215 (II)

  Admittance [II]

  Shiv paused. He licked his lips. “That's…”

  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 Georges 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?" he asked. They were closing in on the stage now, and Irons didn't speak. "Look, you can tell me now, or I can find out another way. And it'll be a mess regardless."

  Irons sighed. "Eruption Zero."

  "Eruption Zero," Shiv repeated with a cringe. "The hells 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 asked.

  "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 he could step on. "Before we do this, there is someone we must wait for."

  The paranoia within Shiv grew. "You didn't tell me about this someone," he said.

  "I did not. And even if I hadn't told him, he would know regardless," Irons said. "The moment we opened the doors to this auditorium and initiated the late ceremony of ordainment, he knew."

  "And who is it?" 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 top of the staircase they'd just descended was a tall figure. Shiv suspected the newcomer was about as tall as he was at baseline. They were far thinner than he, however, with borderline emaciated features and practically no meat on their face at all. A crop of full 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 were the elf's eyes. They glistened like two gems even in the dim light. One glinted, radiating 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 representative of Psychomancy. As he focused on the man, he realized that he was trapped within a mana field that extended far past any of his senses. He could barely feel the bubble, for it was as soft as—Shiv's mind stopped—like ripples across a placid lake. He'd been standing in the man's mana field for a long time. With all the other fields and effects intermingling on the academy grounds, it had slipped his notice entirely.

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

  The stranger glided down the steps at a frightening pace, arriving at ground level and stepping off the final step in a near-instant. He probably had Heroic-Tier Reflexes, if Shiv 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, lacking decoration.

  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 was hoping for two, you know."

  "I said there was only one reported," Irons grunted. "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, Harry. 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 were on 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've already lived through enough failure, so there's only actually one choice for me."

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  The headmaster leaned back and threw his head high in the air. It was like his neck literally grew longer. His body narrowed and rippled, and Shiv almost let out a gasp. He saw how the headmaster's flesh bent, twisted, and deformed in of itself in ways that defied physical laws. He knew that skill. That was Non-Euclidean Morphology. 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,” the headmaster hummed. “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 admitted. Normally, there's a lot more pomp and circumstance, but you understand that we can't really justify calling in a few thousand witnesses for just one boy, 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 making 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. As it did, it began to flow into him. Chains of magic wrapped around his body, weaving 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.

  Alright, that might be a good sign, Shiv muttered internally. As he came to a stop before the pedestal, he looked at both Irons and the headmaster.

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

  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 focus crystal or mithril he'd encountered before. 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 Shiv had been surprised before, and frankly, losing a hand wasn't a big deal. What might be a big deal, however, was if it reached past his Perfect Semblance and tried to access his true 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, hells, 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 even manage to rattle it. The construct 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.” He clicked his teeth together. “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. 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 brightly for a moment, and then the pulling sensation was severed. Shiv ripped his hand away, 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, walker of the Path of the Healer, possessor of the Adept-Tier Ironhide Skill, the Initiate Survival Skill, the Initiate Fieldcraft Skill, and the 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. "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 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 had 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 where 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 has 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 for others. 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, pain, loss, and 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. Our limitations shall not define us. They will simply force us to find another path. 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)