[X] Don't Reveal
[X] Punctuality
---
Physical Education
Advanced Combat was hosted within the same chamber as Combat. Within the Left Gauntlet's center was a cylindrical arena chamber, its walls a crimson-streaked cliffstone with dark intrusions of iron replacing mortar. Instead of chandeliers or shining flowers, illumination was provided by ember-red orbs levitating overhead at set intervals. The ceiling arched high above like the dome of a cathedral, painted with crisp murals of armored warriors holding off an advance of devils, rifles and lances in hand. On one side of the chamber was a carved-out alcove the size of a classroom, with desks of bloodwood and a clear viewing deck, as well as an onyx staircase into the arena below.
Moonlit Harvester of Evil Hearts, or simply Professor Harvester, was bedecked in combat gear: a carbon fiber stealth suit with thin sections of form-fitting armor plating. Over that, he wore a voluminous cloak of monowhite cloth he'd summoned from nowhere, as bright as a floodlight and glittering as if one were staring into crystals reflecting the sun, that somehow didn't draw attention to itself, boring on a visual level. The cloak swished dramatically as he moved, lending him an air of gravitas and natural intimidation; twice as imposing and threatening as a man in a mere costume should've been. Azriel noted that cloak hadn't been there during the standard Combat class.
Unlike the standard Combat class, he also now carried bandoleers of grenades, daggers, and holsters with all sorts of firearms and melee weapons, including a spiked club and a grenade launcher. None of it encumbered him.
His face was covered with a red oni mask, but that, somehow didn't prevent him whatsoever from putting a whistle into his mouth and drowning out the hubbub, causing everyone inside the Left Gauntlet to stare at him in surprise. Only Azriel had noticed him, and only because Azriel could see the future.
"Welcome to Advanced Combat," he said. His voice was straightforward, undistorted by the mask. He sounded like a normal, unassuming man; calm and measured. "I can see a number of students already excelling in your standard Combat course in attendance. Good, I always like seeing a bit of initiative."
The students had started to listen attentively.
"What's Advanced Combat about? It can be described in one sentence: we study the art of defeating the opponent. Well, what opponent, you ask? The answer: whatever opponent you're facing, no matter their form or capabilities. We do teach a number of tactics and strategies, but also that which creates them: rigor, discipline, and core mental adaptability. I'll teach you strategies and you'll adapt them to your individual fighting style. There is one other substantial difference: in standard Combat, you typically face off against Armorlies. Here, no such luck. I'll have you sparring with each other from time to time. And the best student of the lot, naturally, gets to fight me."
Professor Harvester didn't spare Jade a look as he said that, but it was a near-thing - one could almost feel the intonation of his words direct itself at her.
"Let me swiftly remind you of what we went over last Friday," said Professor Harvester, and started writing on the whiteboard. "In combat, we seek to attain a state in which we're freed to pursue our objectives without the enemy's interference. Even if that objective is the destruction of the enemy, the most essential step is to identify the steps needed to achieve that goal. Useful above all else, is knowledge of the enemy's might and parameters relative to our own. Their durability and their speed are especially useful to know. The former decides the threshold of effort needed to defeat them, and the latter decides decisive advantage."
He turned back to them.
"It's rather hopeless to challenge someone to a duel to the death, when you could attack them a thousand times to no result," he said. "It's suicide to attack someone who can undertake ten actions for each one of yours. A foe's durability can be overcome with stronger implements or stronger attacks, or simply out-enduring the opposition, or the other methods we discussed. However, speed can only be overcome by reducing their speed or increasing one's own. That is why we call speed the decisive advantage. As you know, in professional arena matches, we create brackets based on both general and decisive advantage. Today, there won't be any brackets. You get to train with who you want."
"Everyone," said Professor Harvester, "choose a sparring partner."
A conversational clamor erupted within an instant. The more confident stood from their desks, approaching their fellows like some kind of martial courtship. Others sat, dull and disoriented, looking around to find someone free. Azriel noticed Jade turn back in her seat to look at a grinning Reaper Rob, their eyes meeting. He slid a thumb over his throat like a blade and pointed to her with his chin, to which she snorted and flipped him off, indicating some kind of nonverbal agreement on their part to fight, it seemed.
Azriel met the eye of a man who didn't have anyone else as a partner. Azriel recognized him as the flustered student from orientation, holding hands with a woman who pawed over him flirtatiously.
Attentive eyes the color of a robin's egg looked back at Azriel from under fringed dark hair, a subtle wariness held within them. While lacking any noticeable bulk, what muscle was there was also well-built; clearly a fellow workout enthusiast who hadn't eaten that much as a child.
"Hey," Azriel said. "What's your decisive?"
"One-point-seven," said the other young man, bristling a little. "Yours?"
"One-point-five," answered Azriel. "Partners?"
"Very well."
The Professor issued an instructional lecture on how to approach the training, as well as what they'd be practicing: spatial awareness and evasive maneuvers. This was apparently something that'd lead to them learning to avoid exotic energy attack barrages next week. The Gauntlet's name, as it turned out, was highly appropriate, since it seemed Professor Harvester wanted to run them through some manner of obstacle course, during which he'd shoot magical missiles and various other projectiles at them.
