V-21 Admission (II)

—UUUUUUCCKKKKKK!

VULTEGS! L-LISTEN THE FUCK UP! WE’RE… WE’RE GOING TO DO SOMETHING VERY SPECIAL.

I’M CALLING THE LORDS OF CUNTING LAW! V-VULTEGS GET YOURSELVES BACK TO VULKETH! FROM WHEREVER YOU ARE. WE’RE GONNA… IT’S TIME FOR A RETRIBUTIVE INCURSION!

I’VE TAKEN THIS SHIT FOR THE LAST TIME. I’M DONE WAITING INSIDE MY TOWER LIKE I’M SOME KIND OF—THOSE FUCKS ARE LAUGHING AT ME. ME! A GOD! YOUR GOD! FUCKING ADAM ARROW AND HIS CORPSE-SHEDDING—I DON’T KNOW WHAT HE IS TO ARROW. I DON’T CARE WHAT HE IS. I DON’T CARE IF THEY’RE BROTHER, SISTER, PET, MASTER, SLAVE, SEX-PARTNERS! DON’T CARE DON’T CUNT-FUCKING CARE!

WE KILL HIM! WE KILL ADAM ARROW!

ARRRRROOOOWW! SHEDDERRR! DO YOU HEAR ME? IF YOU GET THIS NOTIFICATION, I’M GONNA FIND URRI’S CORPSE AND SHOVE BITS OF HIS SHIT-STUFFED DEAD ASS AND FUCK HIM UNTIL THE SHIT IS PREGNANT AND SHOVE UP UP YOU AND FUCK YOU AND MAKE THE SHIT BABY FIGHT YOUR CORPSE BABIES YOU FUCK FUCK YOU FUCKKKK—

-Lord Scorn’s Message to All Vultegs

V-21

Admission (II)

As Shiv and Irons re-entered Miriam Hall, they went to the right wing of the building instead. They went up five flights of floors and then moved down a long hallway that was polished clean to a near-reflective sheen.

There were no decorations along the walls or ceilings of this place. Everything was pristine and white, without a speck of dirt or any hint of scratches whatsoever. There was also the taste of chemistry in the air. Soaps and disinfectants meant to cleanse the atmosphere of bacteria.

Shiv noted how wide this hallway was. It was large enough to fit perhaps five forklifts standing side by side. It was also tall enough to accommodate the head of perhaps a dragon. This made it positively cavernous compared to all the other hallways, and it gave the feeling of a tunnel leading into an arena rather than just another passage within the building.

"This place feels ridiculously wide," Shiv said. He picked up a faint distortion in the air as well. It pulled on him. It crashed against him like soft, rippling water spreading across a once placid lake.

"That's because it's spatially enlarged," Irons said. "So you don't have much dimensionality, do you?"

"I don't have any dimensionality," Shiv replied, "barely any Portomancy."

The Captain grunted. "Adam does, though. It's part of his arsenal now."

But Shiv held himself back before he said anything else about Adam’s Skills. “Best that you ask him about his skills personally. I don't think it's my place to be giving away the Gate Lord's secrets.”

"Gate Lord?" Irons muttered.

Shiv bit back a wince. "And that’s why I'm not saying anything else."

After a near minute of walking, they turned around a corner, and Shiv briefly stopped dead. Next to them were two iron doors, two iron doors that suddenly twisted aside and crashed hard against the walls. It was then that he realized they weren't doors at all, but the fronts of tower shields.

Behind them were two golems, each bearing a scepter of some kind. One was shaped like a crescent along its edges, while the other was a quill on one end and a blade on the other.

 The golem on the right had a single gem, socketed at the center of its face. The rest of its body was a thing cast from bronze and veins of mithril. "What's this so late in the day, weeks after the beginning of the cycle, where most young have already been marked and blessed? Is that Captain Irons, I see, and an unknown boy in tow? How frivolous a body, how odd of a soul."

