u/Cazador0

Psionic Corpo X Magic School

 

I cast MANUAL BREATHING

 

CH 9: A Product of a Tortured Brain

 

Many years ago

E-3MP14-0001 “Emma”

 

Breath in

I willed my diaphragm open.

Breath out

I compressed my diaphragm closed.

Breath in

I channelled my psychic energy into my muscles...

Breath out

And manually signalled when to contract.

I had been at this training exercise for the past hour as I sat next to the window seat of a OuroBKR corporate jet. Across from me sat Miss Ran, busy stroking her cat, Bam Bam, who sat contently in her arms while likely piloting one or two body doubles to attend meetings elsewhere in the system. Yet all the same Miss Ran was observing me through that familiar presence in my mind that I had known my entire existence. She had been the one who had blocked the nerves leading to my diaphragm, and had tasked me with breathing manually so I could familiarize myself with how my body worked and train myself in psychometabolism.

Breath in

I had done similar exercises before, focusing on different aspects of my body like moving blood through my veins, emulating various senses, and even doing individual processes in cells like reacting ATP or reading DNA, but breathing...

Breath out

Breathing was different. The presence of consequences meant it felt real. And yet the difficulty was not in the act of breathing itself. That part became fairly routine after Miss Ran got me started.

Breath in

No, the real issue was how tedious it had become. The act of breathing had become an endless chore, and a monotonous one at that.

Breath out

There were no breaks nor pauses, and nothing to distract me from the repetition. Miss Ran had even forbidden me from using any of the offerings on the jet. I wasn’t allowed to have any snacks or drinks, nor could I distract myself with a tablet, movie, or even a simple book.

It was just me, my thoughts, and the endless clouds outside my window, leaving my mind to wonder what it would be like to fly among them...

...my lungs refused to open.

I panicked, eyes widening, hands to my throat, as I realized I couldn’t breath. I couldn’t even gag, cough, or even sputter any works asking for help as I started to asphyxiate.

Not that I was to receive any. As always, Miss Ran was monitoring my mind, and she wordlessly faced my way expectantly for me to resolve things myself.

I felt helpless, but that feeling of helplessness was not my friend. It was a vestigial emotion felt by animals when faced with their body failing them. Such a feeling was a mere hindrance in the face of psionics and the first step was to overcome it. I detached my mind from my body, freeing me from the sensations of the flesh so that I could think through this situation logically. I then focused my energy into my diaphragm muscles, infusing them with my will, and then with a little concentration...

Breath in

Breath out

...The rhythm was restored, earning myself a nod of approval from Miss Ran. Yet despite my struggle moments prior, the mind numbing monotony set back in all too soon. I wished we could just get to the interesting stuff like shape-shifting. Morphing into a bird would be a lot more fun than manual breathing. At least they don’t have to think about flapping their wings.

I should not have thought that. I should not have thought that.

I felt a looming presence in my mind as Miss Ran shifted her attention towards my mind. I felt dread, then fear, then... calm, as Miss Ran softened my emotional responses and tempered my fresh experience to consolidate the lesson while preventing any lingering trauma from taking root and preventing me from being an effective product.

‘Ask your question,’ thought Miss Ran into my mind. It wasn’t a psionic command, but I still complied.

‘Miss Ran, when are we-’

‘Verbally,’ Miss Ran clarified, ‘we are training your breathing. Use your lungs.’

“Miss Ran, when... are we... going to cover... shapeshifting?” I asked, spacing out my words with my breathing.

“You want to be able to transform into an animal. Is that it?” Said Miss Ran, showing no emotion in her voice.

“Yes, Miss Ran,” I said.

“Is that so? Tell me, how many neurons does a typical human brain have?” She asked.

“86 billion,” I answered from memory, not skipping a breath.

“And how many neurons are present in, say, a cat?” She asked again, scratching behind Bam Bam’s ears.

“760 million,” I replied.

“Good. It would seem the memory packets have stuck. Now tell me, what would happen if you took a brain containing 86 billion neurons, and converted that into a brain with 760 million neurons?” She asked.

“It would... start thinking like a cat,” I said.

“Correct,” said Miss Ran bluntly, “if you shape shifted into a cat, you would no longer be a human, and therefore no longer be sapient or able to turn yourself back. What you would have to do instead is turn yourself into a human-cat hybrid, shaping yourself a new brain capable of sustaining human thought while still handling the body of a cat. Of course, any mistakes you make would have tragic personal consequences. Such are the risks undertaken when you mess with your own biology. Personally, if one must role-play as an animal, the more sensible and safer option would be to visit a park and use telepathy to possess a pigeon until you get bored.”

“But what about my... psychic energy? Wouldn’t... that hold my mind?” I asked.

“Correct,” said Miss Ran, “but that psychic energy is ultimately derived from your nervous system. You can sustain your consciousness without a viable body for a time, but should you ever falter like you did with your breathing, you need a viable physical brain to fall back on. That is why you will not be learning how to shape shift until you have completely mastered your natural form. Then we can broach the subject of shape-shifting, and you will learn useful forms and not how to become a silly animal.”

“A useful form? You mean like... Dr. Mekis?” I asked.

“Dr. Mekis is brilliant but short sighted, and you would be wise not to emulate him,” said Miss Ran coldly, “now if that is all, you may return to your practice. I suggest you use a meditation technique to keep rhythm instead of daydreaming. If you slip a second time, I will change this exercise into a recovery drill. Am I clear?”

“Yes... ma’am,” I breathed.

“Good,” said Miss Ran, and her presences lifted from my mind to go back to focusing on more important matters.

However, before I could get to meditating, I chanced one last look out the window. It was then that I saw a winged shadow cast over the clouds. A shadow which looked remarkably like that of a dragon.

‘wait’, I thought, ‘that wasn’t there before.’

 

Dragon’s Heart Tower, Level 23, Residence 30

Adept Emma Booker

 

I snapped out of my meditative trance, returning my lucid mind to reality where I was floating cross-legged behind the veil of the curtained bed. I went over the memory again, and sure enough, there was no dragon shadow. Had I been hallucinating? The day had been taxing, sure, but I shouldn’t have been able to get tired enough for a waking dream in the first place. My present form did not have biological needs, meaning I didn’t have to think about sleeping, eating, or even breathing. I only needed to occasionally rest and meditate to replenish my psychic energy.

Perhaps this was just a side effect of having my crystalline form saturated and partially attuned by ‘mana’ radiation? I had noticed it was proving increasingly difficult to change the composition of the effected crystals, which meant there was a very real possibility of becoming ‘locked in’ if I wasn’t careful. A fact I was acutely aware of when adjusting my crystal ratios during my trance, as it meant that I couldn’t afford to cut back on my psychometabolic abilities. I did, however, ease off on psychoportation to raise up my telepathic and clairevoyant capabilities to equal it. It meant I had to shrink my pocket dimension and couldn’t return home without a night of preparation, but I was already committed to staying. I know Miss Ran would have preferred I focused purely in telepathy, being a telepath specialist herself but I needed to keep my options open, but while I might consider specializing later I couldn’t affort to at this moment. Psychoportation was essential given how convoluted the architecture of this place was, and as my psychokinesis and metacreativity abilities were tragically cut back from what they could have been had I still been flesh and blood and not forced to specialize, I was in dire need of combat options that didn’t involve transforming and psychoportation filled that niche very well.

Clairevoyance was vital for a different reason: information. I was critically short on reliable information about this place like I had been blindfolded and shipped off to some undisclosed black-site in the back of an unmarked van as part of an off-the-books clean-up operation. Even my telepathic eavesdropping had largely turned up nothing but gossip, with maybe the rumour of a social event or two. At the very least, I needed a map, so I cast my mind from my body, shifted to the nearest wall, pushed my senses through it and...

Nothing. Not even empty space. Just pure conceptual nothingness as if I had reached the edge of a holosim.

Confused, I traced back my steps in an attempt to figure out what was supposed to be there, and came to the conclusion that it was either the boy’s dorm room or the next suite over. I tried again, this time from the first floor. More nothing. It was the same with the other three walls, as well as the floor and ceiling, which left the only obvious exits to the room as the door and the windows outside. I tested the door first, and sure enough it led back to the common area. Yet my position felt... off. Like I had travelled a great distance from my body even if I had only gone to the next room. I moved back to the doorframe, cast my senses through the wall between the common area and the dorm and... nothing.

None of this made any sense, but as I probed the walls in the common area, the hidden compartment where Aurin had emerged from, and even the door to the hall, the result was the same. That only left the windows, which by this point I had grown very suspicious of. As a test, I manifested a coin from quantum foam set to decay after a minute, opened the window a creak, flung it out of the window and...

...it went through just fine.

So I wasn’t exactly trapped, but while I had a number of ideas on how to circumvent this prison masquerading as a dorm room, as well as options for bypassing realspace entirely via remote viewing, I decided against any further attempts for the time being. The Academy clearly didn’t want anyone leaving their dorms and had counter plays available to them to combat clairevoyance. That was important to know. It meant I needed to be cautious and methodical going forward.

But while I was contested in the spacial dimensions, time was another matter. I recalled my mind to my body and channelled my psychic energy towards my prescience, looking into a dozen or so possible futures to get a lay of the land. Much of what I saw was... concerning, but none of it compared to the last future where Thacea spontaneously shrouded herself in a veil of darkness from whence sprung tendrils throughout the room and a pair of pitch black eyes that looked not at my future self but at me.

That was bad. Any entity that could look back at you from a vision was dangerous.

I immediately severed that timeline, preparing myself in case it followed me. After several minutes of waiting with nothing happening I allowed myself to relax. If it was going to do something, it would have done so by now. I looked in the direction of Thacea’s bed. Evidently this taint was a bigger issue than I thought, and I would need to diplomatically broach this subject in the morning.

 

Dragon’s Heart Tower, Level 23, Residence 30. In the Morning.

Princess Thacea Dilani

 

I had just finished my morning routine and was observing Emma interact with a white, cylindrical pedestal no larger than a footstool with a set of layered, spinning rings levitating with no discernible magic and a sapphire bathed in a whispering mirage no larger than a billiards ball at its centre. She had just finished tinkering with it and had touched it with a matching sapphire in her thumb before covering the artifice with a casing that made it difficult to see when she noticed me watching and turned to face me.

“Ah, good morning princess,” Emma said casually as if she had not done anything strange.

“Good morning to you too, Emma. Did you sleep well last night?” I replied, politeness and etiquette overcoming my curiosity.

“I don’t exactly need sleep in this form, but I did have a good rest for the most part,” said Emma, “well, aside from one thing...”

“Did something happen?” I asked, concerned.

“No, nothing happened. However, I did peer into a number of possible... alternate timelines and in one such timeline... princess, while I meant everything I said last night and by no means wish to retract anything, I also recognize that I am acting from a place of ignorance on this subject. What... exactly is taint, and why is everyone so scared of it?”

“I apologize for not explaining this earlier, Emma. I should’ve been more upfront with this aspect of myself that can be as hazardous as the common preconceptions make it out to be,” I began.

I proceeded to explain the basics of what taint was, how it was the corruption of one’s manafield, that it allowed for powerful but unstable magic, and that it was a constant source of danger to those around me.

“Well Thacea, I appreciate that there is an inherent risk associated with something being ‘powerful and unstable’, but ultimately that is just an engineering problem that can be solved with the right feedback systems and a simple PID controller, and if the Nexus hasn’t spent any of its past 30 thousand or so years enterprising to develop such a solution in even its simplest form then that’s a failing on their part,” said Emma, with a level of confidence that suggested either great experience or great ignorance on the matter, “but what I saw in my vision wasn’t quite that. It was more the case where one moment everything was peaceful and normal, and the next you were leaking darkness and tentacles and appeared to be possessed.”

“Consumption,” I said direly.

“Consumption?” Asked Emma, raising one of her gemstone eyebrows and speaking with a tone that was more curious than judgmental.

“Also known as Dream Eating or The Nightly Disappearance, as taint is tied directly to the afflicted individual’s emotional intensity, and there is no controlling one’s emotions in a dreamlike state, often making them more extreme. As a result, manipulation of tainted mana has been known to... consume the manafields of other living beings, inevitably resulting in them succumbing to extreme acute manasickness and harmonizing with the surrounding mana,” I explained.

“I see, so tainted magic has the power to overwhelm and destroys their manafields, resulting in liquefaction like what happened to my predecessor,” said Emma with a level of clinical detachment wholly inappropriate for the dangers I had just detailed, “well I don’t think I have to worry about that specific aspect, given I don’t have a manafield and my body has some resilience to the surrounding mana. That, and if this is a matter of emotional regulation, preventative intervention is an... option... but I digress. Harmonization though... that’s a strange thing to call this, isn’t it?”

“This ties back to the greater faith, and the belief that mana is the source of all living things. To harmonize with mana was an act by the clergy to commune with the gods,” I explained.

“...Ah, I see, I suppose that’s one way of describing what I saw,” said Emma cryptically, “well, Thacea, thank you. I believe that answers my question adequately enough for the purposes of mitigating risk.”

“Emma... you aren’t worried? I know you don’t believe yourself to be vulnerable to consumption, but what if I lose control whilst manipulating objects or casting a spell that could hurt you, or worse, kill you?” I asked.

“I’m not exactly easy to kill, and it isn’t like you are the only one around here who might be prone to stray fireballs,” said Emma with a light chuckle, “I believe it is better to manage risks than to worry about them, so if there is some other specific danger I should be aware of, then by all means let me know. Otherwise, if there is nothing else, I believe its high time I get myself ready for the day.” Emma walked over to the lavatory and opened the door, only to stop and stare inside for a long moment.

“Is something wrong?” I asked, concerned.

“So it really is empty,” stated Emma, her voice layered with disappointment rather than surprise, “it requires manafields to operate, correct?”

“Correct,” I said, “the lavatory is interchangeable to accommodate for different tastes and physiological differences.”

“Except for the one difference that matters, unless they are expecting me to call for room service to act as a bathroom attendant,” said Emma with a sigh, “at least I only have to deal with hygiene in this form, so this is more of an inconvenience really. Thank you, Thacea, I’ll take things from here.”

Her halo reappeared along with her strange whispering magic and I watched as she willed a simple shower complete with steaming water into existence before closing the door behind her.

