211 (II)

Campus [II]

A jet of blood spewed free between his fingers and painted Irons’s chestplate. The Deathless rasped as he found himself writhing on the ground, surrounded by concerned faces. He was still wearing the guise of Marcus Unblood, but the wound inflicted upon him ran deeper than his semblance.

Embedded in his throat was a frozen needle pressed against the vertebrae of his neck. A stinging pain radiated out from the injury, and Shiv was startled by both Andra’s throw and his own Toughness. She had pierced his baseline Toughness with ease, but he was still durable enough that her spear was lodged against his bone rather than ripping all the way through.

“Marcus,” Irons said, his brows furrowed but his voice even. Damn, was the man self-controlled. He even used Shiv’s cover name without slipping up. “What just happened? Where did the shot come from? Point!”

Shiv tried to speak, but found it a bit difficult on account of the length of ice stuck inside his trachea. As he reached up to grab the javelin, he felt the Cyromancy within it swell and rupture. Shiv’s eyes widened.

The javelin exploded. Shiv halted time. Everything came to a standstill as he sat up and channeled his Shapeless Tides into the expanding blast. His Leviathan of the Shapeless Tides warred against whatever Cryomancy Skill the Jotun had as he flung himself high up into the air. He felt the mana with the javelin seep into his body, trying to infect his flesh—and his other Magical Fields.

Strider of the Unbending Path 160 > 161

Shiv’s eyes widened as he felt the freezing mana slip over into his Psychomancy field first before spreading to the others.

But that was only the beginning.

Soon his thoughts slowed, and even his Vitae congealed within his soul. The Jotun’s frost magic froze everything, with a heavy emphasis on everything. He directed his vectors against the sides of the javelin, and the struggle continued. Even his temporal shell developed a coat of frost, and time dragged against him, ripping pieces free from his body.

In the distance, there came a massive wave of counter-Chronomancy. Shiv tried to sigh, but only managed to blow a bloody bubble out from the gaping wound lining his throat. Of course, there would be temporal wards here, probably spatial wards as well. This was an academy. He didn’t have long before it struck him, and considering how large it was—seeming like a tidal wave a hundred meters high—if he let that welling ward strike him, his temporal shell would shatter instantaneously. He also didn’t have enough Shapeless Tides to contend with both the ward and the javelin, so he focused on the latter.

His muscles tightened, his tendons burned. Shiv’s head felt light from the sheer amount of blood he was losing. A waterfall of red splashed down his chest, coating the robes given to him by the priests back at the morgue. He snarled internally as cracks spread along the javelin. He put in more effort, twisting even harder. The warding rumbled as it drew closer, and he could feel the trembling presence of all the Chronomancy stored within that coming wave. It rumbled next to his ear like a looming avalanche.

Fuck me, does the Republic have a hell of a lot of power. That’s the biggest Temporal warding I’ve ever seen. Bigger than even in the prison. The hells?

“Break!” Shiv all but begged, and with a final surge of effort, the javelin shattered between his hands. An explosion of frost burst out, but Shiv clutched it tight to his chest. It raged against him, trying to freeze him, but where the javelin was focused and piercing, this was wild power, tumbling in every direction. Shiv managed to wrestle it into submission, dissipating it bit by bit until it finally came asunder between his fingers.

The broken remnants of spellstuff untangled from his body, and Shiv watched as fading shapes dissolved into the air. But just then, he had other matters to worry about, namely the huge wall of gold that was less than five meters away.

Shiv spiked himself straight down. He impacted the ground with a wicked thud, and the pavement beneath him fractured into the shape of a spider web. Shiv winced but didn’t get a chance to try fixing it as the ward crashed over him. True to his expectations, he felt a wrenching sensation as his temporal shell was sheared free from his body.

Time resumed. The Deathless coughed and gagged. He gripped at his throat and wrapped a mana hydra around it. The wound was crystallized in an instant, and his blood, his magical skills, his thoughts, and his soul resumed their previous fluidity. But he could still feel it, that infectious stasis, that hungering frost. The damned Jotun was a Legendary-Tier adversary, alright, and her skills were weirder than most.

“Marcus!” Irons called out again. Shiv realized he was lying on his side now. He turned over on his chest, and several students cried out in alarm. He looked like a bloody mess. Worse yet, he was drawing far too much attention to himself. This wasn’t how he wanted to start his time at Phoenix Academy.

“I’m fine,” Shiv managed to choke out. He coughed flecks of dry blood from his throat, and chunks of shredded flesh flew free as well. He spat it on the grass nearby, and some of the students who came to help him gagged at the visceral sight. “I’m fine,” he repeated.

