(II) Admittance

214 (II)Admittance

He halted time before anyone else could say anything and exploded into action. He carved a bit of shadow away and then fed his pan with a bit of fire. As it burned this time, however, he remembered that he had bits of Andra's ice stored within his Last Morsel as well. As such, when he slipped across, the darkness around him grew colder, and every patch of shadow he traveled hardened into jagged pieces of midnight rime.

"Shit, Godsdamn it," Shiv hissed internally. He avoided letting his shadow settle over any of his allies as he zipped out of the anchor through the cracks lining the wall and went Non-Sequitur. He emerged from the darkness back in Miriam Hall proper and slammed his Mask of Stolen Paths on his face. His Perfect Semblance activated, and he began sprinting down the steps and winding across the halls.

He didn't know where Irons was. The man was true to his word; three minutes and no more. He was going to get help, and things might go from horrible to absolutely fucked if Irons did. Shiv had left him a floor below, keeping him a little bit away from the immediacy of the conflict zone, considering he was just a Master. Shiv couldn't see his vitality signature anywhere nearby. Hells, most of the floor was devoid of signatures. Irons was gone—Shiv had no idea where to go or how to find him.

"Shit, shit, shit," the Deathless cursed under his breath—his curses doubling as he had to disable his temporal shell when the wards closed in. For a moment, his mind spun as he tried to think of how he could find Irons. But then he recalled his armor enchantments. That was the main reason why he had the Voidmantid. Not because it had regenerative capabilities. Not because it increased his strength somewhat. No, he could taste pheromones. His senses were augmented.

Shiv breathed in, and his armor processed the odors and flavors. More than anything, Irons was someone that reeked of sweat and metal. Probably because he was always clad in armor and always on the move, always acting.

Shiv zeroed in on that taste and followed.

He dashed through the left wing of Miriam Hall and kept going down, flinging himself down an entire staircase. He emerged from the way he went in and found himself running along the right side of the building. He nearly ran over the blonde instructor he'd encountered upon first entering the building, and barely dodged in time. The world around him blurred.

His Inertial Overdrive thundered with delight. And that was when he remembered he was supposed to be a physical cripple. Someone barely able to lift a single weapon, let alone break out into a full sprint. And here he was on the verge of shattering the sound barrier and igniting the air.

"Huh? What was that?" a student cried out, barely able to keep track of Shiv’s form. It was a good thing that he could keep his momentum and exertions controlled via his Shapeless Tides, because if he was still stuck to his Gravitic Wrestler Skill, a lot of people would be little more than paste by now.

The Deathless hissed and froze time—just in time to nearly catch another counter-Chronomantic wave on the chin. He briefly slammed his Shapeless Tides against the wards to stall for time. His Overflow Tides were sacrificed en masse to sustain this feat. A Chronomantic tsunami that could swallow a small mountain stuttered and went still against Shiv’s speck-like form. It was barely enough time for him to direct his Innate Tides inward to slow himself. He let out a ragged hiss as a portion of his lower back was wrenched out of place. A few tendons tore. Some bones broke. He ignored it and shed his Chronomancy field.

As Shiv staggered into motion once more, he moved like Marcus might’ve when he was still alive. Limping, wincing, with his body twisting in odd directions. He hobbled with all the speed he could muster and sniffed hard at the air. “Godsdammit, Irons, three minutes wasn’t enough. Why are you such a man of your felling word? And I can eat shit too. Dammit, Shiv. What’s wrong with you? Why did you think you could talk a group of High-Tiers down in three minutes? Aghhh!”

“Aghhh!” a bot student chimed nearby. They resembled a barrel on four legs with academy robes wrapped around them. “I feel that way too, friend. GEN-102, am I right?”

“Uh, yeah,” Shiv called over his shoulder. “It’s, uh, really and sh—uh, stuff.” He limped faster and tried to avoid any more conversations. Irons’s scent was getting closer, it was—

“Is it done?” Irons asked from right next to him. “Are the threats eliminated?”

Shiv nearly jumped out of his own skin. “GAH! Fuck! Where’d you—”

“Is it done?” the captain repeated without raising his voice. He walked alongside Shiv as if there was nothing wrong. He had emerged out of nowhere, ambushing Shiv before the Deathless could find him.

“Yeah, it’s done,” Shiv said. He looked the captain up and down. “How the hells did you manage to get the drop on me?”