And then the Golem to the right spoke. Compared to its counterpart, it seemed a thing of reinforced titanium. And then there was that streak of adamantine splitting its face down the middle. It had two eyes, and to Shiv's surprise, they were made from flesh. They glistened like gelatinous orbs, and the golem blinked and wept. "Another comes to join the chorus, another, I see, that I will someday mourn, that I will long remember. Tell me your name."

Shiv wasn't sure what to make of these Golems, but Irons shot him a look. "Go."

"Go what?" Shiv asked almost dumbly.

"Tell the Mourning your name."

"Mourning," Shiv said, and his eyes settled on the Golem to the right. "Right. I'm Marcus Unblood. I'm from," Shiv paused as he racked his brain, "Old Brunswick, somewhere around there. Yeah, I got poisoned during a Jotun attack, and some of my friends also got killed. It was really bad. I went into a coma, and my heart got really, really slow, so they thought I was dead, too. They loaded me inside a corpse freezer, and now, well, I woke up earlier, too, so here I am."

Shiv finished rambling, and the two Golems simply regarded him for a second, then they turned to each other.

"This one is nervous," the leftmost Golem said. It shook its scepter, and its bladed edges began to gleam with a pale sheen of power. "I like the nervous ones, the anxious ones. They take their studies seriously. They are burdened with the need to become."

"I pity them," the Golem called Mourning said. It stroked something with its quill, and Shiv briefly saw an imprint of a symbol manifest in reality, but then it faded like ink dissolving upon the surface of water. "For they are weighed by duty and will never know the true succor of joy."

"I bid you, as Keeper of Mourning, as the Archivist of Regret, of Potential, of Possibilities and Failures."

"And I spur you as Ambition," the leftmost Golem carried on. "The one that dreams, the one that hopes you will see every glory, desire, and even those that you cannot fathom, the one that strokes legends, the one that strikes down horrors and turns them from nightmares to bedtime stories."

And at once they lifted the implements they carried, and with a resounding click they clashed said implements together. A brief flash sparked from the point of impact, and Shiv looked away. There was an imprint of light that lingered in his vision, but then the Golems receded, the ground beneath them groaned, and a rush of cold air spilled over him and Irons.

Behind the Golem an even longer path was revealed, but it was plush and vibrant, the color of blood, rich and healthy blood, the kind that would flow from an elder vampire's throat once slit. Along the path were tall chairs, each of them almost throne-like in their own regard, and they continued running forth. Along descending steps, Shiv saw rows of these chairs sprawl forward as if parts to a rolling hill. The entire auditorium was built like an amphitheater, and as the carpet got to the very end there was a stage at the bottom, a stone stage with a series of spells carved into its surface.

They circulated around each other in patterns so complex it took Shiv a moment to separate all their greater parts. There were a series of rings at the center, eight in total. All the major magical lores and mana types were included, but then there were approximately twenty-five other rings randomly interspersed through the sides. They didn't all intersect, and one was only connected through a few mithril circuits, an island bound to the rest of the spell by a single bridge. At the center of the stage was also a small pedestal that carried an orb.

Irons strode past Shiv, and he only caught up a moment later, too entranced was he by the sight of the auditorium before him. As they walked down, Shiv looked to his left and right, and then looked up again, as he saw more chairs built above on another level to this place. It was vast. This area wasn't just cavernous. It was colossal. There were enough chairs to seat perhaps a thousand students or so, maybe even more.

Slowly, a childlike smirk crawled over Shiv's face. This place gave him a strange feeling, the feeling that something wonderful might happen, the feeling that he was a young adventurer entering a dragon's hoard. He only heard stories about that a few times when he was still in the orphanage. 

And among the many fables and fairy tales the Matrons told, he liked that the best. Of course, his memory of these fairy tales was quickly ruined by the other children asking if there were Omenborn hiding within the hoards as well. Which the Matrons most assuredly replied to them that it was unlikely, and the worst they needed to worry about was perishing nobly against a brutal behemoth of a dragon.

"There is usually a ceremony for such things," Irons began. His voice echoed through the auditorium, and Shiv continued scanning his surroundings, trying to see if there was anyone else there. So far, he saw no one, tasted no vitality in the air, but he still had a faint feeling he was being watched. By whom or what he couldn't say, but his guard remained active.

