Admission
Castor Tyndaridae
Picking this fight, Castor reflected, might not have been the smartest move he'd made today. In fact, it was probably one of the dumbest decisions he'd made all week. It had taken months of petitioning, and a veritable battery of tests, but he'd finally convinced his parents to let him join the ranks of the Mechanikos early, provided he passed one final test. Yet here he was, the test an hour away, and himself about to pick a fight with the biggest, dumbest 1st Heavenstage technician he'd ever-
"HEY! What the hell did you say, you bastard?!" Ah, speaking of.
"Sorry, did I say that out loud Herak? I hope I didn't hurt your feelings." He definitely hoped he'd hurt his feelings. Not that Herak had received much in the way of compliments in his life, he had to have pretty thick skin, at this point. He had a nose like a overripe eggplant, and lips like a pair of ginseng roots. If he had to make a comparison between his ears and another vegetable he'd probably say they resembled two heads of cauli-
"YOU FUCKER! I'M GOING TO BREAK YOUR LEGS!" Whoops, he'd said that out loud again. Still, ugliness aside, Herak was a big bastard. Castor liked to think he was pretty tall, but he was whip-thin in exchange, all lean muscle. Herak was a couple inches taller than even him, and built like an obese rhinoceros. He was slow, but if he had to give Herak anything, it was that he didn't slack off in his martial training, and knew exactly how to leverage all that weight and momentum to his advantage. His automaton of choice was much the same, in every sense of the word.
The Heaven-defying Ogre was, despite it's rather impressive title, a journeyman's automaton at best. What it possessed in size, raw power and durability it lacked in dexterity and fine control. He could see a number of structural flaws in it even as he critically examined it from the other end of the field. Still, at their level, it's tempered bronze hide may as well have been made from a Nascent Soul artifact, and with it's tireless nature even if he could dodge it for hours, it would catch him eventually. And he couldn't afford to wait hours in the first place.
So, his best bet was to eliminate Herak himself. If he wanted to do that, he'd have to get either himself or Pollux close enough, and even then Herak was hardly helpless in close combat. He'd have to measure the difference between them carefully, maybe use himself to bait the Ogre into overextending, then slip Pollux past it and-
"Oi, I can see you scheming over there, and I'm not going to wait any longer." Keh, observant tub of lard.
"Heaven-defying Ogre, rip that glorified training dummy he calls an automaton into shreds!" Castor's eyes narrowed into slits at that, any good humour draining from his face like water through a sieve. Oh how he'd regret those words.
"Pollux, pattern 8." Then he burst into movement, a half-step behind his automaton, who'd already begun to push itself forward, fibrous bronze muscle, built with layers upon layers of bronze filament, propelling it into action. As the tree trunk arm of the Ogre began to swing down on them from above, the attack painfully telegraphed, Castor and Pollux split to the opposite sides in perfect unison, narrowly avoiding the crushing force of the blow as it cratered the earth, dust pluming around the point of impact.
That was one blow avoided, though he might have spoken to soon as the limb quickly began to slide along the ground towards, him, clearly intending to sweep his feet out from under him. Herak, it seemed, had come to the same conclusion as himself, and decided to target Castor over Pollux. A critical mistake, assuming Castor didn't get his legs broken by the arm rushing towards him. No dodging to the sides, the Ogre's arms were long enough that they dragged on the ground as it walked, it would certainly still manage to catch part of him, even if most of his body managed to avoid it. No going down either, it was sweeping low enough to the ground that a dive would just see his skull cracked open. That only left one option. Stamping into the ground to arrest his forward movement, Castor instead directed his momentum upwards, and not a moment too soon. He could swear he felt the ends of his sandals graze the log-like arm as it passed just below his feet.
That was when the second arm snatched him out of his helpless flight, a crane catching the proverbial frog. He wriggled for a moment, desperate trying to slip out of the big automaton's grip, before growling in pain as it began to slowly squeeze him, bone-crushing force making his ribs creak and his vision swim. It'd caught him earlier then he wanted. This would be tight.
Tilting his head back, he could see that Pollux was still a couple of meters from reaching Herak, the fat bastard already beginning to smile at what he thought was his impending victory. Close enough.
