World crossing teleportation that shattered reality(ies, he wasn't entirely sure of the miniuitae) was, by and large, an uncomfortable experience.

Donovan was practically an expert on it; the first time, it had felt like being compressed into a really small ball and being tossed into a pinball machine until he eventually managed to slide past the flippers of order and fell right into another world.

The only satisfying thing had been the end, and that was because the pain had felt a little less like being simultaneously crushed, pierced and slapped around and more like acupunture with seven-foot spikes.

The second time had been a little better- he'd ripped open an entrance with his own power, and with decades of strength under his belt, being slammed around like a pinball had hurt marginally less; if before everything was razor-sharp and out to get him, now everything was blunt and just doing its job.

The third time... well, he had to give it to the bastards; this was the smoothest one yet, more like a tight waterpark slide that was dry of any water more than a pinball machine. It didn't even hurt- it was dry and uncomfortable, but wow, ten out of ten. Would ride again.

Still, he thinks, arms folded as he shuttles through an eternal void, his head banging into god knows what kind of cosmic anomaly as he careens through the empty abyss, he feels like he prefers the pinball machines. The pain was so bad you couldn't even open your eyes, and the nausea usually got so intense that it cycled back around to being *good*. Like the aftermath of a roller-coast in the middle of a roller-coaster.

A nice bout of throwing up after entering a new world did right for the body, he muses, rubbing his forehead, but now he wasn't sure if he could throw up, feeling just a little dizzy.

And really, it was hard to ignore the passage of time with his eyes open. Gazing into the void was as boring as he'd imagined- his eyes weren't good enough to see anything interesting, and no fool making his way out here would bother trying to interrupt a bevy of teenagers shuttling through like they're on a field trip.

He sighs, trying to right himself in the air- he can feel them slowing down as they near the barrier that keeps Aureole separate from the Encumbered Void. Breaking through would be unpleasant, but he didn't doubt the teleportation had enough power to drill through.

Not that it mattered if it didn't- their very existence would smash and be crushed against the weight of an entire world in an instant. They'd hardly feel it, and they could hardly do anything about it.

Humans of Earth - his Earth - while relatively technically and socially advanced, were not the most base powerful.

Folding his legs beneath him in a lotus position, he eyes the screaming, wailing, crying, flailing forms of his classmates with curiosity- and concern. If it was just him, he wouldn't be too bothered; he'd just figure an old friend was trying to bring him back, feeling lost without his guiding presence.

But all of them? You didn't summon that many people by accident, and he couldn't help wondering; why call so many people? Even the smallest summoning wasn't cheap, but twenty people? That would dent even a Keylord's faction.

He breathes in, feeling the overbearing presence of power ahead of them - though he can still see nothing but an empty black - and breathes out, placing his palms together in front of his chest.

It didn't matter; he'd risen before, and he'd rise again. He'll just have to take care of them until they grow strong enough.

A pop sings through the Void, and with a bang that shakes their bones, the busload of twenty teenagers disappear, the destination of their jaunt reached.

Entering the world is just as unpleasant as he remembers- his body freezes in place, his muscles and bones freezing, and an unbearable pressure descends on him, like the arrogant gaze of some supreme being.

The space around him is dead.

There is no noise, or light. There is no 'black' stretching out to infinity; up, down, left, and right, there is only abyss.

The greatest expression of nothingness curls around him, burying him beneath it, cocooning his body.

The act of moving between worlds is heresy of the highest order; the greatest revolt against the contained nature of the multiverse

He was a rebel, and now a prisoner, and now he's dying, as that familiar feeling of death burrows itself inside of him, a thousand cold needles piercing his skin and flesh and spine and mind, a frightening chill caressing him, *fire* bursts to life inside of him.

The flickering warmth defines him; his will, his soul, the signifcance of his existence summed up in warm red and orange light.

When he'd been summoned, it had just been a tiny, gutsy flame on the verge of going out, a desperate candle. When he'd left, it had been a wildfire that could burn through planets, its teeth biting back at death. Now, it was a humble campfire, crackling away against the dark.

The suffocating feeling of the abyss only lasts a second- if it lasted any longer, he really might die, and then the world he's being called to reaches out, piercing through the walls of emptiness crushing him, a tendril of light wrapping around his ankles, and with a mighty yank, it pulls him down.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

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He gasps, sitting up, his lungs greedy for breath as he desperately inhales. Sweat running down his forehead, he throws razor-quick glances around him, even as a sense of comfort drips into his mind.

His palms are pressed against soft marble in the middle of a wide, circular room; above, the roof curves to a glass dome, revealing a brilliant blue sky. Sprawled around him are his classmates, all of them penned together in a scripted, purple circle inscribed on the floor.

He coughs, his eyes darting to the front. They were resting on a raised platform, gleaming white pillars rising up just outside the circle they were in, and steps leaned down in front of them. Standing down there were, he assumed, their summoners.

