Part 2
### Chapter 1: Glossary Of Characters
On request, this was added in case any characters were forgotten. It's a work in progress and I'll be adding to it as we go along.
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Albert - Cal's former handler. Is an older man.
Millie/Prodigy/Third Seat - Member of the Constellation and responsible for much of the Federation's scientific advancement. Gave Cal a Star and her old school books before he left for Empire.
Olivia/Emily - Cal's current handler. Orderly and well put together, was slated for special operations before being pulled by Albert to fill in. Appearance was changed, currently freckles and frizzy hair.
Mask/Fifth Seat - Member of the Constellation and expert in espionage. Confirmed user of illegal mind magic and able to readily change their appearance. True appearance or gender unknown.
Alice - Heir to House Ardere and Cal's fake sister. Unruly red hair and eyes. Strong sense of duty to family. Seventh-ranked in Academy.
Lord Ardere - Cal's fake Father and acting Count. Blames himself for weakness.
Claire - Lady of House Ardere and Cal's fake stepmother. Comes from a family of growth mages. Brown hair.
Lily/Liliane Arcutien - Third daughter of Marquess. Strong friend to Alice. Short dirty blonde hair and purple eyes. Fifth-ranked in Academy.
Rolland/Crown Prince - First in line to inherit the throne of Emperor. Has a smile that reminds Cal of someone else. Silver hair. Strongest in Academy.
Benjamin/Benny - Retainer of Rolland and third strongest in Academy. Stern-looking with black hair. Member of cooking club. Commoner background.
Mia - Led Cal to the written portion of the assessment. Enjoys reading and usually speaks in single-word responses. Plain, normal-looking girl. Acts as teacher's assistant to Wyatt and president of the cooking club. Normal girl.
Wyatt - Slovenly and lethargic. Proctored Cal's written assessment and is the teacher in Magic Engineering. Has tangled green hair and his skin is an unhealthy pale.
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Ferguson/Ferg - Former Finger, known as 'the tremor'. Drunkard and teaches Advanced Magical Combat.
Sebastian/Third Prince - Challenged someone at the opening ceremony. Challenged Cal afterward. Looks like a mini crown prince.
Petro Lucerna - Tries to subvert Cal to work against House Ardere.
LB-120 /Lennard - Federation agent. Newbie on the team. Smart but tends to get nervous.
CS-003/Cassey - Federation agent. More senior members of the team. Attacks Cal when he appears in safe house along with Lennard.
Haslin - Federation agent. Short, mostly bald, and missing teeth. Runs a grocer in the city that is popular with customers. Passes on messages between Federation agents.
Captain/Captain Davis/BZ-171 - Captain of the Federation team in the city. Uses a long-barreled revolver. Able to crack bad jokes in stressful situations. Has past experience with Cal.
Miss Plussier - Tailor that Alice and Lily drag Cal to. Purple hair with grey streaks, older woman.
Marcus Procellae - heir to dukedom. Second strongest in Academy. Taking Advanced Magical Combat with Cal. Uses trident. Dark blue hair and manicured appearance.
Ryan - Invited himself and his friends to sit with Cal in the cafeteria. Nosey individual and member of the photography club. Family has a background in foreign intelligence, engaged to Jessica. Has sandy blond hair.
Jessica - Budding fashionista. More perceptive than Ryan. Enjoys gossiping with Anne. Blonde hair.
Anne Sauratus - Warned Cal about taking Magical Engineering as sister had Wyatt in the past. Newspaper club member. Has a habit of covering for others in the group. Short brown hair.
Gregor - Member of Ryan's group. Shaggy hair and 'bastard'. Stressed about grades.
Lucas - Younger brother of William Fulgur. Approached Lily on rooftop while Cal was present. Long brown hair.
William Fulgur - Current member of Fingers. Bethrothed to Lily. People pleaser.
Deputy Headmistress - Member of House Evergreen. Meets Cal on a rooftop when 'joust' is about to happen. Cal leaves before the event takes place at her strong suggestion.
Oracle/Second Seat - Member of Constellation. Has an annoying smile. Cal was in frequent conflict with him in the past. Dubbed Cal the 'strongest roach'.
Aegis/First Seat - Member of Constellation. Cal has a positive impression of him.
Fourth Seat - Member of Constellation. Has come into conflict with Cal in past.
