Chapter 29

  I didn’t think I would ever get used to it, the transition from the lower decks to Brightside. The lower decks were, in a word, full. Full of people, full of atmosphere, arguments taking place, constantly moving, shifting, the smell of food, steamy humidity and body sweat blending together and making the place feel, if not welcoming, at least lived in. Meanwhile, Brightside felt like a museum, almost artificial in its carefully crafted emptiness. Visited and admired but not alive.

  The Academy, such as it was, felt even more so, as much as I’d seen of it. Stone statues, sweeping columns, pale and cold, but it had its little islands of life.

  I was currently in a large, open training area spacious enough to be compared to an indoor park. The ceiling was all rafters and precisely embroidered banners of various Families or organizations I didn’t know the actual names for.

  On the grass in the middle of the room, various stations were set up for practice, humanoid training dummies for striking, a sphere of gelatinous mold that wobbled and glowed brightly when struck, super dense weights for people with high body stats, an agility course complete with climbing, swinging, and jumping challenges, and more. At all the stations, at least one Exotic was currently in the middle of doing their thing while more were queued up behind them waiting for their turn.

  A young woman in an old Earth style martial arts robes slashed at the slime sphere with her sword, ripping a gigantic rent in the side and causing the thing to pulse a bright yellow before the mass started to mend itself, slurping as it congealed back to its original shape. Another Exotic was taking the agility course, practically running up the climbing wall without using his hands. With every obstacle, a group of circular targets appeared in front of and behind him, which he obliterated with some kind of air blast. I couldn’t feel the Ability activation from where I was, but the rapidity and sudden violence of it made me wonder if I’d really prepared as much as I could for a fight with one of these people.

  I quashed that doubt as quickly as it formed. I may not have done everything I could, but I did the best I could with the time I had. My feed was a comforting reminder of that.

  You have created: Drone Attachment: Mining

  You have created: Bolt x18.

  You have created: Bullet Ant x 2.

  You have created: Bullet Ant x 2.

  You have created: Cobalt Cube.

  You have created: Pipe Fitting x 10.

  You have created: Charging Rod.

  You have created: Drone Attachment: Ranged Combat.

  You have created: Drone Attachment: Ranged Combat.

  You have created: Mendau Cube x4.

  Experience rate: 3,209/min

  You have created….

  It just went on like that, stretching on forever. Even if I didn’t check the feed, I would know production was still underway thanks to the feeling in my gut every time an item was stored. I’d long since stopped storing individual munitions in there, choosing, instead, to put the little guys in cans before popping the whole thing in Spatial Storage. Otherwise I’d never know a moment of peace.

  I pretty much had the size limit on things I could store down now, or, at least I thought I did. Raw scrap like the stuff I found on Sabium was limited to pieces about as big as my arm at the max, but, almost on accident, I’d found that things I’d made or been given by the System could go a good deal bigger. I had no idea why.

  I’d figured it out when I’d tried to pop a good sized chunk of an I-beam into my storage dimension, but it wouldn’t go. It was strange. I knew for a fact that I’d put whole ass dragon bones in there before, but I couldn’t manage this. Cue a lot of experimentation and head scratching. The best theory I could come up with so far was that System-recognized items like stuff I got from loot or things I made with magic got a pass. Maybe it had something to do with the supernatural nature of them. I didn’t know. I only knew that the magic stuff played by different rules than the mundane.

  My insecurities about my match aside, I knew deep down that I was as ready as I could be. Maybe not in the sleep department but everywhere else. All that was left to do now, while I waited, was marvel at the fact that this was real grass. Amazing stuff. Grass was a luxury only rich folks got to enjoy on Proxis, an import from old Earth. I’d never gotten to really appreciate it on Ralqir or… whatever the name of that planet was I’d passed through to get here… Igoria? Yeah, it was Igoria. The skeleton jellyfish place. Both times I’d ever seen grass was when I was busy not dying.

  So, there I was, on the grass, watching my fellow Exotics do their warmups… Wait. Chosen. I had to remember to call them Chosen around here. I watched them all do their warmups, flipping and lifting and slashing and crushing like these were the last moments they’d ever get to do so. They all looked so intense, so focused.

  Stop worrying. You did what you could. Now just wait and don’t give anything awa-

  “Ryan Kotes,” A pair of shining steel boots clomped to a stop in front of me. They belonged to someone with a familiar, steely voice, one that, last time we’d met, was calling for me to surrender myself to ‘justice’ or some such thing. I looked up, past the shining white greaves, the ornate breastplate, past the lacquered pauldrons and the heavy studded collar to find a young man with short cropped hair and an aquiline nose. His huge tower shield loomed over his shoulders crossed by a very distinctive silver spear.