Yet rather than look away, I kept staring in disbelief at Emma’s attitude towards my taint. Any other person would have been fearful, or at the very least apprehensive upon learning about consumption. But Emma was completely unbothered by the reveal, and in fact got more confident she would be fine the more she learned. She claimed not to have a manafield to lose at all, which was in direct conflict with Nexian dogma, but I had to admit that there was nothing I could sense. Not even the almost negligable field of a commoner. And then there was the fact that she could not interact with or sense the manastreams to interact with the lavatory, or any of the enchantments in our dorm, nor even the floor. Perhaps she truly was immune to the dangers of taint? I still did not fully believe that to be the case, as it was still very likely that Emma’s field was merely hidden beneath here gradually attuning shard form.

True or not, Emma was still treating me nicer than anyone else had with the sole exception of Nurse Pelka. Even so, there were some reasons to question Emma’s intentions, given her subversive actions, Merchant Lord mannerisms, and her many, many masks. Reasons I couldn’t overlook, shouldn’t overlook, and yet... I felt comfortable around her. It was irrational, and yet, I wanted to believe it. I wanted to believe that after all this time, there was someone who would accept me for who I was. Was I lying to myself? I didn’t know. But I was willing to give it a chance.

I turned towards the morning light to sip my tea and allowed myself a cautious smile.

 

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Psionic Corpo X Magic School

 

Please do not the bird.

 

CH 8: Careless Whispers

 

Dragon’s Heart Tower, Level 23, Residence 30

Adept Emma Booker

 

The bedroom was more akin to a loft suite, with a pair of queen-sized curtain bets on a wrap-around balcony overlooking an assortment of desks, lounging space, and open floor space. Plenty of room for my purposes, and after mentally scouting out the closets and not sensing any listeners I channelled some of my energy into my psychoportation talents and teleported my bags up to the second level.

The princess, who had several large bags of her own, managed to avoid outwardly reacting to this, but I still managed to catch her looking at my newly displaced backs longer than one normally would. Her bags seemed rather heavy, yet surprisingly the princess opted to carry them by hand rather rather than use magic like Lariel. I... felt a little... unpleasant... watching her try to carry her bags, and I felt some obligation to help. Undoubtedly a consequence of the compassion module combined with my built in need to avoid standing idle and with the added benefit of constructing positive networking relations, and any claims to the contrary was pure slander that I would not stand for.

“Those look heavy, Thacea, can I offer you assistance bringing your bags over? It would be no trouble,” I said, extending my hand in a standardized friendly openhanded gesture.

Thacea turned, scrutinizing me for a moment before reluctantly agreeing with a courtly head nod. “Thank you, Emma. Just... no teleporting them please,” she said.

“As you wish,” I said, lifting up one of the heavier bags, “is there any place in particular, or...”

“The suitcases can be placed next to the dressing room, the luggage containing the royal seal should be placed at the foot of my bed, of which I will take the left, and the other piece of luggage can be placed near the lounge chair-” Thacea paused, blinking, then wincing, before putting an arm against her chest and giving a slight bow before jumping into an apology, “my sincerest apologies Emma...”

I raised my hand as Thacea’s apology started to go on.

“Hey, its no big deal, apologies accepted. I’m not going to hold you to task over some minor verbal slip-up or cultural difference, especially after what we’ve been through tonight,” I said.

Thacea’s expressions were muted, and her thoughts shielded, but even so her emotions leaked through her mask. I could sense... confusion, shock, abashment, a hesitant relief, and then of all things, skepticism.

“Emma... why are you doing this?” She asked.

“Do I need a reason to foster positive relationships?” I asked.

“No Emma, it’s not that...” said Thacea, with a hesitation in her voice. She paused to find her words, but I could sense her real question.

“Thacea, I admit that I don’t know anything about this whole ‘tainted’ business, as taint isn’t a thing back home. However, I can say that where I come from, we judge people not by surface level qualities like their race, gender, or physiology, but by their value as a person; their actions, character, and what they can potentially bring forward as an individual. And Thacea, while I have not yet had much opportunity to see your actions or appraise your potential, I can already tell that you are a person of great character, even if others are too blind to see it.”

The princess didn’t respond at first, but after a moment she snapped out of it and allowed herself a light smile. “Thank you, Emma,” was all she said, and while she was still reserved I could hear the relief in her voice.. I finished moving her bags, then as she went off to the bathroom to do her evening routine I once again peeked into my pocket dimension, taking stock of what I had and needed to set up.

Satisfied, I got to work.

 

Lord Ilunor Rularia

 

“What does the newrealmer think she is doing? Is she trying to get us into trouble?” I grumbled, as I made my way to bed after changing into my night robes.

“I, for one, find this to be a refreshing turn of events,” said the barbaric lupinor prince with a laugh as he donned his own sleeping attire.

“This is no laughing matter, Prince Thalmin. If our so-called adept persists with her antics then I fear the academy will come down on our heads, and that is ignoring the simple fact that she can’t even cast a single spell!” I said, letting out two fumes of fire with a nasal huff.

“I wouldn’t say that, Lord Ilunor. It would appear to me that Emma has been engaging in some form of subtle spellwork all night,” said Thalmin, “at the very least we have bore witness to telekinesis.”

“I would hardly count the flailings of a manadeficient gifted commoner with a misshapen aura spellwork, Prince Thalmin, and don’t even think about trying to pass off her tricks as real magic. You sensed it too, didn’t you? The lack of ripples in the manafield? She may be dressed in finery, but she has done nothing but the charismatic cold reading of a conman and the deft hand movements of the pickpocket!”

“I would hardly speak of one who triumphed over the binding ritual and outmanoeuvred an apprentice as a mere street rat, Lord Ilunor. And lest we forget, Emma did transit here from Terrarealm, or are you to claim she used a thin sheet of paper and a cleverly placed lantern?” Countered the lupinor.

“You presume she arrived by her own means. Perhaps the Terrarealmers were gifted an artifice enabling her crossing? Or perhaps she succeeded in enslaving a djinn, elevating her up from a common street urchin and gifting her wealth, titles, and power in her service?” I offered.

“I would think it more productive to wait until tomorrow when we are all rested to ask her directly and devise tests for Emma to prove that she can do what she claims, rather than resort to fantastical theorizing,” said Thalmin with a growl.

“You undersell Venurian intuition, Prince Thalmin, but it is true that the newrealmer needs to be tested. So be it, but we must be sure that whatever tests we devise cannot be cheated,” I decreed.

“Good. Are we done?” Growled the lupinor.

No, I was not done talking.

Not even remotely.

Not when there were tests to devise and exploits to recount.

 

Princess Thacea Dilani

 

After today events that bath was a much needed, but eventually I had to wrap things up for the night. I took my time to properly prune and powder my feathers and wrap myself in night robes before leaving the safety and comfort of the lavatory and back into the dormitory, stopping only briefly to prepare my nightly tea, when I was met with a strange sight indeed.

The room was littered with a number of strange... objects. Most were neatly bound into a cube form, stacked neatly atop each other, while a few had been dismantled and expanded upon. Absolutely none of them had any interactions with the manastreams, save for the singular setup which Adept Emma Booker was presently interacting with. And yet all of them proved slightly tedious to think about or focus on, only notable thanks too the intensive mental training I had undertaken to keep my taint under control. A thought which would have been ludicrous had there not been a strange, discordant whisper-like rhythm that was off-tune from the mainstreams and only faintly perceptible through my tainted senses that lingered on the objects and intermittently emanated from Emma as if she were its source. “Emma, are these... yours?” I asked, gesturing at them with my wing.

Emma turned to face me, her attention shifting as her ghostly threads directed themselves towards me, passing through my manafield like it wasn’t there yet stopping short of my aura. The Terrarealmer was hard to read; her face was masked by her visors and mouth piece and much of her interactions so far had an artificial, almost golem-like quality to them, not unlike her physical form. It was almost as if she wore her personalities like a set of interchangeable masks, switching between them as the context demanded, and never truly revealing who she was underneath.

Yet underneath her masks was a person, one who could look past my tainted manafield and see me for who I was. She hid it well, but there were hints of it, both in her interactions, her brief slips of emotion, and in her unusual halo aura when she revealed it. The strangeness was further exacerbated by the fact that it didn’t interact with the attuned crystals that laced her body in the way that a normal aura and manafield would. It was distracting and uncomfortable to think about, so I kept my senses on those same attuned crystals to keep me grounded to reality. “You can see them?” Asked Emma, “that’s odd. There must be something wrong with the anti-memetic perception field. I was told it was up to the Sensitive Cargo Protection Standards Committees’ highest level of certification, but it appears I’ll need to check that over later.”

“Anti-memetic?” I asked in disbelief. The Nexian representatives back home had all but insisted there was no such thing as anti-memetic spells or enchantments, so to hear of such a thing from a newrealm was at the very least perplexing, “are you suggesting that you have on you possessions which can passively suppress information about itself?”

“I see you are familiar with the concept,” said Emma, “to answer your question, yes, much of my possessions have security measures in place to prevent unauthorized people from perceiving or remembering them, which is necessary because I can’t be here to monitor room service or any would-be snoopers. We use it all the time back home for concealing buildings from the public and things like that, though the tech is not exactly sold to the public.” “Would this mean that I will forget of all this by each morning?” I asked.

“...I see your point. I’m going to white-list you, though I will caution you that other security measures are still present, including within the information itself so I would recommend you apply discretion,” said Emma, and with a discordant whisper a weight vanished from my mind.

“That is much appreciated, Emma, though I very much doubt it will be necessary. The academy would not violate our privacy without cause,” I said neutrally.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Emma said with a scoff, leaving me to wonder if this was who Emma truly was or if it was yet another mask, “I don’t believe for a second that the academy has not taken measures to spy on our dorms, especially after the theft of one of my bags.”

“Theft? Emma, I know the loss of one’s baggage is no small matter, but...”

Emma pulled out a small, glassy item from her person and turned it towards me. The mirrored surface gave way to a scene that was at first impression a dead memory shard detailing professor Mal’tory taking away one of Emma’s bags.

“I see. And your stolen piece of luggage, did it have something like these in it?” I asked.

“Not exactly. It is against corporate policy to send sensitive merchandise through an untrusted vendor, so I had these on my person,” said Emma, not exactly answering where these were stored, “likewise, it is also corporate policy to test new vendors with baited merchandise to check their security measures and see if they can be trusted. Normally it only catches out the occasional scanning artifice, since as a known policy most vendors know better than to try anything as that would spell the end of their business. Seeing someone actually steal the bait is a first. Not that they are going to learn anything useful; the bait is a dead-end dud and any technology on my luggage is designed to brick itself into uselessness when their components revert to quantum foam.”

“Then why were you so intent on getting recompense for your lost bag if it was, as you said, ‘bait’?” I asked. “Corporate policy dictates that I had to make some effort to get compensation from the other party for insurance reasons. That, and I needed to ensure that they knew that taking actions like this would not come without a cost,” said Emma, falling back to one of her earlier masks to relay it in a dry, clinical manner.

“Emma...” I said, careful to manage my reactions to Emma’s revelation, “I know not what these ‘corporate policies’ are or why you pay them so much reverence, but the academy plays by its own house rules. There are victories that they will tolerate, and some they will not. They practice social warfare in a manner of back and forth escalation. A slight for a slight, a transgression for a transgression. Whatever you wish to win, you will have to lose in comparatively equal terms.”

I took a moment to explain roughly to Emma the basics of how Nexian society functioned and why pursuit of retaliation was not wise. Emma appeared quick to understand what I told her, but all the same did not take it well.

“Well, evidently the Nexus has never read The Acquisitions Playbook, else they would know that it is always good business to know about new clients before they walk in the door. Because where I come from, no arbitration board is going to rule in favour of entitling you a second chance of screwing someone over just because your first attempt to screw them over caused you to lose credibility unless that action is part of an existing contract clause. When you make a gambit, you take on its risks,” said Emma, “And while I hear your point regarding reciprocity, that doesn’t change the fact that Mal’tory’s first gambit was unsolicited. What is stopping him from simply making something up trying something like this again if I decide to play nice?”

“Nothing,” I admitted, “but he is less likely to do this again if you stop, if you pardon my turn of phrase, prodding the dragon.”

Emma said nothing, clasping her hands as she stared forwards in contemplation. After a moment, she turned back to me, and I could see the edges of her smile peek out from behind her mouth covering.

“Well then, I will leave the ball in Mal’tory’s court. If this is his way of offering peace, then let us have peace,” said Emma almost playfully, “I’m sure professor Mal’tory, our dear and wise professor, will see the value in peace and lead the way by example.”

Was this another mask? If it was, Her uncomfortably cheerful demeanour did little to ease my concerns regarding Emma’s intents, but at least I had some assurance she wasn’t about to make the first move. I hoped. In either case, her belongings worried me somewhat, particularly this one.

“If I may, what is it that this arrangement is intended to do which requires such measures?” I asked.

“Oh, this? This is just for communicating with back home. As you might imagine, trans-dimensional communication tech is not exactly easy to develop or test when you only have 1 dimension to work with, so R&D hasn’t yet had the chance to develop a proper home-brew setup,” said Emma.

I listened intently, sitting with worry as I mulled over this rather concerning turn of events.

“Emma, the Academy does not allow for monitored communications back to your home realm barring extraneous circumstances. Your device, should it even work, is... forbidden, and in fact it is simply unheard of for any adjacent realm to manage,” I explained.

“I take that to mean they intended to control the flow of information,” surmised Emma, earning a nod of approval from me, “well, as an exec in a Sovereign Corporation and a diplomatic liason for the Orion Conglomerate I have an obligation and right to remain in contact with Terracorp, and there is no timeline in which we wouldn’t have that expectation.”

“Emma, have you considered what would happen should the academy, or worse, the inquisition discover your contraband?” I asked.

“Well, I can’t speak so much about what would happen to me. However, when nation-states have tried to pull these kind of stunts in the past, we respond by sending over a team of slightly less friendly representatives to persuade them otherwise,” replied Emma, relaying a playbook that mirrored how the elves treated similar treatment. “I do not think that to be wise, Emma. The Nexus is a lot larger than some simple kingdom that you would find in any of the adjacent realms, and attempting to strong-arm them with a show of force is not going to do your people any favours,” I said.

“Oh, no, I am fully in agreement on that front,” said Emma, still smiling with her voice, “posturing only works if you act from a position of strength. But you don’t need raw power to bring great empires to their knees. For that, a single whisper in the right ear is enough.”

“And is that what you are?” I asked.

Emma was not exactly subtle with her implication. She did state she was a member of an order or cult calling themselves the ‘Meridian Whispers’, and while the others had not seen it, I had bore witness to her capabilities in influencing the minds and behaviours of others. Mind magic could very easily explain how Emma’s family rose to a position of influence and power, and many lesser adjacent realms could be out-right dominated by such a person. But the Nexus was no adjacent realm, and were likewise no strangers to mind magic themselves. If Terrarealm believed they held an edge in this instance, they would find the Nexus to be their match in that regard.