"Pollux, Darts!" He managed to groan out past the vice of the Ogre's grip, and as his automaton raised it's wrist up, a thin, almost inaudible hiss was the only indicator of Herak's impending defeat.
The robust young cultivator froze in the moment of his victory, his smile become a stiff rictus grin on his face as his eyes darted around in confusion. Then, with a strained grunt, he toppled forward. At it's master's defeat the Ogre, too, went stiff, and with a bit of wriggling Castor freed himself from it's grip, flexing aching joints as he landed on the ground. That had been much closer then he'd have preferred. A couple more seconds and he'd have had to pay more then a couple of broken bones in exchange for his victory.
He walked over to his defeated opponent with a leisurely stride, confident that Herak wouldn't be getting up any time soon. Those needles had been dipped in the fastest-acting, most potent paralytic agent he could afford at his age, and a triple dose of it would put a fellow first Heavenstage like Herak down for a few hours at the very least, even with his impressive constitution. He squatted down next to his third-cousin, twice removed, and tilted his head up, so he could look him in the eyes. There was hatred there, but beneath that hatred, he could see what he'd been looking for. Fear. Guess he wouldn't need to take things any farther today. He patted his cousin's cheek then let his head drop, standing up and putting his hands behind his head, the very image of a relaxed genius.
"Geeez, you really gave me a run for my money there Herak. A couple of seconds off and I might've missed my-" Ah. The "relaxed genius" stiffened in an instant, as he remembered why, exactly, he'd been in a hurry. In an instant he took off, sprinting in the direction that he hoped was the Mechanikos' head office. "AnywayssomeoneshouldcomealongandhelpyousoonI'msureyou'llbefinecousinbyeeee".
The paralyzed young cultivator groaned from his unfortunate position, face first, spread-eagle on the ground, imagining a thousand different, equally grisly fates for his cousin as he lay helpless on the ground, awaiting assistance that likely wouldn't come for hours yet.
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Fifty-seven minutes, thirty six seconds later Castor burst into the Mechanikos' head office, chest heaving, eyes darting around the room as he tried desperately to pick out someone resembling a proctor. Pollux followed him a moment after, looking no worse for wear after the almost hour long sprint.
"Not a moment too soon, young Castor! Over here, over here."
Groaning in relief, Castor began to slowly jog towards the familiar face, every step sending twinges of agony up through his legs. Senior Mechanikos Vulcus had administered a number of the tests he'd taken over the last couple of months, and out of all of the proctors he'd had so far, he thought that the grouchy older cultivator was probably his favourite.
Wizened and short as an ancient tree stump, his skin wrinkled and bronzed, the curmudgeonly cultivator seemed to have a perpetual grimace on his face, scaring away many of his juniors and even some of his seniors. Beneath that grimace, though, Castor had discovered a mind intensely passionate for and knowledgeable about arrays, knowledge he was happy to divulge, provided that the inquirer didn't ask him any, as he called them "Idiot questions".
He'd spent hours after some of his tests conversing with the old Mechanikos over a cup of bitter ginseng tea, trying to draw wisdom from the grumbling and anecdotes the old goat used to relate his knowledge as he endured the horrible tasting brew. The worst part, though, was that over the months he'd actually begun to appreciate the terrible drink's taste.
Disturbing new habits aside, he'd learned a great deal from Vulcus these past few months, vital information that had helped him on many of the proceeding tests. The fact that he was here to administer the final one was, Castor thought, quite the appropriate coincidence.
"Quick quick, you little troublemaker, sign here and then get inside. I'm not sure what held you up," The older Mechanikos sniffed imperiously as he eyed the young technician's tousled, dirt-covered robes; he clearly had some ideas about exactly what had transpired "But you were almost too late to participate." He handed Castor the form for the test, and Castor hurriedly signed it before rushing past the older Mechanikos, only pausing for a moment as he heard the elder speak up behind him.
"Remember not to get lost in your own head. Some of the answers might seem difficult, taken as they are, so try and break them down piecemeal. You youngsters are always trying to rush into things without looking at the bigger picture. Why, back when I was a strapping young lad…" Wisdom received, Castor got a move on before the older cultivator could launch fully into one of his long-winded rants.