  His eyes were hot coals, his gaze a judgement already passed.

  “We meet again,” he pronounced.

  I snapped my fingers a couple times as I tried to recall the guy’s name. I’d heard it in passing, but I could quite recall.

  Damnit. What was it? Some Biblical name… Dave? Joseph?

  His wide mouth turned down in a displeased scowl. He pulled it off well, in a way that made him look rather statuesque, like his contempt was for something vast and deeply unjust.

  The moment stretched on.

  Oh, this is going to bug me. Mark? No. Kyle? Is that even Biblical?

  “It’s Matt.”

  “Matt Marshal! Right!,” I remembered. “It was on the tip of my tongue.”

  “Am I to assume you’ve used some kind of legal loophole or another to evade justice, since you’re here so brazenly?” Matt Marshal asked.

  I sat back on the grass, leaning on both hands so I could look up at him properly from a less extreme angle.

  “Question: Does ‘loophole’ in this case mean ‘a law I don’t like?’” I countered.

  His scowl deepened, and he put a hand up to rub his jaw contemplatively. After a few heartbeats, he finally answered.

  “Yes.”

  “Oh. Okay. Then, yes. I’m here thanks to a loophole,” I replied. “I see you’ve traded in your riot gear. A trade up, if you ask me. Fine steel. A nice look.”

  Matt Marshal brushed at his breastplate like my compliment had dirtied it somehow. There was no pleasing some people, I guessed. Then, I could see him judging me in real time as his eyes passed over my tattered work robe, my worn boots, and my prosthetic. I didn’t look quite as impressive as most of the other Chosen here, Matt included.

  “What I wear on duty and off has nothing to do with looks. I see you’re keeping your gear hidden, attempting to catch someone off guard like you did me. Luckily, tricks only get you so far in a place like this. Some of us have trained our entire lives to get here,” he declared.

  He was probably right. I was out of my league here. I knew that. Matt probably had more wealth, resources, training, and experience than I had. He came from an Exotic family, had tutors and servants and schooling that molded them into proper immortal warrior gods. All of them did. The contrast with how my life had gone thus far was staggering.

  Of course, that meant I earned everything I had the hard way. I’d lost… I’d given up so much. That, I had to believe, meant something.

  My response wasn’t as mature as it could have been, the accent I’d all but shed coming in thick and mocking as I spoke.

  “Maybe so. Yet, here I am. Outers Bumpkin in the big wide multiverse. Why, if both of our lives have led us to this exact point, what good did your silver spoon really do you, Mr. Marshal?”

  “You’re not going to make it, Kotes,” the Exotic spearman growled. “I’ll make sure, if only to see you brought back to Proxis in chains.”

  I was up on my feet then, face to face with the other man, practically breathing each other’s air.

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  “And for what crime, asshole? Did you even bother to-”

  “You!”

  An accusatory shout cut across my words and silenced whatever retort Matt Marshal had for me.

  Matt and I both turned our heads.

  Oh, we’re having a real reunion here aren't we?

  A blob of muscular blondes in skin tight black and red suits were marching in our direction, led by a particularly intense pair of siblings, the big guy dwarfing his sister in sheer mass, while the smaller girl gave off a sharp, terrifying strange aire. Her too-wide unblinking eyes were crackling ice, focused entirely on me.

  The group fanned out until they were lined up in front of us, the men’s hard jawlines and perfect musculature bulging as they postured, multiple hands fingering the hatchets on their belts, while others were content to just crowd together and form a wall of meat.

  “Eron Nova, right?” I asked the leader. He looked much like all the rest of the posse, almost exactly alike, but he exuded this extra something that made me remember him over the others.

  Matt Marshal gave me a sideways glare. “You remembered his name but not mine? Even after I beat you?”

  “One, you didn’t beat me. Two, I got knocked unconscious by your… whatever Thadeus is to you. Uncle?”

  Matt shook his head.

  “Cousin?”

  Now he was full on glaring at me again.

  “Brother?”

  “Just shut up,” he growled.

  “You!” Eron repeated, sticking a finger in my chest. How was the man’s finger visibly muscular? Who had muscular fingers?

  “Why are you here?” He demanded.

  “Legal loophole,” I replied, resisting the urge to glance back at Matt.

  “What interest does a merchant have in entering the Academy? What Family do you belong to?” Eron asked.

  I just shrugged.

