We limped all the way back to the dormitory. I didn’t pay any particular attention to the Dark Mage who led us there, save for the fact that it had been a girl and that she hadn’t been particularly interested in talking to us. So, not much happened on the way back; Olga was fit enough to walk by then. We all were. And yet, moving my limbs still felt strange, which resulted in limp strides.

I somehow found my way to my room after all that, my eyes drooping and drifting from waking and sleeping. I glanced at Olga one last time to make sure that she was okay. Physically, she was, but I wasn’t so sure about everything else. Our eyes met for a moment, before she turned and entered her room, the one right across mine. The rest slowly dragged themselves to their doors and entered.

Sighing, I reached for the doorknob, twisted, and walked into my room.

My eyes widened.

A… strange feeling rushed through me when my eyes settled upon the stack of… things in my room, piled high atop a low table that stood beside my bed. Most of them appeared to be books, ten of them, bound in thick leathers; most of which were useless to me, since I couldn’t read, but the rest weren’t books and those were the ones that caught the brunt of my attention. The first item was a cylindrical object that was about the size of my forearm, just thin enough to be held with both hands. It was made entirely of a matte black material that felt almost like stone, rough and course. On one end was a pale, iridescent gemstone. Holding it made it immediately clear that the object was magical in nature. The sensation it exuded reminded me almost of a wand; unlike a wand, however, it wasn’t reaching in to bind my magic. No, it was reaching in and then pulling out; or, at least, it was trying to. But I wasn’t allowing it to do that just yet – not without knowing what it even was.

I set the black cylinder back on the table and turned my attention to the other objects that were there. A small, black cube, which – in itself – was made of other smaller cubes, each side having a total of nine square faces on them; each face had a small symbol, etched upon it. I examined every part of the small cube; there wasn’t much to see, unfortunately. There were six different symbols in total – a crescent, a star, a circle, a skull, a hand, and a triangle with an eye at its center – and there were nine of each. The other object was a small, unadorned, wooden box, small enough to comfortably fit on my palm; there was a small knob at its side, mean to be spun in circles, I figured. As with the cylinder, both objects were immediately obviously magical in naturel. Though, neither the black cube nor the wooden box seemed to bother with reaching into me; whatever magic they contained seemed perfectly content to simply linger within.

“Who put these here?” There was a note, written on white paper, which probably explained who left these books and these items here, but, unfortunately, I couldn’t read. So, it didn’t matter what was there and who wrote it.

Though, if I had to take a guess, then these things probably came from my mentor.

Shrugging, I placed the items back on the table, stripped out of my clothes, and proceeded immediately into the shower. I was tired, dirty, and angry; I needed a bath – a long bath that would cool my nerves for what was to come. The cool waters that streamed out of the shower were soothing, relaxing; I felt myself deflate almost immediately the moment it hit my skin. I don’t know how long I stayed under the constant stream of water – it might’ve been minutes or it might’ve been hours; I didn’t care.

In that instance, nothing else mattered.

I breathed in and out, and tasted blood in my mouth.

And I was quickly jolted out of the strange stupor that’d befallen me.

“Tsk,” I sighed and leaned away from the water. My mind was weary and rest was a distant thing that did not last even for a moment.

I turned the shower off and walked out of the bathroom – clean enough by my reckoning, since I was rather certain of the fact that, in a few hours, I would be covered in blood and gore and other sticky things that sloshed off of people when they were cut open. I shuddered at the thought. Agonizing screams echoed at the back of my head, the screams of a dying man, whose torso I cut open and whose liver I ripped out and presented to my mentor.

I wanted to vomit.

My body wanted to vomit. I felt it in my stomach and my throat, the rising of my lunch, threatening to spill out. But I forced it down and forced away the sensation as best I could. Food was a luxury; we were only given a finite amount of it and I was not about to let myself starve, because I couldn’t stomach the trials that lay ahead of me.

Sighing, I hopped on the bed and laid down, burying my face in the softness of the sheets and the mattress.

What sort of horrors did Lady Victoria prepare for me, I wonder? What tortures would I be forced to inflict upon some other helpless sod, who wasn’t even sure why or how they got here? The worst of it was the very real possibility that I would eventually grow numb, that I would get used to hurting and killing people. I’d resigned myself to that fate not too long ago, but there was a stark difference when envisioning something in my head as opposed to actually being in the moment.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

But… I had nowhere else to go.

I wasn’t about to return to a life in the streets, stealing, begging, and scavenging for even the barest of scraps, just to survive for a single day. I wasn’t about to return to a life of cold nights, spent asleep in shadowy alleyways with the rats and insects. It was as Olga’s mentor told me: out there, I was nothing, but, in here, I could be so much more.

All I had to do was to get used to killing people.

I sighed and let my brain wander.

As my eyes slowly drifted to sleep, however, I was disturbed by a sudden knock on my door.