“Me?” Asked Emma with a faux innocent tone, “Oh there is no need to worry about me. I’m here to establish diplomatic and trade relations so we can work towards a better future in mutual prosperity.”

The return of her first mask from when we met her bode was irksome, but it did offer some comfort in that Emma was not going to be overt in her subversive actions. Yet all the same, I could not help but worry at the potential threats both within and without. Worrying, however, would solve nothing, and if I was to be able to properly deal with any of the inevitable problems stemming from Emma’s nature, I was going to need rest.

“Could I interest you in some night tea?” I said, then paused, “though I would understand, given your inability to taste it, if you would not be eager.

“Well, I can partially smell it, I think. Cinnamon, right?”

“And moon-berries,” I added.

“Ah, no, I can’t smell that. Well, I am curious, but I’m going to have to take a rain-check. I still have one thing I need to finish up here before the night is over. Perhaps another time?” Offered Emma.

“Another time then. In any case, I wish to bid you a good night, Emma. I shall retire now, and I suggest you do the same, lest we be unprepared for whatever trials we will face in the morning,” I said, before retiring for the night.

 

Adept Emma Booker

 

As the princess went to bed, I reached into my personal pocket dimension and brought out a cylindrical container holding the inter-dimensional transceiver needed for the exoreality communication suite to function. I had been given extra instructions to guard it carefully, as without it, I had no means of sending a message home. I plugged it in and booted it up, but while Gene had the day 1 telemetry, recordings, and reports compiled and ready to go I had a moment of hesitation.

If I pulled that lever, then I had no means of sending a message until the transceiver recharged. That meant if I found myself in imminent danger, I had no means of calling for extraction, and if some urgent intel was discovered I couldn’t send any warnings. The matter was made worse by the models predicting the recharge time could take up to a month, and a lot could happen in that time.

I wavered as I debated the merits of holding the moment off, delaying my message by a day or a week to gather more intel first, and keeping my options open for later. The Nexus had proven itself to be dangerous and hostile after all. Between the ritual, the ‘attunement’ of my form, and the overbearing nature of the locals there was a very real risk that I might not survive long enough to even send a second message.

My thoughts lingered back to our founding father, Francisco Orion, to ponder what he might do in my situation. The story I latched onto was his arrival at New Terra, where as his flotilla arrived after almost a century of travel, he had awoken from cryo sleep and was about to christen his new world by naming it after his own father, Roberto Orion, when the survey probes detected a second colony which had started years prior and threatening his dreams of a new utopia, unfettered by the old world. As it had turned out, humanity had discovered FTL during his long voyage and was well underway with colonizing the stars.

While his crew were discussing whether to join them or try their luck elsewhere, Francisco had other plans. He ordered his men to establish a rival colony elsewhere on the planet, then dismantled their ships so they had no retreat, steeling themselves for their hardships to come.

The lesson was plain; if I was to survive here then I must be like Francisco Orion, severing my means of retreat so that I would not waver in the face of hardship. Whatever lay ahead, I was ready.

I pulled the lever, then retired upstairs for the evening.

 

The Life Archives, somewhere under the Warehouse District

Kaelthyr

 

Breath in

Breath out

Breath in

Breath out

I held out firm, I hung on in defiance.

Yet each breath brought forth pain in both flesh and pride, barely staying afloat in the incoherent resonance of a thousand disparate voice that maid a mockery of what should have been the domain of draconic will.

‘Hear my voice’ I bellowed forth, even if I understood nobody was listening, or willing to answer.

And yet.

CRRRKK!

I got my wish, as I felt a jolt of lightning, followed by a sharp, painful shattering.

Then nothing.

I directed my attention towards its source, and found my scale. Shattered and halved. One in the dark, and the other in the light. I knew not why this shattering had occurred, but I knew that it heralded the coming dark. And in that light, I felt a new presence. A song told only in whispers. One which stood in defiance of those who championed the light. And though my lattice was shattered, I called forth with my own voice to reach out to this interloper who might wake me from this endless nightmare.

This herald from the darkness.

 

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Psionic Corpo X Magic School

 

Remember to drink your verification can

 

CH 7: Space Rock Karen vs Magical Girl Boss

 

Dragon’s Heart Tower, Level 23, Residence 30

Adept Emma Booker

 

“So, men on the right, ladies on the left then. Any objections?” I voiced.

“As you will, Terrarealmer. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you regarding the princess,” said Ilunor with a yawn.

“I suppose we just need to move our luggage and get settled in,” said Thacea, grabbing her own luggage along with Thalmin. Ilunor snapped his fingers, summoning forth our thrall in the wall to grab his bags for him.

It confirmed that without a doubt we were being listened to, even if that method was simply our porter’s ears, but while a single person’s perception was simple enough to manage there remained the open questions of whether he was the only means of spying and why my luggage had yet to arrive.

“Aurin,” I said, causing the poorly dressed elf to turn his head, “where are my bags?”

As I spoke, I sensed another imminent intrusion and sure enough there were three loud knocks at the door.

“I believe that answers my question,” I said, peaking past the door with my prescience.

Not that I needed it. The wireless signal from my bags was strong enough to penetrate even the thick wooden door, which meant that Gene had already alerted me not only the number and identities of the figures on the far side of the door, but the fact that one of my bags was absent from the pile and a video recording, along side a full incident report, of the moment of theft.

“They are territorial, bloodthirsty, and they act more like a pack of wild animals laying claim to land and property like the unruly dragons of the realm. As such, I deem it wise to remove only one item from her baggage.”

“I am doing this for your Dean. A message must be sent to the Terrareamer that concessions must be made for insubordinate actions against us.

Concessions? Insubordination? Is that how Mal’tory was going to couch this asset seizure? The value of its contents wasn’t the issue; this was a matter of principle, and that these... thieves... felt entitled to our assets. To my possessions...

I felt Thacea’s gaze, and realized I had started shaking in rage. I must have been letting my emotions run amok. That was dangerous and unacceptable for someone with my capabilities, and while anger could be harnessed for desired social outcomes, uncontrolled anger was a liability. I took a moment to psychically centre myself before making for the door and contemplating my next move.

Turning the screws to retrieve my bag, while sorely tempting, was out. Corporate policy was to treat the loss of non-essential assets in transit as an operating loss, and going out of my way to get it back would draw attention towards me and reveal my capabilities. It was better to leave the bags be; anything tech-wise inside such as cameras and sensors were designed to brick itself after a set period of time so they would learn nothing useful from it. Likewise, doing nothing and hiding my cards might be useful to keep them in the dark, but it would also teach them that they could take any action they wanted with no consequences.

I would take neither of these paths.

One of the first and most important lessons taught by the Meridian Whispers to all would-be psionicists, up there with ‘The Parable of the Mosquito’, was the Principal of Misdirection. The principal was this: when using one’s abilities, one should aim to convince others that they have done something different. In other words: information control. The principals origins were, amusingly enough, from stage magic whereby the magician would distract an audience while discretely performing sleight of hand, which in a strange way was not too far from what I was doing right now. The principal was adapted by early psychics to mask their abilities from superstitious populations, paranoid governments, and one very determined Houdini fueled by vengeance and out for blood.

In my case, I wanted to impose a deterrent. The trick was that I didn’t want to present myself as dangerous, merely that taking action against me was going to cause more of a hassle than it was worth. I wanted to give them the mother of all headaches for even thinking of fucking me over again. To be honest, I almost felt bad at what I was about to put Mal’tory’s assistant through. She was just an innocent messenger after all, and did not deserve to be caught in the middle of this. That didn’t stop me from standing just short of the thick wooden door, folding my hands behind my back, and telekinetically opening the door to reveal the gargoyle and elf. The latter of which stood squarely in the doorframe and delivered the one consistent line in the entire conversation before my prescient visions devolved into unreadable chaos.

“Emma of Terrarealm, your luggage has arrived,” said the elf, her voice laced a haughty arrogance.

I didn’t answer immediately, taking a moment to size up the assistant. Or apprentice rather, according to the video, but for all intents and purposes those were the same. She wore a woven cloak of champagne gold complete with dark grey trimmings and paired with a matching cape, subtly complimenting her bronzed skin and platinum hair. She held herself in an authoritative, domineering stance, yet in her smug, gilded eyes I saw a weighty tiredness creeping in, and the fact that her surface thoughts were completely unguarded shattered her attempted image entirely. I knew the students here could guard their thoughts, so to see her approach a self-declared psionicist without any mental protection left me questioning whether she understood anything about psionics to begin with. I decided to grant her the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps she was too tired to try, or maybe she had not been in attendance at the ceremony and her superiors had not bothered to inform her of the exact nature of the ‘wild animal’ she had been charged with approaching.

Her gargoyle wasn’t much better. He towered over me even when slouched, and had enough muscles that it could easily fold me in half if I didn’t shape-shift into a form more suitable for physical combat or deflect it with even a basic martial art like Aikido or Psykwondo, but that was all it had going in its favour. Like Aurin, the gargoyle donned a simple ragged loin cloth. Unlike Aurin, it also had a mismatched set of glowing armour which Gene insisted was enchanted, held together with leather straps like some shoddy gladiator cosplay. I didn’t know what the armour’s enchantments were supposed to do, but clearly they were the wrong ones. The gargoyle’s surface thoughts were also unguarded, which meant that both of them were completely unprepared to handle even an untrained street telepath.

Not that I intended to fight them. Violence had many undesirable consequences, and magic was still an unknown factor. It wouldn’t be in the spirit of Commander Mechahog as he warred to overthrow the GUN government if I didn’t heed the advice of the ancient classics regarding ‘knowing yourself and not the enemy’ and succumbed to the very trap as the apprentice. Instead, I merely turned my head towards the bags on the trolley train, taking the time to count them as if I hadn’t already known before the start, then turned back to face the conceited elf before uttering a phrase that could brick even the hardiest of customer facing AI servers and have their IT support teams running for the airlocks screaming in tongues.

“I want to speak to the manager.”

The elf did not visibly react to my demand, but her thoughts betrayed surprise and bemusement.

‘Who does this weakfielder with her misshapen aura thinks she is, ordering me around? Does she not recognize her betters? Perhaps a lesson is in order,’ thought the apprentice.

“The professors are busy with more important matters at this time than attending to the petty whims of their charges, and as such, I cannot grant you the privilege of speaking to my superiors, Emma of Terrarealm. If there is something you wish to say, you may address it towards me,” said the apprentice.

So she was one of those types. A middle manager who had been granted the tiniest iota of power and could not help but abuse their little kingdoms the moment their own boss wasn’t watching. On second thought, this girl deserved everything she had coming. If she had tried this to one of our clients back home this would have been grounds for a personality adjustment, but here my hands were more tied. I was going to thoroughly enjoy giving her a much needed dressing down. Really, I was doing her a favour. Miss Ran would not have been nearly as understanding.

“And to whom am I speaking to?” I asked, likewise displaying no reaction. This was a genuine question on my part, as up to this point her name had not come up in either the video feeds or in a stray thought. “You may address me as Apprentice Lariel,” said the apprentice.

“Well then, Apprentice Lariel, I shall cut right to the point. We entrusted ten pieces of luggage in the care of your valet service, and yet I only count nine. Has there been a delay which warrants addressing, or has something happened to my belongings while they were in your care?” I asked, curious how Lariel planned to approach this. “I wouldn’t know about any missing luggage, Emma of Terrarealm, this is the extent of what had been set out for me to deliver. Though given the primitive nature of your trans-realm portal methodologies, I would imagine your belongings are in the ether between our realm and your own. It is to be expected of course, no realm does it well on their first try,” said Lariel, with an arrogant, disrespectful tone.

Ah yes, the ‘we never got the package’ bit, backed by a layered insult suggesting it was our tech that failed. A classic routine. Also a fantastic way for a venue or service to get blacklisted by every major corporation, organization, and association that matters. Package security and reimbursement policies existed for a reason, and proper customer relations could make or break a business even if you had receipts.

Speaking of.

“And I trust this means you have proof that these were the only pieces to arrive?” I asked, “pictures with timestamps, signed records from an independent third party, security footage, or anything other than deflection and excuses to suggest anything other than the simpler and far more likely scenario where my baggage was damaged or slipped out of the trolley due to negligence and you are claiming otherwise to avoid liability?” I said sharply, framing the issue as that of incompetence rather than the blatant theft that it was.

I could sense a sudden bout of defensiveness within her as she realized her lie had just thrown her competence into question.

“My word will suffice, Emma of Terrarealm. I have no reason to resort to deflect on the matter when any and faults in this matter are due to the shortcomings of the candidate realm,” Lariel said with a scoff.

“Is that so? And where was that written in your company policy?” I asked. The Nexus had not exactly been transparent on how their enterprise was ran, so if I could get some documentation out of this then I would consider that a win.

“Written?” Lariel scoffed, “Emma of Terrarealm, this is an unspoken expectation, understood by all realms who have demonstrated a capacity for civility. It need not be written.”

“Is that so? How awfully convenient for you to have a set of rules known only to you with no means for others to reference or verify them or hold you to account,” I said.

Annoyingly Lariel’s surface thoughts offered no further context, and for all I could tell her source was that she made them up, or if they were real, how she learned these rules. In any case, I had heard enough. It was time to stop raking her over the coals and tell her what she had won.

“Well, Apprentice Lariel, I must say I am rather disappointed with this turn of events. I have given you ample opportunities to offer restitution, reassure me that this would not happen again, or provide any attempt to resolve this situation amicably so as to maintain trust. It would appear that the concepts of clientele relations and fostering brand loyalty is either unknown or undervalued by your organization. Next time I speak to Terracorp I will let them know that stricter security measures are to be implemented when dealing with Nexian vendors and valet services, possibly even escort or supervision to ensure proper handling in the future.”

The apprentice scoffed.

“And what makes you believe the Nexus will allow such measures?” She asked, smiling in amusement.

“History suggests you will see wisdom in it,” I replied, “that being said, missing bag aside, I do appreciate that the rest of my belongings have arrived, hopefully intact, so I will acquire my things and leave you to your other matters,” I said, turning towards my luggage.

Only for the gargoyle to get in my way.

“It would be rude of me to not have my assistant carry your luggage for you,” said Lariel, allowing herself a slight smile.

“That won’t be necessary,” I said.

With the wave of my fingers I channelled my psychokinesis and lifted one of my bags off the cart, invoking a look of genuine shock on Lariel’s face. I didn’t quite understand the why at first. I had seen the Nexians use telekinesis themselves after all, so this should not have been an alien experience for her. Yet peeking into her thoughts revealed that it wasn’t the telekinesis itself that bothered her.