  Then, to my surprise, Eron rounded on Matt.

  “And you, Marshal. You would consort with lowborn, bush peasants such as him. Your standards are as low as your Family’s ranking,” the muscular blonde spat.

  No way. Did people really talk like this?

  “What are you talking about? We’re not consorting,” Matt argued.

  “Of course you are. Consorting. Mixing. You’re in bed with everyone, Marshal. It’s in your nature,” Eron’s sister mocked in her screeching, breathy way. “Your Family scrounges in the dirt for anything that will get them a taste of real power. You don’t belong here, and any connections you make won’t change that.”

  “I belong here just as much as you do,” Matt fumed. The metal in his gauntlets scraped together as he balled his fists.

  My eyes bounced from one party to the other, happy to not be the sole recipient of their ire, but that didn’t last.

  “As for him, dear brother, he obviously lied when he said he was a merchant,” the sister said, turning to me, her eyes searching. “The fact that he’s not dead means he has at least some backing and levels. In fact, I’d wager he’s rather formidable.” She gave me what might have passed for a sweet and mildly curious smile, all cheekbones, dimples, and perfect teeth, but I was less than receptive. She had nearly killed me last time we spoke.

  Eron wrinkled his nose. “He smells like an upstart. Look at those eyes. That aura. He’s probably someone’s bastard or a Rogue, I’d bet.”

  “Bold words for a man with a glass jaw,” I warned him, giving him a look while lifting my prosthetic to eye level. I casually flexed the fingers. Eron’s eyes bulged in recognition, and he reeled, nearly stumbling over himself to get away from me. It gave me some satisfaction that he remembered what I’d done to his lackeys last time.

  His sister, however, stepped between us before I could press further, putting a perfectly manicured hand on me.

  “Boys, please,” she said, smiling with interest as she ran her hand up my chest. Her touch was gentle, even tender. Her eyes fluttered at me flirtatiously, and, despite myself, I felt a hint of warmth and excitement as she did.

  The girl almost looked genuine enough to pass.

  I hesitated, very briefly, before I brushed her touch aside.

  “Your little disenchantment trick won’t save you this time. You’re dead,” Eron hissed. The intimidation factor was a bit less effective while he was cowering behind his sister, though.

  “Save it for the ring, Nova,” Matt said, his tone threatening.

  “We will,” Eron Nova replied. “See you there.” There was a ghost of a smile in the man’s eyes then, so brief I almost missed it, but it was there.

  Then the gaggle of Novas turned, ambling off toward a different end of the field.

  That smug look from Eron Nova stuck with me, though, even after they were gone.

  I replayed the encounter in my head. The harsh words. The bluster. The fear. The girl. The touch. And then the exit. What was all that for? Were they just assholes?

  If you’re not seeing the scam, you’re getting scammed.

  Bole had said to me once.

  On a hunch, I closed my eyes and let my sight unfocus and enter that realm where my mana floated. Little gray and blue motes bobbed and spun around me, flowed through me. I flexed my will, bringing them all into myself and putting them to work. I knew this would pause production downstairs briefly, but that was fine. I needed all of my mana just now. I directed it to condense until my Crystalized Channels were the only place where they existed, concentrated, icy, and alive. I breathed as Garret had taught me, and I observed.

  “We’re not done, Kotes,” Matt Marshal grumbled almost in my ear. “This is-”

  “Shhhh.”

  “Did you just shush me?”

  “Yes. Shhh.”

  “You don’t get to shush me.”

  “Shut up, please.”

  “No. If we’re chosen to fight, I’m going to-”

  “Shut the fuck up, Matt. I’m concentrating.”

  That seemed to stun the other man into silence.

  The flow. Yes. There was something wrong. Death’s Touch had altered it somehow with his blockages. Nasty things. Subtle. I’d overwhelmed them before, forming my mana into a battering ram backed up by ridiculous amounts of pressure and natural control.

  I knew what a curse felt like, but nothing like that was happening. If anything, my mana was flowing faster, squeezing through a bit more smoothly, a hue and texture that wasn’t-

  There. Something was different. As the mana made it into my chest, there was a split, a deviation in the stream. There was something there, just outside of my normal pathways. It wasn’t in my channels so much as around them, in my lung and my muscles. It was warm and alive, soothing almost, its shape organic and natural. My mana flowed through it like it did my channels, as if this new thing had somehow formed an extension of my regular network. When my motes of power came out the other side, they were slightly… better? No. Changed for sure.

  “Why am I being quiet, Kotes?” Matt asked, clearly growing more impatient.