"Ceremony," Shiv replied, "with all the kids walking this carpet? The ones who are ordained?"

"Yes, these seats are meant for established instructors and witnessing Pathbearers."

Shiv shot the surrounding seats another look. "Witnessing?"

"Yes, Phoenix Academy has a great many alumni. A good amount still works within the city, and they are always looking for new apprentices. The ceremonies of ordainment take place over several days, and recruitment begins from then on. Thousands of students are sworn in across those days. Their paths are declared, their highest skills are revealed, their initial dedications in terms of college and specific skills will also be decided, and from there their futures are sculpted in turn."

"Huh," Shiv said, surprised about how proactive and fast-paced everything was in the capital. "So Adam went through this too, huh?"

"He did," Irons said.

"And did he get picked out and recruited on the first day?"

"He did," Irons repeated once more.

Shiv snorted. "Figured. It's kind of hard to miss someone like that, huh?"

"The thought of him squandering his true potential is even harder," Irons declared. He looked over his shoulder and stared at Shiv. "He was talented, but he was also prideful and soft. That made him brittle, but sharp, dangerous to himself and those around him. He needed to be fashioned with more discipline. So I deigned to accept him and a few others into my class ahead of time, as well as offering to include them in the academy militia."

"Wait, you're the one who recruited Adam?" Shiv asked.

"I am among the many who did," Irons said. "Young Lord Arrow is someone of a great many talents and of near tireless dedication. Do not mistake my criticisms for scorn. It is because of that promise I was compelled to pick him up. Promise that I did not want to see tarnished, and I was not alone in such thinking. Heratana, the Hero Hydromancer in charge of the city's water purification, also took him on as a pupil, though he was one of her tertiary apprentices and not her direct disciple. Even so, it suited her needs just as well. It taught him much better control for his water magic and in turn, he helped resolve a few inconvenient matters on her end as well."

"She's a hero, though," Shiv said. "He was a student at the time. What'd she need his help for?"

Irons almost laughed. "Some Heroes have less-than-stellar Awareness, as you might be able to attest, especially if they're non-martial."

Shiv took that jab gracefully and nodded. "Okay, I get it." The Deathless looked around and huffed. "Well, looks like no one's gonna be recruiting me."

"At least not initially," Irons said. "But once you are enrolled, then should you make a name for yourself?"

"I hope not," Shiv muttered under his breath. "Last thing I need is more attention."

The Captain didn't pause for a moment. "I fear it might come to you regardless. You don't seem to be the quiet kind."

"Would you believe me if I said I was trying?"

"I do believe you. I do pity you. I don't think it matters."

This time Shiv did wince. "Maybe I'll find a master chef or something. Say, you know if the Academy has cooking courses or something?"

"We do," Irons replied. "But considering your cover and background, it might be difficult for you to get in."

"Maybe for Marcus," Shiv said.

"But," Irons cut him off, "If Marcus suddenly shows a high-tier Cooking Skill, that might provoke questions as well."

And that briefly stymied and soured Shiv's mood. "Shit, you're right. All right, goddammit, I can't do it in the open. I need to think more about it. You know if someone here worked with Hero-Chef George Archambault before?"

Irons turned and stared at Shiv before doubling his pace toward the stage. "It is best that you do not use his name at the Capitol."

And there it was again. Georges’s mysterious exile and the purchase of his debt. Roland Arrow kept George close by for a reason. And now Shiv was another step closer to learning about his mentor's mysterious past. "And why is that?"

"Because serving the ends of a revolutionary group and successfully poisoning two avatars could have seen George Archambault publicly executed instead of simply excommunicated."

Shiv's eyes grew a little bit wider at that. Georges poisoning someone using his own food didn't sound like him. And frankly, Shiv didn't want to believe it. It wasn't that Shiv thought Georges was a true son of the Republic or anything. No, he was too cynical for that, too sour about the nobility. But food was sacred for Georges. To have his dishes tainted by poison, to be used as a weapon instead of a piece of creation, it would take a lot for Georges to sink that low. And George could go pretty low with insults or after a few drinks, but not with the food he made. 