Klechin - Brother to Duke Ferrum. Called a creep by Jessica and her friends.
Harold - one of Jessica's friends. Met during lunch.
Vincent Promitia - older Justiciar. Hair is cut short. Streaks of gray cut through its otherwise brown color.
Pantheon:
Amir - god of deceit
Inis - god of knowledge
Urel- god of marriage and matriarch of the pantheon
Nui - the youngest. god of ambition
Vinyir - god of passion
Xerxes - patriarch of the pantheon
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### Chapter 2: Chapter 1
Soft melodies drifted up from the field below, reaching the ears of a concealed figure. Lying on his back, the frigid steel beam beneath him bit into his spine. He shivered and rubbed his palms together, bringing them to his face. He breathed into them, trying to bring feeling back to his fingers.
It was rotten luck to be deployed in the middle of a cold front.
Not for the first time today, he was tempted to will the inconvenience away. It would take but a moment, and his control was fine enough for it to go unnoticed by those below. As a bonus, it would cost so little.
Cost it did though, and these days he needed every ounce of magical might he could muster.
He tried to distract himself. When was the last time he'd even been to a stadium? Was it college?
Maybe.
Like most things from his previous life, the details were hazy. They'd been eroded by what felt like—what may have been—an eternity drifting in a senseless void.
"You know, this suit could stand to be more insulated," he whispered his complaint.
His earpiece crackled to life, and a voice he had not quite yet become accustomed to sounded.
"That suit comes standard with a temperature regulator."
That it was his fault went unsaid.
He supposed that was true. After all, he'd ripped out all the electronics months ago.
It wasn't paranoia if they were actually out to get you. No, tried to get him already.
"Status update."
Mercifully, his handler's voice stopped him from going down that particular rabbit hole again.
"One sec," he responded casually, in stark contrast to his counterpart. He could feel the disapproval on the other end of the line despite hundreds of kilometers separating them.
He rolled onto his stomach and stretched his neck over the side, getting a view of what was below, where a sort of play was happening.
If a play were some form of demonic summoning.
Arrayed in a very familiar pentagram formation were about eighty to a hundred cultists ritualistically chanting in some forgotten tongue. Drawn in what he assumed was blood, because cultists, the pentagram spanned the field and was decorated with candles at regular intervals.
At the head of the formation stood a shrouded man on a pulpit—a shepherd leading his flock. The magic in the air pulsed with his every word, directing his followers in their hymns.
As a simple observer, the figure in the rafters would have appreciated knowing the mechanics of what the magic was doing. At least he'd seen this play out enough times to know what part of the show they were in.
"Looks like they're getting close to the sacrifice part," he reported while eyeing said sacrifices. Their identities were obvious both due to their position in the center of the pentagram and the fervor of their chanting.
Willing sacrifices tended to give the ritual more oomph. Or maybe it was just easier to hide if you didn't have to worry about kidnapping people? He never quite figured that out.
"I take it I still don't have a green light," he asked, a bit perplexed. Usually they liked him to nip these in the bud.
"That's a negative on green light. Stand by." Based on the tenseness in their voice, dear handler wasn't too pleased about the hold-up. Perhaps believing he'd be able to save some of them?
He scoffed.
That was the problem with working with rookies. They didn't understand that one way or another everyone down there was already dead.
As for him? Sure, if some innocents—well, whatever counted for that nowadays—were mixed up in it, he'd tell the orders to go fuck themselves. But going out of his way to save a cultist?
Pass.
As the chanting reached a crescendo, he bore witness as the magic and life itself were ripped from the sacrifices, their empty husks falling with dull thuds. What remained of them now swirled in the center of the formation, forming a sphere that grew darker with every passing moment.
Of course, with cultists being cultists, it didn't end there.
From his vantage point, he could spot when the song changed, when the shepherd turned on his flock.
Some of the figures began swaying unsteadily as the magic took hold. A few of the more gifted ones realized their grim reality, yet they lacked the power to do anything more than call out their anguish.
"What?!?"
"How dar-"
"Why?"
He tuned out the spurned choir.
Surprise, surprise, you're being betrayed! In fairness, who could have predicted your garden-variety cult leader would metaphorically stab you in the back?
Certainly not the figure in the rafters.
The magic swelled as bodies fell one after another.
