The Lesser One Chapter 10: Greenfingers

Greenfingers

As my hand turns greener and greener, the tank we are riding on takes us closer to where the balrog is rampaging through the city.

“What is this, a Godzilla movie?” says the tank commander, whose front half is sticking out of the hatch. “Left!” he yells.

The tank takes a left. We are getting even closer. A couple of lesser devils are in our way.

“Smash them!” yells the commander.

“You won’t be able to kill them!” yells Esla, back at him.

“We’re not trying!” yells the commander.

Corbin looks afraid. “We didn’t get to absorb the ring of the devil we just killed,” he says, his voice almost drowned by the noise.  

“Why is that important?” I yell, over the sound of the tank’s engine.

“I don’t know,” says Corbin. “I have a bad feeling about it.”

The tank swerves around another intersection. I didn’t know that tanks could move like this. With a fierce increase in speed, we bowl over the three lesser devils that are in our way. At the very least, tanks are big and heavy with lots of momentum.

The tank’s main gun swivels and fires at one of the devils. The round smacks into a shield of magic and sends a rain of sparks falling onto the ground.

The three lesser devils begin to chase us.

Three adventurers appear from out of a doorway and engage them. A couple of seconds later the tank turns again and I lose sight of the conflict.

“Where are we headed?” Esla yells to the tank commander.

The tank commander says something into his mic. Then he turns to Esla. “The front lines! We’ve got a command to get as close as possible!” He signs with his hand, and then looks back at us. “We’re carrying some valuable cargo!”

“Tell us about it!” yells Esla.

“We can’t!” yells the tank commander. “It’s top secret!”

“If we knew, we’d be able to help!” yells Esla.

The commander thinks for a moment. Then he gives Esla a headset connected by a wire. He gives one to me and one to Corbin as well.

“We have a big stinker that can pierce magic,” says the commander. “But it needs to be guided because of some stupid rule of magic or another.” He gives another command to the driver and turns back to us. “We’ve got the guiding platform.”

We take another turn at high speed, trading paint with several parked cars. Sparks fly from the contact of metal with metal.

We pass another tank going in the opposite direction. The commanders of both tanks salute each other.

The balrog’s feet appear between two buildings. It turns the corner towards us, belching fire from its two heads and setting the buildings around it alight. A crowd of lesser devils spread out in front of its feet.

“We’re going to have to hit it on its head,” says the commander, through the headset I’m wearing. He looks around. “Where the hell are the Rangers?”

He holds his hand to his headset—it appears he is getting info.

“Well damn,” says the commander. The balrog takes a step closer. It seems to have noticed us. “The Rangers got knocked out,” says the commander.

Esla looks at me, and then at Corbin. “We can do it,” she says.

The commander thinks for a moment. Then he nods. He reaches down into the tank and pulls out what looks like a bulky laser pointer.

“Hold the dot on the monster’s head,” he says. “You’ll need to be at least twenty stories up.” He hands the device to Esla.

Esla rips off her headset and gives a thumbs-up. I take my headset off, and so does Corbin.

“Good luck,” mouths the commander.

The three of us nod. We jump off the tank at the same time. The tank backs away as soon as we hit the ground. The balrog is a block and a half away, moving towards us.

Corbin kicks in the door of the building closest to us. He points to the interior. “I’ll stay here and keep the devils out!” he yells.

Esla nods. She and I enter the building and start climbing stairs.

I’m happy that I’ve been working out lately. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have been able to keep up with Esla. As it is, I barely manage to stay behind her. We reach the twentieth floor just as the balrog passes by the building we’re in. Esla holds up the laser device. There’s a timer. A minute and twenty seconds. She runs to the nearest window facing the balrog and points the laser at the spot between its horns. I make sure my bow is in its place on my back.

A green dot appears on the balrog’s head. Half a second later, it looks straight at us. It stops. Taking a single meaty hand, it rips out the floors below us. The ground begins to tilt. I hear steel groaning.

Esla manages to keep her balance, and keep the dot trained on the balrog’s head.

The balrog rips another floor out beneath us. I am losing my footing, but manage to lean against a pillar and stop my movement.

Esla is not so lucky. She slides towards the window, feet first, and hits the glass. The glass shatters and she falls out. Grabbing the ledge with one hand, she uses the other to toss the device.

“Catch!” she yells.

I catch the device—a feat I have never done before in my life. Holding on to it with my free hand, I point it at the balrog’s head.

10

9

8

7

The roar of a huge jet aircraft blossoms overhead.

6

5

4

The balrog smashes the building with its side, sending ripples through the concrete.

My hand is now completely green. I can see the whites of the balrog’s eyes.

3

2

1

A blast of fire with the intensity of the sun rips through the air and impacts the balrog right where the light was shining. Molten metal and rock flies everywhere. The balrog reels. The pillar I am leaning against collapses, sending me sliding straight towards the firestorm in front of me.

I am in a life or death situation.

I am near a huge monster.

And I don’t even care about what will happen to me next as long as I survive.

I knock an arrow to my bow. The fire around the balrog slips down its body, revealing a patch of its head where the red crackling slade armor has been broken. The balrog is still very much alive, and is turning to me with its gigantic, devilish eyes.

My anima vision spots a tiny point, where the missile has hit, about the size of a penny, where the balrog’s very essence is exposed.

I fire my bow. My entire body turns green, and I suddenly am convinced that I am a papaya. A piece of fruit sliding off of a grocery store shelf.

My arrow buries itself inside the balrog, diving deep. The balrog’s eyes go wide. A light switch flicks in its brain. It staggers, rips some holes in the buildings around it, and stomps on a tank. The flames around it erupt in a display of fireworks that shoots hundreds of meters into the air. The balrog moans, roars, and then collapses to the ground. I slip off the tilting floor and float into the open air.

I am aware of everything. Yet, I know nothing. A beam of light cuts the balrog’s body. A blood-red ring floats out of its chest, spinning, and wraps around my stomach. I am floating, not falling.

Unimaginable power flows through me. My entire being explodes into magic, pain, and the pure essence of reality. I scream without making a sound as I float towards the ground.

I land on the ground with a bump. My vision snaps back into focus. I am no longer a papaya, and my hands are back to normal—except for the blood-red cracks running through them. They shimmer with a starry radiance, almost as if they are alive. Esla kneels beside me.

“Caught you,” she says.

I stand up. We are not in a good situation. At least fifty lesser devils surround us, climbing over the body of their master, spilling out of alleyways and dropping from the buildings above.

A stirring of power erupts in my chest. I embrace it. It begins gathering in my hands, a glob of deep blue energy that contains the fury of a thousand lightning bolts.

The fifty lesser devils do not approach us directly. They form a circle around us, chattering to each other in whatever language they speak.

One of the devils approaches me. I do not know what is going to happen—all I know is that they are not attacking.

The devil bows before me, lowering itself to one knee. “You have defeated our master,” it says, in a guttural, rocky voice. “You have absorbed his soul. We are now yours to command.”

“Um …” I say.

Esla turns to me, her eyes wide. “You killed the balrog?” she says. “Not the military?”

“The military softened him up,” I say, confusion filling me. “But I was the one who killed him.”

The devil in front of me lifts its head, though it is still on one knee. “My name is Jirgrar,” he says. “I am at your command, as is my legion.” He points to the ball of lightning in my hand. “If you wish, we shall store ourselves away within your personal dimension.”

“Personal … ?” I say.

Jirgrar bows. “Yes. I smell your power. It was not an accident that you killed our previous master.”

I hold up my hand. “Okay then,” I say. “I guess you guys can … Do whatever it is that you do.”

“As you command,” says Jirgrar.

I lift up my hand, looking at the ball of plasma in my palm. A light shimmers deep within it. All at once a hundred beams of curved light shoot out from it and surround the devils around us. As one, they shiver, twist, and disperse into blue light that collects in the object I am holding.

There are no more devils. The sounds of battle fade away.

I know the count of devils within me instantly. There are two hundred and fifty-one of them, comprised of five different types. I will probably learn more about them later.

Esla looks to me. “You should, uh, probably not tell anyone about what just happened.”

I get the feeling I am being watched. “Yeah,” I said. “Keep it secret for me.” Esla nods.

The tank that drove us here peels around a corner and stops in front of us. The balrog’s body lies on the street, leaking fiery energy. The commander of the tank pops out of the top hatch and looks at us, shielding his eyes.

“You lads did it!” he says, his voice carrying over the quiet landscape. “You killed the balrog!” His squints. “I guess the brass made a good investment, eh?”

I look at Esla, and she looks at me. We both nod. The missile killed the balrog, not I.

Esla holds out the glorified laser pointer. “Here,” she says.

The commander climbs off of the tank and walks up to Esla. He takes the laser pointer from her. “I’m going to recommend all three of you for a medal.” He looks around. “Where’s the tall guy?”

“Right here!” yells Corbin, hanging out of a broken second-story window. He jumps out and slides along a cloth awning, landing on the ground. He walks up to us and leans on his steel rod.

“I just got done fighting a devil. All of a sudden it disappeared.”

