Micheal’s trip through the wooden wonderland of the first hall was an uneventful and uninspiring thing. The rough stares and muttered threats of “animal” this and “lost” that, were actually tamer than those same threats in the lower hall. He attributed that to the ignorance of the first hall orphans. They hated him, yes, but their hate was surface-level. They saw only a lost that had risen above his station through divine intervention, and this annoyed them, but it went no further than that. Kids in the lower hall, by contrast, had more than enough time to learn to hate Micheal, and he fully intended the brats in the first hall to have the same.

His room in the first hall was a completely bland bedroom. Dark wooden walls, shelves, and floors were its main features. This meant that it was the single most luxurious room that Micheal had ever had the fortune to call his own. The bed alone was an actual bed, with pillows, even. Compared to the stone cot of the lower hall, this was a luxury that Micheal had never known. He also noticed a woolen blanket; one made of actual wool, and not recycled bandages. Micheal quite nearly threw away any foolish notions of rising to become the first hall representative right then and there. Samantha would make do without him. With a room like this, why bother growing strong enough to challenge the Gods?

But Micheal knew better than to be tempted to idleness by the creature comforts of his new dorm, however decadent they may be. He was not some old-blooded son of the nobility, willing to eschew hard work and grow fat from his ancestor's work, and would not let himself fall prey to laziness. Not that Micheal had ever really met someone like that, as they rarely came by the Dockside end of town. Most of the well-to-do kids lived closer to Hedgeside than they did Dockside.

Micheal did allow himself the luxury of sitting on his new bed, even if he was no longer tired thanks to his unplanned nap in the infirmary.

The bed was complete and utter perfection.

As much as Micheal liked the idea of sitting around all day, the orphanage’s classes would begin in short order. The priests cared little for the lost of the city, but in accordance with the deal they had made with the First King, they had an obligation to provide them with at least a semblance of an education. Said education normally took the form of old and spiteful old priests reciting to them all the ways in which they were inferior to the God's “chosen” and how, as forsaken, their lot in life was one of misery and service to their betters. Micheal was not fond of this teaching method and had made this very clear to the two lost boys that had told him to take the classes seriously. Occasionally something useful snuck in accidentally, which was why most kids at the orphanage were literate enough to sign away their rights in the service of one army or another, but beyond that, there was very little to see in those classes.

The difference now was that Micheal would be attending the class of the first hall, and that meant an excellent opportunity to see where he stood in the class hierarchy. Micheal had stood at the top of the lower hall, but that would mean little when met with kids who had had their apostles for years and were much more adept at using them. It didn’t matter that these kids were new-sworn to the youngest of the new Gods’; any God at all was more powerful than none. Even on his best days, Micheal was unable to beat one of the first hall kids in a fair fight. Their apostles were simply too big an advantage.

Things were a little different now.

Micheal arrived at class a little after second bell, which technically made him late. That hadn’t meant much in the lower halls, where missing the classes entirely in favor of stealing or begging was a completely natural and expected way of passing the time. By the look the priest was giving Micheal, that wasn’t the case in the first hall.

“Micheal, so good of you to join us,” the man said with a stern face. “It would seem you’re quite late. Would you like to provide a reason for that?” the priest didn’t seem outright hostile with his request, but Micheal knew better than to trust in the motives of a bastard that would work in a place like this.

“No reason, your holiness. Simply taking longer than I should have to attend today.” It grated on Micheal to call anyone holy, especially the same men and women that would have cut off his ear for the sheer fun of it not two days ago. “Indeed? Well if that’s the case then you can stay after class and provide me with some much-needed assistance in maintaining the first hall toilets. Agreed?” once again the teacher wasn’t being particularly hostile with his punishment, but there was something about the old man that grated on Micheal. He didn’t like him.