Suddenly, Shiv's interest in his mentor's past had another angle he could explore.

"What's the revolutionary group's name?" They were closing in on the stage now, and Irons didn't say. "Look, you can tell me now or I can find out another way. And it'll be a mess regardless."

Irons folded. "Eruption Zero."

"Eruption Zero," Shiv replied with a cringe. "The hell kind of name is that?"

"The kind of name that belongs to a group that seeks the eradication of all nobility and boasts the deaths of several noble scions under the blades and poisons of their operatives."

"They still around?" Shiv said.

"The official story is that they were decimated in the aftermath of the attempt," Irons said. "Unofficially, many of their members have gone to ground and potentially have infiltrated our society even deeper." The captain came just short of the stage, and he turned to face Shiv before the Deathless could step on. "Before we do this, there is someone we must wait for."

A paranoia within Shiv built. "You didn't tell me about this someone," Shiv said.

"I did not, but he would know regardless," Irons said. "The moment we opened the doors to this auditorium and initiated the late ceremony of ordainment."

"Who's that?" Shiv asked with a slight hint of annoyance seeping into his voice. "You had the doors open for just one student, Irons? Really? Just one miraculous resurrection? You couldn't come up with two?"

Irons looked past Shiv and the Deathless suddenly turned. Standing at the entrance they just descended from was a tall figure. Shiv suspected the newcomer was just a few inches shorter than he was when plague-fueled and shape of monstrosity weren't active. They were far thinner than him, however, with borderline emaciated features and practically no meat on their face at all. A crop of white hair swayed just over their brow, and a beard trimmed to the point of looking like a square made their chin seem like a pale block. Their two ears were extended backward, pointed and long.

And then there was the man's eyes. They glistened like two gems even in the dim light. One was violet, a particularly deep-colored violet that hinted at overwhelming Divination. The other, however, was almost entirely pale, near translucent, and Shiv felt his guts tighten. That was likely Psychomancy. As he focused on the man, he realized that he was trapped in a large bubble. He could barely feel the bubble, for it was as soft as—Shiv's mind stopped—like ripples across a placid lake. He was in this one's mana field from a few minutes ago, perhaps even longer. With all the other fields and effects taking place on the academy grounds, Shiv barely noticed him at all.

Oh hell, Shiv thought, we need to be extra careful with this guy. Who the hell is he, anyway?

The stranger glided down the steps at a frightening pace. He probably had Heroic-Tier reflexes, if the Deathless had to wager. His long robes flowed around him, but rather than having a stripe along the back that portrayed one of the ascendants or the academy's logo, this man's aesthetic was a deep and smoky gray. 

As he got closer, Shiv noticed that there were slits running down the middle and sides of his cloak, and as the fabric flopped about, Shiv also caught sight of a few knives, a long blade, and what seemed to be a dozen wands or so, slotted along the man's ribs. 

Well, either wands or stakes, Shiv thought to himself.

The stranger arrived before them in seconds, and Shiv found himself looking up at the mystery man, trying not to betray his unease. The stranger, meanwhile, didn't give Shiv a wit of care. Instead, he was tutting at Irons. "I expected two, you know."

"I said there was only one reported," Irons said. "There is no reason for me to lie."

"Well, you always outperform my expectations. This makes one of the few times that you hit my expectations exactly. That's disappointing. You gave me too much joy, Irons. That's the problem with being an overachiever. People want too much of you. I warned you about this before, didn't I? I definitely did."

"You did, Legend Headmaster," Irons agreed. "But there is only so much one can do to control the opinions and feelings of others."

"That's where you're almost always wrong, Harry. People want you to tell them how they should feel. Because most people are miserable, passive, terrified, incompetent nincompoops who fear suffering more than they crave actualization." And suddenly the headmaster's eyes snapped over to Shiv. The shift was so sudden that the Deathless almost took a step back and brought his weapon out. "Are you a triumph enjoyer or a failure avoider, dead boy?"