Esla looks at me, and I look at her. We don’t have to talk to each other to understand.

“When the balrog died, it took all the devils with it,” says Esla.

Corbin looks at the burning landscape around us and whistles. “Whoa. That missile or whatever sure did some damage.”

“I’m just glad it worked,” says the tank commander.

“Hey!” yells a voice from half a block away.

I turn around to face a group of adventurers who are approaching. All around us people are popping out of the woodwork, some adventurers, some soldiers, and a couple of civilians.

I can’t identify any one guild, but I can recognize several of the faces. These are all powerful, well-known adventurers.

Mr. Tuffman is among them. He approaches me. “I recognize you,” he says. “You’re with the Riding Valkyries, aren’t you? What are you doing here?”

The tank commander puts himself in between me and Mr. Tuffman. “This boy and his two friends allowed the military to kill the monster. You should be praising them.”

“What happened to its spirit circle?” says Mr. Tuffman.

Esla looks at me for confirmation. I nod.

“Markus is the one who held the laser,” said Esla. “So I’m pretty sure he absorbed it.”

“But you shouldn’t be able to without a ceremony,” says Mr. Tuffman. “The body is still here!”

As if on cue the body starts to crumble.

I take this as my indication. “Dr. Barrimore gave me a potion yesterday. You can talk to him if you want to know what happened.”

“Dr. Barrimore?” says Mr. Tuffman. “You mean that hack who thinks spirit circles should be given to bad spirits?”

“Well, you guys can test me,” I say. “I absorbed the circle, and I think my powers changed. A lot.”

The tank commander waves an arm between us. “We should carry out this conversation later. We need to notify someone of what happened.”

“Don’t worry about that,” says an adventurer behind Mr. Tuffman. “We have that covered.”

A couple of police helicopters pass overhead. More and more vehicles are arriving at the scene. Two news vans screech around and corner and stop next to the fast-decaying body of the balrog.

A dozen cameramen and reporters climb out of the vans and approach the group of adventurers around the balrog’s body.

“Alex Rim!” says one of the reporters, shoving a microphone in front of the face of one of the more famous adventurers in the party. “Who was the one to land the killing blow?”

The tank commander pushes his way through the crowd, displacing Alex Rim. “My name is Lieutenant Anders. I can tell you that the government deployed a secret weapon to destroy the balrog. Since this young man here—” he points to me—”was the one to point the guidance laser, and the missile was fired by a drone, he was the one to absorb the, ah, spirit circle.”

Mr. Tuffman nods his head in understanding. “I don’t know how that would work, to be honest,” he says. “We’ll have to do more research. In the meantime, we need to get in contact with the doctor who caused this … Bizarre transfer of energies.”

“That was Dr. Barrimore,” I say.

Mr. Tuffman nods. He turns to the camera. “It looks like, as in a dungeon, the monsters dissipate once the boss is dead.”

I nod my head along with the story. The reporters then turn to the rest of the adventurers. I assume they know that the people on TV want to know about their favorite celebrity adventurers, not some rando like Mr. Tuffman or me.

The tank commander—Lt. Anders—claps me on the back. “You did good, kid,” he says. “I’ll recommend you for the highest award an adventurer can receive.” He turns to Esla and Corbin. “And you guys too. I know how much you helped.”

“I didn’t do much,” says Corbin.

“You held off the devils while we were climbing,” says Esla. “That deserves an award.”

I sink to my knees. “Guys, I’m kind of tired …” The expenditure of energy I had made, as well as the scare of almost dying, has taken me over.

The world fades away and I feel a pair of arms surrounding me. “Thanks, Esla,” I say, as I fall asleep from exhaustion.

The Lesser One Chapter 9: Wherewithal

If you Have the Wherwithal

“So, I heard you had your first practical exam,” says Dr. Barrimore, as he sits in his lab staring at something through a microscope.

I nod, donning my lab coat and safety gear. “I got injured. I almost made everyone else in my group fail.”

“Hm,” says Dr. Barrimore. “You succeeded, though.”

“Only because everyone else acted like good teammates.”

Dr. Barrimore adjusts his microscope. “Isn’t that the best we can hope for, though?” He says.

I sigh, sitting down next to Dr. Barrimore. “I suppose so.”

“Electic Acid, ten ml,” says Dr. Barrimore.

I prepare a suspension of Electic Acid and hand it to Dr. Barrimore. He takes it without moving much more than his arm. I catch him looking in my direction for a split second. “Hrm,” he says. He takes a pipette and draws out a small amount of the Electic Acid. With a careful touch, he drops about half a milliliter onto the slide he is looking at.

“Yes, yes,” he says, writing something down with his free hand. “Just as I expected.”

I wait for him to explain what he is doing, if he wants to.

He doesn’t.

I wait for another order. Dr. Barrimore spends an inordinate amount of time dropping various liquids onto a microscope slide. I have nothing to do except twiddle my thumbs.

Dr. Barrimore takes several beakers and pours a concoction into a potion bottle. It is at first green, then blue, then red. He looks at it against the light. His smile is broad, and I get a weird feeling from it. “Are you ready to do a little bit of off-the-record experimentation?” he asks.

“Erm, okay?” I say. “As long as it doesn’t kill me or make me sick.”

“Tell no one about this,” says Dr. Barrimore. He hands me the bottle. “Drink it,” he says. His smile changes. “Only if you want to, though. Do you want to help an old man make a difference?”

I nod. I’m not sure what he means by his statement, but I’ve been working long enough with Dr. Barrimore to know that he is exceptionally careful and thoughtful. He wouldn’t give me anything that had even a remote chance of hurting me.

I drink the potion. It tastes a little like orange juice and a lot like medicine. When it is gone, I hand it to Dr. Barrimore.

Nothing happens.

“How long does it take to have an effect?” I say.

Dr. Barrimore nods once. “It already has. However, you won’t see the results until several conditions are met.”

“Okay,” I say. “What are they?”

“One,” says Dr. Barrimore, holding up a finger. “You are in mortal danger.”

“Well that’s—”

“I’m not done yet,” says Dr. Barrimore. He holds up two fingers. “Two. You have to be in the presence of a strong psionic energy, such as from a powerful monster.”

I wait for the third.

“Third,” says Dr. Barrimore. “You must be prepared to have everything about your existence changed.”

“Okay,” I say. “I guess. I don’t really get what all those conditions are for, though. Can’t the potion just take effect?”

“There are a lot of scientific reasons for these three conditions,” says Dr. Barrimore. “Would you like to hear them?”

I nod. “Do the best you can to explain it in words a high schooler can understand.”

“Well, psions are the manifestation of anima. You’ll learn this in Spirit Anatomy.” He holds up a hand. “Before you ask, yes, that is the same anima as your spirit. Having an anima spirit is as if your spirit is plain yogurt or vanilla ice cream. A pure manifestation of psionic power that has no lens through which to distort itself. Thus, it is discounted.” Dr. Barrimore puts down his hand. “Anima has a mind of its own. The “weave,” or the distribution of anima throughout reality, is hypersensitive to thoughts and emotions. It could be called the crystallization of intent. Thus, in order to create a large disruption in the anima weave, a strong emotion needs to be present. This can be any emotion, good or evil. This is the origin of the first condition.” He holds up two fingers. “The second condition is based on the fact that powerful monsters tend to create a sort of anima gravity around them, enhancing and changing its effects.” He holds up three fingers. “And the third condition is for you to think about. If you choose to activate the latent energy of this potion, your entire life will change.”

I understand everything Dr. Barrimore has said. It makes a lot more sense than I thought it would.

“So what does this potion do?” I say.

“I do not know,” says Dr. Barrimore.

“Then why did you give it to me?”

Dr. Barrimore holds up his hands. “Just like everyone has a different spirit, potions made of anima have totally different effects on different people. Thus, I cannot guess what effect it will have on you.”

“Can you at least tell me what it might do?”

Dr. Barrimore seems to think for a moment. He shrugs. “All I know is that you will be very special, from a conventional standpoint.”

“That doesn’t help,” I say.

Dr. Barrimore shrugs again. “You drank it already, so I can’t change anything. Just trust my judgement.”

I nod. “Okay. So, will you be measuring me?”

Dr. Barrimore shook his head. “Not until the change happens.”

I get up, looking at the clock. “It’s been this long?” I say. It’s about time for me to go to club—time has passed much quicker than I thought it would.

Dr. Barrimore turns to his microscope. “If you start to feel as if your pinky finger is turning green, come to my lab immediately.”

“Um … Okay,” I say. As I am leaving through the door, Dr. Barrimore speaks again.

“And, um, if you happen to suddenly believe that you are a papaya, well, if you have the wherewithal … Come to the lab.”

I can’t help but chuckle, even though the reality of the statement is rather frightening. “I will,” I say. I leave the room.

I take the elevator to the floor where the shooting club room is located. Dres and Rey are standing in the corner of the shooting range, talking.

“No, I’m telling you, it’s more complicated than you think. It’s not just a run and gun game where you shoot generic bad guys. It’s so much more than that!” Dres is talking to Rey and gesticulating. He catches sight of me. “You know Bad Happening, right?” he says. He points towards Rey. “This idiot thinks that Bad Happening is a bad game.”

