Walking into the third ring to buy ingredients felt weird, the hostile gazes, previously quite interested when they still thought I would become an enchanter and scientist, the previously impressive houses a bit disappointing compared to the manors and mansions of the second ring, the reliance people here had on artifacts to move was almost laughable, I restrained that kind of wording as my path took me even lower, the third ring greeting me as I passed through the gate, gray robes and Iron masks mixing with the otherwise plain stile of the locals, the power of necros brimming within each of them, and something connecting us that I couldn’t quite understand.

As I approached a woman selling flowers, I saw three people in very similar attire argue, before one drew a blade.

“The great one asked for us to guide the lost, and we, the ravens, will make sure the murder will grow, ready for anyone who struggles, so that the temple of Ragnar can unify once more, and the prophet will return, ready to guide his lost flock on the path of immortality.” He said, firmly holding his stance, as the second reached into his robe.

“They wanted to bring greatness through death, we saw the effect of the grand sacrifice, anyone present that day absorbed a bit of the fallen beggars life force. I know the two of you think the prophet was turned away by our disregard for human lives, but we know he killed our great leader as punishment and absorbed the beggar into himself. He wants us to help those who struggle by guiding them towards him. He left to spread the ways somewhere else, and when our grand ritual is ready, we will all become a part of the prophet, so he may rise to take his place among the gods.” The second explained, quite the reasonable argument for a death cultist, until I remembered what the cult of Ragnar was.

“You mushroom people are too obsessed with death, you even elected a group of people to interpret the prophets word, and you, raven, believe the great one would create the temple just so everyone inside would help each other, why aren’t you followers of the flea? We understand both your standpoints, they wanted for death to not necessarily be a tragic thing, and the immortality they strive for is in our actions. We should live life to the fullest, being happy while making sure we don’t harm others interest in happiness.”

To see your own words interpreted is horrific at best, each thinking so fundamentally different about the simple Idea of working to achieve immortality while not harming your fellow cult members.

The first and third discussed in a friendly tone, as number two instead pulled a knife, a sharp piece of metal that was cheaply decorated.

The moment it was pulled, I dissolved into spatium, returning just in the path of the knife, as it would have killed the raven cultist.

It was pain in its most simple form, the cold blade burrowing into my heart, and my heart pumping besides this. My hand slowly moved to touch the attackers, and I felt the nearly total lack of soul, body or mind refinement in him, the spell ‘Access specter’ my rasp linking to his very soul, my own devouring it like the black hole I knew it to be, before I finally pushed him away from me.

“The great one would not have wanted this, but if you need to die in the name of Ragnar, if you want to join the eternal stream of souls within the prophet, you must arrive with a total of six willing participants and sacrifices at the university. Your order has disappointed me, just like the leader you followed did, and this way, I will not be forced to go and exterminate this rotten limb of fate.”

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

I was shocked by his willingness to follow my command, probably the soul wound a convincing enough argument, or it was the slightly protruding tongue I had begun to expel from my throat, both possible in equal measures.

While the other cultists stood in shock, I went to the flower girl and bought lilies and roses, both, to a degree, associated with death enough to become part of my ritual.

Handing over a coin of gold, I then proceeded further, arriving close to the graveyard at first dusk, the grave keeper trying to hold me back as I simply cast the gate open, taking the uppermost part of every graves dirt and gathering it in a pocket bubble right behind me, the thing a gigantic globe of black mud as I left, a few guards coming to investigate just in time for me to climb over the fence, disappearing on a path upwards.

To not question a mage in uniform was an easy rule that anyone alive followed to some degree, and when said mage was dragging a black orb and a bundle of flowers, while their robe clearly had a stab wound, questioning them had proven to be a fast track to an early grave.

To say my path was unobstructed would be too much to say, there were occasional carts rolling around the streets of the third ring as I approached, and a small group even tried to cause trouble, though my ‘radiant specter’ kept them at bay, the ghostly figure enough to send them back to their beds.

The hardest part came after I entered the second ring again, where I walked on the streets between the manors, attempting to remain undetected while my power was focussed on my ball of grave mud.

Students were not supposed to be out at this time of day, and as I approached the academy and dissolved into spatium the third time that day, I felt the action strain on my presence of mind, only for the urgency of my mission to make me stay aware, and reform in the ritual chamber, an old man sitting in the center of it with a stern expression.

“You are a danger to this world, and yet, it doesn’t reject you. Like a pesky cancer, your presence destabilizes the realms wherever you go. You draw the life out of others, and yet you think yourself human. On the first day of the next week, you will be observed in my lecture, and for the rest of your time here, you will be under my watch. Do not teleport without reason, the threads of reality are not your toys.” He said, the spatium lecturers stern voice fading as he disappeared, before an amused chuckle filled the room, a sound like waves crushing stones beneath as the fish like creature had their gills vibrate.

“What a welcome sight, someone with a soul like yours, ready to change like the tides, and yet persistent in his path. I like you, just remember to not open a path to aqua again, that realm is not to be messed with.” Then, the fish man went through the front gate, two people appearing in the rooms corner, laughing like maniacs as they shook their heads.

“I told you he was great, didn’t I?” The smooth voice of my lumen professor sang, a much more raspy one answering.

“I could not have expected him to run away in his first night, though I suppose having this amount of raw necros eating away at him is a valid reason to attempt a ritual to force an ascension of the mutation.” The Necros professor agreed, studying me curiously as the trickster once again took the word.

“I assume the dirt will be your material for writing, and the roses function as sacrifices, though I don’t think that’s enough to force a step this dangerous into the territory of the eternal court.” he said, both professors staring at me, waiting for an explanation.

“There will be seven willing people to support my cause, most of which will be sustenance during the ritual, so I don't die, and an entire cult, split in three sections, praying that the ritual is a success. And that’s if we disregard all my normal defensive protocols for rituals of, demon killing caliber, I heard most learn from their first failure, and I am confident I got this ritual down to a t.”

They smiled at that, slowly moving towards the gate.

“You should sleep before undergoing that kind of mission, I will send a guide to bring your sacrifices to this hall by tomorrow morning, consider it as a prepayment for all the fun you will surely bring to this school.”

As soon as they brought me to my room, I fell into bed, happy to be a step closer to the immortality I yearned for.

Three of my four professors found me entertaining, and the last one was an old man more interested in stability rather than progress.

The academy became more bearable with every day I spend there.