Stay after class.
Had he ever heard those exact words before? Marcus wasn't sure, and for more reasons than the fact he'd never really been in a class before. It was just… strange.
The man talked to him like just any other student. And yes, he'd been getting used to that since this became his life and even preferred it in some ways, but to be scolded like a child? To have some stranger be disappointed because Marcus failed a standard he hadn't even been aware of?
The class emptied as he worked to cool his temper. Something that had been getting easier as time went on, though he simply found it easier to direct it. To channel it productively. Not lashing out and saying mean things, but using it to drive away hesitation and fear instead.
So Marcus walked up to the man's desk, the teacher having taken a seat, and only noticed three others had stayed behind as he did. Two looked bored while one looked gleeful, Marcus having no idea why.
"You are applying yourself poorly, mister Lannoy," the man began. The three students walked closer, Marcus preparing his shield. He doubted visible magic would cause a reset—not here—and something felt off. "Poorly enough your weekly evaluation has been moved up. Mister Yanick, if you please?"
Marcus stepped aside, instinct he'd long since learned not to question taking over his body. A thin spear of ice embedded into the wall behind where he'd just stood, neither the professor nor the two other students appearing startled.
His shield snapped in place as Yanick fired off another attack, Marcus reaching for the knife he didn't have. He took a quill instead, nearly tripping over a chair as another spear was let loose.
"Stumbling around like a drunk," Yanick sneered, taking a step closer to loom properly. "Filth like you shouldn't have eve-"
Marcus took a step forward, and just like that all the space between them was gone. The telekinetic threads he used for increased mobility weren't ready for magical combat, which became very evident when Yanick unravelled them the moment they appeared, and Marcus made a mental note not to use them again. He slammed a hand into the man's shield instead, the memory of the siege mage snapping back to mind.
The blow didn't even make the shield visible, but the magical feedback did confirm what Marcus already suspected. He gripped one of the chairs, swinging it at the boy with as much strength as he could.
That blow made Yanick stagger, though he remained uninjured, and Marcus carved a rune of destabilisation into the air. His concentration strained and magic bled, the medium holding onto the magic poorly, but before it could unravel it washed over Yanick.
The boy's shield flickered out, the students eyes widening as Marcus stepped closer still. His hand lashed out and the quill embedded into his neck, snapping as Marcus pushed the kid back. Yanick fell, head bashing against one of the tables.
Then he landed on the floor and didn't get back up. Marcus whirled around at the three remaining people, the professor leaning back into his chair with a raised eyebrow. The two other students were already repairing the damage, smoothing over the damaged wall and mending the chairs.
Druid powers. Marcus turned to the professor fully, shaping a much more lethal matrix."What the fuck was that?"
"Your assessment," the man said, as if that made perfect sense. "We're at war, boy. All the magic in the world won't do you any good if you hesitate at that critical moment. In that, at least, you've surpassed my expectations."
Marcus brought his spell to life, a small orb of arcane fire springing up over his palm. It seemed he had gained a fondness of it, rather quickly at that, and while the orb was small the pressure was not. The druids slowed, watching it warily, but the professor just laughed.
A six-domes shield sprung to life over his desk, Marcus all but tasting the static nature of the magic. Artifacts. Multiple of them, going by the feeling. The professor raised an eyebrow, catching the way Marcus' eyes flickered to the desk.
"You are skilled, aren't you?" the man said, interlacing his fingers. "The point of this academy, as I'm sure I don't need to remind you, is to create Archmages. To combat the dungeon. To help the Empire stabilise a continent so close to destruction the slightest kindness would doom us all. So hate me, mister Lannoy. Struggle and bleed and kill. If you become a siege mage I'll have done my job. If you become an Archmage the Empire will gift you my head, should you wish for it."
Where the fuck was he?
Marcus slowly bled the energy from his spell, letting it dissipate as the professor's shields flickered off. Marcus cleared his throat. "We are currently inside an artefact named the School of Life, created by the Archamge Balthazar to train his apprentices. The Hells are sealed off, if you need proof."
The man, who's name Marcus still didn't know, tilted his head. Waved his hand, a hellhound crawling out of the summoning ritual he'd imprinted on the wall with nothing but a gesture. It snarled briefly before laying down, apparently deciding to take a nap.
"The Hells seem accessible, mister Lannoy. Bert, Olive, escort our confused student to his dorm."
"At once, professor Mackenzie."
Olive beckoned him closer as the professor turned aside, Marcus taking a moment to verify the Hells were indeed still inaccessible. And they were. The cracks were still present, and though he'd need proper notation to measure their growth they had undeniably grown.
Which meant the professor was lying or unable to see the block. It could be the artifact messing with the man, but he'd twitched when Marcus named Balthazar. Twitched and seemed relieved.
"Get out," Marcus said, eyes flickering to the two other students. The pair looked at the dead body on the floor and left, the professor pretending to grade papers. "I'm tired, shadow."