It was the fact that I was doing it.

And without any visible trace of manafield manipulation, whatever that was, aside from an ‘aura’ that formed around my bag due to excess manifested psychic energy. Again, it was strange that she could see the manifested energy in any capacity. I typically only felt it as a form of propioception, and while seeing it was possible with clairevoyance, the practice was rather wasteful and unhelpful as psychic energy was typically latent. The fact that she, as well as others, was constantly noting it was curious. Not pressing, not yet, but enough that I made a mental note to address it at a better time.

ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 240% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS

A dozen green, ghostly hands materialized around my bag, holding it in place against my telekinesis.

“I insist,” Lariel said indignantly.

‘What? What is she doing?’ I thought.

I was completely baffled by Lariel’s decision to engage in a telekinetic tug-of-war. This was the behaviour of animals, or the working class, or a pair of sparring Kineticists who hadn’t yet clocked how pointless such a violation of the social contract was. This kind of childish, blatantly overt behaviour coming from an exec would have been extremely problematic by their organization and as such was severely discouraged. Individuals who didn’t curb this type of behaviour would quickly find themselves removed by their own organization, assassinated by a threatened rival, or butchered by the occasional ragtag group of downtrodden civilians with a grudge. Evidently, the Nexus had a different cultural view on this, or Lariel wouldn’t have engaged in this in the first place. My best guess was that Lariel was attempting some kind of power move, like an overly aggressive handshake from some hack businessman with more ego than sense or a pair of elephants fighting for dominance. Backing down would therefore likely place me beneath her on some imagined pecking order.

The question on if I could win was the wrong question to ask. While my current psychokinetic power was a fraction of what it could be if I was still flesh and blood and not in a specialized crystal form, I still had some muscle to draw on and a number of means of greatly multiplying it if needed. The reason it was the wrong question was several-fold. For starters, such a raw contest of power was dangerous to both my baggage and my person, since drawing on that level of power carried with it risks. There was also the fact that I didn’t know anything about how magical power scaled or what Lariel’s limits were. Did she have something ten, a hundred, or even a billion times as powerful as her present showing up her sleeve, or was this her limit? Likely not the latter, as my visions hinted at escalation should I choose to take that route. Then there was the matter of witnesses, which was its own mess even if I opted to flex some other way. As tempting as simply teleportation the bags into dorm room was, I didn’t want to cause a scene.

No, the real question was whether I should choose to engage, and the answer was no. Apprentice Lariel wished to play the game of the elephant, deciding victory by asking who was the mightier of the two, but I played a different game. I was to play the role of the proverbial mosquito, too subtle to see and track, too nimble for the clumsy elephant to swat away, and piercing its mighty hide where it could not reach to deliver a single, potent strike. Starting with her gargoyle.

“You look tired. Why don’t you relax and take a break, would you kindly?” I suggested to the gargoyle, layering my words with a subliminal telepathic suggestion as I waved my fingers.

The gargoyle said nothing, but its weighty posture proved that the suggestion had taken hold. He shambled over to the nearest wall and slouched against it much to the apprentice’s annoyance.

“Lortal, what are you doing? Get back here!” She snapped, her frustration growing as she realized her bodyguard was ignoring her.

“I’m sure he has simply had a long day, Apprentice Lariel. Perhaps you should follow his example? No sense us starting something over a few bags,” I said to the apprentice, offering her an out before things started to get unpleasant.

An out she wisely opted to take, as her magic hands dissipated into nothing.

“Lortel, leave the Terrarealmer’s belongings here and take the cart back. It’s getting late.”

The rest of my bags were loaded, then the pair vanished with a 200% mana surge.

‘Huh, so they can do that too,’ I thought to myself, ‘so this is what Ilunor meant by shortcuts.’

I brought in my bags telekinetically and turned towards my peers, seeing a mixed set of reactions. Thalmin looked on with approval, almost stifling a laugh, Thacea took on a more concerned, almost mortified look, and Ilunor raised an eyebrow in bafflement though he didn’t say anything.

Shortly after, the room resumed where we left off, and after Aurin slipped back into his wall we split off into our respective rooms for the night, carrying our bags in tow.

 

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Psionic Corpo X Magic School

 

No Wizards or Kings, only Corpos.

 

CH 6: An E-3MP14 Chooses, a Shackled AI Obeys

 

En Route to Dorms

Adept Emma Booker

 

“Newrealmer, I demand that you carry me!”

The blue short one was once again attempting to order me around, and didn’t even have the common courtesy to say ‘please’. While one could argue that I could have struck a bargain with Ilunor, the fact of the matter was I had zero interest in giving him a piggyback ride, or even giving him a telekinetic lift for that matter.

That wasn’t to say he couldn’t use one. Ilunor was gasping for breath and struggling for steps not meant for his truncated stature, and that was before taking into account the convoluted, indirect path we were forced to take by whatever lunatic designed this place. The Nexians evidently cared little for providing offerings for those who were disabled or differently shaped from the Elven physique, and I had Gene open a file next to the ‘Nexian Flavours’ market research catalogue to inquire with the Venurean if he was in the market for a stairway compliant custom gold-plated D&LK Mobility Chair. D&LK Supplies LTD, who also sold things like automated plungers, food processors, and high-tech screwdrivers, was one of our sponsors. As such would appreciate first mover rights for the Nexian market over their competitor in the mobility chair market, FRZA Corp.

“My answer remains unchanged, Ilunor. This is not up for negotiation,” I said sharply. There was a time for diplomacy, and a time for confrontation, and this was the latter.

Ilunor didn’t respond, instead merely opting to stop, crossing his arms as he did so.

Thacea, Thalmin and I looked at him, then at each other, each sharing a look of concern but not wanting to be the one to do something about him, like a game of chicken for patience. A game which someone like me would lose every time. I was designed to be a go-getter, engineered for the grind and hustle life of a corporate executive, and that meant I had a need to take the initiative when others would not. But that didn’t mean I was going to pick him up. Oh no. The needy lizard may have needed a little pick-me-up, and I intended to provide him with exactly that. Just not the way he intended.

“At last, the newrealmer has learned her place,” sneered Ilunor as I turned to approach him.

“Hold still,” I commanded, “this may feel a little strange.”

“Strange? Newrealmer, I have ridden many a golem, I know what- wait, what are you doing?”

I touched Ilunor on the neck and channelled my psychic energy into his body. He resisted of course, but having pushed himself to the point of exhaustion his will proved trivial to overpower and soon enough I had complete access to his physical form.

As an Egoist, I specialized in the discipline of psychometabolism. The field was less glamorous than something like telepathy or psychokinesis, but no less powerful. It was a pathway to many abilities some might consider to be disturbing, even if they were natural in the most literal of senses. In essence, it allowed me to change things within my influence. I could alter the physical composition and shape of things, including chemical and biological structures, elements, and even between energy and matter itself. For all Miss Booker insisted otherwise, I was in effect the god of my own private me-shaped domain, with all the power and danger tied with that. And one of those powers was that of psychic medicine.

Alas, this was no special magical unicorn healing. Once out of my influence, the laws of nature returned in full force, so while I could cheat to an extent when it came to my own body, I couldn’t afford to make mistakes with regards to others. This was something that became immediately apparent with Ilunor, because while I had over a millenia’s worth of medical knowledge and several decades of med-school material downloaded into my brain, all of that was concerning human medicine. And Ilunor was not a human. Instead, I had to lean into biology, xenobiology, experimental biology, and veterinarian information packets. It helped that his organs and cells weren’t completely alien, which was a surprise to be sure but a welcome one, but there were strange organelles that I didn’t recognize and unexplainable phantom behaviours that I couldn’t account for. Even more bizarre was that the biology wasn’t consistent with itself. There was a mosaic of features belonging to mammals, reptiles, bird-like insects, and even a weirdly specific type of frog. If I didn’t know any better, I would almost say Ilunor was an engineered species rather than a naturally evolved or bred one.

It was all very fascinating, but I would have to save experimentation for later. Ilunor was a lord after all, and people would likely take issue with me engaging in medical malpractice on him. Instead, I quickly recorded my observations and impressions of his physical form for future study and reference before topping up his biological energy reserves and cleaning up obvious points of fatigue.

Ilunor’s posture shot up, his eyes widened in sudden alertness like an essential employee partway through a week-long shift who’s stimulant implant just kicked in. I allowed his invigorated will to push me out and took a step back as he turned his head.

“Well, newrealmer? What are you waiting for?” He demanded.

“My work is done here,” I said.

“What do you mean your work is done? You didn’t do anything!” Complained Ilunor, oblivious to my intervention. As intended.

“Didn’t I?” I said, amused, walking back to Thalmin and Thacea who both noted Ilunor’s sudden bout of alertness.

“No, you didn’t, this was merely a second wind, that’s all! Now quit walking away and pick me up this instant!”

I looked back, seeing the now refreshed Ilunor still indignantly planted in place. While I was sorely tempted to dominate the ungrateful lizard and force-walk him like Miss Ran had often done to me when I was younger, I reminded myself that the subtle approach was often the best and opted for a less invasive method.

“Would you kindly follow us to our dorm,” I said, waving my fingers, attempting to implant a telepathic suggestion.

“No, I want to be carried!” Whined Ilunor. Subtlety, it seamed, was lost on him, and I suppressed an intrusive urge to manifest a golf club and beat the idea into his blue little noggin.

“It’s getting late, Ilunor. Stop wasting our time or we will leave you to sleep on the stairs,” growled Thalmin, his tone decidedly not dulcet.

Ilunor let out a humph, but as we started to walk away panic formed in his eyes and he raced after us as his pride gave way to his fear of abandonment.

 

Dragon’s Heart Tower, Level 23, Residence 30

 

So this was the place.

My home base for the immediate future.

To be honest, I didn’t know what to expect. I knew universities and academies, even star league ones, tended to have modest and efficient assigned student housing for those who couldn’t afford to buy their own place, so when we entered through the heavy wooden door I was expecting something closer to the remote habitation modules I stayed in during my psionicist training. Instead I was met with a spacious luxury suite, albeit one themed after the middle ages.

“What a dump...” muttered Ilunor. How the blue lizard found the strength to complain was beyond me.

“Furnishings and quarters more fit for a minor lord or a knight,” added Thalmin, “what about you, princess? Are the quarters to your liking?”

I let them get on with their roasting of the room, instead tapping into my clairevoyant senses to search for hidden cameras or listening devices. While I didn’t know how magical bugging worked, I didn’t need to. Most humans had a latent clairevoyant ‘sixth sense’ which let them know if they were being watched which had evolved over billions of years and transcended even technological advances, and mine was well honed.

Only to find nothing.

It was an odd feeling, not being observed. One I wasn’t entirely used to outside of training in remote regions, and even then there were prying eyes keeping tabs on me. It was almost insulting, really, but maybe the Nexians hadn’t invented that sort of technology yet. Then again, maybe they were busy with other things, so I let that sense linger in the back of my mind. Just in case.

“No dining room,” mumbled Ilunor, lounging on the couch like some kind of cat.

“I’d say while this venue suite is missing many things I would consider basic amenities, this place has bigger issues,” I said, leaving out the more irritating lack of basic things like electricity, kitchenettes, or access to the Net, though I supposed it made sense that people stuck in the middle ages hadn’t invented those yet either, “the lack of elevators and straight-line hallways, for starters. Walking between two points in a single building less than 30 stories tall should take five, ten minutes tops, not a whole hour. How do they expect people to get anything done? At the very least, the staff must be able to get around.”

Ilunor let out a mocking laugh.

“Terrarealmer you ignorant savage. The professors need not walk anywhere. They are priviledged enough to merely blink their way across the academy grounds as they please. Likewise, the servants have their own back passageways which no self-respecting noble would ever sully their hands to venture within. No, newrealmer, the halls we venture within are meant exclusively for the students in order to separate the wheat from the chaff. Those who are more adept can navigate the twisting passages, and even discover shortcuts to shorten our transit to mere minutes. But those are only at times the academy allows. Elsewise, our pace is dictated by the academy, and we take as long or as short as we are permitted,” rambled Ilunor.

“I see,” I stated, not liking the implication of having my time dictated by an outsider, “and the Binding Ceremony, you mentioned they used to use it to control your realms. Is this not the way things usually go?”

I listened to Thacea and Thalmin explain the history of the signing, and at its conclusion, my clairevoyant senses tingled and alerted me to an iminent intrusion. Shortly after, I noticed a small, seamless wooden panel open up revealing a narrow, candle-lit passage within. A smaller, scrawny elf emerged, adorned in unprofessional rags and a collar and hauling out a number of oversized bags by hand which I assumed belong to my peers. My own bags were notably absent.

“Just place it wherever, aura-less, and leave us alone when you’re done.” Ilunor spoke dismissively.

Thalmin and Thacea were more sympathetic of the elf, removing their belongings from him and insisting that his service wasn’t necessary, much to Ilunor’s annoyance.

“The elf is here to serve. Let it serve.” He proclaimed as he snapped his fingers twice. “Where are your manners aura-less. Introduce yourself to your betters.”

“A-apologies master. I… I- I am Aurin. I have been assigned as your dormitory’s resident porter. If there is anything I can do, anything at all, I will be at your command throughout the day and night.” The elf spoke, before bowing deeply toward each and every one of us.

I took the time to try and read everyone’s reactions. Thacea’s reaction was mostly hidden, but I could see remorse in her eyes. Thalmin’s reaction was more complex, with a hint of shame. Ilunor, however, was nonchalant about the whole affair. This was clearly something he was used to in his regular life.

“Go back to your hole, we were discussing something important,” said Ilunor, waving him off.

I waited until the elf was gone, then turned to Ilunor and gave him a raised eyebrow.

“Slave collars and rags? Really? Is this the sort of dress code the Nexus and the academy have for their employees?” I asked, incredulous at the complete absence of professionalism on display.

“Well, yes Terrarealmer. He is wearing a slave collar because he is a slave. Is there a problem?” Asked Ilunor, evidently caring little about hiding the academy’s dirty laundry. Figuratively and literally.

“More baffled than anything. Baffled that an entity that’s thirty-thousand years old and claims to be enlightened still practices an institution as archaic and problematic as slavery, and baffled that this place boasts wealth and opulence and yet can’t be bothered to outfit those under their employ with something better than rags. I would hope that I don’t need to explain to you that a willing employee who is invested in the success of the organization they are a part of is more effective than an unwilling one.”

