Chapter 529: New Possibilities

The next day, Owyn woke up with the dawn, which was apparently too early for the rest of the Academy, as he discovered when he put on his uniform and wandered into the halls. Eventually, the smell of cooking meat managed to hook his nostrils, but a few steps into his newly found direction, he felt the speaking stone begin to pulse in his pocket.

It took longer than he would have liked to find an alcove big enough for him to tuck into, before putting his mana into the stone and answering the call.

"What is it? I told you to wait for me to contact you." After Aban failed to find anything on Norneau, Owyn had decided to make him stew for a bit, especially when he’d refused to let the others know that Owyn was alive.

"Good evening to you too, Owyn," Aban sassed back. "I thought you’d like to know someone’s taken an interest in my looking around earlier. An Imperial scholar from Damia sent a letter to Father, asking him for permission to work under the clan’s protection."

"I doubt the Chief would want those kinds of outsiders behind his walls."

"Father’s out and about, bringing the tree choppers in line, or I wouldn’t have been able to accept on his behalf."

"What, no more monsters to hunt?"

"The plan was always to start uniting the tribes after I was old enough to run things here. Not that you were ever around for those talks. In any case, the scholar will be here in two weeks, or about one week where you are. I can take down your questions for them..."

It was almost amazing to Owyn how Aban could still be insulting even when he wasn’t in charge of the situation. He wasn’t about to lose his cool, though, so he told Aban to ask a few basic questions. What was the city known for? Who were the major figures in it? Why was it sealed? Things tangentially related to what he’d learned from Arc, who had decidedly focused on getting him to pass for a citizen, and who didn’t seem to have much interest in the history of the city past that of the Dragon Knight corps.

Once he was done listing his questions, Aban continued, "I trust this is at least worth some sort of reward? I’m sticking my neck out here, letting this outsider in."

"One question," Owyn replied. He’d been ready for the other shoe to drop from the moment he heard Aban’s self-satisfied voice.

"I saw the titan eat you... How did you survive, truly?"

"I don’t know," Owyn said after a long pause.

"Bullshit. What kind of answer is that?"

"It’s the truth. Someone else killed the titan, and I got pulled out of its guts. They call them ’kaiju’ over here."

"There are people there?" Aban’s loud surprise caused Owyn to cover the stone, just in time for another student to walk past the alcove, casting a curious glance his way before continuing on. Aban kept asking questions, but Owyn cut him off.

"That’s all you’re getting," Owyn said. "Next time, wait for me to call. If you try to contact me at a bad time, I’m just going to ignore you."

"But wait-"

Owyn pulled his mana out of the stone, pocketing it and walking out just in time for a familiar head of purple hair crowned by delicate horns to bump into his side.

"Ow!" Arc exclaimed, though she didn’t seem hurt at all. "Why were you- Were you waiting to jump out at me?"

"Wh-what? No!"

"Uh-huh. I was trying to find you earlier. Here."

She flapped a piece of paper in front of Owyn, and he reached down to receive what looked like a series of lines and numbers inside of rectangles.

"What is it?" he asked.

"It’s our schedule, dummy. Looks like neither of us is picking courses this semester."

By then, the presence of a girl in the boys’ dorm was starting to draw attention. It wasn’t forbidden, per se, but Owyn did read the little rulebook that came with his uniform, and it said no girls were allowed in after certain hours.

"I’m not sure I understand this..." he admitted.

"Whatever. Just follow me when the semester starts. At least I still get to pick a club..." She shoved him, or rather tried to, since he outweighed her by nearly three times, towards the cafeteria.

*

Dromi was walking to the cafeteria, his skull still sore from the loss of his horn. Apparently, he’d thrashed around quite a bit during his... transformation. He remembered the pressure of fingers around his eyes... and then the pain... The rest was black. A void of memory filled with the whispers of his new companion. His "guiding stone,’ a fragment of an archangel, the Giver had told him once he awoke.

He felt honored to be the first demonkin so blessed, especially because they told him he was an Apostle now, and being part demon, his potential was new and unknown, even to them. Already, he could feel his power had multiplied, pooling in his new eyes.

Even after a restless, pain-filled night, he looked around the Academy and saw lost sheep. It was his duty, his pride, to be an example that would guide many to the true flock. The true way. The true Child of Mana-

Kill. Kill.

The sudden, voiceless imperative wrenched through Dromi’s chest and into his mind, causing him to arrest his steps as he avoided a stagger.

Sweat broke out over his face, and he looked around for where the voice had focused, only to finally notice the demon girl walking next to a giant. The moment he focused on her, the voice redoubled.