I pushed myself off the bed and quickly donned on a pair of pants, which I’d yanked out of the cabinet; I didn’t bother to look, of course, since all the clothes in there were the same. I opened the door and my eyes widened. Olga stood there. Her hair was still wet; she’d just finished bathing, I figured. She wore a fresh set of black robes, since the one she had on now sported no tears or burn marks. And her face was just as impassive as it ever was. However, I knew her well enough now to look into her eyes, instead. But, like her face, her eyes seemed to reflect no emotion, which meant she wasn’t in any sort of turmoil.

“Uriel,” She began, speaking before I could ask what she wanted. No, as I looked closer, I did spot the flicker of emotions in her eyes. Olga was trying to distract herself. “I recall that I promised I’d teach you to read. We both have time before our mentors call for us; would you like to begin learning?”

I shrugged and nodded. “Sure; I’ve always wanted to learn to read. Plus, someone dumped a bunch of books in my room and they’d all just rot to dust if I don’t know how to read them.”

I gestured at the pile of books as Olga walked in. She eyed them for a moment, before turning away. She smiled at me, but it was a forced smile. I wonder what was troubling her… aside from the fact that we both died and saw our own organs in a fiery, bloody orgy of fire and death. There was something… off about her. She seemed distracted and was looking to distract herself, in turn.

But, if she didn’t want to talk about it, then I wouldn’t pry.

“How should we start?” There was nowhere to sit on, so I simply sat on the edge of the bed.

“Well, the first thing for you to learn would be letters….”

The next hour was spent learning to read.

It was about halfway through the whole thing that Olga and I realized something… peculiar. She began by teaching me to write, of course, since there was no way I could learn to read if I didn’t know how to write beforehand. We started with letters. She told me that, in her homeland, their mode of writing was Cyrillic, which was the alphabet that she was apparently going to teach me. The only problem with that was the fact that, despite my reading disability, I recognized the letters as the ones used in the English language, which was used commonly enough where I lived in – stalls, signs, stores, and all sorts of things used the English Alphabet. Curious, I asked her just what language she was speaking in right then and there. Ogla answered that she was speaking in her native dialect, which was Russian.

I didn’t know how to speak in Russian.

And she surely didn’t know how to speak in Filipino, either.

The most mind-boggling part was that I was learning. I recognized the letters and memorized the sounds they were supposed to represent or how they were supposed to be used, except I wasn’t learning them in Cyrillic or Russian; I understood them as English. I perfectly understood every single thing she was saying to me, even the words and sentences that – as Olga said – should’ve only made sense for someone who was speaking the same language.

That tidbit had both of us scratching our heads, because it definitely made absolutely no sense to either of us. But then, we seemed to realize at once, magic was probably involved. Looking back, every Neophyte was probably speaking and hearing in their native tongue.

It was interesting for the both of us. And I figured I was going to ask Lady Victoria about it, since neither Olga nor I understood what was going on or why and who better to ask than my mentor?

Despite the initial confusion, Olga continued to teach me anyway.

Our session went on for more than two hours. In that time, I learned how to write letters and understand basic words, elementary stuff. Olga wanted to teach me more, especially numbers, but then someone knocked on my door. It was a senior student, like the ones who led us to and from our classroom – not yet Dark Mages, but well on their way to becoming one. Our mentors were expecting us, we were told.

And so Olga and I were forced to put our study on hold.

We separated, but promised to see each other when we were done.

I dressed as quickly as I could, before heading out. I was fetched by another student, one whose presence reminded me too much of the sickly and otherworldly aura that permeated the great hall that Lady Victoria had taken me to when we first met. It was a sign, I figured, that this student, like myself, lived under her shadow.

As expected, I was led back into that dreadful place, where my mentor awaited me.

“Hello, sweetie,” She spoke warmly, which starkly contrasted her dreadfully sickening presence that, as I recalled, sent two of my fellow Neophytes on the floor, unconscious and drooling. Lady Victoria sat on a large metal chair. She held out her right hand and gestured for me to approach her. I took a step forward and absently gulped as I heard the door slamming behind me, followed by a series of clicks and hisses.

I bowed my head. “My lady; I am here.”

“Oh, don’t be formal with me, sweetie,” Lady Victoria stood up, towering over me – a pale giantess. She snapped her fingers and the chamber lit up, revealing all the familiar diagrams and charts and models, all of which pertained to the human body and all the things in it. I sighed, dreading what was to come after. “Now, let’s continue your lessons, shall we?”

But I was here now and there was no turning back.

There was nowhere to turn back to.

“Help me!” At the center of the room was a woman, chained to a metal table. She was crying. Her face was marred by tears and snot, and her eyes burned red. Fear… she was smothered in it. Every fiber of her being radiated pure terror. The faint smell of urine told me she’d soiled herself quite recently. She was pleading, begging to be let go. “Please! Help me! Let me out of here!”

Already, I had a good idea of what was to come next.

I breathed in and steeled myself.

Out there, I was nothing and no one.

In here, I could become a god.

And gods feared nothing.