“I’ve never played it before,” I say. “But I’ve read reviews.” I walk to the rack where the bows are stowed and pick mine up. Walking to the range, I look at Dres. “Do you play a lot of video games?”

Dres grins. “Of course. They call me Dreadfingers.”

Rey elbows Dres. “That’s the most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard.”

“But it’s true!” says Dres.

I string my bow. “All right,” I say. “I’ll believe you.” I knock an arrow. “But regionals are coming up, and we don’t have much time to play.”

“All right, all right,” says Dres, as he brings his bow to the range.

We spend the rest of the night shooting on the range. I am getting a lot better than I ever thought I would be at this.

At one in the morning, I unstring my bow and head towards my dorm.

The elevator makes a stop at ground floor. When the doors open, everything is in chaos.

“Where are the Black Cats?” yells a woman, one of the professors here.

“We don’t know! They must be in the center of it! There’s a blackout bubble!”

Dozens of adventurers are running back and forth in the lounge. At least ten people are laying on cots on the ground, some of them bleeding profusely. Sirens wail in the background, and gunshots pop in the distance.

“What the hell happened here?” I ask, as I step out of the elevator. I didn’t mean to; it just happened automatically.

Ms. Bossman grabs me by the shoulder. “Markus. You’re awake. Grab everyone in the Riding Valkyries and bring them down here.”

“What—” I say.

Ms. Bossman’s eyes are filled with fire. “An A-class portal prolapsed.”

“What?” I say. “How did that happen?”

“It opened in a warehouse on the bay. It was a stealth type. No one noticed it.” Ms. Bossman turns away from me. “Hurry! We need everyone we can get!”

I hear people yelling from the other side of the room. “Balrog! It’s a balrog!”

Shivers go down my spine. A Balrog is the ultimate manifestation of demonic terror. Only the S-class tiamut is scarier, and those only occur in S-class dungeons.

But, an A-class opening in the middle of New York? I’ve never heard of anything like it.

The power shuts off. Emergency lights flicker on after a moment, but I know I won’t be taking the elevator. The ground shakes and a roar of hellish proportions resonates through the air. Tanks roll past the Association building, and helicopters fly overhead. The blast of a jet aircraft screams from above.

I take out my cell phone and hope for a signal. There is one. I call Evan. The phone rings twice.

“Hello?” says Evan. “What the hell is happening? Markus, is that you?”

“Come down!” I say. “Gather everyone on the floor. Wake everyone. There’s a balrog in the city!”

“Well shit,” says Evan. There is silence. “Where are you?”

“On the ground floor,” I say. “I’ll be fighting on the streets.”

“We’ll be there as soon as possible,” says Evan. I hear cloth rustling—he must be getting dressed.

“Be careful,” I say. “The power is out. You won’t be able to take the elevator.”

“Thanks,” says Evan. There is a click.

I run up to Jane Bossman. “What happened to Mr. Tuffman?”

“He’s on the front lines,” says Ms. Bossman. “He’s with the first line of defense. The Upper West Side. You’re just an apprentice, so you should stay here and clean up any fiends that make it through the lines.”

“I need my bow,” I say.

Ms. Bossman picks up a bow from beside a wounded adventurer. She hands it to me. “Be careful. Since we’re in the real world, healing magic won’t work. I doubt you’ll be able to do anything the military can’t.”

I examine the bow Ms. Bossman gave me. It’s a compound bow, with a system of pulleys and wheels holding the string. I pick up a quiver of arrows that is leaning against a low wall.

“I’ll be off,” I say.

“Not without me you won’t,” says Esla, approaching me from the main hall. Behind her is Corbin. Both of them are equipped with armor. Esla carries a long leather whip.

“I didn’t see you,” I say.

“That’s because we’ve been out there,” says Esla. “The civilian adventure patrol was among the first responders.” She rolls up her whip and places it under her arm. “It’s lucky that you’re here,” she says. “We need more manpower. There are thousands of lesser devils running around. The military and national guard can’t even handle half of them.”

“Even with tanks?” I say.

Esla shakes her head. “Even a lesser devil has the power to destroy a tank. They just aren’t equipped to deal with magic.” She turns. “Follow us.”

I hold my bow in my hand and hurry after them. The minute I leave the building I am faced with chaos. Hundreds of people are running away from the place where the explosions are happening.

I have a sudden deep feeling of dread. My parents live in the direction away from which everyone is running. I take out my cell phone with my free hand. Moving through my speed dial, I select my mom’s phone number.

As I run towards the action, I hold my phone to my ear. The phone rings, and rings, and rings. There is no response.

“Shit,” I say, placing my phone back in my pocket.

I won’t be able to use the subway at a time like this. Pushing through the crowds, with Esla and Corbin behind me, I race for my home.

At the end of the street I’m running down, a single lesser devil stands, shooting fire out of its mouth.

A military helicopter blazes overhead. Air pushes down on me, giving the world a sense of heaviness. Papers and trash flutter everywhere.

A ridiculously loud “Bruuuup” explodes from the helicopter’s main gun. The lesser devil is forced backwards, but even the full force of a chain gun can’t penetrate its magical defense layer.

A lesser devil is a B-class monster. It’s about the toughest enemy the Riding Valkyries could take as a team.

But it’s not an entire team facing this devil. It’s just me, Esla, and Corbin.

Perhaps this encounter was what Dr. Barrimore, in a fit of clairvoyance, had prepped me for.

I knock an arrow to my bow. I am fully prepared to make this my last stand.

Esla stands beside me. “I can go all out, right?” she says. A yellow ring, adorned with ancient lettering, expands around her waist. She holds her hands up and a violent wind rises from her hands.

I remember that I never asked Esla what her spirit’s rank was. Judging the power radiating from her body it must be at least a high C.

Esla yells and a huge maelstrom of wind picks up, flowing through the skyscraper canyon with the force of a thousand waterfalls. Debris, picked up by the gale, flies past us with the power of explosive shrapnel. It bends around the three of us, heading straight for the devil.

“Holy cow!” yells Corbin, over the sound of the wind.

“I know!” yells Esla, seeming surprised even at her own strength.

A hundred metal bits—the fractured remains of a dozen empty cars—perforate the devil. The devil is thrown off balance.

My anima vision catches a single spot, about a millimeter thick, where the demon’s vitals are showing. Without thinking about it I knock an arrow and fire.

The arrow flies true and straight, the wind backing it. The arrowhead slips into the small point and buries itself to the end of the shaft. The devil grunts, falling to its knees.

Corbin pulls out his steel rod, shapes it into a javelin, and throws it with a mighty swish. The javelin pierces the devil’s face, spraying blood all over the concrete. The devil collapses. Blue blood pools on the ground.

“There are thousands of these things?” I say, incredulous.

An Abrams tank rumbles down the intersection in front of us. It stops, and the hatch opens.

“Get out of here!” yells the commander. “Run!”

Esla holds up her adventurer badge. “We’re adventurers!” she yells.

The tank commander does a double take. “Then get on board! There’s a critical point on the line! We need all the manpower we can get!”

A fighter jet zooms past, letting loose a pair of sidewinders. They trail smoke through the fire-lit night and head towards the site where the balrog is rampaging through the city. We’re closer than makes me comfortable—and my family is even closer, if they haven’t already evacuated.

I place my concern for them behind my concern for the rest of the city. I climb onto the tank along with Esla and Corbin.

My pinky finger begins turning green. A beautiful, radiant, mossy sort of green.

I groan. Oh, no. This is not going to end well if everything goes as it seems it will.  

The Lesser One Chapter 8: Field Exam

Field Exam

After fifteen minutes of hard hiking, I am just barely managing to keep up with the group. We whack through dense underbrush, ford rapids, and climb steep hills that seem to never end. The trail, at times, is barely visible—on purpose, it seems. Every time we get lost, all we have to do is remember a trick we learned last class and we’re back on track. Direction of moss, animal prints, deer trails and all that. Through my anima vision, I can tell that the whole place is, in fact, very well-kept. All the obstacles have been placed, painstakingly, by examiners.  

Still, it is tough going. I keep pace, but it’s wearing me down. I don’t think I’ll be able to handle anything longer than an hour.

Esla looks at her watch, standing about a meter in front of me. “It’s been sixteen minutes. At this rate I think we’ll make it.”

“Not if what’s up ahead has anything to say about it,” says Corbin, from the front of the group. He has stopped.

We gather around him, staring into the maw of a ravine that stretches as far as the eye can see to the right and left, and is at least twenty meters wide at our standing position.

Corbin leans on his steel spirit tool. “How are we going to get across this?”

“We didn’t learn anything about ravine crossing last class,” I say.

Esla tilts her head and shrugs. “Not that I can remember.”

“I think this is a test,” says Koen, her face deadly serious. “Bossman wants us to get across this ravine using a combination of our powers.”

This is the first time I’ve really heard her speak. Her tone is less burly than I expected from her appearance. She sounds like a high school girl. I don’t know what I was expecting from her, but it wasn’t this.