He forced himself to his feet, his mind whirling. He whipped his head around and managed to locate Miriam Hall. He’d been heading there alongside Irons before the vision triggered, and now he understood why. A nasty surprise was nested deep inside the building, one that the students and faculty likely didn’t know about either. Considering the rusted and dust-covered state of the teleportation anchor, Shiv wondered if it should have been removed at some point but forgotten about.

“Brother, you need to go see a Biomancer!” a leather-armored student said. His blue eyes were wide as saucers, and he kept his distance from Shiv. The student’s fingers were curled, and he was clearly at a loss as to what to do.

“I’m fine,” Shiv reiterated, waving him off. “I just—” And then Shiv’s identity caught back up to him. He wasn’t supposed to be himself at this moment; he was supposed to be Marcus Unblood. He grunted uncomfortably and took in the many terrified and pale faces staring at him. There were a lot of humans and automata, some goblins, a few elves, and—he did a triple-take at what appeared to be a rat wearing a Phoenix Academy robe and with a magic staff strapped to its back looking up at him not too far away.

He shook off his momentary stupor and focused on his current issue. Well, he thought, might as well play up my healing capabilities.

“Old injury,” he choked out awkwardly. “There was an abscess in my throat, and I popped it when I fell. Don’t worry. I’ll—clean it up.” He looked down at his chest and knew his words were bullshit. The amount of blood that had spilled out of him was staggering. A faint feeling of weakness lined his every sinew as well.

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He felt a Biomancy field wash over his body and nearly ripped it apart on reflex. “Let me take a look,” a girl’s voice said. Shiv turned to find where the Biomancer was, only to look down again and realize the girl in question was the rat he’d seen just a moment ago. His mind went blank again as the rodent channeled her mana at him using her toothpick-sized staff. Though she unleashed waves of Biomancy, Shiv’s Shapeless Tides proved to be an impenetrable threshold.

“I don’t understand how—” Her words were interrupted as Irons hooked Shiv’s left arm and began pulling him away.

“Clear out, clear out!” the captain declared aloud. There was no fear in his voice, simply a sense of authority and urgency. “Don’t mingle your mana with his, either. The student has a Curse. It triggers at inopportune times and can spread his abscesses to you. Keep your distance.” And suddenly, all the people who’d come over to help were backing away. Concern on their faces lingered, but some of it was self-directed now, as well.

“A Curse?” someone called out.

“It’s infectious, and it will shred your mana field,” Irons declared. The captain’s bullshit was better bullshit than Shiv’s. He needed to get better at making stuff up fast for his false identities.

As they hobbled away, Irons leaned in and hissed, “What just happened?”

“Non-Sequitur decided to dump a vision on me,” Shiv replied. “Got fucked after that.”

“What?”

“It’s a Foreshadowing Skill Evolution.”

Irons did a double-take. “You have a Foreshadowing Skill?”

“Well, technically, it wasn’t mine. I got it from Rose.” The man’s befuddlement only grew, but Shiv didn’t have time to explain. “We got bigger problems. There’s a group of High-Tier convicts who just broke through the Prismatic Guard containment zone on campus.”

Suddenly, the captain went stiff. All pretenses left him. He seized Shiv by his shoulders and held him still. “Where?”

“They’re inside Miriam Hall. Is there some kind of reserve emergency teleportation anchor or something in there?”

Irons’s eyes narrowed. “It’s old. Left over from the time of the war. It should have gone dormant years ago.”

“Well, apparently, there’s still enough power inside it for a couple of prisoners to jump inside.” Just then, Shiv spontaneously connected a few dots as well. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered. “It probably still works because the Neath is keeping it juiced.”

Skill Gained: Deductive Reasoning (Initiate) 1

Irons’s expression turned into a near-grimace. “You know where it is?” Shiv asked.

“I believe so,” Irons said. “The old schematics…” Whatever else he was about to say was cut off as Shiv felt another vision tear through his mind. This time, however, the vision wasn’t happening naturally; it felt like the System was reaching for him, was being forced upon him.

Non-Sequitur:Andra will not be denied. She knows that you are here, and she will not wait for you to strike first. Across the fabric of stories, she alone holds the edge…

Shiv mustered his willpower and triggered his Non-Sequitur skill. He briefly tore out from his body, and the vision collapsed. This time, he didn’t take a javelin to the throat. He shook his head and grabbed Irons by the arm when he returned. He moved on reflex now, his mind blank, his body active. He rushed into the front doors of Miriam Hall and dragged the captain behind him.