"We're reading a large spike." His handler's words came out quicker than usual, and a hint of panic infected the usually professional transmission. "What is your status?"
He shook his head in condescension. His old handler would never be fazed by something like this.
"Just the normal stuff. I think something good is going to pop out soon."
Maybe his levity would relax them a tad? Not that he particularly cared.
His earpiece remained dormant for a few precious seconds.
"Green light," his handler finally reported with a breath of relief. "You are clear to engage."
Not acknowledging the transmission, he nonetheless shifted from his prone position to a crouched one.
The magic continued to fluctuate, the ritual nearing completion, yet he didn't move.
"I repeat, green light." His ear buzzed again. "You are clear to engage."
"Heard you the first time," he muttered back in the hopes of cutting off the annoying chatter.
It failed as the buzzing in his ears went up a pitch.
"Energy levels are rising. Green light. CX-150, engage!"
He hummed to himself. Contemplating the choice. On one hand, it might be more efficient to end this now, depending on what came out. On the other hand...
"Nah, dude must have worked pretty hard to get this far. The least I can do is let him finish."
If they were going to play games and delay the kill order, he'd play right back. His resentment towards that designation may have also tilted the scales.
"We're forecasting a Category 4 level demon. Please engage!"
That stupid ranking system reared its ugly head. It wasn't even that helpful. He suspected it got more people killed than not.
More orders, demands, and pleas ran through his ear, but 'CX-150', or Cal to his friends, filtered them out with a practiced ease, intently focused on the developments below.
As the last of the shepherd's sheep fell, the magic hit one last high note and then settled down. The candles were snuffed out in unison as a feeling of wrongness descended on the area. The sphere, now a tar-like color, rippled and fluctuated. Limbs sprouted from it like twisted flowers, grasping as a form slowly coalesced.
"Well, that's my cue," he said, to the palpable relief of his handler as he dropped down to join the party.
He subtly cushioned his landing with a brief manifestation of wind and managed to land without causing a fuss.
Which was fortunate because his favorite part was next.
"HAHAHAHHA, I've done it!" The figure on the pulpit raised his clenched fist. "All those years of studying, the scraping and groveling I did. It was all WORTH it! I'll return every slight ever given! They'll burn! First this city and then the whole of the FEDERATION! All will know and dread the name of Allister Silas Sterling!"
A snort interrupted Allister's celebration. A snort that did not go unnoticed as the man whirled about to face its source.
With the light of the candles gone, the man struggled to identify the interloper.
For the interloper's part, Cal saw fine. Some distance from him was a man dressed in a frankly comfortable-looking crimson robe. The man, Allister, was of average height; however, his hunched posture made him seem smaller than he was.
His sunken eyes darted around, trying to peer through the darkness. Fed up with his lack of progress, Allister extended his hand. A flame soon manifested and provided enough light to discern Cal's shadowed figure in the field.
"You—who are you? How dare—no, how did you get in here!?" the crazed man demanded.
Cal smiled, giving the man a friendly wave.
"Name's Callum. I'm a janitor, so I got a master key and all that jazz." His eardrum nearly ruptured with his handler's protest, "Ben needed to take the missus out for his 10th anniversary, and I got stuck with the night shift."
He shrugged his shoulders in a 'What are you going to do?' kind of way.
"Well, you know how it is. Are you and your friends going to be done soon? Come to think of it, I don't remember an event scheduled for tonight." He stroked his chin in mock thought. "Did you get this cleared by Sally? She might have just forgotten to mention it to me."
One Mississippi.
Two Mississippi.
Three Mississippi.
Wow, did he break him already? Or did the magic rot his brain too much to function?
"You—you fool! Stumbling into matters above your station," Allister said after completing his reboot. The man paused for a moment, collecting himself before bellowing in an imperious manner. "No matter. Be honored that your life should be the first to be forfeited to achieve my ambition!"
It was fortunate that the other cultists had yet to be buried. If so, they'd be liable to be turning in their graves right about now.
With impressive showmanship, Allister swung his unoccupied robed arm toward Callum and gave out orders in that strange tongue. Reacting to their summoner's orders, the newborn demon lunged at his target, arms open wide to envelop them.
Cal deduced Allister must have said something to the effect of, 'Hug that human.'
As nice as that sentiment was, the 'human' wasn't too keen on embracing a ten-foot-tall Minotaur-esque thing. With ease, Cal dipped under its reach and stepped behind the nascent demon.
