As a successful member of the consultancy fellowship, Gwen knew she could convincingly compose the essay at hand and that her only dilemma was the topic.
Tier 1 city or otherwise, for all the magical bluster her current world possessed, humanity was woefully behind her old world in the realm of bureaucracy and politics.
Perhaps, she imagined, it was because the Mage-world lacked "democracy" in the sense of "all men born equal", lacking concrete concepts of individual rights, especially the prole base made up by the NoMs.
In Australia, despite its lauded freedom, she could see that theirs was a society of long-suffering Apartheid by magical lottery. Thanks to the necessity of survival, the western Mageocracy resembled the15th-century Romagna. Within its network, city-states formed self-serving enclaves, establishing a perimeter of Frontier Cities whose only purpose was to provide nutrition to its nerve centre. China was likewise such a state, possessing the cosmopolitan capital of Shanghai in the south, and the old seat of imperial power, Beijing, up north. Under the CCP's reign, citizens were given Party-selected representatives to represent their interests, a mockery of citizen rights.
Worse still, these NoM "officials" held little power over the Towers, who consider themselves above worldly legality. According to her grandmother, two groups of Mages presided over Shanghai's arcane ministries.
The People's Liberation Army Tower had boons granted by their allegiance to the Party. Their Mages performed out of ideology and because they had been reared from obscurity by the socialist policies of the state. Comparatively, the Pudong Tower was composed of free-ranging Mages, international expatriates, and members of the Mageocracy's unnumerable Towers.
Together, the PLA Tower and the Pudong Tower formed a balance of interest. The PLA Tower bent its resources to develop its trope of China's interests. At the same time, Pudong remained tethered to the Tower system initially envisioned by its European creators after the Second Great War.
Considering the circumstances, Gwen decided to compose a piece on the nature of the "Apartheid" between Mages and NoMs. In her mind, such a fundamentally inefficient society was hardly sustainable, even if public hysteria meant that the majority was happy to place all power into the hands of the minority.
For a modern economy to prosper, one couldn't abide by the adage that might make right. To surmise what Gwen had thus far seen of Shanghai, it felt as though the powerful took what they wanted with impunity. If there was a treasure, one vied for it. If there was a beauty, one possessed it. If there was a Dungeon, you conquered it.
Even after experiencing Sydney's fall, the world she lived in continued to surprise her with its raw savagery.
If so, should she write about Locke? Propose the Second Treaties in mixing one's labour with the land?
Or perhaps she could draw upon the mighty Leviathan, offer some insight on the symbiotic nature between the head and the hands?
Or maybe even Rousseau, whose' treaties on the Savage Man seemed right at home with the wanton natures of Mages in this world.
Gwen put pen to paper, then began to write.
"On the Vindication of NoMs among us."
She would write something with passion and eloquence, drawn from a period of the 19th century where women lacked rights, property, and recognition, a reflection of the state of NoMs. She appropriated lines from Wollstonecraft, whose essay she had studied extensively in university, weaving funny anecdotes with bitter diatribe and witty banter.
"Let us not forget that even the highest Mages..." Gwen wrote, "originated from NoMs." In her treaties, she stated that though the Houses and Clans are lauded entities, they yet produce Squabs, meaning just as NoMs could win the genetic lottery, Mages could lose them. To abuse NoMs and treat them as fodder, forgotten and left to menial labour, abused, despoiled and pillaged at the pleasure of the Mage—is to debase humanity itself.
As with her Master, she explained that the abuse of greatness is when it is disjoint from remorse!
If indeed, she argued, Mages possess such abundant resources, why not seek to eradicate the people trafficking in the extensive ghettos and invest in education for the NoMs, restructuring the bottom of society by offering meagre but meaningful employment?
There may yet be great innovators, originators, scholars, creators of the arts, celebrated human minds that lay untapped among the populace. Should the prejudice subside, the aftermath could be a renaissance of art, culture, invention and innovations stemming from the largest population of humanity—the NoMs.
Gwen wrote roughly but idealistically, understanding that she must write from the position of a naive student, one who desired a genuine change to the woes her world faced. Her essay, she could imagine, should be the sort of thing that her instructors would find amusing but eloquent, ideal but be lacking in substance, a demonstration of a student with great hopes and designs for the future, one with positivity and morality.
Does not an NoM bleed when you prick them?
Does not an NoM cry when they are hurt?
She filled in the gaps at a pace the others could only marvel. At the test's conclusion, she handed in two-dozen pages in florid but neat handwriting.
"That's a lot of writing!" The female Proctor collected her essay with an expression of astonishment.
"I had a lot to say," Gwen stated matter-of-factly.
"Your companion also finished early. He waits for you outside."
Gwen ventured outside the examination hall, shielding her eyes against the glare of the mid-day sun.
"Ready for your next examination?" Richard's smiling face awaited her arrival.
"Sure, what did you write about?"
"Coming from Sydney, I'd think that would be self-evident," Richard stated thoughtfully. "I wrote a treatise about periodically cleansing the coastal regions as to prevent a Creature Tide in the Coastal Wildlands."
"That sounds rather pragmatic." Gwen pursed her lips. Should she have written something likewise practical? The question did say 'change the world', had it not?
"It was nothing original," Richard added. "Though I did some math and pointed out the benefits of using minimal force to project maximum gain in acquiring resources for the city, as well as using the operation as training for junior Mages to acquaint them with oceanic and coastal combat. I included thirty-six points of interest and pointed out fourteen potential setbacks."
"Oh." Gwen felt even less sure of her boastful essay now.