“Agreed, your holiness”

“Excellent. As for the rest of you, I would suggest ignoring this young man’s tardiness to focus on your own business,” this caused the majority of the students, who had been staring at Micheal, to turn around to face the priest once more. That was with the exception of two students. One of those was someone unfamiliar to Micheal, a girl with long black hair and a predatory smile. Micheal could already see where that was heading. The other was a spindly boy with red hair and freckles. He was someone that Micheal wasn’t as sure about. He tried paying little mind to him, at least. If there was anyone in this class Micheal and his new apostle could take, it would be that kid.

Class didn’t last much longer than that, and Micheal’s duty as toilet cleaner wasn’t nearly as bad as he imagined it would have been, excluding the distinct smell of shit that wouldn’t wash off, that is. Overall it was a grand success. Almost an entire bell in a single place with one group of people? It was perfect for him to get a feel for the place.

On his way back to his room, Micheal was excited in his own head to arrange things to make his entrance. Micheal was weaker than almost every one of the kids in his class and he didn’t expect that to change anytime in the near future. He would need to learn how his apostle works and how he could use it before he could pose a real threat to anyone even remotely powerful. He may have acquired an apostle, but he was as weak as it came when it came to apostles.

That was why getting a feel for the structure, and more importantly, the social hierarchy, of the class was so important. Looking at the way each of the orphans looked at one another, who got permission to speak from who, who people looked to when making a joke; it all fit together inside of Micheal’s head to give him a picture of the people he would need to deal with.

So engrossed in these thoughts as he was, he didn’t even see the person he ran into head first. Micheal, being a rather short kid only coming up to the chest of most boys his age, managed to squarely plant his nose into the clavicle of the girl with black hair, sending a wave of pain up in his head. It was his crystal-reinforced body that prevented him from breaking his nose. Showing how weak his apostle truly was though, it was a near thing.

Micheal fell backward from the impact of hitting the surprisingly very sturdy girl, while she let out a yelp of surprise before looking at him with a stare that Micheal felt would have killed a lesser man.

“You sea cucumber-licking shit, what in the briny blue is wrong with you!?” she shouted in exasperation. Micheal, ever knowing when to shut up spat a response at her. “I was just going back to my room, it wasn’t my fault I ran into a dammed Giantess!” Micheal’s quick tongue had failed him, as at that moment all he could think about was the fact that the girl really was giant. She was easily the equal of some of the larger boys in the orphanage around their age, and he doubted she was so enamored with the pedantic trends of the new-sworn that she would change her height.

“Giantess? Really? If you’re going to do the rest of us a disservice by being here, at least have the decency to come up with a better rebuttal than that” she spat, turning away to leave. Micheal couldn’t quite muster up a reply, due mostly to the fact that he had actually agreed on that account at least. That grated on his pride a little, but a wounded pride was something he could endure. He already looked forward to fighting her properly. Words were well and good, and a quick tongue is the sharpest of knives, but Micheal couldn’t quite muster a sharp enough tongue against her that time. He wasn’t about to let that become a pattern.

He knew a fight would be forthcoming because the way others in their class looked at her indicated she was someone important. Beating her bloody would be the first step in taking over the first hall. Now all he needed to do was find someone a little weaker to work out how his apostle stacked up.

Getting back to his dorm, Micheal began to pray. Seldom had Micheal prayed outside of the times dedicated by the Gods’ of Saxlaw, but for once he saw some benefit to it.

Micheal hated the Gods’ each to their core and at their very being. He hated what it meant to be a God and he hated himself for having been given their power. But he was a very, very practical person. That practicality had been hard-won the orphanage. Anger alone wasn’t enough to beat a boy twice your age and twice your size when you were only thirteen. But it was something he had learned.

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That was why when he received the “blessing” of the elder Gods’, he chose to pray. The Gods’ of Saxlaw deigned only to give power to those that prayed at first and eighth bell each and every day. This was when the Gods took time from watching the great battles of the continent to focus on cultivating the rest of the faithful. Every God in Saxlaw obeyed this, because the old Gods were very old, and to a God age was power. The new Gods’ couldn’t compete with that, and the Gods’ of other continents were afraid of the old Gods’.