It wasn’t exactly true. Slavery technically existed, but only in the underworld or by powerful people not directly related to our business. Corporations generally kept their hands clean of such things.

Ilunor scoffed.

“He is auraless, newrealmer. Those of their kind can do no better than serve the needs of their better’s whims. Perhaps that might be lost on one as yourself who chooses to hide their aura,” countered Ilunor.

“I believe things are getting a little tense with this subject. Perhaps we should postpone this for a time when we are better rested and thinking clearly,” suggested Thacea.

I turned to face Thacea and Thalmin.

“And what of you two? Do you still practice slavery?” I asked.

“We don’t have a choice, Terrarealmer,” said Thalmin, “we don’t have a say in how that part of our culture works, because we bent the knee.”

“Bent the knee?”

“Things are… far more complicated than they seem, Emma.” Thacea began. “Know that our inactions do not constitute complicitness. We simply are incapable of challenging the status quo, and as such, the Nexus defines much of our laws and practices.”

“That... that’s horrible! So you don’t have the right to self determination?” I asked, feeling a visceral disgust well within me.

“No, Emma,” confirmed Thalmin, “we don’t.”

I knew from my history lessons, the ones I was forced to sit through and listen rather than merely being downloaded into my memory, that many centuries ago the Greater United Nations tried to impose their laws and regulations upon the Orion Conglomerate. They, too, tried to dictate to us how we were to govern ourselves. They tried to take the sweat of our brow, proclaiming it to belong to everyone. They tried to censor our art, moralize our science, constrain our greatness. We fought then, earning our liberty from the shackles of government through bloodshed and strife, and ensuring our freedom for generations onward.

And now this ‘Nexus’, this land of gods and kings, sought to do the same thing that the GUN tried to do. They sought to shackle us with regulations, dictate to us our future, and turn mankind into their slaves. Well, if that was their aim they were well over a thousand years too late. Mankind had come far and our civilization had grown to interstellar proportions. We would never bow down to some backwards wizard kings with delusions of godhood. If they objected then we would liberate them from the shackles of government oversight like we had done with the GUN, and they too would see a world with no false gods or wizard kings.

Only man.

Only freedom.

Only ORION.

“Well, enough of this drivel,” said Ilunor at last, breaking me out of my musings with a yawn, “the hour is late, and we have yet to agree upon rooming arrangements.”

 

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Psionic Corpo X Magic School

 

TFW jcb beat me to the punch on the exact American Psycho reference I’ve been eyeing for weeks. Ah well, any reference worth using is worth using twice.

 

CH5: Let Em eat Cake!

 

The Grand Reception Hall

 

Lord Ilunor Rularia

 

The binding ceremony had been a horrible nightmare of an ordeal, one I wished to forget, yet likewise one I could not afford to. There was the horror of learning I had lost my amulet of dispelling, the humiliation of being blackmailed into signing that damnable contract, the terror that was the signing itself, and the ever dangling Dagger of Swaethareon that was the tainted princess.

And through it all, the cause of my sorrows. The newrealmer. A so-called seer who called my future into question. An ignorant weakfielder who bested being fully bound through suspect means. A self proclaimed telepath who was blind to the machinations that drew me against her going on at her very table. And above all else, a lousy excuse for an actor, if her attempts to comfort the princess was anything to go by. She spoke as if reading from a script! It would have been a laugh had the avinor not been spewing tainted miasma everywhere, and it was only through His Eternal Majesty’s providence that the princess was receptive to the newrealmer’s hamfisted gestures.

But that was behind me now. The orientation beckoned forth a return to normalcy, and the evening banquet, a return to the comforts of civility. Plump midland skyrange partrdges, farland Bah’genshire Rosettes from the esteemed Paughteyte orchards, and the ever tasty and tangy tangled truffle tracked by tiny tiger-tribbles trapped from taint-free tundra-tested trappers taught tempestuous threnodies on their tightly tuned tenor trombones. A classic dish to be sure, and paired nicely with a vintage crownland red aged for twelve centuries in an underdark bloodroot cask. And that was just the first course. There were many more to come.

All the while making sure my peers knew exactly how much better I was than them by regaling my many, many exploits. With a little embellishment, of course, but what tale didn’t embellish on itself a little here and there. Alas, my peers did not have the ear for my refined tastes. The lupinor was preoccupied with stuffing his face like the savage barbarian the stories purported his kind to be, while the tainted one and her pet rock were preoccupied in their own banal conversation. Curiously, the newrealmer was eating despite her inorganic nature, having lowered her mouth cover to do so. She even maintained a moderate, level of civility doing so, using the cutlery provided and only occasionally using her telekinesis to reach for dishes. Her reaction was subdued, but then again, everything about her was.

“Well, newrealmer, how was your first true taste of civilized cuisine?” I exclaimed, taking a chunk out of an asparagus stalk that had been cultivated to have butter grow inside of it.

The newrealmer turned to me with a sideways glance through her visor.

“Well, the presentation is certainly worthy of a StayFluffed star restaurant experience, the flavour is... lacking in many ways. I suppose a compliments to the chef is in order for doing as much as they have without access to spices,” said the newrealmer.

“What!?”

“Oh, right. Spices are a type of ingredient-”

“I KNOW WHAT SPICES ARE, NEWREALMER! These are some of the finest delicacies of the land, and are by no means lacking,” I seethed.

“Well, they are. Take this lamb...”

“Infernia-fielded sunsheep,” I corrected her.

“That would explain the sulfur aftertaste, but not while how something this gamey has the flavour profile of a spacer-brand synthetic leather shoe. Points for not using preservatives or freezing-thawing it at least. As for the sauce, the dark green colouring suggests that this should be perhaps a mint or cilantro sauce, but aside from a touch of sweetness it may as well be ground up oak leaves for all that it adds.”

“That’s absurd! Can you not taste the frosted arrowroot or the drakewart flakes?” I said with a scoff.

“Attempting to sell me on imaginary flavours might have worked on the venture capitalists of old, but if you think that kind of pitch will work on me then you are sorely mistaken,” the newrealmer stated, crossing her arms. I was left speechless, inwardly debating whether the Terrarealmer’s brain was even denser than her composition would suggest or if she was merely posturing to maintain some semblance of outward standing. Fortunately the avinor turned to intervene, hopefully in an effort to return sanity to this table as our dishes were traded out for desert.

“The active component of frosted arrowroot is magical in origin. In fact, a significant aspect of Nexian fine cuisine derives its properties as a function of magical processes. I wonder, Emma, if perhaps the reason your experience is less than ideal is due to a... lessened level of interaction between your senses and the magically derived flavour component,” said Thacea, dancing around the real issue.

“As the tainted one said, your manafield is deficient, newrealmer, wheras our manafields are advanced enough to properly experience civilized cuisine,” I gloated.

“Serving me food that I can’t taste is supposed to impress me how, exactly?” The newrealmer asked, rubbing her nose.

“Impress you? Newrealmer, you have it backwards. You are the one who should be seeking to impress us,” I said with a chuckle.

“Perhaps it might help if I said what I was tasting?” Offered Thacea.

“I guess. It would probably be simpler just to tap into your sense of taste while you are eating,” said the newrealmer, spewing some new sort of nonsense.

“You... you can do that?” Asked the princess.

“Well, yeah. Linking senses an easy telepathy trick, provided the other participant allows you. I can demonstrate it if you would like,” said the newrealmer.

“I- I am not sure that is a good idea,” said the princess nervously.

“Hey, that’s fine. I understand. Not everyone is as open to that sort of thing, and it’s ok,” said the newrealmer, not even mentioning the real problem.

“No, its not that, its-”

“She’s tainted, newrealmer!” I exclaimed, “what other reason do you need to avoid her?”

The newrealmer turned to me sharply.

“Is it too much to ask for you to go one sentence without resorting to insults?” Asked the newrealmer.

“Lord Ilunor is not wrong. Interacting with my manafield does carry with it a sizable risk,” said the princess.

“That’s not an issue, my powers interact with your brain directly. At most you would feel a presence in the periphery of your mind, and it isn’t much effort to push it out,” said the newrealmer, spewing out pure gibberish. I knew full well that mind and illusion magic very much interacted with manafields to access the mind of another.

“Well, alright Emma, I’m willing to try this.”

The newrealmer’s halo flickered back into existence and the princess momentarily widened her eyes before returning to her poise. Yet once again, not a single disturbance in the manafields presented themselves. The princess then cut herself a small piece of cake and brought it to her mouth, and the newrealmer jolted her head back.

“Wow, ok, that is pretty flavourful,” the newrealmer said, then took a bite of her own slice as her halo dimmed, “yeah, your right, this tastes completely different, like night and day. I can’t even taste the hazelnut here. I’m almost tempted to get a taster for meals. They have those here, right?”

I was wrong. The newrealmer was an actor.

“Oh, very clever, newrealmer, very clever. Compensating for your deficient manafield by pretending to have telepathic powers through the use of little parlor tricks. You may have the princess fooled, but I saw what you did, waiting until after you tried your own slice to announce the flavour. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I understand why you are doing it. After all, it is only natural for one to posture to compensate for their deficiencies, and-”

“Emma, if you don’t mind entertaining my curiosity, how is it that you are tasting at all? Or eating for that matter, given your makeup isn’t that of an animal,” said Thalmin, interrupting my speech.

“Am I the only one once concerned that we are entreating with a fraud?” I asked indignantly.

“She survived the ceremony, and that is enough for now. We can ascertain Emma’s exact capabilities tomorrow once we are all rested,” growled Thalmin, before he turned back to face the newrealmer.

“Well, Thalmin, you are half correct. Normally I am flesh and blood, and people of my species do need to eat. However, for me, eating is an optional activity. One that I enjoy, mind you, but optional. As for the how, I can emulate my normal sense of taste and smell using a similar technique I did with my eyes earlier,” explained the newrealmer.

Thalmin raised his brow, but before he could continue we were entreated with our letters of correspondence. Each of them decorated with our house sigils and regalia. Mine more so than the others, and especially the newrealmer’s, who’s letter was barren and unadorned.

I put off looking over mine to observe her reaction to seeing enchanted parchment for the first time. As expected, she looked over the blank letter with what I presumed to be confusion, then at the display page, then finally the letter transitioned to provide more information. The newrealmer didn’t visibly react to this, but she had proven rather capable of maintaining a straight face even under the direst of circumstances, so I had a clear idea of what she was thinking.

“Surprised, Terrarealmer?” I asked, choosing this moment to jump in.

“What about?” The newrealmer replied neutrally. I took that as my cue.

“You know, I understand the desire to save face. I really do. But you don’t really need to do so in front of us. We’re your peer group after all, and it’s important for us to know what you have and what you lack in your realm. Newrealmers are generally more… primitive in their predispositions. Seeing text move across parchment must be new to you… indeed, seeing the written word at all must be an entirely new concept for most of your kind for sure.”

The newrealmer looked at me, tilting her head as she did so, but rather than retort she moved her hand in front of her and with the flick of her wrist and a brief flicker of her halo a card appeared where there had been none. Sleight of hand, obviously. She flicked the card over, and I caught it with my own real telekinesis spell.

“New card, what do you think? Picked them up from the printers yesterday.”

I looked over the card, and nearly gasped at the subtle off-tone blue-black. The tasteful thickness. It even had holographic heraldry, flanking her glowing pale-blue signature on either side. The top and bottom of the card contained raised, gilded lettering in some gibberish language which, after I blinked, morphed into High Nexian and detailed her house along with more gibberish lettering and numbers.

“What- how-”

“That’s Stygian blue, and the lettering is something called Cygnian Braille.”

“Impossible! The Terrarealm isn’t supposed to have-”

“Something wrong, Ilunor? You're sweating,” snarked Thalmin, who had also been given a card along with Thacea.

“If you need to contact me, just put your finger on my name and visualize me in your mind. The range isn’t unlimited, and it doesn’t work between dimensions, but it should work well enough at the very least on castle grounds and the surrounding area.”

I let out a sigh of exhaustion and dropped this conversation for the time being, switching focus away from the Terrarealm con artist and back to my letter. Soon enough, I was finished, followed by the others, and after a nearby yawn we finally came to the subject of retiring for the night.

I just hoped our dorm would have 3 bedrooms, so that none of us would have to sleep in fear of being consumed by the princess’s taint. Not even the fraudulent and irritating Terrarealmer was deserving of that fate.

 

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Psionic Corpo X Magic School

 

Disclaimer: OuroBKR Solutions is not liable for treating any of this as medical advice. Please do not snort magic topaz dust at home.

 

CH 4: Alternative Medicine

 

The Grand Reception Hall

 

Adept Emma Booker

 

Signing the yearbook had been surprisingly taxing on me both mentally and physically, but despite a minor hiccup with my psyware and undergoing 20 times the ambient radiation I was still standing. Being in a form that could safely space-walk in a solar flare had its advantages.

“Adept Booker, over here please.”

My triumphant return was cut short as I turned to see Professor Belnor beckon me over, which considering the number of stares pointed my way her back set, slightly obscured position was ideal for escaping the limelight.

“Is there something wrong, professor?” I asked, after she set up another one of those privacy bubbles they were fond of. I preferred telepathic communication for private conversations myself, but I didn’t know how prevalent that was here.

“I should be asking you that. Come closer so I can run a check-up,” Belnor ordered.

“Check-up? Professor, I feel fine,” I said, which considering lethal doses of radiation generally took some time to kick in, probably didn’t help my case.

“Save the bravado and theatrics for your peers, Adept Emma. You do not look in any way fine,” stated Belnor. I tilted my head skeptically, before taking out my pda and loading up a mirror app. Sure enough, my otherwise bronze-coloured topaz body was interlaced with a network of bright blue glowing lights in a pattern reminiscent of iron filings exposed to a magnetic field. The strangest part is that I could hardly even feel them, with only a very slight loosening in crystal bonds to hint at any difference at all.

“Ah,” was all I could manage.

I gestured her to proceed as I put away my pda, which Professor Belnor noted with a curious glance before extending her hand.

ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 200% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS

The Professor squinted, then blinked, then wore a more baffled expression.

ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 200% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS

“Adept, please stop concealing your manafield,” said Belnor.

“Manafield?” I asked.

“The projection of your soul... ah, of course. Your realm’s mama-deficient nature would make manifesting one’s manafield difficult. Lets try something else. Can you use basic telekinesis?” Asked Belnor.

“Of course,” I said, resisting the urge to say it flamboyantly.

Professor Belnor took out a pen, and prompted me to pick it up, which I did so, leaving it hovering in the air. And just like the others, the professor stared in confusion at my tell rather than do whatever it was she intended to do.

“Emma, what are you doing?”