"Shadow? I hope you are not one of those types to philosophize when encountering death."
"Encounter?" Marcus asked, moving closer to the man. "I've lived it. Breathed it. Six months in that siege, weeks to hunt down the shapeshifter. Gods only know how long it will take for me to figure this out, whatever this is. And that's even assuming I've got time, because the reality we live in is falling apart."
"What are you getting at, mister Lannoy?"
"You know. You know we're in the School of Life. That none of this is real. You know and choose to ignore it."
Mackenzie sighed, putting down his quill. "Do you know what an Archmage is, boy? Truly?"
"Those with an affinity for magic surpassing the norm."
"Textbook," the professor dismissed, snorting. "Words that don't bring out the true meaning. Archmages are gods. They play with reality like children play with blocks. And like children they disregard those around them in the pursuit of their whims. In the pursuit of their obsession. So why does the Empire tolerate them? Why does the Empire glorify them, shower them with riches, praise and privilege?"
Marcus said nothing. The professor didn't seem to care. "Because they have power that defies the meaning of the word. They create life, shatter realms, build things us mortals can't fathom the true purpose of. And every so often they will deign to hear our pleas and beat back the dungeon. Deign to wave their hand and kill more monsters than tens of thousands of soldiers could in a month. Now tell me this, mister Lannoy. What are we to do against people like that?
Nothing. Nothing at all. So now I find myself, what did you call it? A shadow? Now I find myself as a shadow created to train the mighty Balthazar more apprentices. More fuel for his rituals, more hands to keep his machines running. And worse yet, it's breaking apart."
He waited for a moment, but the Professor seemed done monologuing. "So now what? If you know this place is meant to train me, can I assume you're willing to help?"
"Help?" Mackenzie asked, cold amusement curling in his eyes. "No, boy. I will not help. I will not speed along the end of my own existence. But neither will I be your enemy. I will be me, and when I die I will be at peace once more. My real self is long dead either way, isn't he?"
Marcus sighed. "It's been approximately six hundred years since the creation of the Empire. I'm not sure about what year we're in now, but when I was 'outside' it was the summer of six hundred and nineteen."
"Six hundred years?" the professor repeated, a smile in his voice. "We made it six hundred years? Blessed be the Gods. Most of us weren't sure if we'd make it past the first century. And before you ask, no, there will not be payment for this information. The nature of this artifact will let you exploit that until I am nothing but a repository of knowledge."
A shame, but this place seemed magically advanced enough Marcus would learn enough anyway. "Then I'll be going, professor. One last thing, though. Why not attempt to join the loops?"
"To what purpose? My life is here. My husband is here. My children are here. I have nothing in your future, and death has never scared me as much as it seems to scare others. Now go, mister Lannoy, and be careful about others discovering the nature of our existence. Most won't be as sanguine about it as me."
That seemed the end of it, the man picking up his quill to resume marking the exams. Marcus shook his head, exiting through the door. The professor did, indeed, seem content to ignore the problem and bury his head in the sand.
Which made sense if only those who were still alive outside the dungeon could even theoretically exi-
"We're in a fake reality?" Olive demanded, Marcus slowing to a halt. The two boys blocked the way forward, Bert layering a shield around himself as they did. The druids weren't limited to their chosen discipline? "Why? How?"
Marcus raised an eyebrow, looking past them both in clear dismissal. He wasn't in the mood, for one, and he had a feeling the professor knew those two had been listening. Another evaluation? It felt that way.
"He's lying," Marcus lied calmly. "Would he still be grading papers if it was true?"
Olive hesitated, glancing back inside. The door slammed shut, hard, and the boy jumped back a little. "No, I guess not. But why would he lie?"
"No idea." And they hadn't heard everything, then. That made this easier. "To scare me, I suppose. Do I look scared?"
Bert managed a half grin. "You look like someone who's used to killing people."
Marcus was about to reply when he spotted someone in the back, a full-blooded Elf being surrounded by several other people. Her hand was on her weapon, though the four cornering her didn't seem to care.
"Excuse me."
He pushed past the pair of druids, more curious than truly alarmed. Elves could take care of themselves, that he knew most intimately, but one of the idiots was holding a collar. A collar that his history books insisted were thoroughly outlawed since the Imperial year of one hundred and fourteen.
Most of us weren't sure if we'd make it past the first century. Mackenzie had said. This seemed to be later in the Empire's history than the siege, maybe even long enough for the non-Human species to already become marginalized.
Slavery. It wasn't a concept he'd ever really had to face before, and now that he was it twisted something ugly in his gut. And, well, what was the point of power if you never used it to forcefully push your viewpoint onto others?
Which sounded bad, Marcus knew, but slavery?
No.
He wasn't going to stand for that, not even in this living piece of history.
"Slaves have to agree to wear this, girl," the collar-holding man was saying. Leering, really, and suddenly Marcus had another reason to feed the man his own teeth. "But you know what will happen if you don't, right? You won't survive another week in this place with how low your magical potential is."