The test administration room this time was, if he had to be totally honest, a bit intimidating. Rows upon rows on desks, test papers and a quill and inkpot their only adornment, hundreds of prospective Mechanikos already sweating over the test that would decide their path for the rest of their lives.
Making his way to one of the few remaining empty seats, Castor veritably oozed into it, sighing in relief as he finally rested his muscles, feeling as if they'd been turned into jelly by the harried, hour-long sprint across the clan's grounds. Pollux stood guard beside him, burnished bronze skin gleaming and form perfectly still, an oddity that drew the stares of some nearby test-takers but otherwise went unremarked upon, as they quickly turned their attention back to the trial they'd soon be undertaking.
Almost as soon as he was seated Senior Mechanikos Vulcus appeared at the head of the room, standing on the lectern that had been placed there to allow proctors to observe test-takers of all ages and skill levels. He suspected there was some sort of array involved, as he'd seen proctors pick out even the most expertly concealed attempts at cheating, but if there was one it was totally invisible, at least to someone of his level of skill. As he stood on the lectern the Senior Mechanikos' gaze swept over the room, staring (or perhaps more accurately, glaring) at the young cultivators, most of whom wilted under the intensity of his examination. Finally, after a moment of what Castor was sure was grandstanding, the withered older cultivator's voice range out, clear as a bell.
"Many of you are going to fail today. Our clan's standards for array crafters are high, and the vast majority of you are going to, in all likelihood, wash out and return to your more mundane lives. But some of you," The Mechanikos clenched his fist. " Are going to succeed. You will become an irreplaceable asset to the clan, a treasure who's future will be nurtured and protected. So, instead of focusing on that chance of failure, that near certainty that after this test, you will return to your lives as normal cultivators, I want you to focus on that sliver of a chance, that possibility that you will be able to rise, head and shoulders above your peers, to become a strong pillar of the clan."
Short and succinct, but it certainly got the point across. Already Castor could see the ambition and desire burning in the eyes of some of the students close by him, and even his own blood was boiling at the thought of finally succeeding, of this seemingly endless chain of trials and tribulations finally coming to an end.
Finally, with all the gravitas of a great bronze bell, a sonorous "Begin" range out from the front of the room before the Senior Mechanikos relaxed into his seat, his eyes still fixed on the hundreds of students in front of him. It was time, at long last. Castor turned his attention to the first problem on the sheet in front of him, something about the core principles of light refraction arrays, and focused his thoughts, honing them to a razor sharp, purposeful edge. Failure wasn't an option.
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It had been a full week since the test had finally concluded, and sat before him, sealed in an envelope with a simple array that required his cultivation signature to open, were his results. He wasn't sure how he felt. Confident, to be sure.
This was exactly what he'd been practicing for. Years and year, poring over an innumerable of different books, learning hundreds of new myriad arrays, designing and discarding hundreds of different secret weapons, many of which would never see the day they were installed into the body of Pollux. More then anyone else his age, he'd studied, trained, and built feverishly, all for this moment. He wouldn't fail. He would make him proud.
But still, lurking beneath that confidence, that certainty of his success, was fear. What if he'd gotten a question wrong? Marked part of an array incorrectly, and undone the whole piece? What if…he failed? What if he had to abandon Pollux? His plans and goals and dreams? Who would he be then?
No, no, he couldn't let the fear consume him, or he'd never know the results, successful or not. Sending a small pulse of energy into the envelop, he pulled forth the small slip of paper inside, hand shaking as he slowly, haltingly, laid eyes on his fate.
"Castor Tyndaridae, the Administration Bureau is proud to announce that you've successfully passed the final test for admission to the Mechanikos Bureau, and have received the personal rank of Junior Mechanikos. You will be expected to report to the Headquarters on the seventh day of the…"
And that was it. With a quiet, hissing exhalation, containing ten years of expectation and effort, Castor collapsed back into his chair, feeling as if he'd run a marathon. He supposed that he should have been cheering, screaming, going to show his parents that he'd succeeded, that he could follow in his footsteps. But all he had the energy to do was sit in his chair, the tension leaving his body as he dreamt ambitious dreams.
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Omake Bonus: Cool Thing - A cool secret weapon or tool I can incorporate into Pollux, if at all possible.