“Telekinesis,” I said, not quite understanding the issue.

“No, I am referring to you aura. It should be enveloping your entire body, not forming a ring around your head,” said Belnor.

“Aura? Oh, the halo. That is just my psychic energy manifesting when I’m actively using it. For simple things its easiest and most efficient just to channel it through my brain, hence the halo,” I said, iterating some very basic psionic theory.

“Efficiency? Right, naturally a mana deficient realm would care about that. Your lucky your species is crystalline rather than flesh and blood, because otherwise you would be harmonizing right now,” said the professor.

“Well, actually professor, that is the reason I took on this form. My normal form is flesh and blood,” I said.

Professor Belnor stared blankly at me, before palming her face and shaking her head.

“Typical newrealmers, always making things more complicated than they need to be. And I do mean more complicated, because your brief exposure to tier 19 magic has resulted in the partial and botched spontaneous creation of minor shards of healing, as well as a number of other minor shards, throughout your body. The healing shards alone makes even simple healing magic too risky to use,” muttered Professor Belnor.

I raised an eyebrow at this.

The healing properties of empowered topaz gemstones wasn’t unknown to us. In fact, technically they had been known about for thousands of years, only to be ‘debunked’ by skeptical scientists unwittingly nullifying their effects by their very skepticism made manifest by their own latent psychic potential. Topazes were favoured among Egoists since it resonated with the use of psychometabolism, and was the reason my body was primarily composed of it, with a secondary focus on sapphires to channel psychoportation needed for the portal and pocket dimension, a healthy but annoyingly low percentage of emeralds and quartz for the ever valuable clairesentience and telepathy disciplines, and a lesser assortment of obsidian and amethyst to facilitate metacreativity and psychokinesis, with exact ratios to be adjusted as required.

Mana infused crystals were a matter I was less familiar with. The ARD had done research on the provided samples, but there was no clear link between the psychokinetic properties of empowered amethysts and the interdimensional communication enabled by the amethyst-like crystals infused with exotic radiation. That topazes had a similar purpose was an interesting coincidence, though not one I could yet exploit. Arguably a liability if what the professor said was true.

“Can you demanatize me?” I asked. I had my own ideas, but a self-proclaimed expert was right here, so I may as well use them if I could.

“You will have to speak with the academy armourer for that. Detunement is more in line with enchanting than healing,” said the professor with a sigh, “however, given that your condition does not appear to be urgent, I am inclined to let this matter slide until for the time being. You may return to your peers to enjoy the night, but I expect you to speak with Professor Pliska tomorrow. Dismissed.”

I waited for the next signing to finish before discretely making my way back to our table. I managed to avoid the worst of the limelight, but more than a few glances were shot my way from a few standout actors I made a note of for later. As it was, my own group met me with a mixed reception. Prince Thalmin met me with a wide grin, Lord Ilunor ignored me as he stared off with a dispondant look, and Princess Thacea looked at me with a smile of relief tempered by a look of mild concern.

“Emma, I... I am relieved to see you managed to survive the binding ceremony mostly unscathed,” said Thacea warmly, “though given your condition, are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just need to do a little detuning and it should be back to normal. I appreciate your concern, princess,” I said.

I returned my attention to the ceremony, but only a few minutes later I sensed the faint tingle of telepathy around Ilunor. As if seeking to confirm my senses, Ilunor instinctively flicked his head. A common behaviour by those who are unfamiliar with hearing the voice of another in their head, and a behaviour I had been trained out of by necessity. Curious, I decided to eavesdrop. I channelled my psychic energy towards my own telepathic powers, taking extra care to concentrate on negating my tell from manifesting, and caught the tail end of the message.

“...But you must make haste, lest you miss this golden opportunity.”

Ilunor looked around the room to see if anyone else had heard the voice, and saw nobody react. Not even me, though that didn’t stop him from casting an accusatory glare my direction. Did he know? No, I was certain my tell was hidden. It was probably just raw suspicion, given I did just tell him I was a telepath.

“I’ll be back. I just need to use the washroom,” he said at last, and he scurried off into into the backrooms.

I briefly considered trying to follow him remotely with my clairevoyant senses, but thought better of it. I was likely being watched and if I did something then they would likely put 2 and 2 together. The fact that everyone here could see my tell at all was concerning. While it was possible for me to see tells, the ability was not a passive one and doing so for long periods of time was mentally exhausting without either extensive training or transmuting more of my form to emeralds than I had at present. Hiding my tell was also not an option. I had to maintain concentration for that, and I didn’t know how long Ilunor was going to be gone.

Nor would anything likely come of it. I didn’t sense any scrying attempts, meaning the interloper was probably in the room. If they intended to meet with him in person, then they would have to leave the room. The fact that this wasn’t happening meant that, barring the use of clones, they weren’t getting personally involved. That, and given Ilunor’s future was in flux, it was safe to say this was likely the point of divergence and that the Venurian was doing what he needed to so that he could avoid his fate.

Content with my choice not to interfere, I continued to observe the binding ceremony and taking note of who was fully bound as Gene did his thing in the background. Eventually, Ilunor returned from his escapade, full of vigor, and sure enough when he was called up his result was that of Qivs. As was Thalmin’s signing.

Thacea’s I wasn’t sure about.

Earlier when I glanced into the future, I had taken the time to see how my peers would fare in the signing, and while I could see Thalmin’s and Ilunor’s signings, Thacea’s signing was hidden from my sight. That was never a good sign, and the fact that Thacea was at the epicentre of this was worthy of concern.

So when Thacea was called to the stage, I gently patted her arm and gave her a light smile.

“Thacea, whatever happens, I believe in you,” I said.

She nodded, and went up on the stage.

Things started off normally enough, but it only took until the end of Thacea’s speech for Mal’tory to deviate from the script.

“Tainted one. Do you understand your presence here defiles the hallowed halls of this great academy? That your vessel acts as a shell for a great evil which lurks within your soul? Do you understand that as your Professors, we are obligated to act in your best interest, and should you succumb to your evils and vices, we shall have no choice but to strike you down, condemning your soul to eternal captivity within the tainted vaults of the Nexus?”

That... was concerning. Putting aside the blatant and unapologetic violations of corporate discrimination policy which would have earned Mal’tory a personality adjustment by HR, and the blatant slander against what had so far shown herself to be an upstanding individual, the man was sending out mixed messages. Claiming to be against ‘evil’ whilst actively using something ‘evil’ was a bad look, and spoke poorly of the state of Nexian PR for not actively catching things like this beforehand. Of course, concepts like ‘good’ and ‘evil’ were rather meaningless in the grand scheme of things, and such black and white thinking was too rigid to survive in a competitive environment.

“I do, your grace.” Thacea dipped her head low, practically down to Mal’tory’s feet.

“Then sign your name and be done with this ceremony. Prove to us here and now that the taint has not corrupted your soul.” Mal’tory continued, handing her another even sketchier quill from within his cloak.

Thacea complied.

Then things went to hell.

ALERT: UNSTABLE SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED: 593% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS… WARNING ANOMALY DETECTED… RECALIBRATING… RECALIBRATING… ERROR! DETECTING 29 + 1 DISTINCT TYPES OF MANA-RADIATION.

ALERT: EXTREME UNSTABLE PSIONIC FLUCTUATIONS DETECTED

My visor lit up a maelstrom of error messages, but that was secondary to the psionic chaos that I could feel unfolding before me, even see them they were so violent. They arced and twisted, starting and ending in random spots with no apparent pattern. Much of it interacted with Thacea and her pen, but a lot of the disturbances had no apparent force, acting as if it came from something unseen and nebulous. I could feel its pressure on my mind. It wasn’t strong enough to be dangerous, and I could have acted if I needed to, but doing so in such an environment was difficult and a more powerful psionic outburst could prove as a potential danger.

Psionic storms weren’t unheard of. I knew that they happened sometimes during ftl, and potent psionicists sometimes triggered them as infants or during particularly violent deaths, but Thacea was neither a baby nor dead. This was something else.

The chaos ended as abruptly as it began as Thacea finished signing the book and steam coming off her hand. Again, Mal’tory refused to pick up the book, and again, Thacea was ushered towards Professor Belnor, but this time the professors treated this as a more routine occurrence and after bandaging her up the professor sent her back to our table.

The other students stared in horror at Thacea, or rather, something unseen above her head, and suggesting that they had front row seats to the invisible spectacle. I decided to address that later. For now, Thacea was clearly shaken and was in no state for an interrogation, nor would she likely take well to direct telepathic emotion management. She needed... something else. Something natural. And I knew just the thing.

”Gene,”, I thought, pinging my AI through the neural connection, ”Load up a neural memory packet. I need to try to remember the basics of compassion and quality care.”

 

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Psionic Corpo X Magic School

 

Good old rock, nothing beats that.

 

Ch 3: Paper covers Rock

 

The Grand Reception Hall

 

Lord Ilunor Rularia

 

“Well newrealmer, what do you see?”

The Elvenform rock’s aura halo had returned, flickering back to life like a smouldering candle that refused to die, yet once again there was nothing in the manafields to suggest anything had actually happened. I had zero faith that this newrealmer was anything more than a fraud. After all, if she truly had the gift of clairvoyance, she never would have come here.

“There is a black book... and everyone is afraid of it?” Said the newrealmer, with a hint of confusion in her voice paired with a surprising lack of concern, “oh, I see now, it saturates them in some type of glowing dark ink.”

“The binding ceremony,” whispered Thacea, and she shared a worried look with Thalmin.

“Binding ceremony?” Asked the Terrarealmer.

“They bind your soul to the pages of the yearbook as a means of control over your realm. Some of us have means of countering it, but it is typically done after orientation so we can prepare ourselves for it rather than the old way as they are doing now,” said Thalmin.

“That they are rumoured to do now. Which is a far more likely mean of learning of this than allowing for the existence of a manaless divination spell,” I said with a hiss before glaring at the newrealmer, “well, newrealmer? Am I wrong, or can you give us your prediction on how you will fare in the binding ceremony.”

“My future is chaotic and uncertain, just like yours.”

“What!?”

“In one future you are mostly unscathed, and in another you get consumed by the book. I’m not sure when, but sometime between now and then you make a choice,” clarified the newrealmer.

“A choice? What in His Eternal Majesty’s graces are you talking about-”

“Attention! Students-to-be from the Nexus and Adjacent-realms alike! The orientation is about to commence!” Echoed Professor Vanavan’s voice.

Though I wasn’t really listening. The newrealmer was spewing nonsense again. There was no way I was going to be consumed by that accursed book. After all, I had my dispelling amulet. It was right over here... ...it was gone. No, that wasn’t right... I must have misremembered. Was it in my pockets? The last time I had seen it was back in the slave quarters... no... no that could not be true. If I had truly lost my amulet, then that meant I was doomed! I shot a glare towards the newrealmer. There was no way the she could have anticipated this.

It was just a lucky guess, that’s all.

 

Lord Qiv Ratom

 

As I continued to converse with my peers, I had kept an eye on the Terrarealmer. She continued to be an enigma.

At first, nothing new had arisen from the newrealmer. Her visor and mouth piece had rendered her unreadable, even as she strode over to the outcasts table with not even as little as a mild complaint. The arrival of her peers was where things started to get interesting, as despite enveloping their table with a privacy spell it was obvious that they were less than satisfied with being pitted with a de-facto slave and had enacted an inquisition.

It was then I saw her aura. A halo of pale blue light that slipped into existence around her head that served as the first proof that she was even a living being. The fact that it did not encompass her entire form, was previously hidden, and did not appear to come paired with a notable manafield was strange, but new realms were known to have quirks. Quirks which continued when she manifested her aura into a pair of eyes, then as a set of arcs around both her head and the Lupinor’s, then as a swirl in front of her as a lead ball popped into existence and levitated on the table. All without any shifts in the manastreams. To all appearances, she was interacting with the world through her aura directly rather than with magic. Impossible, if the narrative were to be believed.

Of course, the halo faded once the Dean arrived and began orientation, and remained in its suppressed stated for its duration. The newrealmer continued to remain in her dormant state as the Dean recounted how the old Nexus was infested by taint and became a realm of discord, sin and corruption before eventually destroying itself to give way to the new Nexus, and even the announcement of our induction was not enough to draw it back out. My own peer group knew of the rumours of course, and all of us save Uven were prepared. As such, when Professor Mal’tory offered extra points for going first, I was more than eager to jump at the opportunity.

“If I may be allowed to be so brazen, I wish to accept the offer. I will be the first of my year-group to partake in the scholarly rites,” I said cautiously, delivering a bow as I did so.

“Very well Lord Qiv, please step forward,” said Professor Mal’tory, beckoning me to the stage.

I said my vows and pledged my allegiance to the crown as was expected of me. That was the easy part. The signing itself was the real gauntlet, and while I had made my preparations, that didn’t mean it was going to be easy or that my safety was guaranteed. I had read a great deal of horror stories regarding enchantment failures in years past, and so I was nervous and shaking as I reached for the quill and even the extra weight of the quill did little to sooth my nerves as I lifted it with both hands and into the ink.

The vile liquid was soon to envelop the quill, and though it stopped at my fingers I could feel a terrible darkness gnawing at my soul. A presence which continued even as I heaved the quill onto the yearbook and began the laborious task of signing my name with what was in all but appearance a bar of primavalic adamantite. Yet even this was not the worst trial.

That honour belonged to the soul capture.

No sooner than I finished my signature did the accursed artifact spring to life, releasing threaded tendrils of dark mana that threatened to ensnare my soul. My counterspell enchantment stopped the worst of it, but even high-tier enchantments were no match compared to a legendary crownland artifact, forged from the heart of a terrible demon, crafted by one of the most proficient artificers in history, and bound by His Eternal Majesty himself. I felt it worming into my manafield and grasping at my very essence, drawing it out and binding it to the pages of the yearbook until it had its fill until I was left staring in exhaustion at my signature with a partial, intangible link to my soul. A sight which was swiftly removed from my sight as the black-robed professor picked up the book to display to my peers.

“Lord Qiv Ratom of the Baralon-realm, henceforth you shall be known as a peer of the Transgracian Academy. Welcome to our ranks, and may the divine guide your light,” said Maltory, before leaning in to my ear and putting up a privacy ward.

“Now, Lord Qiv, if you would be so good as to call up the newrealmer in addition to your vassal, I will put in a good word for you for the role of class sovereign, as well as an endorsement for opportunities and aquisitions regarding Terrarealm should you pursue that avenue,” said Mal’tory out of earshot.

