Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School (91/?) WiP 1

Hey everyone! Here is the Work in Progress for Chapter 91 I hope you guys enjoy! :D

“Error: Unrecognized Command. Please specify—”

“Disable FROM-1 presets, EVI.” I interjected, my eyes narrowing towards the track in front of me, and the unrendered obstacles that stood in the way between here… and well… here. 

“Acknowledged. Alert! FROM-1 [FREE RANGE OF MOTION PRESET 1] disabled!”

“Reset default configs.”

“Resetting default configuration.”

[Alert! HP-MM Mode Default Presets restored.]

[Specify performance parameters.]

“Preset values? Smart Auto-Adjustment? Or manual value settings?” The EVI chimed in flawlessly, mirroring the system prep for the first marathon.

The considerations of the past competition were now completely out the window. 

This time there was no longer a need to pit muscle against muscle. 

And fairness would have to be tested in a completely different playing field.

It was the whimsical power of magic against the indomitable power of technology now. 

A test of the divergent fundamentals that forged two vastly different civilizations. 

“The training wheels are coming off.” I began, as the collapsible menu expanded into a whole slew of specialized activity-profiles visualized as a series of nodes floating in three-dimensional space, each of which branched out into a spider-web of options representing even more niche specializations. This was complemented by a series of virtual sliders mimicking a vehicle’s control panel, one that allowed an operator to finely-tune the exoskeleton to within a razor’s edge of optimized performance, giving a breadth and depth of customization that would make even the most seasoned HPUV enthusiast blush. “We’re going with preset value D-5e.” I continued, as the EVI highlighted that particular node and its sub-category in three-dimensional space.

“Acknowledged, engaging D-5e.” 

Not a second later, I felt a massive weight being lifted off my shoulders…

And my arms.

And my legs.

And most definitely my back as well.

As the exoskeleton frame that encased the fleshy human within finally started to pull its own weight, beyond just compensating for the weight of the armor.

Everything felt fluid again, for lack of a better word.

With every movement, every action, from fine to gross motor, overcompensated and back to high-spec.

It felt like I was piloting the armor again, rather than just exerting my own strength with it.

Not to mention against it, like the night of the warehouse explosion.

I couldn’t help but to ‘limber up’, as both training and force-of-habit began taking over. 

This was in spite of the exoskeleton-systems checklist being marked [Optional] rather than [Critical] this time around.

From gauging fine-motor control through finger-to-palm tests, to static-run tests and what most would see as ‘jumping-jacks’ to gauge both gross-motor and multi-axial accelero-gyrometer systems respectively, I ran through all of them with eagerness and excitement.  

Though more than out of habit, it was a necessity to just get my brain re-attuned to pilot-mode. After two solid hours of moving with the suit at my own strength, getting back in the groove was both necessary and satisfying. 

I could’ve just not done it.

But these protocols and ‘re-attunement safety procedures’ (RSPs) existed for a reason. 

Just relying on EVI to fill in my stumbles while I got back in the groove was possible. But using it as a crutch was something I wasn’t about to do if I could help it.

If you’re going to be a power-armored specialist, a pilot, or an operator of any sort of vehicle or machine, you better make sure it's you who’s at the helm, Emma. If not, then why not just send a fleet of S-AMCPs?

I would not, and could not, just let the words of the most renowned power-armored specialist of the century go unheeded.

And so, I continued, in spite of the awkward stares from the few students who even bothered looking at me.

=====

The Transgracian Academy for the Magical Arts. The Hall of Champions. Local Time: 1100

Thacea

There were… many, many questions to be had with regards to Emma’s physical capabilities.

Many of which had far-reaching implications that beckoned a lingering question that I wished to pose, but had yet to, out of a mix of respect and a lack of instigating forces…

Exactly what sort of being was lurking beneath the plates of steel?

The answer couldn’t have been too monstrous. That much was a given, especially considering the constraints of the suit.

The morphology in question also could not have been too far-off the standard-faire of most other beings.

But whilst the answer could be estimated through logical deduction, that didn’t stop curiosity from taking hold, and my imagination from going into avenues that—

“ANY FINAL ADDITIONS TO THIS GENTLEMANLY WAGER?!” The Vunerian announced with a deafening shrill, through a voice amplification spell that was as disruptive as it was infuriating.

I had tried my best to ignore his antics up to this point.

“NO?! THEN THE POOL STANDS AT A GRAND TOTAL OF TEN-THOUSAND TWO-HUNDRED AND FOURTEEN SOVEREIGNS!” The blue thing continued, forcing Etholin to haul the somewhat substantial amount of coins towards his picnic table.

With a few well-placed steps, I quickly found myself sitting across from the Vunerian, who seemed to take my presence with an otherwise nonplussed expression. “Is there anything I can help you with, princess?”

A quick deployment of a privacy screen followed, as the crowd was quickly consumed by the participant’s warmups, and the professor’s preparations. 

“Pray tell, Lord Rularia, when exactly did you choose the path of an opportunist bookkeeper?” I inquired in no uncertain terms, prompting the Vunerian to shift his expression to one that was decidedly more measured.

“You deride both me and my honor with such sentiments, princess.”

“Well you seem to consistently resist the agreed trajectory of this peer group.” I snapped back.

“You know, as well as I, that this isn’t about the money. This sum is meaningless in the grand scheme of things. This—” He shook the bag, taking great effort to do so. “—is about making a statement. Social games can only do so well when you only have the air you breathe to back up your words. It is only when people feel the consequences of their words, preferably in the cold and heavy article of minted gold, will they finally understand it intrinsically. In short, words are cheap, princess. And I wish to remind those that may stand against us, that there is a tangible price to pay for petty verbal attacks on our group.”