you yet felt that you weren''t alone. When you walked through your house with your hands clutched to your chest. In that way your spine tingles when the wind sighs just so and the trees are still. The moment where you freeze, the hair raising on the back of your neck and your heart going still when you hear a sound in the black. Purple glow lit the tips of my fingers, splitting and branching like veins down to their bases. My mana pool -all twenty-eight points of it- slowly depleted as the energy was expended.


    And that was the easy part done.


    I breathed deep and slowly raised my hand, holding it palm-up before me. My eyes bored into someone across the room. Nobody I knew, of course, but I''d found the approach helped, visualizing. Encouraged the power with something it already wanted to do. I imagined slithering tendrils of vapor, snaking out, reaching for the unware mind. Wrapping around it, slipping in through the seams and worming throughout and between thoughts.


    This went on for a while. I tried not to think of anything distracting, which of course made me more distracted. Idly, I recalled and wondered at how easy it had been to learn and cast Seek Through Shadows, compared to the difficulty of this. Something to do with the nature of the energy, perhaps. Or a fluke. Also questioned was why they had taken to teach me the spell yesterday, and only mentioned the meridians and what not today. I came to the conclusion that it was most likely simply a result of the particular schedule I had. Though it certainly could have been handled better. Come to think of it, wasn''t this relevant to Evocation as well?


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    I almost didn''t notice the tiny wisp of vapor that curled off my ring finger, before the glow guttered out. Only almost. And I certainly noticed the drained feeling as my mana pool bottomed out. I shuddered at the empty, hollow feeling. It didn''t last long, my regeneration enhanced by the dense mana that''d filled the room when the assignment began.


    "You shouldn''t be able to do that," the teacher said, standing beside me and gazing down.


    I blinked up at him, shaking off the lingering fatigue that clung to my mind from the complete depletion of mana. The air around me shimmered faintly, the classroom''s dense ambient energy already beginning to refill the empty void in my core.


    "Shouldn''t be able to do what, exactly?" I asked, flexing my fingers testingly for any lingering discomfort.


    Wen''s rectangular pupils narrowed as he tilted his head, the movement distinctly predatory. "That." He gestured vaguely at my hand. "You externalized your mana. It left your body."


    "Yes?" I frowned. "Is that not the point?" I was quite sure that was in fact what we were supposed to be doing.


    Wen let out a short, rasping bark of a laugh. "Sure. Eventually. But not the first time you try. Not the second, either. Most don''t manage to push mana past the skin barrier until at least, oh, the third day, unless they have prior training. Which is mostly impossible. These first few lessons are always terribly boring. You¡ª" He gestured at me again, seemingly curious and just a bit annoyed. "¡ªjust did it. Sloppy, weak, but it was definitely external. And I¡¯d bet heavily that you''ve already managed to cast an internal spell of some kind. That shouldn''t have happened."


    I frowned, running over the process again in my head. I didn''t feel as if I''d done anything particularly remarkable. I had followed the instructions, I thought. Directed the mana along the path of least resistance, drawn it up and out, and then... what? Imagined it moving? It was quite hard to not imagine something acting when trying to make it do so. Nothing had felt particularly easy. Was it supposed to be harder than this? It was challenging, sure, on a matter of focus, but nothing impossible.


    "Maybe you were just a really good teacher," I offered dryly. Then I thought for a moment. "Though, I suppose that would also give credit to that other guy..." I trailed off, having momentarily forgotten the name of the individual who instructed the shadowy magics.


    Wen snorted, the sound sharp and amused. "I''m an excellent teacher, but that doesn''t account for this." His eyes gleamed with something that was both interest and also something else. "Tell me, out of curiosity. How does it feel? The mana."


    I considered, rubbing a hand along my chin. Leaned back in my seated position. "Cold. A bit hostile, but not to me. It wants to... manipulate. Degrade. Tell people things and take from them. It doesnt like being seen or known about. It likes to hide in corners and on walls. Behind someone''s shoulder while it breathes in their ear. It''s... slippery to hold, like smoke or maybe steam. Moves like a worm or maybe a snake. Centipede also feels right. It''s not smooth, definitely has a prickly, crawly quality." I paused for a momet. "That''s really all I can say about it at the moment."