"Sorry, buddy, but you look to be shedding, and I don't want to get a lint roller. We'll have to save the cuddles for next time."
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
Dismayed at his refusal, the demon let out a guttural cry, and Callum winced as the sound of glass bulbs shattering echoed overhead.
He wasn't looking forward to the complaints about that. Come to think of it, Mr. Demon also shattered a bit of ground with that charge. The poor taxpayer would have to pick up the tab again.
The demon lunged again. One, two, twenty swipes. Each strike was swift and fierce but lacked anything extra. It must have been a pure augmentation type—rare, for a demon of this level. While it was entertaining for Cal, each attempt to bisect him resulted in more of the field being torn up, and he decided this had been drawn out long enough.
Focusing on his right arm, he pushed the augmentation further than most would consider sane. Deciding to be better safe than sorry, he drew from his 'bank' and manifested a dense maelstrom over his palm. He waited patiently for the demon's next overextension and then promptly slid his hand through the creature's abdomen—the momentum and wind allowing him to slice through the recently formed flesh.
With his hand deep into its chest cavity, his fingers grasped, searching for his goal. When he found it, he gave it a good yank, separating himself from the hunk of magical meat with a few steps. Cal examined the prize held in his hand—a beady black orb. It was the concentrated magic that fueled both demon and beast… when the former was summoned to this plane.
It was of decent quality, and he found it a shame that he would have to turn it in. The saving grace was that the fight did not burn too much magic on his end. He'd been pretty stingy since the incident, trying to build back his 'savings.'
"What's taking so long?!" Allister yelled in outrage, turning toward the standing corpse. "Stop playing around and finish this fool!"
Oh, right, he'd forgotten this guy was still around. Shame the man didn't realize his pet demon had already returned to the hells.
Callum's thought was punctuated by a meaty thunk as the demon face-planted.
Hopefully, Allister would get the message now.
"I-impossible," he said, repeating the demon's foreign name. "I demand you rise!"
Or maybe not.
Never one to miss an opportunity to further muddy the waters, Callum dutifully responded.
"We're sorry. You have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this recording in error, please check the number and try your call again."
Details of his life may have been fuzzy, but lines like that just came to him naturally.
"What? I don't understa—no." The man ran over, frantic steps carrying him to the fallen demon. "This must be a trick." He knelt beside the husk, using his gaunt arms to shake it and earning no response. Allister howled as he gripped his scalp, the flame he'd been cradling snuffed out. "What foul mind magic or illusion have you cast on me!?"
Ah, denial and grief. Cal remembered those feelings well from his days floating in nothingness.
While he was busy reminiscing, Allister's mental state had further deteriorated, and he had begun to babble. Some words in common, others in that demonic tongue.
That was magic for you—know your limits and use responsibly.
"Welp, sorry to cut you off, but it's about time to end this." Callum said, strolling over. "Last words?"
That seemed to trigger something in the broken man, and he lifted his head, staring at Callum with a new light in his eyes.
"All my life's work, I refuse. I REFUSE FOR IT TO END HERE!"
Alistair rose to his feet, his magic growing heavy, empowered by the strength of his raw emotion.
"NOW DIE!" he commanded with his arms outstretched. The mass of magic transformed into some archaic dark manifestation that shot toward his foe.
Cal didn't recognize it, and that was saying something given his experience with that type of magic. That didn't stop him from lazily smacking it aside. Someone looking closely could see the shimmer indicating the use of his shell—a protective layer of magic with a myriad of uses.
The gap between them was simply too wide. Allister had done the magical equivalent of throwing a raw egg toward a steel shield.
Cal closed the distance with a single step, arm reaching out. His fist clenched around Allister's throat, and the man's hands came up as he tried to claw himself free. They slid off of Cal's shell, and the struggles slowed as Cal watched the last light in his eyes fade.
It was better this way, cleaner.
"Funny, 'now die' seems to be a pretty popular set of final words."
It had certainly been said often enough to him.
The dying man must have heard his comment because, with his final breath, he changed his last words: "You're no janitor."
Cal released the corpse and allowed it to join its fellows on the floor.
"Oh, I am. I just clean up the messes your kind leaves behind."
And with that, the life of Allister Silas Sterling, otherwise known as ASS, ended.
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