“I have experience; you have poor Awareness.”

“I was following your pheromones,” Shiv whispered viciously. “I was tracking you.”

“No. You were tracking my previous position, and I noticed you first. This would net you a Fail as a Scout or a Shadow.”

Shiv wanted to complain that he didn't have the Path of the Scout or Shadow, but Shiv wasn’t the whining kind. Failures and weaknesses needed to be fixed, not vented about. He needed to make his tracking process as well. “Yeah, well, you can tell me all about what I did wrong later. What you need to know is that the academy is not in danger anymore. For now.”

Irons narrowed his eyes. “For now?”

“We’re always in danger, Irons. The System wants us to kill each other or suffer endlessly. Can’t get out of that deal without being dead and staying dead.”

The older Pathbearer grunted. “So it seems. Turn around. We’re heading back to Miriam Hall to finish the admissions process; I was in the middle of sending a notification to Headmaster Hymn when I spotted you. Cutting it very close, Marcus.”

“Yeah, like you wouldn’t believe,” Shiv replied. Irons made a nonchalant U-turn, and Shiv followed along, wincing slightly.

“Are you wounded?” Irons asked.

“Ripped up my back and pelvis trying to catch up to you,” Shiv said with a chuckle. Irons stared. “It’s not from the fight. There’s a bit of a skill difference between my baseline Toughness, Physicality, and Reflexes.”

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“Ah. The .” Iron nodded. “I understand. You moved too fast and then remembered you were supposed to be physically invalid. So you slowed down and ended up hurting yourself from the inertia.”

The Deathless blinked. “There’s a term for that.”

“It’s an extremely common problem for Vanguards,” Irons said. “If you are too fast and strong, you will sustain damage from acceleration and combat. If you are too strong and tough, your speed will leave you a sitting target. If you are fast and durable but lack the strength to pose a threat or carry your own weight, you might be invalid regardless, depending on the nature of your skills. Vanguards require more balance, not less, compared to other Paths.”

“Huh,” Shiv said. “That would’ve been good to know beforehand.”

Irons nodded. “You don’t have a formalized education.” That was a statement, not a question.

“No. Just a practical one.”

“I see. It’s hard to tell with you, sometimes. You seem exceedingly capable in some ways and utterly unprepared in others.”

Shiv grimaced but thought that was an apt portrayal of his Pathbearing career so far. “Yeah. Probably a good way of putting it.”

As they marched back toward Miriam Hall, Shiv watched another dozen or so aerial Pathbearers rip through the air. This time, a rat on a pencil led the race.

“Are you going to tell me about the threats, or do I need to ask?” Irons said.

Shiv frowned at the man. “Doesn’t this count as asking?”

“You can choose to be secretive. I have no means of forcing information from you.”

“Could report me to the academy and tell on me to the headmaster.”

“And you can reveal my connections to the Neath,” Irons countered. “We are both stained by unwelcome circumstance and company. It is your choice.”

Psycho-Cartography:

Psycho-Cartography 93 > 94

“There were four of them. Two Heroes. Two Legends. One got finished off. Vulteg—uh, they’re—”

“I know what a Vulteg is,” Irons said. “A rare species to encounter. At least on the surface. Someone of note?”

“Big brute. Called himself Urri.”

Iron’s eyes widened slightly. “High Marshal Urri?”

“You know him?” Shiv asked, surprised.

“Not personally; he was supposed to be dead. Or that’s what the papers and cries declared after his failed attempt to assassinate Councilwoman Chandler during one of her diplomatic missions to Jewel’s End twelve years ago.”

Shiv wondered how a Vulteg High Marshal got mixed up in that mess. Jewel’s End was… far east, from what Shiv could remember. Didn’t know anything about that part of the world besides that. “Other fugitives were some half-harpy, some snake-model-thing automaton, and Andra of the Dead Realms or something. A Jotun—”

“Daughter of a Crone!” Irons gasped. He stopped dead in his tracks. “You fought the Prophetess of the Dead Realms? The Devouring Winter?”

“Ice-cold pain in my ass, more like,” Shiv grumbled. “I tried to keep things peaceful with her. Tried to discuss how she could be evacuated diplomatically so we didn’t end up destroying the academy if a brawl got started. Managed to get the drop on her, and I tried to be nice and merciful. She rewarded me by cutting my head off from behind.”