The elder Gods’, however, were beholden to no such power. The Gods’ may have carved the valleys and painted the skies, but it was the elder Gods’ that brought the worlds to be. It was they who had made humanity and gave the Gods their power. They could grant power whenever they saw fit to do so.

That was why Micheal prayed. His prayer to the elder Gods’, that they might rot in the ocean deepest, was received as any other prayer was. He wished upon them the most cruel and evil things, and they gave him power as he did.

To pray was to beg the Gods’ for power, and the Gods’ love to be prayed to, and so they grant their power. The shadow of the Gods gifts that power to humans, who grow stronger and faster and allow themselves to transcend human limits with this power. The elder Gods’ granted Micheal their power.

He felt a warmth inside, as he had when he was young; before the Gods’ had forsaken him. Before he had been cursed with the gift of the elder Gods’. He grew stronger as he prayed, but it was a minor thing. After two hours of prayer, he was no more able to lift an extra paperclip than he was before, but he might have lifted a pinch of sand more. He hadn’t gained more speed or stamina, nor had he gotten smarter, as some of the iron-ranked priests had said he would.

Despite that, Micheal did feel more powerful, and he hated it; a dark seething hatred that he hadn’t felt in a long time, and he cursed himself for a fool at the thought of it. Micheal had done terrible things for that hatred, and it was those things that the lower halls still feared him for. He would not give in to a hatred such as that.

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Samantha took a right hook to the bridge of her nose and went down to the stone floor, spraying thick red blood onto the wall and the fist of her attacker. Stars blurred in her vision and a flash of white blinded her as her head made contact with the floor.

The group attacking her barked a mocking laugh and Sam saw red.

They had attacked her because Micheal had moved into the first hall, leaving her without his presence for protection. He was feared within the lower hall, rightfully so, as she knew firsthand. But Samantha wasn’t some damsel in need of a knight in shining armor. There had been no great hero’s to save her when she had needed them, and she knew to the depths of the sea that there never would be.

She sent a kick to the knee of the boy who had broken her nose, breaking him out of his laughter with the sound of a resounding pop as she broke the joint in two. The others, who numbered two girls and one boy, stopped their laughter to focus on the girl in front of them. She looked like a cornered cat, surrounded on all sides by predators ready to pounce. This suited Sam just fine, and she swung her leg in an explosive kick at the head of the boy who had approached.

She had never been more satisfied than the moment her heel hit the bridge of his nose, breaking it in a similar fashion to the way hers had been.

Her attackers, seeing the face of the blood-soaked girl, smiling a red-toothed grin from ear to ear, were reluctant to make a move toward her.

The boy whose nose she had broken stumbled backward into one of the girls, tripping the both of them. Sam saw the opportunity and charged the final girl of the group, a girl with long red hair and a freckled face. She launched an uppercut at her chin that the freckles girl managed to dodge away from, leaning backward out of its range.

This left her open to the follow-up right hook that sent her chin flying alongside one of her teeth. She landed in a heap on the floor. Sam didn’t bother looking to see if her chest rose and fell or simply stayed still as she rebounded on the girl and boy still untangling themselves from the mess of limbs that they had been stuck in.

Neither one of them looked up at her as she kicked in the teeth of the boy whose knee had been broken.

Both of them heard her bloodcurdling laugh.

__________________________________________

Micheal felt the crystal inside of him more than anything. He had always imagined an apostle to be a taint on anyone it encountered, and some subconscious part of him felt that it should be an awful, invasive feeling to have one inside of him. He had thought of it as a parasite, latching onto his being to suck away his being for its own greedy desires.

The reality of it was a crueler truth than he had wanted. He cursed the depths and the Gods alike, because deep down, deeper down than he would ever have thought possible, it felt good to have that power. That thought alone filled Micheal with a rage that burned inside of him with an alarmingly comfortable warmth.

Whatever the case, Micheal could feel the crystal inside of him coating his bones and organs, reinforcing him and providing his muscles with the kind of enhancement he had only envied before. The enhancement of prayer was still very weak for Micheal, as evidenced by his only receiving a bone ranking when he had registered his apostle to the orphanage's record keepers.