Maybe I should stop judging people based on their appearance.

Koen points to an outcropping of rock on the other end of the ravine. “Do you think we can make it across if we attach, like, a rope to that?” she says.

Esla shrugs. “We don’t have anyone with a power who can reach it,” she says. “If we had someone who could throw a lasso or fly, that would work.”

Koen looks like she wants to say something, but does not.

“Hrm,” says Mattys. “I might be able to do something about this.” He rubs his hands together, cracking his neck.

Corbin nods, his arms crossed. “Let’s see it.”

“Hwa!” yells Mattys, planting his hands on the edge of the ravine. A sheet of ice shoots out, spreading across the open air. The sound of crunching snow and tinkling icicles bounces around. A freezing chill rises from the ground and forms crystal snowflakes that meander back down towards the soil beneath us.

In front of us is a bridge made of ice. Within seconds, it is crumbling, falling apart completely in less time than it took to make.

“Well,” says Koen. “That didn’t work.”

Mattys shrugs. “I guess my ice spirit isn’t exactly suited for this. It’s all about movement, after all.”

“Let me try,” says Koen, seeming to make a decision. “My bamboo probably won’t make it across, but it would be strong enough if it did.” She places her hands against the soil at the edge of the ravine.

Bamboo coils around the edge of the ravine on our side. Reaching out, it flows towards the opposite cliff face in a mess of growing, tangled leaves.

The bamboo sags less than a third of the way across. At this point, it won’t make it.

“How about you try twisting the bamboo pieces, like rope?” I say, as the bamboo reaches its breaking point.

“Hm,” says Koen, her expression changing to one of thoughtfulness. “You mean like this?”

The bamboo coils around itself and instead of reaching out straight, it forms a suspension-bridge like structure that grows forward at a quickening pace. Just as the bamboo is about to snap, it contacts the other edge. The tips of the grown bamboo spear the wall and wrap around the rocky outcropping. Puffs of dirt and rock explode from where the bamboo has pierced the granite.

“Huh,” says Koen. “You can be useful after all.”

I shrug. “Your spirit doesn’t say everything about you.”

Koen snorts, though she seems more amused than anything. She stands up and brushes her hands on her pants.

“So?” she says, pointing a thumb towards the new bridge. “Shall we cross?”

“Just a moment,” says Mattys. He claps his hands together. “My powers don’t limit me to making things slipperier.” He moves his hands in a round circle and a bale ice forms in his hands. “Since you experimented first, it’s my turn next.” He rolls the bale like a bowling ball, sending it floating across the bridge, leaving behind a layer of ice. The rope bridge gains a sandpapery texture. It’s counterintuitive, and probably won’t work in any natural situation, but my anima vision has no problem with it.

“It’s going to be easier to grip now,” he says. “Don’t worry about how it works.”

I make eye contact with everyone in the group. “Well, then, since I’m the least valuable member here, I might as well go first.”

Esla shakes her head. “You’re not—“

Corbin holds his hand out in front of her. “Let him be humble. At the very least, he knows that he can’t really be of much physical help. Though I have to commend him for the idea of twisting Koen’s bamboo like a rope. That alone proves that he is useful.”

I share a thankful glance with Corbin. Truthfully, I don’t really mean it when I say things like that, but my own uselessness has really started grating on me lately. I’m starting to understand how Dr. Barrimore feels.

With a careful start, I walk across the bamboo-ice bridge. The ice is just sandpapery enough to keep me from falling off either edge of the smooth bamboo.

“Yeah! You can do it, Markus!” yells Esla, from the starting position.

I’m halfway through. My heart is beating like a drum and I feel a sense of vertigo coming on. The rapids down below are a lot further than I thought they would be. I feel isolated, like I’ll trip and fall at any moment.

The bamboo shifts. A popping noise starts up beneath me. If I had been more athletic, if I had a higher dexterity stat, I would have stayed upright.

But as it is, my foot slips, my body goes out of balance, and I tumble over the edge. As I grasp for the bamboo, my wrist hits a beam and cracks. I spin out of control and land in the water a couple of seconds later. I can’t see anything. The world is roiling liquid, muddy silt and white-water rapids. I can’t seem to get my head above water.

A spike of bubble erupts in front of me and Esla appears out of its center. She grabs me by the collar and rips me above the rapids. I take gasping breaths as Esla paddles me to shore.

After dragging me onto the sand beneath the cliff face, she turns upward.

“You guys go ahead!” she yells. She turns to me. “Are you okay?” she asks.

I shake my head, too stunned to think properly. “Leave me,” I say. “I can’t help you.”

“Who cares if you can help me or not,” says Esla. “You’re my classmate. My groupmate. I’ll do what I can for you.”

I cough. “I can’t do anything right. It’s my fault that I fell.”

Esla takes me by the cheeks. She is distressed. “You didn’t choose your abilities,” she says. “And you were made an adventurer for a reason. I don’t know you well, but I know that you are stronger than you think you are.” She stands up, holding out her hand. “Come on. We can climb up this cliff and join the others.”

I try to stand up, but a piercing pain lances through my wrist, my chest, and my heel. I may have broken some things. A lot of things.

Esla sighs, and she grabs me by the sides. She lifts me onto her back and stands up with my arms draped over shoulders. She looks up at the three people remaining on the cliff. “You can cross!” she shouts. “It’s not dangerous! Markus just slipped!”

“You shouldn’t have been able to!” yells Mattys. “I made that bridge extra-clingy!”

Corbin holds his hand in front of Mattys.

“I understand,” Corbin calls out to us. “We’ll cross, finish this, and get you some help.”

Esla nods, holding out a thumbs-up. “You don’t have to!” she yells. “We can find our way out in less than an hour!”

Corbin nods, a serious expression on his face. “If you’re not out by the time the assignment ends, we’re coming back for you.”

Koen seems like she wants to say something—I can tell even from here at the bottom of the ravine. I make eye contact her and do my best to smile, though it’s a little difficult with the pressure my broken rib is putting on my chest.

Koen tilts her head as if to ask, “should I help?”

I shake my head no. Koen nods knowingly. I know that she could produce enough bamboo to allow a functional person to climb back up the ravine, but I am not functional. Esla also can’t climb with me weighing her down. We could arrange something to carry me up, like a system of pulleys or something, but that would cut dangerously into our time limit.

I wave with my good hand. “We’re fine,” I say.

The three above us nod and face the bridge. After two uneventful minutes the three are on the other side of the bridge.

“You can get back up there, too,” I say to Esla.

Esla jostles me. “I’m staying with you. You can’t be left on your own in this state.”

“Thank you,” I say.

Esla doesn’t say anything.

“We’re going on!” yells Corbin, from the other side of the ravine.

Corbin, Mattys, and Koen turn and start towards the end of the course. Just as they are about to disappear behind the rock face, Koen turns to me and nods. I smile as best I can. Then the three of them are gone.

I cough, sending pain shooting through my chest.

“If only we had a healer,” says Esla. “When we get out of here I’ll make sure to get you one.” She looks up at the sky, questioningly. “If this actually happens to count as a dungeon, so the rules may apply.”

Healers can only cure injuries obtained within a dungeon. The place we’re may or may not count as a portal-type dungeon.

I hope it’s the former. I don’t want to waste weeks in a hospital recovering from this.

Esla carries me down the length of the ravine, following the side of the river. The sloping floor is covered in boulders and muddy silt. Several times, Esla stumbles, almost falling. Each time I hurt more than before. I pass in and out of consciousness. I must have received a concussion when I fell.

The ravine’s sides grow shorter, the river wider. The rapids are behind us. The water in front of us flows straight and clean, carrying little bits of driftwood.

We walk out onto a river delta flood plain. Ten meters from the end of the ravine, a lake begins. The opposite side is shrouded in mist. The river water meets the lake water in a churning estuary that sends ripples across the flat, pristine surface.

Esla turns towards the beach that runs alongside the lake. The beach is a strip ten to fifteen meters thick that lies underneath a twenty-meter tall cliff. As the distance from the canyon grows, the cliff lowers to meet the beach.

Esla carries me towards that meeting point. “We’re off the trail,” she says. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to find it again.”

I shake my head. “We’re not going to make it,” I say.

“What,” says Esla. “You want to wait for someone to rescue us?”

I can’t shake my head anymore. It hurts too much.

“Thank you,” I say.

“We’re going to make it,” says Esla. “Whether or not we find the trail again. We’re going to push through. Can you see where the portal is with your anima vision?”

I try my best to cast my anima vision as far as it will go.

“That way,” I point, feeling that the direction is better than all the rest. At least we’ll be going somewhere.

Esla shifts her hold on me. “Then let’s go. I trust your judgement.”

“Aah,” I say, trying my best to stay aware. My vision is doubling. The chirp of birds and the shuffling of tree branches fills my ears. Esla’s breathing is regular and hard. She is struggling to walk while holding me. She is a pretty small person, after all, and I am at least five ten. This must be difficult for her.

I close my eyes and try my best to not vomit. All the shaking is making me dizzy, but I don’t want to tell Esla because she is working hard enough as it is.

