The acolyte towers in Sanctia DaVaux were little more than slave quarters. Lavish, well stocked slave quarters, but without the servants to serve meals for them, the acolytes essentially lived like animals. Sylvestar Delenaria had not been made aware that he would be at someone else’s beck and call for the years of training he was assigned.

He would grin and bear it though. His chance for greatness was also his family’s chance for greatness. Their last hope. He took a deep breath to calm the nerves that had suddenly erupted.

“Sylvestar,” a voice purred from behind him, causing a yelp, his muscles trying to leap in different directions at once. “You haven’t been avoiding us, have you?”

From the shadows, four silhouettes became substantial. Umbrandt Gest, the very definition of nepotism, stepped out from his ability first. Hiding in, and travelling through, shadows wasn’t his only trick, but it was his favourite. Aspect of Shadow was a common one for thugs like these. The three enforcers who mobbed around him were the real deal, however.

“I’ve mostly been busy with senior lecturer Fauss and the study of a rise in new Aspects, Umbrandt, not avoiding you.” There was a miniscule part of Sylvestar that actually would have rather dealt with Gest and his cronies than stare into another pair of Aspects for hours to see if they were in sync or not. They never were.

“Are you saying I’m wrong?” So, Sylvestar thought, it’s just a beating for beating's sake then.

“Howls damn you, Umbrandt.” Drawing his mana from his core into his palm, Sylvestar decided to try and get some digs in before he lost consciousness this time. If they were going to send him to the infirmary anyway, he might as well see if one of them wanted to join.

Fudd, Umbrandt’s right hand man, stepped forward. His preferred method of attack was to throw his massive muscles at something until it stopped moving. The mood that he was in, Sylvestar would eat him alive. He drew on his Aspect of Steel, and watched Fudd’s proportions grow by nearly half. He swelled, and when he finished swelling, he sprinted.

The metal bar rose from the ground in the perfect position. Still yards away, the massive idiot collided with the solid steel that had appeared in his path. If he wasn’t mid-bronze grade, his momentum would have torn him in two. Sylvestar had seen it happen to monsters around the same level of intelligence as Fudd.

Luckily for the lummox, he was made of sturdy stuff. They hadn’t had a talk about it, but Sylvestar suspected he also had an Aspect of Steel, too. Where Fudd’s was likely attached to his body attribute, Sylvestar’s steel was his power, and he was further into bronze than Fudd.

Fudd’s groin and stomach smashed into the metal protrusion at full speed. Sylvestar had dulled the edge, choosing not to be as lethal as he may have. If he didn’t kill them, they wouldn’t kill him.

His victory over the now crumpled Fudd was short-lived, as the remaining three assailants closed in. He hadn’t seen the other two before today, but Umbrandt Gest had been a bully for as long as Sylvestar had known him. Fudd was his standard muscle, the half-elf and the dwarf that now flanked him were new additions. A rich one, who always had someone stronger around to intimidate. This time was no different.

Sylvestar quickly capitulated when three lots of high-bronze powers charged. He knew how to take a beating, and though it stung his pride, Sylvestar acted far more hurt than he actually felt. Bronze rank recovery rate would have them all back to normal by tomorrow, they just wanted to inflict pain. If this was a normal day, maybe.

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Sylvestar’s hand crunched awfully under a firm heel. His palm had been perpendicular to the floor and Umbrant’s heavy, punishing boot came down hard. Sylvestar howled in pain but one of the new thugs used a power and silenced the area. His clothes began to dampen as agony and fear mixed, producing an icy cold sweat.

“Say hello to my new friends, Sylvie.” Looming over Sylvestar as the pair held him down, he saw that Umbrandt’s eyes had an anger within them that had never been there before. On his right side, a short half-elf twisted Sylvestar’s arm behind his back. That was the one who had quieted the area. To his left, a large dwarf had planted his foot on Sylvestar’s shoulder. His left hand was destroyed, but the foot hadn’t budged an inch.

“Delanaria, you worm. You think I don’t know? About what your family is trying to do?” Sylvestar had absolutely no clue about his family’s dealings, other than being intensely surprised that people who owned a fairly respected butchers in the second tier of Sanctia DaVaux would cross paths with the Gest crime family. Umbrandt was clearly mistaken or crazy, but that wouldn’t change anything now.

The halls of the acolyte tower were quiet, most acolytes using every ounce of time training and learning. This silent corridor promised no savior and Sylvestar shuddered. He could really die here, at the hands of a jumped up fool and some paid rankers. The fury of it threatened to swallow Sylvestar whole.

“I don’t know anything about that. Umbrandt, I promise I’m not angry and I hope you can calm down so we can talk.” Sylvestar had hoped to say more of his sentence, but the dwarf stamped on the back of his head at the word “about”. Sylvestar’s teeth crunched, he was unsure whether they had broken or his jaw had but his mouth turned to molten fire and his tongue flopped uselessly.

Being a bronze ranker has its downfalls too. Consciousness is harder to lose, survival instinct and magic both refined to that end. He couldn’t lose himself to the blanket of concussed sleep, and he couldn’t stop the rest of their beating. He could only feel each kick, each small whip of magical pain they tormented him with. In some dulled part of Sylvestar’s mind, he was able to hear Umbrant explaining that the half-elf had an Aspect of Pain, and that this would not be over soon.

Sylvestar didn’t care. He didn’t even notice when the torture ceased, the leftover pain of his broken body was enough. Each ragged breath was a new threat of anguish, but he was panting all the same. He could feel his whimpering mana trying to knit the parts of him that were disconnected back together. Tiny metal welds inside his body as it reconstructed itself uselessly. He was done. They had overwhelmed the point of no return and left him to die, alone in the silence. He felt that his brain had been shaken to paste.

The rage returned, fueled by each excruciating inhale and exhale. What right did they have to do this to him? Some trumped up charge and a need to let off steam? He was glad he’d hurt Fudd, but he wished he’d killed him now. He could have, and he’d shown mercy. If he ever had another life, he would definitely not do that again.

Strangely, it took the pain leaving him for Sylvestar to finally rest. The slow ebb of an outside mana served to calm the nails and screws that his nerves had become. He wasted no time on confusion, simply pouring out gratitude with every groan, mumble and gasp that he could manage.

“Quiet, save your strength.”

The voice was male, but softer than any of the three who had attacked him. Their mana felt like a soft breeze over his cuts and broken bones. It still hurt, as the wind breathed life back into the shattered parts of Sylvestar’s body, yet he welcomed the itchy feeling of his wounds being mended like a dehydrated man welcomes water.

Sylvestar took the advice, and fully committed to unconsciousness. Before he could slip away, his spent body was moved. Opening his eyes, he saw dirty blonde hair, the frame of glasses and a look of stoic chivalry. Sylvestar decided then that he would follow this person to the ends of Genia and beyond. That promise took him on the final step to dreaming.

In that dream, he met a strange and angry god who offered him a deal. When he awoke, he found that he could not remember what he had answered.