  With a flick of my will, I gathered a good portion of my mana and compressed it, formed it into a thick, glowing mass, then sent them to the area. They mobbed their way into the mysterious new addition, squeezing through the artificial channels with overwhelming force. The strange mana construct wasn’t strong enough for this kind of load. It began to sunder, splitting open then breaking up entirely. Under the full force of my mana, the thing dissolved like cotton candy in the rain.

  I opened my eyes, to find the judgemental Marshal right there, still scowling.

  “Kotes. Why am I being quiet?” He asked.

  I shook my head, letting go of my aura once more and letting it billow out into the rest of the station.

  “She did something to me,” I said.

  The other man’s eyebrows scrunched together, and his demeanor changed almost on a dime to something I’d label as ‘aggressive concern.’

  “What? What do you mean?”

  “I- I think the Nova girl-”

  “Eesa.”

  “Uh- Eesa, right,” I corrected myself. “She did something to me. Magical bullshit. Super subtle. I didn’t even notice when she did it.”

  Matt turned around, his hot glare now focused on the backs of the Novas who were currently talking jovially with some other group of Exotics. The look on Matt’s face was… well I was discovering that the man had more than one level of outraged he could be at any given time.

  “She cursed you!” He snarled. “Before your match! That’s cheating!”

  “No. I don’t think so. I think… I think she helped me.” It sounded weird when I said it outloud, but I was increasingly sure of it. The thing she’d done didn’t feel like it was hurting me at all. Of course, I hadn’t let it stay inside of me for very long, either. Was I wrong?

  I checked my logs to be sure.

  Status gained: Glyph of Invigoration.

  Status lost: Glyph of Invigoration.

  Mana Manipulation is now 11.

  “Glyph of invigoration,” I recited aloud.

  Matt Marshal was still staring daggers at the Novas, but he took a moment off of that to look me up and down.

  “You alright then?” He asked.

  “I took care of it,” I replied, nodding as I read the logs over and over again. Why hadn’t I seen it happening? My logs were meant to highlight that kind of thing. I’d made sure of that. Now that I thought of it, Death’s Touch had done something similar. I hadn’t noticed what he was doing until I’d detected it with my mana sense. Then, I could see the lines in my feed but not until then.

  Was there some kind of stealth casting Ability I was missing?

  Matt nodded. “Probably a good idea, even if it was a buff. Those people wouldn’t spend even a single MP to help their own mother. A gift from Eesa is poisoned by its very nature.”

  I blinked, taken aback at the man’s casual use of an archaic gamer term, “buff,” but he went on before I could ask, scratching his chin and speculating.

  “Not sure what they’re playing at, but whatever it is, it’s not in the spirit of this tournament. From what I know, glyphs are potentially powerful abilities, long term sort of enchantments, and if she put it on you just before a match that would be a disqualifying action. We’re trying to find the best of the best here, not who has the best connections.”

  A pleasant but serious female voice came on over the intercom. “Next match: Eesa Nova, Ryan Kotes. Report to the proctor in two minutes for pre-match briefing.”

  Matt’s ever present scowl deepened until he looked more like a frog than a man.

  “That sneaky… She knew she was facing you. She had to.”

  “And she buffed me,” I mused.

  Matt stood up straight, chest out and fists clenched.

  “I don’t like it. I don’t like them, but I definitely don’t like how they do things. I have to report this to the proctor,” he declared. The way his armor shined, the determination in his eyes… it all made him look disgustingly noble in that moment.

  I put a hand out to halt him before he could march off and do something I would regret. It actually took a lot of my strength to stop him. The guy’s Body score had to be up there.

  He looked at me like I’d grown two heads. “She’s cheating. Who knows what else she’s done to rig this fight, not to mention she somehow knew she was fighting you. It all stinks. We have to tell the authorities. They’ll probably even give you the match.”

  But I wasn't here to just win matches was I? I was here to earn my way into a school. Then I needed to stay in said school until my legal problems went away. Winning on a technicality wouldn’t be as good as just a win.

  Also, I was starting to realize I would need to earn some respect from my future classmates if I didn’t want to have crap like this happen all the time. If I’d just countered her trap card, maybe I could use that.

  I grinned in a way that probably looked a bit evil to Matt, since he’d already pegged me as criminal scum. I didn’t care, though. This was a good plan. Suck it, Marshal.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure she gets what she deserves.”

  Hey. Thanks for giving In my Defense a chance. New chapters will be posted Tuesdays and Thursdays, eventually ramping up depending on the amount of interest we can generate here.

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