I have no concept of the amount of time that passes between my goings in and out of consciousness.

“Esla! Markus!” comes a yell from the forest up ahead, after a seeming eternity. Corbin appears through the bushes, followed by Koen and Mattys. All three of them are breathing heavily, covered in sweat and dirt.

“We came for you,” says Corbin. “Koen caught sight of you guys along the lakeside five minutes ago. We can lead you to the trail.”

“We only have ten minutes left,” says Esla. “I don’t think I can go fast enough to reach the end with Markus on my back.”

“You guys can go without me,” I say. “I don’t want to be the reason that all of you fail.”

“We’re taking you with us,” says Corbin. “That’s final. We can switch up who carries Markus so that none of us get too tired to keep going.”

I am ready to cry. I haven’t experienced friendship like this since my assignment to the job of adventurer. “Thanks,” I say.

“No problem,” says Corbin. “We need to hurry if we’re going to make it.” He leans forward. “Give him to me, Esla,” he says.

Esla transfers me to Corbin’s back. It is a painful transition, and several times blackness threatens to block out my view.

I drift in and out of consciousness. At one point I close my eyes while on Corbin’s back and open them on Mattys’ back.

The exit portal appears ahead of us. With a final spurt of effort, we pass through and are dumped onto the floor of the classroom.

Ms. Bossman is standing in front of the exit, her hands crossed. She takes a sport timer and clicks it.

“Fifty-nine minutes, twenty seconds,” she says. “You made it.” She makes a wry expression. “I assume something happened. Write an expedition report and have it turned in by next Wednesday.” She turns to the rest of the class. “Okay! Group two, get ready!”

Corbin turns to me, a broad smile on his face. “We did it!” he says, grinning.

Esla puts me down—she was carrying me when we went through the exit portal—and approaches Ms. Bossman.

“Markus is injured,” she says. “He fell off a bridge and into a river. I think he has several broken bones and a concussion.”

Ms. Bossman raises an eyebrow. “This course is designed to be as benign as possible.” She kneels down beside me and, with an expert touch, finds all my broken points. “Concussion, fractured wrist, broken ankle, two broken ribs. You are lucky that the classroom expedition environment is T-positive.” She pulls out a company phone.

“Hello?” she says. “Yes, this is Jane. Um hm. I have an injured student. Yes, he was injured inside the test dungeon. Um hm. Thanks. He’ll be up there shortly.” She hangs up, looking at my four group members. “I assume you students carried him all the way through the dungeon?” she says. She appears a little bit amused, though I can tell it’s not because she doesn’t care. “I appreciate the teamwork. That’s the kind of stuff that makes being an adventurer worth it.”

“I’ll carry him up,” says Esla.

Ms. Bossman nods. “Good.” She turns to the class. “Hurry up!” she shouts. “The timer’s going to start if you don’t enter now!”

The next group of five students plunges into the portal.

Ms. Bossman’s lip curls up a bit. She looks at Esla. “Can you handle him?” she says.

“I’ve already carried him at least two miles,” says Esla. “If I couldn’t make it to the healer’s office I wouldn’t be worth the name of adventurer.”

“Thanks,” I say, closing my eyes to keep out the bright light.

We take the elevator and, five minutes later, Esla places me on a cot in the infirmary. The healer—a short, blonde woman with a motherly feel to her—puts her hand on my forehead. A pearl of blue light surrounds me, and all my pain clears up. My thoughts straighten, and a wave of relief flows through my body.

“My, my, you took quite the beating,” says the healer. “I haven’t had to heal this much damage from a classroom in years.”

“It’s all because I’m weak,” I say, my voice bitter.

The nurse shakes her head gently. “No, honey,” she says. “You are as strong as you want to be. Every mistake you live through only makes you stronger.”

I sigh, letting my head rest against the pillow. I close my eyes. The whole scene floats before me. The crackle, the vertigo, the feeling of falling.

I don’t cry, though I am shaken up. Mostly I am just glad that my injuries have been healed.

When I am ready, I open my eyes and get up.

The nurse smiles at me. “All ready to go now?” she says.

I nod. “Thank you.” I get up out of bed and walk out the door. Esla is leaning against the wall outside, in the hallway.

She walks towards me when I step out. She slams her hand against the wall, putting me between herself and it.

“You’re an idiot, you know?” she says. Her eyes are fierce. “I don’t know what you think you know about your powers or your strength, but it was stupid to go over the bridge first. You’re not useless. You have as much potential as anyone else. You’re not just a sacrifice we can throw away.”

I turn my head. “I can’t do anything to help, though.”

“You’re the one who came up with the idea to twist Koen’s bamboo. You’re the reason why we were able to cross that ravine.”

I shake my head. “I don’t—”

Esla slams her other hand against the wall. “You do. Whatever you think of yourself, I think you’re worth having in any party, in any guild. Don’t listen to what those cynical bastards who are in charge say. Doing what they expect you to do will only hurt you.” Esla lowers her head. “I don’t know you very well, but I care about you.” She grins, though it is clear she is about to cry. “I saved you once, I saved you twice, and I’m not going to throw away someone I risked my life for.”

I avert my eyes from her gaze. “The only reason you guys listened to me is because we’re students. No guild would take advice on how to use their powers from me.”

“Then learn,” says Esla. “Get a degree. Get something. If it means putting some fancy letters after your name, then do it. Once people start listening to you, then you’ll understand how much you’re worth.”

I nod. “Okay,” I say. Only then do I notice that Esla is breathing hard, and sweating.

“Do you get it?” says Esla, wiping her forehead. She exhales.

“I get it,” I say. I pause. “Now, can you get off me?” I am smiling a bit.

Esla chuckles. She pulls away. “Don’t tell anyone that I got emotional,” she says. “I have a reputation to uphold.” She turns away, holding up her hand. “Ms. Bossman says you’re free to go for today. Come to class as usual tomorrow.”

“Okay,” I say. “I’ll be there.” Even though I’m not feeling up to it, I turn around and head towards Dr. Barrimore’s office.

The Lesser One: Chapter 7: School for Preps

School for Preps

I finish my first semester at Ixtham without incident. Every week or so I head off to the dungeons with my guild. I do research with Dr. Barrimore, who, despite several papers that should have revolutionized the field, is stuck publishing in a backwards, tiny journal that nobody reads. Somehow he manages to collect enough funding to continue at least his basic research. As I learn more about the field, I begin to understand how revolutionary his ideas are. They just go against the grain of accepted dogma.

It’s as if a scientist tried telling the world DNA is a triple-helix, not a double one. Without any clout to back him up, the only things people see when they read his papers are his mistakes. He doesn’t make many, but every single paper he writes has some sort of “flaw” that allows the mainstream to dismiss it. Even though the biggest one is no more than a nitpick, it has grounded Dr. Barrimore’s influence and career.

I also spend a lot of time at Half Moon, socializing. I’m half a decade away from drinking age, but the place just seems to calm me down.

As I work harder at my shooting skills, I begin to show results. Though I’m nowhere near the power level of Rey and Dres, I can at least land all my shots within the second ring of the target at standard shooting range.

After Fall break, I find myself in Practical Field Experience.

I stand in the middle of a group of about twenty students. Jane Bossman arrives five minutes before class starts. The “classroom” isn’t actually a room, but rather an entire floor of the basement levels dedicated entirely to what appears to be obstacle courses. In one corner is a simulated jungle. In another is a crumbling castle. There are also simulated oceans, an icy cavern, and a volcano surrounded by a lava moat. The whole room must be at least ten football fields of space. I’m surprised a room this size could exist in the city of New York.

Ms. Bossman surveys the twenty or so students before her with a grim expression on her face.

“I expect at least a quarter of you to drop out of this class,” she says, her voice iron hard. She takes her sword out and plants it in the gravel in front of her, movie-style. “I will not give quarter. If you fail, you will be kicked out of the academy. I have every discretion when it comes to deciding your fate. Thus, you must work. This class is designed to weed out the soft from the strong.” Her deep blue eyes drill into the class. “Your spirit will not protect you here. I don’t care if you are a dragon or a polar bear. You are going to have to go through the same thing everyone else does.”

The whole class seems stunned. I was warned about Ms. Bossman’s drill-sergeant teaching method, but seeing it up close is intimidating. I shrink back in myself and try not to be noticed.

Ms. Bossman lifts up her chin. “I will give you ten minutes to find a group of five. You will stay with this group for the rest of the semester.” She points to one of the testing areas. “These areas you see here are portals that lead to full-dive environments, some the size of an entire city. Your final exam will be surviving a week in one of them. Until then, I will drill as much survival and combat knowledge into your brain that you will be leaking hardtack out of your ears.” She crosses her arms. No one says anything.

I take this to mean that she wants us to gather into groups now. I spot Esla in the corner of the crowd and gravitate towards her.

“Hey,” I say, as I approach her. “You’re a junior, aren’t you?”

Esla nods, a sheepish grin on her face. “Yeah,” she says.

“Why are you here in a phase one class?”