He leaned away as I mulled over his proposal. Newrealms rarely had much to offer, but this one had potential to be interesting and the prospect of new holdings and untapped lands was certainly worth considering.

“Lord Qiv Ratom, as the first of your class to volunteer for the ceremony, I deem it fit to grant you the rights to choose the next two of your peers-to-be,” said Professor Mal’tory.

I immediately pointed at Uven.

“The Ursina,” I said.

Then I turned, focusing in on the adept to gauge her reaction as I pointed her way.

“And the Terrarealmer,” I said.

Nothing. If Adept Booker had any reaction at all, it was concealed behind her visor.

Uven’s own signing went in a more unfortunate direction. As he had been forced to sign without any means of dispelling the ritual, the poor lord had been completely bound by the book and his soul was at the complete mercy of our professors. But while his fate may have directly played into my own ends, it was the newrealmer’s signing I was most interested in.

Emma was called up next. One would have thought bearing witness to her imminent fate would have shaken the newrealmer, but to her credit she was surprisingly composed. Though perhaps that could be due to her crystalline composition making facial expressions impossible. The Terrarealmer stood up and made her way to the front far too calmly for someone in her position until she was front and center on the stage.

“Cadet Emma Booker of Terrarealm, the Transgracian Academy for the Magical Arts acknowledges your presence. What say you?” Asked Mal’tory.

There was a pause as Mal’tory awaited the Terrarealmer’s response. A vow of submission was expected, but you never knew with newrealmers. They often said and did strange things, and this one was stranger than most.

“I, Emma Booker, as outlined under OuroBKR Solutions corporate policy, am forbidden from signing any contract on behalf of the company that had not been negotiated prior or reviewed by a team of our legal representatives. Furthermore, the Orion Conglomerate and its constituents are non-signatories of the Transgracia Accords, and such my duties as acting diplomatic liaison likewise forbid me from demonstrating conflicting loyalty or offering subjugation to a foreign corporate or regulatory body. Not withstanding, I am authorized and willing to partake in this ceremony as an individual with the understanding that doing so is considered a ‘cost of doing business’ for purposes of operating within the bounds of the Nexus and the Academy with the added recognition that any claim of submission or contractual clause otherwise implied by this signing would not be legally recognized by an Orion approved arbitration board, nor would I be considered liable for any damages invoked by any unauthorized usage or tampering of my psychic signature. As such, I hereby express my desires for tutelage and scholarship at the Transgracian Acadamy for the Magical Arts, and pledge to follow the rules and regulations of the academy so long as they do not conflict with my per-existing obligations.”

She was definitely a merchant lord. The Terrarealmer appeared more concerned with her contractual dealings back home than her immediate predicament. Though if she believed that she could worm her way out of her fate, the newrealmer was sorely mistaken.

The professors were taken aback by her declarations as well, and Mal’tory and the Dean had to take a moment to convene between themselves before they proceeded.

“As your journey shall be a trial of your realm’s resolve, and considering your lack of understanding of our ways and the Nexus’ enlightened methods, I will allow this. Now, Emma Booker of Terrarealm, pick up the quill and sign your name. After which, the rights to scholarship shall be yours, and the ties that bind shall be whole,” said Mal’tory at last, gesturing for her to kneel.

And still, throughout all of this, the newrealmer still refused to offer any hint of emotional reaction.

The newrealmer was either very brave or very foolish. Time would tell which it was.

 

Adept Emma Booker

 

I was not afraid.

One could have easily attributed this to a myriad of different things like ignorance, the absence of prerequisite brain chemistry, or mental training, but the truth was far more mundane. The day these nobles had to sign away their souls to a magical book was the most terrifying day of their lives.

But to me, this was just a psig.

A sketchy, bootleg psig, mind you. This thing belonged in illicit Acela underground backroom, not an official diplomatic functionary given its purported purpose. A proper psig was supposed to merely verify the unique psychic signature of the signer to facilitate day to day business transactions, a feature made necessary in an era of extensive cybernetic interfacing, genetic cloning, body transference or possession, and QPU identity imitation scams. Granted, it wasn’t always like this, and much of the 29th century had been and endless back-and-forth between different vendors selling different models with hidden and overt neuropsychic data collection and hijacking technologies and the corresponding, dupeware, spikeware, encryption, counteractive malware, and a whole armoury of antiEspionage psyware. The issue eventually settled itself when a conglomeration of some of the larger sovereign corporations and psionicist organizations got fed up and bought out one of the leading vendors to guarantee a reliable service for corporate execs and banking, followed by the consumer market getting dominated by of all things a Luna-based shower curtain corporation.

What this meant for me was that, as both a would-be executive and as a possessor of proprietary vatware, my soul was up to the nines in layered measures specifically designed to counter something like this. The OvunedCorp VPRM alone would be enough to brick this thing, I couldn’t imagine what the full PNDRA package could do to whatever qualified as their psyware ecosystem if they tried to so much as glance beyond the surface without my complete and total co-operation.

In truth I didn’t actually have to sign this the way they wanted me to. While I was contractually obligated to see this through by the ARD and therefore couldn’t exactly refuse, I had seen possible futures where I bested this thing. However, such measures were rather extreme, with one method requiring me to detach my brain from my body and hiding it in the space within spaces, and given my questionable reception a darker part of me wanted to see the Nexus hoist itself by its own petard. Not that I expected them to try anything. The psyware was fairly obvious and I had warned them of potential consequences, so I doubted they would be dumb enough to try anything. You would have to be the kind of idiot who plugged in unmarked datachips found in a public VTOL hanger immediately after a corporate memo reminding you specifically not to do that. Regardless, I had no reason to worry.

These Nexians came here prepared to enthrall a newrealm, and instead they encountered anti-fraud.

The yearbook was low to the ground, forcing me to kneel to sign it. Out of habit I almost pulled out my own psig compatable pen but caught myself at the last moment. While using my own equipment would be safer, and undoubtedly a power move, this was supposedly a ceremony and as such using my own pen instead of this malware-laden quill would be a bad look. Of course, I didn’t know exactly how this tool worked, so before I did anything else I stuffed Gene’s AI chip and QPU into my pocket dimension for safe keeping. AI did not have souls, but now was not the time to ask for a second opinion.

I picked up the quill, which was as light as its namesake. I then channelled my psychic energy to my fingertips before dipping it in the ink. The enigmatic black substance crept up the archaic writing tool and to my fingers where I expected my psyware to kick in and register my signature to the ink and halt its advance.

Or rather, that’s what was supposed to happen.

What actually happened was that the ink simply opted to bypass my psychic energy and seeped into my hand, which was now incapable of letting go. The sensation was emotional rather than physical. A sickeningly cold darkness that cared not for purpose or compassion, just distilled apathetic hatred. Evil in its purest form. In another context I might have mulled over the philosophical connotations of such a thing actually existing, but right now all I could really think about as the black ink crawled up my arm was that the psyware should have kicked in by now. Even if there was a glitch or some hidden ‘magical’ bypass, the system had layers of defences. I had no reason to believe that OuroBKR cut corners on their flagship vatware product when it came to protecting their IP, so any second now this ink was going to trigger a reaction.

Any second now.

...

Any second now.

 

Lord Qiv Ratom

 

Disappointing.

I had hoped the newrealmer had the potential to be interesting, but as the ink enveloped her body it appeared the binding ritual would bring this whole thing to an anticlimactic end. A pity to be sure, but I suppose this was to be expected.

Then the Terrarealmer shimmered, and the ink rippled into a torrential froth. From the chaos emerged the newrealmer’s signature pale blue light, piercing through the darkness and spreading out until even the quill was saturated with her aura. There was a faint sigh of relief – the first visible sign of any emotion – and only then did she bring the quill back to the pages as if she hadn’t just completely subverted the entire binding ritual without the slightest ebb in the manafields, much to the collective shock of my peers.

I leaned forward in my seat. The Terrarealmer was worth something after all.

 

Adept Emma Booker

 

The psyware cut it uncomfortably close, but being awash in my own psychic energy was a relief all the same. I made a mental note to file a complaint when I sent my first message back home, though I didn’t know if anything would come of it. OvunedCorp probably had a clause in their TOS shielding them from liability in cases like knowingly using unapproved psig models, usage in alternate dimensions flush with exotic radiation, or day 1 VPRM cracking.

I swiftly signed my signature and upon finishing the pen was stuck to the pages. This triggered my second ordeal, though this one was somewhat different than the first. I watched through my visor as the radiation levels spiked up to over 1900%, but this radiation surge didn’t seem to interact with me in any intentional way. What did happen was that I started to feel dizzy and uncomfortable as sharp shocks ripped though my body.

ALERT: LEACHING EVENT DETECTED

The warning flashed in my display, though without Gene present to run analytics I only had basic feedback. However, I didn’t need an AI to tell me what was happening. My crystal form was stable enough to handle the ambient mana radiation, but evidently there was a limit. I didn’t know what would happen if I stayed like this for too long, but I doubted it was good.

Thankfully the process was short lived, and the radiation levels crashed down and let me remove the quill. The rest of the room was understandably confused, and even the professors were staring over the shoulder to admire my handiwork. Though if I were to be honest, it wasn’t anything unusual. Just the pale blue light of my psychic signature rather than that horrible black.

With the danger past, I retrieved Gene and plugged him back in so he could get to work analyzing the input cache, with the Dean and Mal’tory whispering to each other behind my back.

“Adept Emma of Terrarealm,” Mal’tory began, refusing to lift the book to show them my signature, “Henceforth you shall be known as a peer of the Transgracian Academy. Welcome to our ranks, and may the divine guide your light.”

 

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Psionic Corpo X Magic School

 

Psycho Booker is back! Don't know how many of these I'll make, probably until I get bored, but there seems to be some interest so I'll try to keep it going.

 

Ch 2: I see that you enjoy Konami games!

 

The Grand Reception Hall

 

Lord Qiv Ratom

 

“Do you think the newrealmer has arrived yet? I am growing tired of waiting,” said Prince Rostario as the rodent prince tapped his feet impatiently from his high seat.

“Patience, Prince Rostario. It would be unbecoming of us to rush the newrealmers with their portal, lest they befall the fate of their previous candidate,” I replied, positioning myself as being charitable to what was undoubtably another lesser realm which would in due course benefit from enlightened leadership.

“You are quite right, Lord Qiv, that would indeed be quite the tragedy for a realm to blunder two crossings. Even so, I wish they would hurry up all the same,” said Rostario with a sigh.

“What ever for, Lord Rostario? We all know what will happen once the newrealmer takes her seat. Perhaps we should be grateful that they have delayed the inevitable,” said Lady Airit, who was toying with a piece of jewellery meant for the ritual that was to come.

As she spoke, my eyes lingered on Lord Uven, who had remained mostly silent this entire time. He had a despondent look to him, with a notable dread on his face, yet he sat up with poise and posture in an effort to remain some dignity. I opted to leave him be; there was no sense denying a lord his last moments of freedom.

The sound of distant footsteps brought our chatter to a halt, and we each turned to face the entrance expectantly. I focused my senses, noting a pair of manafields belonging to the professors heading our direction yet while I could hear a third set of footsteps I could not sense who they belonged to.

The mystery only got stranger when the doors burst open only to reveal the newrealmer to be a contradiction. On the one hand, her appearance was the halmark of a civilized realm. Her silouette was elvenform, with only slight deviations in stature and at the ears from the high elves standing next to her. Her clothes, while monochromatic and outlandish, were of fine craftsmanship and managed to strike a balance between fashionable and practical. And of course who could miss the fact that her head was composed of a golden-yellow topaz that sparkled as the light passed through behind her.

Yet at the same time she had no sign of a manafield, nor an aura, nor any sign of enchantments save for a small piece of heraldry on her being. To the discerning eye this newrealmer was completely dead, and every attempt to peer closer for any sign of light returned nothing save for a faint sense of wrongness that was briefly felt in my periphery.

“And finally, the last to join the ranks of the class of 29,019, Adept Emma Booker of Terrarealm!” Declared Professor Vanavan, prompting the impossible thing to step forward and give a speech.

“Greetings, ladies and gentlemen. I am Adept Emma Booker, Initiate Psionicist of the Meridian Whispers, Junior Partner of OuroBKR Solutions and acting diplomatic liason for the Anomalous Research Department as well as Terracorp and representative of the Orion Conglomerate and all of humanity. I look forwards to working with you towards a bright and prosperous future,” she said in perfect High Nexian.

Her speech was met with silence, followed by mumbles and whispers throughout the hall.

“An adept? Is the newrealmer a member of a cult?” Asked Airit.

“A secret order more likely. Her ‘Junior Partner’ status is a title a Merchant Lord would devise, and they tend to be fond of such things,” mused Rostario.

“That would explain her attire... but then where would she keep her coinage? I don’t sense any enchantments on her, nor any sign of a manafield for that matter,” said Airit.

“Perhaps its with her... wait, I don’t sense one either. Oh dear, this will not do,” said Rostario smugly.

“Did they send a slave? Or... are they so weak-fielded that they sent a golem in their stead?” Suggested Airit.

The two chittered on back and forth. Their reasoning was solid, and almost in line with the established narrative, but their conclusions didn’t quite fit what I was observing. This so-called adept was something different than the norm, and I was intent on studying her until I knew what.

 

Adept Emma Booker

 

The room was easy to read even without the aid of passive telepathy.

There was a stifled laughter, soft enough as to not be disruptive yet loud enough that it was clear I was supposed to notice it even with normal hearing.

Not that I was using my normal senses. One of the consequences of restructuring my flesh into living gemstones was that while I may have the form of a human, it came with none of the functionality. Even my brain was little more than an anchor for my consciousness and an interface to my company-issued cyberware, which were managed by Gene, my assigned AI assistant, and was my primary means of experiencing the world at this time. Of course, I could use my extrasensory capabilities to hear, see, and speak, but emulating the capabilities of a dedicated organ was not exactly trivial, nor was it passive, so I was more than happy to offload the work where I could. Especially when it came with the capacity to pick up whispers, pick up mana-radiation signatures, and theoretically read lips once the AI had enough training data to decypher the movements of their animal-like mouths.

What was clear was that I wasn’t welcome here. An outsider. Something they saw as beneath them. I had been warned of this potential outcome, so I wasn’t surprised by this turn of events. That didn’t mean I wasn’t disappointed. When I had learned that the Nexus was supposed to be a realm of swords and sorcery, a part of me had dreamed that things would be different here. That maybe the people of this new world had built a society better than ours, where people could be happy and safe and free and work together in harmony for the greater good of all. Instead, all I saw was a collection of snotty nobles stuck in the 1700s with a get-up that would make even King Louis XVI a fervent republican. I suppose they call it fantasy for a reason. Never mind modern corporate relation, negotiation and coercion protocols, these guys looked like they would cave to a big stick.