    "Hmm." He pursed his lips and gazed off into the middle distance. "I don''t suppose that tells me anything. How odd. Well, I... don''t have a lesson plan for this, that would work for just one person. I suppose I was going to let you out early anyway, what with the Dungeon run being next period.


    "Ah," he shrugged. "You may go. Prepare how you will and what. I don''t see much point to you staying here any more. I suppose you can practice more, but frankly I don''t see a point, to pardon the repetition."


    ------


    I did stay for a little bit more, mostly just to refill my energy. I expelled a little bit more, and it was slightly easier. I could do it within maybe half a minute by the time I deemed it satisfactory.


    After that, being possessed of no particular reason to remain, and quite honestly simply bored of the repetitive practice, I left. With a short time before the next period, allowing for getting there a bit earlier, I jaunted back to my dorm. Mostly to check if my weaponry was there. It wasn''t.


    I sighed dramatically, throwing a hand up to my forehead in an expression of woe. All accounted for or unimportant, and trying not to get distracted, I set off again for what was probably the most dangerous period of the day. Hopefully.


    "I''m off to run the dungeon," I sang quietly to myself as I walked. "The... wonderful dungeon of... hmph. There''s no way to end that satisfactorily. More things should be lyrical. Everything is better when you can sing it, I think."

 Chapter Nineteen

    I once again questioned the taste of the Academy''s interior designer. The over-fascination with matt colors was beginning to bug me. This particular case more so than others, the white being uniquely, offensively bright to my eyes.


    I stood once again in the white void that served as the classroom for Dungeon 101. This time, I stood with other people. People I had stood with before, in fact. And people I would likely be standing with quite a lot in the future.


    A popping sound escaped my lips as I swung my arms idly. A few seconds passed, and another pop came. From someone else. The elf, Savhyt. The one with ice sword. Another pause, and... nothing. I looked at Savhyt. He looked at me. We looked at the others. Asta''s mask was unreadable. Zarah looked bored. James didn''t seem to be paying attention.


    A few moments passed in silence, punctuated only by the occasional shifting of weight, the rustle of fabric, and the steady, almost mechanical sound of breathing. No one spoke. It wasn¡¯t quite an awkward silence, but it was certainly a waiting one.


    Savhyt rolled his shoulders, his armor shifting slightly with the movement. He didn''t say anything, but the pointed look he shot at me made it very clear he was waiting for something.


    I raised a brow. "What?"


    "You started it," he said simply, deadpan.


    That was fair. I had, in fact, started it.


    I rolled my shoulders again for good measure, listening to the satisfying crackle of joints settling into place. Savhyt did the same, and for a brief, bizarre moment, it felt like some unspoken contest. I was about to take it up a notch when something rudely interrupted.


    Said something being the sudden and unappreciated materialization of one Ms. Valen. Mrs? Miss? One of those. You get the point. Anyway, the brick wall of a woman''s unexpected appearance rather stifled any entertaining antics.


    "Students," she said, in her monotone voice. She paused for a moment, and it wasn''t as I expected. The slightest bit of emotion flickered over her face. Annoyance. Gone in a moment. She let out a short sigh, more an extended breath than anything.


    "Today is the day on which you will enter your first Dungeon. That would not normally be today. You would be given much more time to prepare. However, issues arose in the availability of the Academy''s regularly reserved Dungeon, resulting in this deviation from the proper schedule. What this means, in effect, is that you are entering with significantly less preparation and education than you normally would."


    I narrowed my eyes, pursed my lips, but said nothing.


    "None of you should perish, save for of extreme incompetence. That said, there will be no lifeline to save you. Be fully aware that it is at all moments life and death. Are there any questions that you would ask beforehand?"


    I considered for a moment, then shrugged. The thought did suddenly occur to me, though, that it might be beneficial to take a look at my own status.