The Elf looked the would-be slaver in the eye, lips curving into a small smirk. "The future remains uncertain. I know what is about to happen to you, however."
Marcus grabbed the metal, floor-standing candelabra and swung before the man could turn. It impacted a shield, because of course it did, but it was kind of funny how so few mages were prepared to be hit really hard with large metal objects.
The three others, however, reacted more quickly than anticipated. One slashed his hand and a wave of disruption magic waved over Marcus' shield, which promptly collapsed, while the other two readied offensive magic.
A rock spike and a purely magical force bolt, from what his senses told him. He let himself fall back, the training with his old squad kicking in. Better a bruised back than a hole in your head.
It wasn't a graceful roll, though it did get him out of the line of fire. Fire that never came, Marcus blinking as the Elf slashed her dagger over one of the mages. The man's shield collapsed as the dagger sparked, her fist lashing out to take him in the throat.
He collapsed, Marcus not wasting time by trying to climb to his feet. He carved a quick rune in the air, sacrificing power for speed, and yet another disruptive wave of magic collapsed a shield. This time it wasn't his, though, and the Elf kicked the now shieldless, collar-holding mage between his legs. Hard.
The would-be slaver threw up, the last remaining mage deciding discretion was the better part of valor. Marcus finally climbed to his feet, blatantly throwing up a new shield.
His combat instincts weren't quite used to magic yet, it seemed.
"Thanks," the Elf said, dagger stabbing down at the dropped collar. The weapon sparked again, destroying the magic within the low-grade artifact with a vicious fury. She straightened. "You fight well, for a mage. I'm Nora."
He shook the hand she offered, rolling his already bruising shoulder. "Marcus. Never seen an Elf travelling alone."
"You have now," she replied, expression cooling. "You're Lannoy, right?"
Marcus smoothed his own face into a polite mask. "So I am. Have we met before? I'm afraid I'm not very good with faces."
"No. I've seen you around, but you don't talk to people. Don't do anything but read and mutter to yourself, from what I've seen."
"Good to know," Marcus replied. Nora's eyes narrowed, flickering to the guy with the collar. Marcus followed her gaze. "Want to kill him?"
"We're not allowed to."
"I literally just killed someone two minutes ago," he replied. Then he fell silent, frowning to himself. "I'm getting rather desensitized to death, aren't I? That's probably not a good trait to develop. Or maybe it is? Do Kings kill without remorse? Father did have quite a few people executed over the years."
Nora raised an eyebrow, some interest appearing. "Do you wish to kill him?"
"Want to? Not particularly. But it seems I don't really care if he dies either."
"Interesting," the Elf replied. Marcus blinked and her foot was already coming down on the slaver's throat, crushing it in one smooth notion. Nora looked at him, judging his reaction, and Marcus tilted his head. Nora hummed. "Very interesting. Only warriors from the front-line are that apathetic about violence. Considering I know for a fact you've been here every day for the past two months, you intrigue me."
If you're lucky one of them will invite you for 'wine and poetry'. Marcus remembered, his old squad flashing to the forefront of his mind. Right, Elves were rather ruthless as a rule. Attuned to nature and all.
Any who underwent even a rudimentary study of ants knew exactly how gentle nature is.
"So killing is allowed?"
Nora shrugged, not seeming to care about the blood pooling at her feet. "Only during our weekly evaluations, technically, but I can claim self-defence. Would you be so kind as to act as my witness?"
"Sure?"
"What's going on here?" someone barked. Marcus turned, finding a pair of surprisingly well-armed guards pushing through the small crowd. Not better armored than the ones he was used to from back home, necessarily, but he could feel the magic in their armor. In their weapons and helmets and breastplates. "This murder was not sanctioned. Explain yourselves."
Nora took a step forward, the younger of the guards actually taking a small step back. New? "They tried to pressure me into becoming a slave, threatening my life when I refused, and I solved the issue as permitted to me under clause seven, section b."
"And you?" the older guard asked, Marcus raising an eyebrow in confusion. "Do you corroborate her story?"
"Sure? They tried to pressure her into consenting to be enslaved, she took offence. It honestly seems like she's done you a favor. Who looks at an Elf and goes 'yup, those would make for good slaves?'"
The guard raised an eyebrow, apparently confused, and Nora mirrored the gesture. "And how were you involved, mister Lannoy?"
Why did everyone know his name?
"I hit that one with a candelabra, mostly."
Another weird look, but after a moment the older guard sighed. "Jerkins, clean this up. You two, I need you to remain here and fill out some paperwork."
Jerkins moved to drag the corpse away, the other downed students not seeming in a hurry to get up. Nora leaned on the wall with a bored look on her face, her unflappability somewhat betrayed by the way her foot tapped on the floor, and Marcus watched yet another guard enter the classroom he'd just killed someone in.
Marcus let out a deep, long sigh. I just want to go home.
Afterword
Discord [Check author profile or pinned comment on the chapter.] (two chapters ahead)