Esla shrugs. “I just put this class off for a while. You know, since everyone said it would be so hard.” She claps her hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry, though. I’m not stupid or weak. I just happen to be somewhat of a … Careful person.”

I nod. Though Esla’s self-description is suspect, knowing what I know about her, I continue unfazed. “So, do you want to join my group?”

“Of course,” says Esla. “You an me together. No one can stop us.”

“My spirit is an anima,” I deadpan.

Esla shrugs. She doesn’t say anything.

A group of three students approach us. “You two know each other?” says the guy who appears to be the leader. He is tall, blonde, with a dark complexion—he might be Filipino. He extends his hand, a healthy smile on his face.

Esla shakes it without hesitation. “Hey!” she says. “I’m Esla. This here is Markus.” She slaps me on the back.

I bob my head, almost a bow but not quite. “Hello,” I say.

The tall blonde guy grins even bigger. “My name is Corbin.” He points to a red-haired girl who has a bit of stock to her. “This is Koen.” He points to a short, muscled student with a thick goatee. “This is Mattys.”

“Hiya, nice to meet you,” says Mattys, extending his rather meaty hand. I shake. His grip is iron.

“Now that you have all chosen your groups,” says Jane Bossman, her voice carrying over the collected students, “tell each other about your spirit. You have five minutes. After that you will face your first challenge.”

Corbin nods, taking charge of the mood for our group. “My spirit is steel. Specifically, martensite.” He holds up his hand and a steel rod appears in his palm. He wraps his fingers around it. “I can change this weapon to any form.” He flicks the rod and it turns into a scimitar, long and curved. “At the moment it takes a lot of effort to assume a new form, so I only have three that I cycle through.” He flips the sword around and it dissipates back into psion energy.

There is an uncomfortable silence.

Esla steps up. “My spirit is a typhoon,” she says. She claps her hands together and a wind picks up, tussling the clothes and hair of everyone in the class.

“I said talk about your powers,” says Ms. Bossman, her eyes filled with fire. “Not give us all wind chill.”

“Oops,” says Esla. She smiles sheepishly.

“Ha!” says Mattys. “That’s quite the power!” he slaps his hands together and bends over, planting his palms on the ground. A layer of ice shoots forward, creating a thin, slippery road. Mattys then stands up and surfs the road, moving much faster than any human is capable of running.

As he is skating across the room, throwing at least a foot of ice road ahead of him, he holds his fingers out in a “surfer dude” symbol. He rides the ice back towards us and stops in a puff of little white spots. “My spirit is ice. Specifically, ice-friction. It’s kind of complicated but I can move things fast by changing their coefficient of friction using my spirit.” He winks at Esla.

Esla mutters and rolls her eyes.

Koen, the red-haired girl, snaps her fingers. Within five seconds we are standing in a cage made of tall, green bamboo. It happened so fast I’m not even sure how it got there. She nods, appearing pleased, and then snaps her fingers again. The bamboo retracts into the ground, as if it had never been there. She grins.

“As you can see,” says Corbin, “Her spirit is bamboo.”

There is another awkward pause.

“What can you do?” says Corbin, to me.

I shrug. “My spirit is, well, blue anima.”

Corbin tilts his head. “And?” he says.

I point to where Jane Bossman is standing. “She’s going to itch her nose in about five seconds.”

Corbin stares at me, appearing perplexed. Then he looks over at Jane Bossman.

Ms. Bossman, at that moment, itches her nose.

“So you see the future,” says Corbin, taking it in stride.

“Not necessarily,” I say. “I’m just really sensitive to fluctuations in spacetime.”

“And that’s a fluctuation in spacetime,” says Corbin.

There’s a lot more to it than that—I learned a lot about my power from Dr. Barrimore’s research—but, like how they handled their technicalities, I refrain from discussing how consciousness and spacetime interact. I shrug.

“Well,” says Corbin. “I suppose we can use that.” He pauses. “Occasionally.”

“All right,” says Ms. Bossman. “Your time is up. For your first lesson, you’ll be learning how to navigate our first terrain type, a forest. This is basic stuff. About twenty-five percent of dungeons are some kind of forest-based environment.”

Ms. Bossman proceeds to give us instructions on how to navigate forest terrain. About an hour later, at the end of class, my head is stuffed full of information about forests. Foraging, bushwhacking, climbing trees. Tomorrow is our first field test.

After work, club, and visiting the Half Moon, I go to sleep at three in preparation for waking at seven.

After Portal Theory I, Monster Taxonomy, and Equipment Movement, it is finally time for my first field exam. I arrive about five minutes before Ms. Bossman.

The rest of my group, including Esla, all arrive just before class starts.

Esla holds up her hand. “High five?” she says.

I give her a high-five, reluctantly. I don’t understand what she is so fired-up about.

Esla tilts her head. “What’s wrong?” she says. “You don’t look too excited.”

Mattys puts his hands on his hips. “Yeah, man. Esla here is all ready to go and here you are, brining the mood down.” His eyes, though, are glimmering with cheer.

Corbin sighs. “We can’t have you brining us down. I know today is probably going to be easy, but if you’re not up for it you may as well drop out now.”

A clink of armor sounds behind me. I turn around, and see Jane Bossman standing with her arms crossed over her steel breastplate.

“Who said it was going to be easy?” said Ms. Bossman. She taps one finger on the arm of her other hand. “If that’s the attitude you have, you won’t be getting anywhere in this class.”

“Yes, ma’am,” says Corbin. He bows. “I apologize.” His attitude turns quick.

Ms. Bossman seems to be placated. The corners of her lips turn up. “Good,” she says. “Since you seem so eager to go, I’ll have you go first.” She raises her voice, facing the whole class. “Your first mission is to clear the simulated arboreal dungeon in under an hour. There will not be any monsters in this class, but neither will there be support if you get stuck or lost. The time limit is strict. Break it and you will get an F for this assignment.” She turns to my group. “Door three,” she says, pointing to a small patch of forest in the center of the gigantic field.

“We will be sending two teams per class period,” says Ms. Bossman. “One hour each.” She nods at my group, her lips tightly pursed.

“All right then,” says Corbin. “Should we get started?”

“Yeah!” says Esla, pumping her fist. “We can do this!”

Mattys nods, and then shrugs, an amused expression on his face.

Koen turns away and starts walking towards the patch of forest.

I follow, along with the rest of the group. The atmosphere among us is jovial, though I am at its edges. I keep getting the feeling like I’m not being accepted.

But that’s usual for me. I’m not going to cry about it.

Our group reaches the artificial portal in the center of the forest block. From what I have learned in Portal Theory so far, this portal is the man-made equivalent of an F-class portal. The yellow color and specific triangular markings give it away.

Corbin steps up to it. He pulls out his steel rod and forms it into a spear. “Let’s go,” he says, stepping forwards. The portal swallows him with a soap-bubble like effect. A ripple passes through it and disappears.

Esla shrugs, her eyes glittering. “Now or never,” she says, stepping through.

Mattys cracks his knuckles, smiling with a glint of hardness, and walks through.

Koen tilts her head, nods once, and enters.

I am alone in front of the shimmering gateway to the forest realm. I count my blessings, take a few deep breaths, and pass into the world of the green.

The Lesser One: Chapter 6: My First Dungeon

My First Dungeon

I sit down next to Evan. Sarah stands up as soon as my butt hits the bench. She takes her—half finished—meal and dumps it in one of the bins.

Evan turns towards her. “Hey,” he says, reaching for her.

Sarah pushes him away. “I’m sorry. I’ll be working out at the gym.”

Evan sighs, facing me. “I’m sorry about her behavior.”

I smile as best as I can. “It’s okay,” I say. “I’m useless, after all.”

Evan seems to be deep in thought. His eyes light up. “But I heard you have a genius IQ,” he says.

“Genius?” I say. “No one ever told me that.”

“What, you didn’t get you intelligence stat when you got your card?”

“I did,” I say. “I even made a comment about it during my draft.”

“Your stat is fifteen,” says Evan. “That’s means you’re as smart as a genius.”

“I …” I say. “That won’t help me in a dungeon. My strength and dex are much lower than average.”

Evan takes a bite of his chicken patty. He chews, thinking for a moment. “Some day that intelligence might save you.”

I shake my head.

Evan shrugs. “Well, it’s good to be humble.”

I turn towards my food. It’s a Salisbury steak garnished with mashed potatoes and canned beans. I start picking at it. I’m not that hungry, but I force myself to eat.

I notice Evan has finished his food, yet hasn’t gotten up. I get the sense that he wants to keep talking to me.

“You’re young,” he says. “I was seventeen when I got accepted here.”

I hadn’t noted the ages of the people around me when I was awakened, but I did notice that there were a considerable number of people older than me at the draft. “Does that make me special?” I say.

Evan raises one shoulder. “It’s up to you.”

I shake my head. “I think that just gives me a handicap. I don’t have as much life experience as everyone else, and I also haven’t received the same schooling.”

Evan puts his hand on my shoulder. “I understand you. I’m the youngest person to ever receive a fourth-degree black belt in Taekwondo from my studio. I really felt that weighing on me for years.”