Shiv didn't know what to make of the headmaster. But his instincts and Psycho-Cartography suspected that this was a man who enjoyed provoking and pressuring other people for his own amusement. If Shiv wanted to avoid tension and be a disappointment, he could simply sputter and pretend to be shy. It might even be the wise thing to do. But some part of Shiv didn't want to do that. He was already playing the role of the ruined cripple again, already stripped of so much promise, so much power, so much respect. So he did the bolder thing.

"Well, headmaster, I think I already lived enough failure, so there's only actually one choice for me."

The headmaster leaned back and threw his head high in the air. It was like his neck got much longer. His body narrowed and Shiv almost let out a gasp. He saw how the headmaster's flesh bent, twisted, and deformed. He knew that skill. That was Non-Euclidean Physicality. That was Uva's skill. 

Seeker, Shiv realized intuitively.

"Well, the system might have made you a ruined mess, but it didn't ruin your defiant little heart, I suppose. I would bid you welcome to Phoenix Academy, but I'm thinking I will wait until you are ordained first. Now," he gestured toward the stage and at the pedestal in particular. "Let us see you be admitted. Normally, there's a lot more pomp and circumstance, but you do understand that we can't really justify calling in a few thousand witnesses for just one boy alone. Miraculous though his resurrection might be." He winked at Shiv, and the Deathless wondered if he was taunting him about knowing the truth or if he was simply teasing Marcus Unblood.

Slowly, Shiv walked upon the stage, striding past Irons and moving for the pedestal. As he did, the flowing patterns of magic beneath him lit up every single interlocking circle, and the one connected to it by the Mithril flared with overwhelming power, and that began to flow into him. Chains of magic wrapped around his body, wove an outline of his form. Shiv could feel it rattling upon him, grinding against him, but it settled against his Perfect Semblance, rather than sinking into the foundations of his very soul.

All right, that might be a good sign, Shiv thought to himself. As he came to a stop before the pedestal, he looked at both Irons and the headmaster.

"Put your hand on it," the headmaster said.

Shiv stared at the pedestal. Its top side was four-pronged, like a pointed crown. It was made of some kind of crystalline material, though it didn't resemble any focused crystal or Mithril he'd encountered before. It didn't even resemble the substance Konfriga's sword was made from. Cautiously, Shiv laid the flat of his palm atop the pedestal and waited. It wasn't hard or sharp enough to pierce his skin, but the Deathless had been surprised before, and frankly losing a hand wasn't a big deal. What might be a big deal, however, is if it reached past his Perfect Semblance and tried to access his deeper soul. His shapeless tides wouldn't get in the way of that, and if it tasted any bit of his vitae, that would cause problems as well.

Just then, there came a violent tearing sensation, and Shiv sucked in a harsh breath as he felt part of his being get drawn into the pedestal. 

Oh, hell, no, no, no! Shiv cried internally. Outside, he remained calm, but he clutched the base of the pedestal, trying to pry himself free. To his surprise, even his legendary physicality didn't damage it. It didn't seem that durable to him. It didn't feel that sharp, either. His hands weren't bleeding, but part of him was being dragged in, and he almost couldn't resist it, almost. His vitality was his to wield. And though his Shapeless Tides couldn't overcome this object, he could still circulate it around himself to prevent his deeper nature from being fully exposed.

The headmaster laughed again, and it was a particularly nasally sound, the kind Shiv might make when he managed to annoy Adam.

"Relax," the headmaster said between giggles. "It's not going to rip your soul apart or tear your hand off. It's just getting a little nip. It needs to integrate that lapel you're about to get with your soul, anyway."

And that didn't help Shiv at all. If he was going to get a lapel, why did it have to be connected to his soul? Godsdamn it, Adam, I asked you about this earlier. Why didn't you tell me that this was going to happen? Shiv actively snarled internally. Was this the Gate Lord's way of surprising him, of taking revenge on him for everything he'd done before?