“Good afternoon,” a well-dressed woman said. A whip of blonde hair flowed down her back, and her crystal chainmail was as luxurious, gaudy, and absurd-looking as it was choked with enchantments and overflowing mana. She held a stack of books close to her chest and gave the two of them a nod. “Why, you’re looking fine today, Captain Irons, and, oh, my Ascendants!” she gasped. She dropped some of the books when she saw Shiv’s blood-soaked clothes, but the Deathless ignored her.

Irons called over his shoulder as they stormed on. “He’s just suffering from a Curse. I’m going to find him some help.”

The woman hesitated. “But the hospital is—”

“It’s not a biological curse,” Irons explained. The woman’s mouth remained wide open, but there was little they could do about that. Shiv hoped this identity of his wasn’t burned, but things were already off to an ugly start, and it wasn’t his fault at all. The System was just determined to be a bastard.

The lobby of Miriam Hall was composed of two splitting sets of hallways, with a massive memorial wall at its front. The illustrations of countless Pathbearers dotted the memorial, titled the Hundred and Eight, for that was how many martyrs it took to hold Miriam Hall to the very end. The other dead didn’t get photos; instead, they dotted a trail of etchings and nothing more. A faint sensation of dread followed Shiv as he continued onward.

Irons led him down the left-most hall, and they promptly burst through a set of emergency doors. It was a good thing that evening was coming, for the insides of Miriam Hall were thinning out. Quick steps echoed above them, but they were going down. As they did, Shiv summoned the Last Morsel to his hand and carved bits of shadow away from every place he could see. After that, he shaped a small flame atop his hand as well.

“Alright, plan, plan,” Shiv muttered more to himself than Irons. “Shit. Need to figure out how I’m going to approach this without turning everything into a shitshow.”

“How many of them are there?” Irons asked.

“Four,” Shiv replied. “Two of them are Legends, not sure about the others. I think the bot’s a Hero. Pretty well-balanced team too. They got a Jump-Mage and something of a Shadow or Assassin-type Path. The one that struck me is something between a Vanguard and a Combat Mage, and the last one’s a Legendary Vanguard as well. Legendary Toughness. Don’t think his Physicality is as high, though.” Shiv offered what little information he had as he watched an ugly look crawl over Irons’s face.

“We need to notify the academy,” Irons growled. “And Headmaster Hymn especially.”

“What?” Shiv cried out. “And bring the Ascendants down on our heads?”

“Your head. We have two Legendary prisoners here. Understand that you are at risk of being discovered, but I will not risk the lives of my pupils for your self-interest.” Shiv wanted to argue with the man, but he didn’t have the time, and more importantly, he didn’t have a good angle of persuasion. Of course, Irons would be willing to do this. The danger was at his doorstep, and right now it was Shiv, him, and a few orcs against four extremely dangerous enemies.

“Listen, look, just give me a second, okay?” Shiv held onto him. The Captain tried to shrug him free, but Shiv wouldn’t let go. For the first time, Irons glared at Shiv, and despite all the tribulations and bloodshed he’d endured, a shiver still climbed up the Deathless’s back.

Psycho-Cartography: Don’t flinch. This is an Intimidation Skill too. It gets worse the more you react.

“Just a second,” Shiv growled through his discomfort. “Look, I think we can use this to our advantage.”

“Use what?”

“I don’t want the Ascendants to come here. I don’t want them to know where I am, and I’m willing to bet that these four don’t want that either. It took them a hell of a lot of effort to escape, and if they get discovered, they’re either getting executed or put straight back in another Rubix Well. It’s probably why they’re keeping quiet.”

“You intend to bluff them?” Irons asked, an edge of caution and disbelief in his voice.

“I’m intending to do whatever I can to stop the Ascendants from showing up,” Shiv said. “It’s probably why they haven’t just blasted their way out yet. That anchor’s pretty rusted, and even if it wasn’t, it might as well be made out of paper for a Legendary Vanguard. They’re planning just like we are. They came here to hide from Harlock, not to lure his shadows back in. You show me to the anchor, and then you go wait outside. Give me five minutes.”

“Five minutes?” Irons nearly hissed.

“Okay, fine. Shit, give me, uh, three. Three minutes. If I’m not back by then, go get help. But after that, Adam and I need to move. You understand? I’m not going back inside that prison, and I’ll be dead for good before I let the Ascendants take me again.” Shiv meant every word of that. A brief impasse developed between the two men, and Irons let out a growl of frustration before he folded.

“Three minutes,” the older man stressed. “And then I call down the hammer.”

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