I feel a little better, though “impressed” better describes my mental state. “What club are you in?”

Evan finishes the last of his chicken and places his spoon down. “The Taekwondo club, of course,” he says. Then he looks at his watch. “Speaking of which, I have to be there in fifteen minutes.” He gets up, sliding his tray off the table. “If you ever want to talk about anything, you can reach me in room 4013. Just knock before you enter.”

I nod. “Thanks,” I say. I really am appreciative of his advice. I feel like, among the members of the Riding Valkyries, I will get along with him best.

I finish my meal in silence—Rick refrains from speaking to me—and get up to head to Dr. Barrimore’s lab. Rick gives me a single nod as I pick up my tray.

After cleaning up, I take the elevator to Dr. Barrimore’s office. It’s a nondescript room on one of the floors dedicated to housing faculty that used to be a chemistry lab. I knock on the door.

“Come in,” says Dr. Barrimore.

I enter.

“Ah, yes, you’re just in time,” says Dr. Barrimore. “I heard you were selected by the Riding Valkyries.”

I nod. “I don’t know much about them. I’ve never even heard of them before.”

Dr. Barrimore raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t do your research?”

“I, er, I guess I just neglected it. I didn’t feel it was necessary and I didn’t want to get my hopes up.”

“Well, I did give you a very positive letter of recommendation. Perhaps I should have told you about it?”

I smile a bit. “No, I liked it better as a surprise. I’m just happy that any guild accepted me. The one before me wasn’t selected. She was really messed up about it.”

Dr. Barrimore’s perpetual frown softens. “I really don’t like the draft format, but I can’t do anything to change it.” He turns to the door to the lab. A wall separates it from his office. He opens it with a key.

“Well then,” he says. “Shall we begin where we left off?” He smiles a little—I’ve only ever seen him do it in his lab. The comment about the draft system seemed to be weighing on him, so it wasn’t as bright as usual.

I know what to do; I’ve been doing it for a month. I get into my lab gear and approach the far side of the lab.

This wall is lined with terrariums containing the dungeon equivalent of lab mice—red slimes. The slimes meander around their little homes, absorbing the last of the little bug bits I fed them yesterday. I reach into a sack containing more bug bits—ick—and feed the whole wall, one terrarium at a time. When I am done I turn to Dr. Barrimore.

He has set up the spirit ring reader. It’s a complicated device covered in open wires. Installed laser technology reads the effects of spirit and psion interactions. A paper talisman containing Chinese characters sits in the center of the device’s operating table. The talisman is a substitute for a human, an inanimate object that is capable of absorbing spirit circles. Dr. Barrimore is the only one in this school who uses one. It’s not a secret; it’s just that most research done here doesn’t require a human substitute in this capacity.

Dr. Barrimore encountered this system of magic while on a furlough in Japan.

With our very tight budget, it is useful that all a talisman takes is a piece of paper and some Kanji lettering.

“Find me a six-year slime,” says Dr. Barrimore, already immersed in the output filling the console screen.

I look at the labels on the terrariums and find the one that says “Six-year.” I use a special pair of slime tongs—kind of like noodle strainers attached to long chopsticks—and pick up a six-year specimen. I bring it over to the talisman and place it in a special holding tank.

I’m not exactly sure what Dr. Barrimore is trying to prove here—it’s too technical for me to understand—but I do know that what is about to occur will be amazingly cool.

The slime bumbles around for a bit, before settling down at the east corner of the holding pen. Dr. Barrimore makes some notes. He then turns a big dial on the side of the machine. A high-power laser shoots out from a divot on the machine’s interior, vaporizing the slime in a puff of goo.

A kernel of light rises out of the remains.

“Oh great light in the heavens, please allow my proxy to absorb this gift from the gods,” says Dr. Barrimore, holding his hands out in prayer.

The kernel of light turns into a ring. It is about a foot in diameter and is decorated with ancient, inscrutable lettering, as well as complex webbing that pulsates with light.

It’s like watching gold glitter, or the aftereffects of a Disneyland fireworks show. Explosive energy radiates from every rune, twisting through the webbing in veins of bright light. And, this is only a six-year spirit ring! Any good adventurer would turn their nose at it in a dungeon setting. The only thing it’s good for is spirit cheese.

Even so, I can’t get enough of it. I watch as the circle is absorbed by the talisman, becoming a rotating Saturn-esque adornment.

Dr. Barrimore nods, appearing pleased, and the experiments continue.

Six hours later, at midnight, Dr. Barrimore allows me to leave.

I take the elevator down to the sub floor where the shooting club makes its home. When I arrive, Rey is leaning against the wall. She motions toward me. “So you really came,” she says.

I nod.

She sighs. “I made a bet with my brother about whether or not you would come. I guess I owe him twenty bucks now.”

“Why would you think I wouldn’t come?” I say.

Rey shrugs. “I dunno. I really haven’t worked with anyone crazy enough to sacrifice sleep for practice. I’m pretty much the only one who cares enough about the sport for that to happen.”

“So you’re used to working nights?”

“I’m a champion. I have to defend my title.”

I nod. This is one girl I can empathize with. Hard work makes everything better.  “You can teach me, then,” I say.

Rey nods. “I can.”

We spent the rest of the night, until the wee hours of the morning, practicing our shooting.

I go up to my room to sleep for maybe three hours before class starts again.

Two weeks pass. I spend most of my time between class, Dr. Barrimore’s lab, and practicing on the range. I’m getting maybe four to six hours of sleep a night. Since I don’t have to study much to get information to stick, I have more time free for the stuff I want to do.

Two weeks after I get drafted, the Riding Valkyries get a dungeon assignment. It’s a D-class, which I learned about in General Spirit Theory.

Basically, dungeons are classified by how much spiritual and psionic interference they put out. The classes go from F to S. The scale is a logarithmic one, meaning that a D class is ten times as powerful as an E class. It’s called the Mallory Scale. The more powerful a dungeon’s emissions, the more powerful its monsters and traps.

Usually.

After gathering in the staging area on the alley side of the Association Headquarters, our little group of eight adventurers plus six apprentices—including me—heads towards the dungeon. It’s not too far from Central Park, tucked away behind a little office block. Not prime real estate, but not a bad neighborhood either.

The dungeon’s portal shimmers in the center of an alley. Dungeon portals only appear where there is enough space—which is usually outside on the street. This one is no exception.

Mary, who happens to be the thief class role, stands in front of our group. Mr. Tuffman, a tank, stands in the center of the full-fledged adventurers.

Along with Mr. Tuffman—tank—and Mary—thief—we have: Jesus Lorenz, a marksman; David Spinner, a healer; Fera Willcox, a DPS; Turner Williams, another DPS; Gilly Sanderson, a multi-class; and Bismark Chrone, a technician.

The apprentices are: me; Evan; Sarah; Rick; Blake; and Tom. Each of us carries a large backpack that will eventually get filled with loot.

I haven’t taken any practical classes yet, so I am placed in the middle of the formation. Once I learn how to fight and “crawl” properly I can join the actual formation.

For now, I am just dead weight.

The dungeon we enter is covered in ice. Sounds bounce around clear, glacial walls and echo far into the darkness ahead. The air swirls around in flurries of ice-cold gasps.

I pull my jacket closer to me. It had been hot, wearing it in the New York summer, but now I was grateful to have it. My breath clouds in front of me.

Mary holds up her hand. “Contact,” she says. A couple ice golems approach. I know from Spirit Circle Id-Rep that these are low-double-digit monsters, perhaps between ten and twenty. No adventurer in their right mind would absorb their circles.

Our two DPS members put an end to the monsters’ existence. A couple of magic bullets later and all that is left are item drops and floating circles.

It’s the first time I have experienced actual combat. Despite the monsters’ harmlessness, my hands are still shaking with adrenaline.

It is the apprentices’ job to collect the item drops and help our technician, Bismark, vacuum up the circles. It only takes a few minutes and out party is on the move again. The drops are split among porters; I carry a single radiant icicle in my backpack. It’s a lot heavier than I would have expected, but it’s not more than a thick textbook. Heavy, but just light enough to be carriable. A complex feeling.

“Items” are crystalized forms of a monster’s physical essence. “Circles” or “rings” are concentrated spiritual power. Spirit circle id-rep pretty much covered everything I need to know about spirit circles in order to deal with them. Not to mention what working with Dr. Barrimore taught me.

Any ring below fifty or so that is actively absorbed into an adventurer’s psyche will destroy any potential their companion spirits have. It’s like opening with the Paris Defense in chess. A total misstep. These unwanted spirit circles are processed into “spirit cheese” by adventurers. “Spirit Cheese,” or pureed spirit circle, is a powerful industrial product. It has both physical and psychic properties when refined. It can be turned into a variety of useful products, including industrial lubricant and low-cost, high-energy nutritional shakes.

“Items” are the physical manifestation of dead monsters. They have special properties that make them different from any physical object originating in our dimension. Their origin and composition are mostly a mystery, despite decades of research.

However, they are very valuable. A drop from a twenty-year monster can go for over a hundred dollars on the wholesale market.