“She… cut your head off.”

“Yeah. Rat bastard thing to do when someone’s making an attempt at peace, right?”

Irons kept staring. “How did you…”

“Oh, getting beheaded isn’t that bad. Frankly, I like it compared to some of most other deaths. Like, there was this time I got burned to death inside an anchor—had to turn myself into this tumor-cube thing to protect some people I was with. You know tumors still have nerve endings, right? That hurt like a nightmare. Still pretty high up there in terms of painful ends. Nine out of ten by now. Only thing worse is getting my soul ripped up.”

Captain Irons looked down at the ground and frowned hard. “You are not joking?”

“What? No. The dying thing’s pretty normal by this point. You get—well, I got used to it pretty early on. Wouldn’t have made it very far at all without it. Anyway, she cut my head off, and then I smashed her skull in, fight got started, things went sideways, but eventually, through a chain of bullshit, I managed to break her soul and skills. Turns out, she has a Phylactery, and that’s with Adam now. You can take a look at it later if you want. He’s taking it back to the Coliseum.”

A low noise escaped Irons’s throat. “I… see… And the other two—”

“What about them? They didn’t put up much of a fight, so there’s not much to tell. The Vulteg was the second-largest problem. Took everyone holding him down and me draining the literal vitality out of him before he finally went dead. Took a good while too. Hard bastard. One of the few outright tougher than me so far. Hands down.”

“Marcus. Are you aware that your recounting sounds like the drink-addled boasts of a High Adept?”

“They do?”

“Defeating four High-Tier Pathbearers is an astonishing feat of arms.”

“Yeah, well, I had a bunch of help too. But I would’ve given them peace if they took it. It’s their fault. Dumb bastards.”

Irons just looked at Shiv like there was something wrong with him. “This… You don’t seem affected at all?”

And Shiv finally caught on to why Irons was so doubtful. “Listen. Not too long ago, I was busy getting life after life beat out of me by a Tarrasque grown from my soulstuff and wearing my face. Like a day and a bit ago, I was still in a Rubix Well because the supposed gods of my Republic are freaks who use the bodies of little girls as vessels or literal slavers who want to experiment on me. Yeah, I guess the Vulteg and the Jotun were Legends. But by this point, I really don’t give a shit, Irons. I have bigger problems behind me, and bigger problems ahead.”

“I… see,” the captain breathed.

“Look. I don’t blame you for doubting me. My life is… Well, it’s something else. How old are you?”

Irons seemed taken aback. “Eighty. Why?”

“I’m eighteen. I’m a Legend. What do you call that?” Irons struggled to find the words, but didn’t manage fast enough. Shiv did it for him. “Ever since I got my Path, I’ve been fighting and dying. That’s the norm for me. Peace? Downtime? That’s the oddity by this point. How many hours have you spent in battle, captain? Real, active battle with the risk of certain death? How many times have you fought something you were hopelessly outmatched by?”

This time, Irons did have an answer. “More than I count in terms of instances, but the actual time is hard to quantify.”

“Have you ever died?” Shiv asked. Irons glared at him. “I’m only being half a bastard with that question. You haven’t died. And you haven’t come back. And so you don’t confuse the System so much that it keeps throwing things at you, because you keep technically surviving these impossible battles. And the favor clinging to you grows and grows until it’s a wildfire burning up everyone around you who keep surviving as well. That’s probably going to include you soon, if you don’t die. Today isn’t special, Irons. I don’t even think I’ll remember this brawl in a year. If I’m still alive by then. Because being Deathless means you’re never done fighting, and you’re never done dying.”

A few seconds passed. The two of them just stared at each other. A group of students stumbled by with heavy tomes in their hands and a glowing orb hovering just overhead. The sun was beginning to go down, and the campus bells chimed once more.

“Broken Moon,” Irons breathed.

“Yeah. Broken felling Moon. Now that we got that all cleared up, let’s get me finally godsdamned admitted before I have to wrestle the entire Frost Giant army coming to avenge their captured Prophetess or some shit. Just so I can pretend to be a normal fucking student for a single second in my life.”

The captain looked on blankly for another beat and swallowed. “We can make it fast.”

“Best that we do. I’m not kidding about the Frost Giant thing.” Shiv looked up at the sky. “Eat my shit, System.”