Shiv clenched the object even tighter, but forced himself to remain calm. Nothing bad has happened yet, Shiv thought to himself. Maybe it will be fine. Maybe it will just use my Perfect Semblance instead. So he went slack. He waited. If something were to go wrong, he would fling himself back in time using his temporal anchor. For now, he remained in place.

Seconds passed. Sweat began to roll down Shiv's brow. And then, with a final burst of mana, every spell pattern being channeled from the circles lining the stage flowed up across Shiv's body. It crawled around his arm like a coiling strand, and poured itself deep into the center of the pedestal. It glowed bright for a moment, and then that pulling sensation was severed. Shiv could move his hand again, and he was free. Unburdened, liberated.

As he took a step back, he eyed the pedestal, and he gauged it with suspicion. He wondered if it was a legendary object as well. Legendary objects had a tendency to be indestructible. Maybe it was like his last morsel, or Adam's armor.

Then came a building glimmer. It flashed three times, and instead of being the color of his vitae, it was simply a soft white. A lapel formed. It was simply a pin with a crystallized bit of mana on its end. It rose above the pedestal, and there came a rumbling sound from all across the auditorium.

"Welcome, Marcus Unblood, path of the healer, possessor of the Adept-Tier Ironhide Skill, the Initiate Survival Skill, the Initiate Fieldcraft Skill, the Initiate Surgery Skill."

And what remained of Shiv's tension dissolved inside of him. It used his Perfect Semblance after all.

"I, uh," Shiv swallowed. "Yeah, that's me."

"You have been selected by Phoenix Academy under the terms and obligations of the Wild Card program. Is this true?"

Shiv looked around, trying to find where the voice was coming from. As he responded, "Yes."

"You consider your greatest feat to be the day you achieved your Ironhide skill evolution. Yet it is not the Skill Evolution that pleased you, but rather it was the fact that you managed to save and mend the body of a young girl who was trapped under the same avalanche as you were, with minimal tools and almost no support. For two days."

Shiv paused. The Neath representative didn't tell him anything about this, and Shiv didn't know much about Marcus Unblood's life either. If this was a lie on behalf of the unknown voice, then Shiv was screwed. But then Shiv thought back to what Irons had said. This wasn't just an admittance ceremony. It was also a recruitment tool to show how skilled or what potential a new Pathbearer might have. "Yes," Shiv said, only slightly confident.

"Well done," the voice echoed, though it was devoid of any warmth. "The strength of one's body prevents it from suffering harm. But the mastery of medicine and an understanding of biology can restore what might be broken. Do you think you can restore yourself?"

This was the first open-ended question that the mysterious voice asked. "I think so," Shiv said with just enough hesitancy to make himself seem vulnerable. "I hope so."

"Then here is a place that stands beyond hope. Here is a place that hope will be smelted into possibility and achievement. Here is Phoenix Academy. We bid you welcome to these hallowed grounds, where the blood of Pathbearers past had watered the soil in defense of the Republic. Where the ascendants once made their stand and pushed the adversary back. Where the seeds of knowledge meet the fields of toil upon which the finest warriors are grown. You stand among fabled company and in time you will become fabled company. 

But to live up to your promise and to the sacrifices of those who came before and those who stand beside you, something must be offered on your end as well. Dedication, focus, resolve, and pain, loss, sorrow. For this world will seek to break you. For this world will show you just how truly harsh and hard it is. But perhaps you already know that. Perhaps it has already left its marks on you."

Shiv waited, but the voice didn't continue. He nodded slowly. "Uh, yeah, it did. I, uh, I have a few curses."

"That may be so, but even avatars have borne curses in their past. Our limitations shall not define us. They will simply force us to find another path, another way. Even if you are ruined of body, it does not mean you are ruined of future. Stand tall, Marcus Unblood, stand tall. For though this world has shown you its lash, we will make you iron. We will make you more. We will be harder yet. Harder than the system yet. For to err is to be mortal, but to struggle is to be a Pathbearer. Welcome to Phoenix Academy.”

Ordainment Gained: Student of Phoenix Academy — Year One (Temporary)