The Professor warned them this wasn't freeform practice. There'd be time for that at another time. Anyone caught misbehaving would be penalized. This was a sparring class, not an opportunity to settle grudges. His face was directed at Jade and Rob as he said that, making it clear he hadn't missed their earlier interaction.
Everyone was soon down at the arena's level, with Azriel and his partner going through the motions of training. The practice was effortful and tiring to most of the students, Azriel and his partner included, but Professor Harvester overlooked each duo carefully and ordered breaks if anyone was getting winded, with Armorlies providing iced water and orange slices. Those who seemed the weakest received handwritten prescriptions for cultivation pills and fatigue-relief elixirs that reinforced cardiopulmonary function.
During a break in practice, Azriel decided to start a conversation.
"So, I realize I haven't introduced myself," he said. "Azriel Mebet. You are?"
"Thirty-Five."
"That's your name?"
"Yes. I was a member of the warrior caste; my number was my name." There was something crossing the man's gaze, a subtle doubt. It disappeared after a second, as he said, "You should know that I am Realmborn and half-Hollow."
Hollow.
Inside Realms were sometimes people, and often those people were sentient. Emotional, capable of reasoning and remembering events, interacting with others, forming complex relationships and societies. However, most of them were also Hollow; a state of abnormal disinterest in the Spire, almost as if pathologically incapable of interacting with it. While the Hollow people understood its existence and its benefits on an intellectual and perhaps even on an emotional level, it was as if they were innately repulsed by even the conception of approaching a Gate, let alone fulfilling its demands, let alone embarking on a lifelong climb.
You could explain to them at length the benefits of various Boons, tell them that a solution to world hunger and all their society's ills lay right through that Gate, which requested nothing save that you bow down to it once. Even then, most Hollows, even while acknowledging it'd likely be the smartest move to move through the Gate and claim the Boon, would fail to do so afterward unless physically forced into the action; a majority of them would then strive to return back to their Realm, as if everything outside scared and discomforted them to an unlikely level.
They could depart for other reasons: for instance, a Hollow knight hired as a mercenary could follow an Aspirant or Ascendant into other Realms, but only to fulfill the terms of their contract. They'd have absolutely no interest in the other Realms or Boons, although might accept them if coincidentally granted such. As soon as their contract was over, they'd seek to return back home, and wouldn't venture around or make any pit-stops except those which are strictly needed for their survival as they are coming back.
Azriel replied smoothly, "I've heard of Hollows, but not half-Hollows. How does that happen?"
"Well, my mother was a member of the clerical caste. In our people's culture, one of the duties of a priestess was the holy act of procreation," Thirty-Five reported. "When my father, an Earthborn Aspirant, entered our Realm, the elders of the tribe matched them at his request; apparently it was needed for some Gate quest of his. I, and three siblings of mine belonging to different castes, were the product of their union over a couple of years. As a consequence, I was born only half-Hollow. Given that I was not as repelled by Gates as the other warriors, I was assigned to guarding them. That is how I met Lena, as it happens."
"Your girlfriend's name?"
"Yes." Thirty-Five nodded with a slight smile, as if the simple idea of her were a balm to his heart. "One afternoon, when I was eleven, a Gate - one which was normally silent - spoke to me. Not with the voice of a Gate, which I'm sure you've heard, but the voice of a girl. She was asking if there's someone on the other side, and I replied. That's how we met. Over the years, we'd meet at that same Gate each afternoon and talk to each other. Eventually, two years ago, we figured out a way to open it together, and we did."
How romantic.
"Was it true love?"
Thirty-Five stared at him for a second, then seemed to realize it was a harmless question.
"...Yes. How did you know?"
"I guessed."
Professor Harvester whistled in their direction; an indication to return to practice. Azriel held out the sword and slashed once, allowing Thirty-Five to evade. It seemed they'd mutually decided not to allow sparring to hamper their conversation, as Thirty-Five continued.
"Then, how about you, Azriel? Where are you from?"
"No Man's Land," he said. "Have you ever heard of it?"
"No. Where is it?"
"Far north," said Azriel, then proceeded to describe life there. "West of infernal territories, there's a dark land where the sun seldom shines, and where nothing ever grows. There is almost no land to cultivate, so we dig for metal and barter for services, and then buy whatever scraps the world's willing to throw our way. We live in hovels and bombed-out ruins, hoping to escape the attention of the gangs. After my parents never returned from a Gate, I was orphaned, and then initiated as a Priest. Trying to help the people, I saw firsthand how much suffering superhuman power can inflict on the world. Someday, I'll return where I was born, and I'll use my power to fix everything."
"A beautiful motive," Thirty-Five said, attacking once, which Azriel sidestepped. "Say, Azriel..."
"Yes?"
Thirty-Five's next statement was a bit stilted, awkward. As if he'd practiced it once or twice in front of a mirror, but wasn't sure if this was how you're supposed to do it.