It seems hardly worth it to risk life and limb for any somewhat trivial amount of money, but dungeons have to be cleared anyways. Items generally help reduce the operating costs.

The party continues through the crystal ice dungeon. We fight a couple more trash mobs and go deeper and deeper. We are looking for the “boss,” the monster who is connected to the portal’s dimensional bridge and thus, if defeated, will negate the portal.

Double doors mark the end of the long maze. They are formed of crystal ice, blue veins tracing through carved bas-relief.

Mr. Tuffman places his palm against the doors.

“Apprentices, stay back,” says Mary. “Fera, take point. Andrew will draw fire. David—you know what to do.”

The doors open with a dramatic flourish. Blue fire erupts from at least a hundred torches placed in ice sconces, radiating chill. At the end of the hall sits a guardian of immense proportions, a monster to top monsters. A goat-like head, covered in blue fur, sits atop a boar’s torso and a dragon’s legs. Six arms extend from the monster’s sides, four on one side and two on the other. A pair of bat’s wings springs from the monster’s gnarly back.

The monster stands, bellowing.

Four smaller monsters—kobolds—appear out of mist and charge the party. The big boss trundles forward, behind them.

“Gilly! Magic missile—level seven!”

Sixteen red arrows form above Gilly’s head and fly across the room, four impacting each kobold. Not much happens—the kobolds power through, screaming and waving spears.

“Andrew!” says Mary.

“Right!” says Andrew. He plants his shield between the party and the kobolds.

“Lorenz!” says Andrew, a blue spell growing in his hands.

“Blast of lightning!” yells Lorenz, sweeping his hands. Pink lightning rockets forth, striking the boss monster on the snout. Trails of electricity jump between the boss monster’s hairs.

The boss monster raises its Warhammer and roars.

Ice crystals spike outwards from the boss’s feet, jutting ten feet up, speeding towards the party.

Andrew finishes his defense spell. The ice slams against the wall of magic, spraying cold sparks everywhere.

Two kobolds go for a flank.

“Turner!” yells Andrew.

Turner throws several shurikens, which grow exponentially in size as they fly. One of them takes the head off of a kobold. The other kobold dodges, and the car-sized shuriken slams into the ice wall, spitting shards of glittering blue frozen water.

The dodging kobold leaps for Turner.

“Fera!” yells Turner.

Fera sweeps her staff around. “Block!” she yells.

The attacking kobold rams into a green force field. Stunned, for a moment, it staggers backwards.

Turner steps through the force field and points his palm at the kobold. “Chill touch!” he says.

Black sludge spews out from Turner’s hand and covers the kobold. The kobold screams in pain. Miasma rises from the kobold’s thrashing body.

The second to last kobold takes a magic missile to the face, splattering blood all over the icy ground. One drop touches the boss’s snout. With an evil look in its eyes, the boss wipes the droplet of blood off.

The fourth kobold backs up towards the boss. The boss raises its Warhammer and slams it against the ground.

Waves of icicles race towards the party.

“AOE!” yells Mary.

Andrew pulls off an emergency local block, but Gilly and Bismark are not behind it.

Bismark whips out a small metal plate that spirals out to become the size of the front of a house. The ice rips into the metal, tearing it up. By the time the ice has shredded the metal, Gilly and Bismark are out of the AOE attack’s range. Stray ice spears shoot out of the ground just a couple of meters from where I stand.

“Hey,” says Evan, looking concerned. He points behind us, back in the corridor leading to the doors. “Looks like we have company.”

I look. A couple of ice slimes are approaching us.

“We must have missed them,” says Sarah. She turns to me. “This is something you can handle, right?”

A tinkling explosion reverberates from the boss room, punctuating her remark.

I pull my bow out from my pack and string it.

Sarah holds her hand out in front of me. “You’re not strong enough. You’ll just hold us back.”

I lower my bow.

Evan takes off his pack and takes a marital stance. He is a monk-class, meaning that he fights with his fists and feet. His spirit is, conveniently, bone.

Sarah pulls out a staff. She is a sorcerer—she fights with heavy attack magic. Her spirit is a Venus flytrap.

Rick materializes a gigantic metal shield and a spear. He is a paladin, mixing defense with magic. His spirit is a type of shield known as a “buckler.”

Blake holds up his hand. A wolf steps out of a portal, a manifestation of his companion spirit—which is, of course, a wolf. Blake is a beast master.

Tom’s hands begin crackling with electricity. His spirit is the most esoteric of all of us—the concept of amperage. Unlike his cousins, voltage and resistance, his power is strong enough to kill. He is a technician/mage dual class.

I have no class—they are assigned after one semester of Practical Party management. The only thing I can do is “turn on” my anima vision. Blue and green shapes fly around, giving me info like wind speed, monster strength, and hints at future movements. I’ve been practicing withstanding the barrage of information and interpreting it. I angle my bow downwards, though I keep an arrow knocked.

Evan gives a “kiyap” and does a turning kick.

Tom holds up his crackling hands. “Lesser lightning!” he yells. Tesla coils zip from his fingers and encapsulate the slimes.

These slimes are between twenty and thirty years. For a full-fledged adventurer, they might not be a threat. But for us, they are. There are seven of them.

One of the slimes takes a direct lightning hit and explodes into cold, grey goo. The six remainders approach in their slimy, undulating fashion.

An explosion reverberates from behind us. Commands, muffled by walls of ice and fire, zing about.

Sarah makes a sign with her fingers. “Fire Spear!” she yells. A halo of fire pops into existence around her wrists. She pulls her hands back, straightening it into a long spear. Like an ancient Spartan, she throws the spear overhead, sending it flying directly into the center of the approaching slimes.

An explosion of epic proportions rips a slime apart, damaging the rest.

The five remaining slimes prepare for the classic slime attack: tackle. Their wet, sack-like bodies tense backwards, gathering force at their “feet.”

Rick slams his shield in front of us. A line of yellow force extends outwards.

Two slimes bump into the shield and undulate backwards. The other three, though leap over the barrier and land among us.

One of the slimes plops down in front of me. I grab the first sharp thing I have—an arrow—and try stabbing it.

The slime grabs the arrow and sucks it out of may hand.

Useless. I’m useless.

The other five apprentices are too busy to help.

My hand begins to burn with icy cold. Slime acid—ice type—crawls up my arm. Frostbite encroaches upon my fingertips. Pain shoots through my bones.

The slime spits more ice acid in my face.

One eye goes black. The other stings. I can’t breathe for a moment.

Waving my bow around wildly, I try to get the slime off of me.

I can’t believe that I am about to be defeated by a lowly slime.

The slime opens its cavernous feeding hole and prepares to swallow me.

A blast of fire incinerates the slime, sending ice acid droplets spiraling through the air. Sarah approaches me.

“You owe me one,” she says. Her eyes are filled with contempt. “Can’t even face a lowly slime, can you?”

Evan, also covered in ice acid, puts his hand on Sarah’s shoulder. “All’s well that ends well,” he says. He turns back to the boss room, which has become silent.

The eight main party members are standing around discussing something. Mr. Tuffman is pointing in the direction of the four dea kobolds. Jesus stands before the dead boss monster. From my Spirit Circle Id-Rep class I can tell that the monster is at least a five hundred year mob. The kobolds are between one fifty and two hundred each.

Jesus sits down and begins the absorption process. Four other party members do the same for the four kobolds. Five rings rise out of the corpses of the five monsters our team defeated, and five adventurers chant the same mantra. The rings bestow themselves onto the adventurers, rising into the sky and falling onto them. With a snap, they are absorbed into their spirit.

Bismark walks over to us, holding the ring vacuum. He points to the dead slimes.

“You killed them, ya?” he says. His accent is clearly German.

We nod.

“It wasn’t much,” says Sarah.

Bismark nods with enthusiasm and turns the vacuum on. With a sweeping motion he collects the seven rings from the seven dead slimes.

Us porters collect the little geodes that dropped from the monsters. Then, we head into the boss room to collect the loot from the boss battle. It isn’t much—it’s a D-class dungeon, after all—but it’s probably worth a pretty penny.

The whole adventure has lasted about four hours. Most of that time was spent wandering the maze, killing trash mobs. My backpack is almost full from all the low-level items we picked up.

Mary directs us to move back into formation. She walks up to a rather large crystal that is floating where the boss monster had sat before we arrived. With a regular hardware store hammer, she smashes it.

The world shimmers and we appear back in the alleyway we started from. The portal is gone. Mary takes out a paper planner and a pen. “Apprentices. Count your loot.”

It’s been half a minute since we left the dungeon and it’s already time for business. We are a for-profit company, after all.

The six of us place our packs on the ground and begin counting, under the direction of Mary. I assume this is standard procedure—I haven’t taken PPM, so I don’t know for sure—but it makes sense to immediately catalog the item haul to prevent cheating and stealing.

After we count out our items, we put them back into the packs and head for the Association building. We go to the treasury and deposit our items in the guild account, and then we are free for the rest of the day. We will get paid for our work at the next pay period. Food and living expenses will be deducted, of course.

And so, life continues at Ixtham Academy.