    Allister Rose


    Human


    Warlock


    Patron: The Whispering Dark


    Age 16


    Level 1


    Experience: 60/100


    Favor: 100/100


    Strength: 10


    Intelligence: 11


    Mana: 28


    Agility: 10


    Will: 12


    Endurance: 10


    Dexterity: 10


    Skills: Inspect (Racial skill), Commune (Class skill), Evocation (Class skill), Walk in the Shadows, Feast of Terror, Whisper of Insanity, Seek Through Shadow, Basic Scepter Proficiency


    I noticed the Favor requirement had filled. Which was slightly surprising. And slightly unnerving. The Experience was half'' the way there, which was nice. I could forsee the Skills section getting unruly in the future, so I fiddled with it, metaphorically poking it until it minimized. It was an intuitive thing.


    It didn''t seem that anyone did have any questions. Which in fact seemed to rather disappoint Valen, if anything. Not visibly, but there was a sort of air of emotion about her. An aura, almost, that portrayed the things that''d normally be shown on a face.


    "Take note that, in the future, it is recommended you attempt to aquire as much information as possible before you enter a Dungeon. You will rarely do so spontaneously, and there is most often no detriment to taking the time to prepare."


    Ah, yes, that would have been the smart thing to do. I winced. Oops.


    Valen raised a hand in the air. Held it flat, vertically, and rotated it like a key in a lock. There was a... shuddering, for lack of a better term. A doorway, like that of this room, appeared on one of the walls. Though, it was different in the flat sheet of shockingly blue light at the other end. That part was quite the notable difference. Along another wall, various racks of weaponry and stands of armor appeared. Similar to the ones that had been present for yesterday''s Combat class.


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    "The Dungeon you will enter is one that has been rated as suitable for delvers such as yourselves. That is to say, it is of a comparatively low quality, with challenge and rewards as such. You will be provided with a basic map, and are to exit after completing the first floor. After one hour has passed, any who have not re-emerged will be extracted, if they have not perished.


    "Those of you who require such items should take their pick from the provided armory. It is suggested you organize yourself with a group of no more than five. You will not be able to enter with more than this number. Any rewards earned from this delve will be collected afterwords. Please proceed to prepare yourselves."


    There didn''t seem to be any more to say, so I held up a finger to my own group -in the universal sign of ''one second,'' not in the rude way- strode over to the armory, and plucked a scepter from the rack. Mission completed, I pivoted and returned to my starting point. The only other who had left was, coincidentally, the other human. He''d come back having donned a set of light chainmail that clinked slightly. A large-ish axe was sling over his back. Single-bladed, roughly the width of my hand, spread.


    I looked at them. They looked at me. We looked at each other. It was awkward again. James sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.


    "This is going to be a process," I said, in a matter-of-fact tone.


    "Yeah." He voiced his agreement.


    Savhyt groaned and rolled his head dramatically, drumming his fingers rapidly on the hilt of his sword.


    "This isn''t going to work. I need a topic. Hmm..." His voice was fast, and clipped. As if he tried to get through each sound as fast as possible.


    "You!" He dragged out the word, then snapped out a finger to Zarah. She seemed to me as disinterested as humanly -orcishly?- possible. I wondered why she was here. Well, no, not not really. Likely the same reasons I was, mostly. "What can you do? For the Dungeon. Oh, I know! Share your status." A pause. "If you don''t mind, of course."


    She grunted. Then she waved a grey hand through the air, as if poking at something. Soon after, she swiped, and a panel swiveled into my view.


    Zarah


    Orc


    Warlock


    Patron: The Mountain That Falls And Breaking Earth


    Age: 14


    Level 2


    Experience: 0/200


    Favor: 0/100


    Strength: 20


    Intelligence: 10


    Mana: 25


    Agility: 10


    Will: 14


    Endurance: 10


    Dexterity: 10


    Skills: Danger Rush, Commune, Evocation, Mountain Shell, Crashing Stone, Earthbreak, Unarmed Combat Proficiency


    I frowned. Looked at her. Back at the screen. Frowned harder. Here she was, younger than me, and daring to be a higher level?! And not only that, but fully twice my strength score? Also, fourteen? She certainly didn''t look it. Did orcs mature faster? Well, it must be so, seeing as she''s Classed and here.