His anxiety slowly melts away under an eroding stream of comfort, memories flickering to life in his mind, darting to the forefront of his thoughts like fish rising from the depths; his eyes fall on the pillars, tracing along a shimmering golden script that snakes across its length before tapering off halfway, floating off the marble to linger above them like stars, before twinkling out of existence.

A mind-script, then; it wasn't intentionally malicious, so he'd leave it be. It would make his friends feel better when they woke up, anyway.

He watches as a pair of people slowly make their way up; a middle-aged man with a closed eyelid in the center of his forehead, and a steely-eyed woman, dual white halos orbiting around her wrists like bracelets.

Shakily, he stands up, his muscles protesting the strain, the exhaustion sitting heavy in his head falling to drape the rest of his body. Ignoring it, he rises to his full height, presses his fists together and slowly bows to them.

He sees them stop just outside the circle, looks of surprise flickering across their eyes, even as the healer strings life vener through Donovan's body.

"Greetings," he shakes out, the language slipping off his tongue, an unfamiliar familiar mix of sounds, "My name is Donovan Delilah." His lips are dry, his throat parched, and even as the exhaustion fades away, replaced with stamina, he finds himself desperately wanting to go to sleep. "I would- greatly appreciate your assistance in looking after my classmates."

He doesn't want to deal with this- he'd expected he would have to, but that didn't mean he had to like it. This was a proper summoning, not like his half-botched, accidental one, and that meant he was dealing with a powerful organization, who most certainly wanted something.

He'd have to tread carefully until he had his strength back, and he wasn't sure how much to hide; revealing his history could be as helpful as it could be deadly.

Gods, what he wouldn't give to just sleep for a couple years and wake up with all this dealt with, his classmates powerhouses that could shake a continent and more than happy to carry him. But-

He swallows, standing back up to his full height, meeting their gazes- astonished in both cases, but concern in only one. He smiles, or tries to, the corners of his lips slowly twitching up into a small, desperate little fascimile of one. "Please," he scrapes out, the words soft.

The two of them enter the circle- the white halos surrounding the mind healer's wrist fall off, one darting to rest above his head. The healer's third eye parts open, a canvas of green with a dot of black in the center.

"Do not worry, little brother," He says, a comforting rumble, "We shall take care of you and your friends with all our might, and expect no debt in return." Donovan can feel him scan his body, a faint, probing touch.

He resists the urge to shiver, the thin stream of perception running over him like a droplet of water down a window; being scanned is never pleasant, regardless of how skillfully it's done.

"Now, please sit," He says, walking closer, even as the woman's halo flys away from his head; looks like being pummelled across worlds didn't make him go insane, hooray. "While your body is not injured by your journey, there is no reason to unnecessarily strain it." Even as he speaks, a chair made of solid stone rises out of the ground behind Donovan, clouds swirling out of the air to cushion it.

He plops down into it with relief.

The man looks at him curiously, even as thin, luminscent green vener builds between his fingers, a stream of translucent light that curves around his six fingers before darting towards him, coiling around his wrist. He winces, feeling a sudden surge of energy build inside him and disperse through his body, his foot tapping against the ground and his eyelids twitching.

The symptoms only last for a few moments, but he still throws an annoyed glance at the man, who just smiles at him before moving on.

Life vener- with maybe a dash of electricity in it, he thinks, forcing his fingers to stay still.

They largely leave him alone as he lies there, watching them; the mind healer looks at all his classmates, pausing for a moment at a few to drop a dash of white glitter on their heads. The healer takes more time, lacing energy through their body with enough finesse to not jolt them awake- bastard, what was the point of shocking him like that if you're so good?

He decidedly ignores the people patiently waiting down the stairs; he can see their mouths move and their attention on him, but he couldn't hear them at all, likely some barrier to muffle sounds.

Not to mention, he already had what he needed- he glances at the healers' clothes; a white coat hung across their shoulders, concealing the bulk of their form, but a crest lay at the right, on the chest.

A golden spear pointed up, the elegeant spearhead circled by seven thin lines, with the shaft crossed by two clashing arrows.

The Lucemis Kingdom, ruled by the Lucemiere clan.

He almost can't control his expression at the sight of it, only just managing to keep up the facade of hazy confusion, his eyelids flickering between wide-awake and hazy sleep.

He doesn't hate the Lucemieres; he'd only ever met one of them, and that was halfway across the world. He hasn't even spent enough time on this part of the continent to have an opinion on them. The only thing of any substance is he's heard fairly decent things, but that's it.

That's the problem- Donovan has no idea how to deal with them.

He doesn't know their history, their motivations, prominent members of their clan, their recent actions, prospects, he doesn't even how they ranked in any prominent tournaments; he knows nothing.

And unfortunately, that lack of knowledge makes them difficult, likely fatal, opponents.

Maybe he should try and approach one of the heale--

He blinks, climbing his chair and gripping the back of it, peering over the top to look down behind him; Leo groans, rubbing his eyes as his other hand tries to prop him up, dark green eyes peering out beneath slidded eyelids.

"D-Donovan?" He mumbles, voice thick with confusion.

Donovan grimaces.

Right. Looks like the show's starting- time to peel apart the curtains.