Kill her. Kill her. Spawn of evil. KILL HER. Dromi was drawn into a vision. He knelt over her corpse, a hole in her chest beneath the ribs... one which glowed gold before she suddenly wrenched her dead eyes in his direction. She blinked and those eyes became gold. They looked at him with approval before she smiled. Then he looked down and saw the hole beneath his chest. Felt the absence...

No! Dromi clenched his whole body, resisting the voice as he turned and leaned against the wall heavily by one hand, the other clutching his chest. What was it thinking? It was his first day on campus. She was just some random girl... sure, she was in the boy’s dorm hall... Come to think of it, why was she in the dorm at all? The semester hadn’t even started yet.

She was a demon, or part demon, like himself. He felt none of the emotional tug that the mana-eaters produced, but that could have just meant she was eating food instead... or directing her hunger at that boy...

Succubus, he thought. Vile, despicable. Just like the woman who tore his parents apart before they killed each other. The demoness who was still out there, living her life while he suffered alone.

He decided then that he hated her. And the boy, too, if he was willingly suffering her company. Like so many who let themselves be fed on. The weak-willed and contemptuous. The sinners.

Kill her... The voice grew weaker as the girl stepped around a corner with the giant, out of sight.

Dromi sent a reassuring wave of thoughts to the archangel within him. He would kill her. He’d find a way, in his own time, but only when he wouldn’t be caught. He’d play it smart. They would both get what they want. But before that, he would learn... her strengths and weaknesses, yes. One could not simply attack a mage or maven without overwhelming force or preparations... But... Did she really deserve to die? Who even was she?

Even with his doubts, this seemed to mollify his companion, who settled into its normal, reassuring pulse of righteous bliss, sharing it with him.

He got the sense that it would wait. That it would still urge, but also that it would watch.

Dromi would show them all. He was purified. Righteous.

He knew his mission, and he was no fool.

He would prevail.

*

Far outside the Veil, Aban reclined in his bed. Amidst sumptuous furs, he sipped wine from a silver cup while his hand groped at the butt of the elven slave pressed against him, her chest rising softly into his ribs as her liquid-ruby hair spilled over his bicep.

But his mind wasn’t on the taste of wine or the feeling of the warm body against his. It was on power, and the fact that, despite Owyn’s pathetic attempt to wield power over Aban, the fool had revealed far more than he thought when Aban asked his one question.

Three things cycled through Aban’s mind.

The first was that someone, or perhaps some people, inside the barrier had the power to kill a titan... That alone might have been worth abandoning this pathetic clan to seek the same power on his own, but then again, Owyn was already there and had far more time than Aban to win them over, and he and Owyn clearly weren’t friends. He had no idea who he might deal with, but it was the second thing that gave him even more pause.

They call them kaiju...

That specific word was one he knew from Earth. Was it possible that someone else from Earth, some other ’Oldborn’, was already there and in charge of whatever society had grown behind that bubble? If so, then he needed to know more before he charged in and potentially got himself killed. And he needed to be as strong as possible. The ways he’d figured out to match magic to physical laws gave him ample power, but his mana pool wasn’t nearly enough to kill a titan alone.

In his past life, he’d been a mere billionaire. Accepting the invitation of the man who owned his corporation had doomed him, and when he closed his eyes, he sometimes dreamt of that slow, darker-than-black explosion that consumed the AIDAEB facility. The hope of he and his peers to find a new Earth, in a new dimension... to own it as it was built from nothing. Humanity built anew in an Eden for the deserving, of which he had been one, while old Earth was stripped and left to rot as it already was.

And he remembered the message that preceded it. The taunting eyes of Kiryu Nasumi, announcing his treason against those who sponsored, no, owned him. Those who owned the whole world. His own guards had seized him, tried to bargain with an unlistening screen even as death approached, with a gun to his head.

The final thought on his mind was that he needed to know who was on the other side of that barrier. He needed to know because he intended to have their power for himself. And to do that, he needed more to bargain with. To convince them he was no threat, until he was strong enough not to fear them, or anyone. Especially if they were "oldborn" like him.

To do that, he needed leverage. He needed power in hand, not the promise of power his idiot of a father dangled over his head, as if he were a child when he had been born older than the man who’d sired him in this life. He needed control. For that, he needed the old man out of the way. No more waiting for destiny to find him.

After all, like in those insipid, wish-fulfillment forms of media that comprised his youth, he was the overpowered protagonist. He sipped his wine, staring into the darkness as his thoughts turned to new possibilities.

Perhaps it’s time to move things along...