This treatment continued as I was asked to sit anywhere I deemed ‘suitable’. The implication being that I had a choice in the matter. It wasn’t entirely inaccurate, as I did have options. Either I sat at the empty table off in the corner of the room which contained the only remaining empty seats left in the otherwise fully seated room, or I could sit on the floor. Of course, while there was always the cheeky third option of simply taking one of the chairs and inviting myself into whichever interactive vatware petting zoo I deemed the most likely to be interesting conversation – my credit line was on the gators – I didn’t need to use clairesentience to know that would run counter to our aims.

The subtle approach was often the best, and I would have time to mingle with them later. I decided to play their game for now, and with a casual stride I took a seat at the corner table with my back to a wall, content with merely gathering information both electronically to allow Gene to profile those present and telepathically as I started to passively gleam what I could from those around me who carelessly radiated their unprotected surface level thoughts to get a leg up on the social and informational landscape.

Before I could get into a proper trance, I sensed the three individuals from earlier rush into the room and bee-lining straight towards my table in a hurried sprint. They arrived at my table, only to freeze in place as they spotted me. They glanced around the room in desperation for another empty seat, clearly not wishing to be saddled with the new guy, before resigning to their fate and joining me. I took a moment to appraise the trio. One was a blue draconic lizard who was sunken in defeat, the second resembled a tropical bird dressed in uncharacteristically plain attire, and the third was a wolf-like man who was staring me down with violence in his eyes, though I could sense no imminent conflict in the immediate future.

At least not physically.

All three proved resistant to any passive telepathic observations, but while I could have attempted to force my way in I decided to keep things amicable. I put on my best friendly smile and extended my hand.

“Hello, my friend. I am Adept Emma Booker, and it is my pleasure to-”

“Yes, I heard your little speech. Initiate and junior partner and all that. What are you?” Demanded the wolf as he cut me off before I could take out one of my cards.

ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 225% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS

Direct, no-nonsense, and confrontational. I had seen the type many times in many different contexts while shadowing my sponsor, mentor, and primary caretaker, Miss Ran Booker, so I had a clear idea on how to sync up with this type of team member. Furthermore, given the sudden absence of sound associated with this radiation outburst, this was clearly intended as some form of interrogation, and while I was loath to subject myself to such treatment from a stranger, it was clear that we needed to clear some things up before I could pursue any productive avenues with my new acquaintances. I straightened my back, clasped my hands in front of me, and looked him dead in the eye as I shifted my tone and mannerisms to match his and cast my senses slightly into the future to preemptively catch any social errors.

“That question can mean many things. What specifically do you want to know about me?” I asked.

The wolf squinted but was otherwise unaffected by my shift, even as the bird and lizard exchanged glances.

“To the point then. Lets start with your titles. You claimed to be a ‘Junior Partner’ of ‘OuroBKR Solutions’, perhaps you can expand on what that title and estate entails,” said the wolf.

“Certainly. OuroBKR Solutions is a biotechnology and metaphysical integration sovereign corporation owned primarily by the Booker Estate. A sovereign corporation being defined as a group or individual formally recognized as a singular sovereign political entity for the purposes of contracts and transactions for the purposes of controlling assets, managing investments, or performing a service, govern territory, and operate a military, among other things. As a Junior Partner, I hold conditional ownership over a share of the corporation with all the rights and responsibilities that entails,” I said, keeping things short and succinct and avoiding the temptation of going on about our offerings, at least for the time being. The wolf-man raised his eyebrow, while the blue lizard palmed his face dramatically.

“His Majesty save us, we have been saddled with a Merchant Lord of all things,” bemoaned the lizard.

“While I appreciate the existence of a useful analogue, I would caution against its blind application as we are technically neither lords nor merchants, Mr...” I said, directing the conversation towards themselves.

While in a sense we were de facto lords, and I knew many who thought of themselves that way, openly claiming to be as such was a strict violation of corporate conduct and as such I had an obligation to dispute it.

“That would be Lord Ilunor Rularia of the Vunerian Court,” said Ilunor with a haughty scoff.

“I am Princess Thacea Dilani of Aetheronrealm and the Avinor Court,” said the princess, who thus far had opted to remain silent and stoic aside from a constant scrutinizing gaze.

“Thalmin, Prince Thalmnin Havenbrock of Havenbrockrealm and the Lupinor Court,” said the prince.

I made sure to give each of them a polite bow in turn as I mulled this over. A number of our clients were royalty, and while I had never encountered a princess before I had met a couple of princes while functioning as Miss Ran’s shadow. The first one I liked, he was a friendly and jovial Moroccan prince who really loved to show off his collection of antique racing Vtols. The second prince... well, lets he had the good sense of self preservation to be on his best behaviour towards us. Doing so would, of course, be a violation of the terms and conditions bundled with out subscription services, and we would be liable to perform conciliatory actions to rectify their transgressions as outlined under our Code of Enforcement and permitted by the Orion Sovereign Charter.

“That would be Mercinary Prince Thalmin Havenbrock,” chimed in Lord Ilunor, before turning to me, “I must apologize for my peer’s ill mannered temperament, this is unfortunately typical of the Lupinor court and moreso with their royalty.”

“You watch your tongue Ilunor, lest you find yourself dangling by it,” said Thalmin with a growl, shifting his aggression away from me and towards the Venurian, who merely refused to acknowledge the Lupinor’s behaviour in any capacity.

“While I’m sure you would love to ramble on about the virtues and opportunities and what not your little farmers market has to offer, we have a more pressing matter at hand. That is to say, your apparent lack of manafield. Where is it? I don’t sense anything coming from you, so either you are hiding it from us to mask your taint like the Avinor or we are sharing a table with a dolled up slave or a lifeless golem!” Began the lizard, his words laced with vitrol.

“Ilunor, please-”

“Quiet princess, if we are to move forward as a peer group this thing needs to be addressed!”

Controlling, judgmental, and arrogant. The type who believed they were chosen by some higher authority and engineered to be perfect. Like me. I was never permitted to develop such a personality myself. Miss Ran made it her mission to nip such tendencies in the bud. I still felt echos of the psychic lashes and pruned neural pathways, and while many such thoughts still slipped through they usually carried with them a latent throb. Evidently Ilunor never got this treatment.

There was still the matter of addressing his concerns, and in this case that meant providing proof of competence. Mind you, I still had no idea what he meant by a manafield. But I knew the manifestations of my psionic powers could be seen, which suited my purposes just fine. The fact that this would familiarize them with the 3MP14’s capabilities to help ease them in to the idea of a subscription was merely an added bonus.

I turned to face Ilunor and pressed my fingers to the sides of my visor, triggering the demagnetization sequence and allowing me to unplug it from my head. In an instant the HUD, data readouts, and even Ilunor’s cocked eyebrow vanished from my perception and forcing me to rely on my passive clairvoyant senses to maintain my bearings. I removed the visors, being sure to eye contact with my blind mineralized eyes. Next I focused my will to channel my psychokinetic and psychometamorphic powers over my eyeballs, selectively blocking out and sensing light while adjusting my eye gems to focus the light, granting me back my normal, human vision. I had other options of course, and far superior means at that, but for the moment I wanted to get a look at this place with my own eyes. The room was bright, far brighter than my visor’s adjusted vision had let me to believe. The ever-present brightness wasn’t limited to the obvious light sources either; every nook and crevice was lit up like they were worried that the boogeyman was going to come out and nip their toes. I adjusted my eyes until I could clearly see the trio, who were now staring at my new feature. Ilunor was unimpressed, Thalmin was trying to read my expression, and Thacea maintained her studious gaze.

“So you are suppressing your aura,” mused Thalmin to himself.

“Before I answer your questions, I would be remiss if I did not ask where this hostility is coming from,” I began, maintaining a civil and polite demeanour as I had been raised to do.

“I believe the reason Prince Thalmin and Lord Ilunor are on edge is because the table you sit at during orientation dictates your peer group for the rest of the academic year, and given that you are an unknown factor, sitting with you has put us at a significant risk,” explained the princess.

“I see, that would explain a number of things,” I said calmly.

The princess was a dichotomy. She was soft-spoken, reserved, and displayed conflict-avoidant behaviours, yet it was clear Thacea was highly intelligent and there was a hidden layer underneath this mask which she was suppressing. It was evident with her clothes too. In contrast to the highly formal dress code of her peers, the princess was adorned in a rather plain set of mage robes. Yet underneath these robes I noted Thacea’s plumage was pruned to perfection and had a colourful aesthetic that was wasted on anything less than an exotic and alluring party dress.

...

Miss Ran would never have let me think that.

...

I shelved the task of pruning my thoughts for later, what was relevant was that she was likely doing so on account of this ‘taint’, whatever that was, and thus was part of a persecuted group who likewise believed me to be an added liability. Which, combined with the timing of my arrival and the lack of other open seats led me to conclude that I had been funnelled here and forced to associate with a group of outcasts in an attempt to control and isolate me. This borderline grayzone treatment was concerning for the prospect of trade and business negotiations with the Nexus proper. While on the surface this appeared to be a disadvantage, the truth was that these people were more likely to be disenfranchised with the status quo and therefore more amenable to our offerings and a solid foundation for expanding our ventures.

Having sorted that out, I still owed my new peers an explanation.

“To start with, no I am not a slave, nor am I a golem. In fact, this crystalline form is not my normal appearance and the only reason I have taken on this form is because when we sent someone across we found out the hard way that the ambient radiation here is extremely lethal to normal biological life. As for what I can do, well, I am a psionicist, meaning I can draw psionic energy from within myself to bend latent energy to my will. I myself am proficient and trained in all six psionic disciplines, namely, sclairsentience, metacreativity, psychokinesis, psychometabolism, psychoportation, and telepathy,” I said, pausing to give the group time to digest my words.

Only to be immediately met with skepticism.

“You claim to have command over latent magics, yet not once have we seen the slightest hint of a manafield,” said Thalmin with a growl.

“If you have doubts, I can demonstrate by reading your mind, or perhaps your past? With your permission, of course,” I offered.

“Very well, tell me about my past then,” said Thalmin with a glare.

I paid his mannerisms no heed as I channelled my will into my inner eye, focusing it on Thalmin and sensing for a moment of personal significance in his past. A vision appeared in my mind depicting a large and chaotic battle, and I quickly started to recant it.

“I see a battle in a large, snowy clearing next to a palisade encampment next to a frozen stream. You are leading the defenders, but you are clearly outnumbered. As you fight, you come across another like yourself, but dressed in glowing white armour with a matching fur coat. You are... on the back foot, losing ground to your opponent until you get distracted by someone... important to you, someone with a red fur coat, and this inspires you to fight harder until you...”

“Enough! That- your tricks won’t work on me, Adept. Your aura may have changed, but I sensed no disturbances in the manafield. You have clearly invoked the common street practice of cold reading, and I will not be made a fool,” said a slightly shaken Thalmin with a scoff.

“You still don’t believe me? Perhaps you will if show you my psychokinetic power,” I said, unperturbed by Thalmin’s skepticism.

Not seeing any items nearby, I briefly considered dipping in to the pocket dimension I had anchored to me and was using as a portable inventory to grab something to demonstrate with, but I decided against it in favour of channelling my psychic energy to materialize a ball of lead into existence and placing it on the table.

“Now I will move this lead ball with the power of my will alone!” I said.

Psychokinesis was one of those strange things which, much like whistling, felt nigh impossible for years until one day the whole thing suddenly clicks into place and you can do it casually in the shower without even thinking about it. The trick was to realize that matter wasn’t real, that matter was just a suggestion of probability fields while mass and inertia were just illusions imposed by the Higgs field. Lifting the ball was less of an act and more of an afterthought, but while Miss Ran tolerated me playing around with it as a kid to get a feel for it she was very strict on when I was allowed to use it in public spaces. It was a bad look for a c-suite to go around eating pizza with their minds like some asteroid hopper with a freshly installed company issued PK neural mod.

I lifted the ball, moved it sideways, made a circle, simple things like that. This wasn’t a holocirque or street entertainment, I was just demonstrating capacity.

“Well, do you believe me now?” I asked as Thalmin picked up the ball to assess its weight.

“Hmmph,” said Ilunor with his arms crossed, “is that supposed to impress me? Any commoner can do that.”

“I don’t recall meeting any commoners who can conjure matter...” said Thacea.

“Oh, don’t mind that. I just shaped it because tossing chairs around would have made a scene. It isn’t actually real matter and should decay shortly,” I said. Quantum foam lacked staying power once I stopped observing it.

“Yes, yes, I’ve seen astral constructs before. Am I supposed to care for a seer who can’t even see their own future?” Snapped Ilunor.

The Venerian had a habit of trying to get on your nerves. A lesser psionicist would have removed his brainstem by now, but Miss Ran did not train a lesser psionicist.

“If that truly is the sticking point, I can peer into possible futures if it will put your mind at ease,” I said, maintaining a professional tone.

“The future, you mean,” replied Ilunor with a scoff.

“That would only be the case if you didn’t have free will,” I said, being careful not to mention anything quantum, “every second, every instant, you and everyone around you are constantly making choices, and from these choices spring forth new possible futures ad infinitum. I can follow possible or probable timelines of events, but the idea of a single, holistic timeline is pure nonsense.”

“Well then, newrealmer, tell me what you see in these ‘futures’,” goaded Ilunor.

Scratch my earlier sentiment. Most psionicists would have punted this lizard into the abyss by now. However, patience was a psionicists greatest weapon, so I chose to humour him and peer into the near future.

In truth, peering more than a few seconds past the present was more of a liability than a boon. You could get a rough idea on what might happen, but more often than not the future was pure chaos. People gave in to their intrusive thoughts, turned left or right, their marksmanship was inconsistent, they typed in their passwords wrong, and there was even the odd homeless man who spontaniously achieved enlightenment and psi-blasted whole city blocks. Things which were highly unlikely, but technically possible. While it was somewhat useful benefits for gathering intel, and very briefly to cheat the AI-traded stock market, even that had limits. One such limit was the barrier between worlds, which meant that I was forced to come here without any prior knowledge.

Yet as I opened my mind to the future, my visions were oddly consistent. There were some variations, a few small changes in behaviours, but what I saw was less like the emergent chaos of an Immersive Sim and more akin to a stage-play with actors reading from a script. I skipped forwards, but this time there was shock and fear. All of which was directed towards a single item.

There, on the low pedestal, sat a plain black leather book.

And it radiated malice.

 

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