His apostle alone was still a massive step up in capability for him despite that, and he was eager to test in a way that didn’t involve his getting impaled and beaten at the hands of Aryth and his scythe. That meant he would either have to wait for trouble to come to him, which would be a very boring but equally reliable way of finding someone to beat him up, or he could create trouble of his own and hope he didn’t come out too worse for wear.

He figured that if the Gods wanted to desperately to see a show of their gifts, he would allow them their indulgence. A final meal for the condemned, as it were.

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The hallway outside of his classroom was an area absent of solitude and over-saturated in bumping, swearing, and tripping orphans that all felt superior enough to Micheal that they could throw him around a little.

This assessment wasn’t just for show, either. Each of those kids had the power to kill Micheal, which they very well might have if he were still one of the lost. They had used their apostles for years, after all, and unlike Micheal, they had no problem praying to gain the bodily strength that Micheal only now enjoyed.

Where Micheal might be able to lift a small pile of grain more than he could a week ago, each and every one of the first hall orphans could easily lift someone of Micheal’s (admittedly rather diminutive) size above their head, on top of the normal strength of their bodies.

That was only the bone rankers. As for the earth rankers, they would easily be able to lift small boulders and lug around entire tree trunks as if they were a twig. He was just no match for someone like that with the physical attributes he now had. It would be a toss-up as to whether he could even beat the weakest of his classmates at this stage. Fortunately, Micheal was a very skilled gambler.

“Say, it just occurred to me that of all of you, there’s only one that isn’t sure whether he could take me,” Micheal said in his most ‘don’t you just want to beat the brine out of me’ voice, all the while looking at a Weasley little boy walking away from him at the back of the halfway. It didn’t take too much to figure out that this kid, who had to stand at Micheal’s height or a little taller, was the bottom of the barrel when it came to the first hall class.

He was ignored by the others like a case of crotch rot, and he seemed to take creepiness to a whole new level. He was the social outcast, and Micheal would bet his right arm that he was one of the weakest kids in the shit-scrapings that was his class. “Everyone else is so eager to call me an animal and a freak, but not you,” he said tauntingly. “Everyone else knows they can take me, but you’re not quite sure, are you? You think I might actually stand a chance,” Micheal hoped he was getting under the boy’s skin, at the very least. His vocal taunting of the boy had drawn the eyes of the crowd, as well as the attention of one of the priests.

By the nervous look the boy was shooting everyone, including Micheal himself, he had hit the nail right on the head. The boy was the weakest. It would be a tough fight, but Micheal figured even without his apostle he might have been able to take him on. With it, he should have at least a reasonable shot if he got lucky enough.

Looking at the looks the boy was getting from the crowd, Micheal was already sure that he had reeled in his target. Social outcast or not, allowing one of the lost to talk that way about you, even if they weren’t really lost, was suicide. That kid would be socially, and possibly physically, dead inside of a week. “Don’t even bother responding to that little mollusk dropping, Theo, one of the tall boys from the crowd said. Shit.

That was bad. Very, very bad. The tall kid wasn’t someone special. He wasn’t even someone Micheal had thought to pay attention to in the class, since he wasn’t weak enough to target or strong enough to note for later. He was somewhere in the lower average if Micheal had his guess right, which he absolutely did.

“He isn’t worth the time for an animal like one of the filth in the lower hall, let alone his betters. If he wants to make accusations like that, he had best learn to tread very quietly around those of us who deserve to be here,” he lectured. Turning a self-satisfied grin toward Micheal, he waded through the crowd toward him.

“In fact, I’d say you’re not even worth the time for one of those bastards. Not even an animal would bother taking you seriously. What use is it for real people to bother with ants?” he said smiling down at Micheal.

He was physically imposing to the small-statured Micheal, but who wasn’t? He had always been the smallest of the bunch. He blamed all the malnutrition for that. But when had that stopped him?

Micheal gathered crystal around his fist and punched it into the smug boy’s jaw.