"I'd like to be your friend," he stated. "What do you say?"
Azriel smiled, despite himself; the cloud of melancholy banished with a pinch of amusement. It seemed Thirty-Five was so sincere he didn't have a single deceptive bone in his entire body; either that, or he was the most adept liar Azriel had ever met. Even so, how could he turn down such an earnest request?
"Yeah. Let's be friends."
"Thanks." Thirty-Five nodded with a faint smile, before launching another attack.
Practice continued without novelty until the end, when there was a sound of an explosion which caused those nearest to its origin to stumble. Then another, then another, swiftly turning into a rapid cacophony.
Everyone, stunned, turned to behold the section of the arena the sound came from. There, Reaper Rob was shooting forth numberless glowing attacks into the air; swinging his entire forearm each time, he fired off scythes of bubbling citrine energy that a sweating Jade intercepted with a rune-covered longsword. Each time she did, the runes on the blade would spark as if absorbing some of the power. However, rather than evanesce, the citrine scythes rebounded into the nearby floor or wall, annihilating a zone of matter, slicing in a whole foot deep; the sound of the annhilation was the source of the explosive sound.
Azriel cast a Rite and viewed a replay of what'd occurred. Jade and Rob had been evading each other's attacks as practice dictated, nothing out of the ordinary, until he suddenly shot a glance at Professor Harvester and noticed he was busy offering advice to another student. Then Rob simply started to shoot these barrages.
"You must have rocks in your head," Professor Harvester said coldly, catching Rob by the back of the shirt, briefly interrupting the barrage. "I said-"
The Professor was cut off when Rob detonated in a burst of citrine that shook almost the entire building. The shockwave was so powerful it pushed the Professor down the arena, almost all the way to the furthermost wall, and caused every other student to fall over in a daze. Even Azriel with the ability to kinetically propel himself through the air wasn't fast enough to avoid the blast, only able to slightly muffle the impact force.
The aftermath of the energy created a solid barrier as thick as a bunker: an arena within an arena, shaped like a translucent yellow dome.
Within, Rob laughed madly as he redoubled his efforts at killing Jade; his scythes were being fired off much faster - and were themselves faster, crossing the distance within an instant. The onslaught was so absurd that Azriel had not even a shadow of a doubt ten of him would've been killed within a second of trying to do what Jade was doing.
Each time Jade warded off a scythe and rebounded it at the citrine dome, it'd become thicker, almost bulging in and out as if a tumor had started to grow there, quivering with a lifelike breath. Those tumors would then detonate, spreading flecks of citrine forcefield on either side, and those flecks would sprout thorns, that gradually reached out towards life; seeking out Jade from every direction, forcing her to dodge, and even the students outside, who were slowly getting up and escaping them as well.
Harvester, who'd recovered from the detonation, growled and started incanting some kind of arcane spell, aiming to dispel the barrier.
Azriel frowned, well-aware of his urn, and unsure if the Professor would manage in time.
His vision of the future unfolded. Azriel frowned, observing as about five seconds from now, a scythe catches Jade in the side of the arm, chopping the entire limb off and slowing down her future parries; a potential start of a cascade towards death.
Azriel had a second to act and decide.
---
[ ] Save Jade - Cast the Rite of Curse Removal. Based on precognition, you're confident it'll be faster than whatever the Professor's casting; it should be right about fast enough to enable intervention right as her arm's chopped off; if you time it correctly, you may even be able to cancel the scythe that's about to do so.
You'll also have the personal satisfaction of impeding a powerful, psychopathic Ascendant.
*You'll have to spend your entire ash reserve on the Rite of Curse Removal, as Rob's dome is a magical effect so powerful it's barely within your ability to affect. Costs 2 Wealth (you have 12) and has a minor (10%) chance of miscast or failure, in which case you won't accomplish your goal, although people will still notice you've tried.
[ ] Dissolve - The alternative to the above. Instead of dispelling the dome, utilize the Dissolving Rite on Reaper Rob; if you're not incorrect, even his own scythes can't reach you from inside the dome, at best able to splatter out some of those thorns, which you can simply avoid or ask for aid with from the others. This means he lacks a mechanism of reprisal to your attack, giving you the decisive advantage; for each action of yours, he can't take any. Force him into surrender, or distract him - either one works as a win.
You can start with the eyes.
He might still have a chance to inflict additional harm on Jade if you use this method.
You'll also have the personal satisfaction of impeding a powerful, psychopathic Ascendant.
*Can cost more or less than the above, depending on how successful you are. Either way, distracting Rob even momentarily should be useful for both Jade and the Professor. However, this is even more likely to draw his ire.
[ ] Stand Back - You don't have a stake in whatever conflict's brewing here. This was all a product of their own choices.
Furthermore, if Rob isn't expelled after this - a strange thought, but he's acting confident for some reason, which worries you - you'd be making yourself a target by interfering with him: he's so much faster and stronger than you it'd be nothing but folly to act here. Even if he is expelled, you might be making a lifelong enemy for yourself.
[ ] Write-in