    Anyway, an assessment of the team proceeded. Zarah was a heavy brawler, up front and punching and kicking and such. Apparently, her fighting style was focused on momentum and impacts, in line with her Patron. Which was all about crashing earth, landslides, earthquakes and things of that nature.


    Savhyt


    Elf


    Warlock


    Patron: Red Run The Waters, Teeth in The Depths


    Age: 30


    Level 1


    Experience: 90/100


    Favor: 50/100


    Strength: 10


    Intelligence: 11


    Mana: 28


    Agility: 15


    Will: 22


    Endurance: 9


    Dexterity: 12


    Skills: Mana Affinity, Commune, Evocation, Stream Blade, Bloodletting, Water Glide, Elven Mana Weaving, Elven Swordsmanship, Rapid Movement


    At this point I was barely holding myself back from sputtering. Just barely. Thirty! Near twice my age! Though, that was less inconceivable, considering what I''d heard about their lifespans. It made some sense.


    What made no sense were the sheer stats. The same level as me! And yet, these monstrous numbers in comparison! I began to heavily question who or whatever it was that was in charge, and whether or not they were secretly an elf.


    "Excuse me," I interrupted. "Is this..." I gestured at the screen, "normal? The stat numbers, I mean. I started with just 10 in everything. But accounting for the Warlock bonuses, you''d have had... double that, in Will? And bonuses in Agility and Dexterity, too."


    "Oh," He said, deflating from his fast pace. "Yes? As far as I know, that''s the default for an elf. Oh!" His face lit back up as his previous speed returned. "Yes, I remember now. I believe the reasoning is that it''s due to elven lifespans. Because it''s so much... more than most others. Because we live so much longer, we progress slower than, say, humans. And to compensate for that, there''s a bonus in stats at the lower levels. All this hypothetical, of course."


    Hmm. I supposed it made some sense. Still ridiculous though. Moving along. As you might have gathered, he was a swordsman. And he was fast. He sword-ed things very quickly. That mostly it, at least for now.


    Asta decline to share, but assured they were some sort of sneaky stabby type, the kind to creep up behind someone and put a knife where they''d rather not have it. In other language.


    I shared mine and... well, you know what mine looks like. Other than me, there was the other human -at least, other definite human- present. Who I could relate to, on account of making some degree of sense. Mostly.


    James


    Human


    Warlock


    Patron: That Which Dwells The Void


    Age: 16


    Level 1


    Experience: 60/100


    Favor: 70/100


    Strength: 10


    Intelligence: 11


    Mana: NULL


    Agility: 10


    Will: 12


    Endruance 10


    Dexterity: 10


    Skills: Inspect, Commune, Evocation, Step, Tear, Consume, Basic Greataxe Proficiency


    There was a bit of oddness, but it was normal oddness, apparently. One couldn''t draw mana from a place that had none. As he himself put it:


    "The void things... aren''t, and they don''t. They''re from a place that isn''t. Where time wasn''t and won''t."


    I won''t pretend to get it. Simple to say, it was supposedly nothing out of the ordinary. Besides the weirdness of the whole situation of course.


    He was also a frontline fighter. Which I noticed we had quite a lot of. Slower than Savhyt, but... well, also slower than Zarah, but in a different way. There wasn''t really much to say about any of us, actually. One hit things hard. One hit things fast. One hit things sneakily. One hit things... mentally? The scheme fell apart, but you understand.


    That all dealt with, and a basic strategy cobbled together, -mostly consisting of ''try to not perish''- we lined up in no particular order and marched our way over to the exit.


    Happening to be first in the line, I snatched a map from a stack atop a pedestal sat near the gate and stepped into the archway.


    Blue light surged, then faded. I was in a room. The walls and cieling were stone. The floor was bright green grass. There was no discernable light source, but the whole place was bright as day. Across the space from where we entered, perhaps some fifteen steps, was an arch set into the wall. It was also simple stone, with no decoration save for the roses whose stems coiled through the bricks, their blooms adorning it in a thick red carpet.


    I clenched my fist. Gritted my teeth. Slowly exhaled through my nose.


    "Oh, Fu-"