"What did you do?" Her cousin asked.
"Er… stuff." Gwen played with a coil of hair self-consciously. "I wrote about NoMs."
Richard blinked, then snorted encouragingly. "I should have thought as much. I am sure it'll do well. You know the CCP feels very strongly about NoMs here, much more than in Australia."
"Let's hope so. Thanks, Richard." Gwen smiled at her cousin sweetly. "Now, shall we see to the second part of our exam?"
* * *
The field trials took place next door in another warehouse adjacent to the first.
"You will be entering a Combat Arena roughly the size of a football field," the Proctor explained. "Are you aware of the procedure? Would you like me to explain?"
"The Dean has already explained," Richard informed the Proctor.
The man nodded, then stepped aside. Within, Gwen could hear the sound of the distinctive hum of the Walls of Force generators thrumming to keep up.
From end to end, the testing platform took up the entire length of the enormous warehouse, fitted with bleachers on three sides and shielded unilaterally with Walls of Force. Within, framed by a rolling knoll the size of a tennis court, a two-headed giant wielded a club clumsily, fighting a Mage who flittered about through the air like a sprite.
"Glacial Shards!"
A flurry of a dozen blue-white bolts zinged through the air to strike the giant in both eyes, centred upon each brow. The thick hide of the giant shrugged off the force of the attacks—albeit the penetrative elemental damage momentarily blinded the Ettin, an infamous species of monstrous Fay commonly found in mountainous regions.
"Sleet Storm!" The Elementalist effortlessly drifted through the air.
Gwen and Richard took a seat on the bleachers to observe their competitor, an elfin girl with cropped hair and a manic-pixie appearance. Presently, she was corkscrewing through the Ettin's reach, teasing the beast as the two-headed giant battered its surroundings in a blind rage.
"Blizzard!" The air grew abruptly cold.
Below the Ettin, the ground became a slippery sheet of ice and debris. Together with a shard of forceful ice, it was sufficient to send the disorientated Ettin backwards, tripping and falling until it folded upon the weight of its brutal body.
An Evoker-Transmuter! Gwen marvelled, deeply impressed by the agility and skill of the combatant well on her way to becoming an Aerial Battle Mage.
With the Ettin floored, the elfin girl flew in for the kill.
"Rime Blast!"
A shrieking sphere of frost left her fingers and struck the Ettin on the right head, where it rapidly expanded into a forty-foot diameter ring of rime.
The Ettin shuddered as its head froze, pawing its face feebly, struggling to breathe as its respiratory systems rebelled and its fluids froze.
"Enough!" A Proctor activated a device, and the Ettin disappeared in a shimmering show of Conjuration mana. Simultaneously, the conjured grassy highlands ceased to be, returning to the bare concrete of the un-transmogrified space of the warehouse.
The gathered audience clapped as the girl landed, her face glowing with exertion.
"Very good, Kitty, you may return."
The girl bowed to the Proctor and returned to the bleachers, where she met half a dozen others in jovial congratulations.
The Proctor then turned to the crowd.
"As it were, we have TWO more entries into the examination," he announced by raising his voice an octave. "Reset the field!"
"How come—" one of the students audibly protested. "But Proctor, there are only eighteen candidates! You can't just add people last minute! The candidates are finalised weeks in advance!"
"Mao! Unfair! Who are these people!" Another voice complained.
"I bet they paid their way in," someone suggested rudely.
"What is Dean Jiang thinking? My House will hear about this!"
"Silence!" The Proctor's face flushed a shade darker. "The Dean has spoken. If you're unhappy with it, you are welcome to withdraw from the LSCC Mid-Semester Scholarship Exam."
This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.
The students clammed up, though their eyes instantly found Gwen and Richard.
"Gwen Song!" the Proctor announced, his voice filled with displeasure. "Proceed onto the field."
"May I go first?" Richard stood.
"No." The Proctor shook his head, not even bothering to look toward Richard. "Gwen Song. Are you ready to proceed with your first attempt?"
Richard sat back down and placed a hand on Gwen's knee.
"I'll be fine," Gwen said to her companion.
"I know," Richard replied stoically.
"What Tier would you like to attempt?" the Proctor enquired of Gwen.
"What was the two-headed giant?" Gwen asked in return.
"Tier 5."
"Very well, give me a tier 6 monster," Gwen spoke with confidence— after Sydney, after the Dungeon, she shouldn't even be breaking a sweat.
The Proctor raised a bushy brow.
"We are not responsible for any injuries, though we will endeavour to preserve your life," he said carefully. "If you are grievously injured, you may not attempt again."
"I am aware, proceed." Gwen walked past the Proctor.
"Break a leg!" Richard shouted.
Gwen walked across the bleachers and made her way down to the area. A few catcalls and a whistle answered her from across the hall while the rest of the contestants sat brooding like disgruntled ogres.
As she descended into the Arena, Gwen produced a scrunchy from her Storage Ring, pulling back her loose bun until it formed a cascading ponytail.
She looked up to see her hecklers and that there were three groups, a clump congregated near the centre, in the midst of which was the prior contestant, the Elemental Ice girl. Unlike the others, their mixed attire indicated a rag-tag band of like-minded folks who became friends rather than a Clan of sorts.
Gwen stepped onto the concrete with clacking heels. She could feel the eyes of the gathered contestants like feelers over her skin.
"Initiating tier 6 Combat Trial!" The Proctors called out to the Conjurers manning the Summoning Circle.
A hushed murmur fell over the hall.
The grounds shimmered and churned until the materialised space resembled a savanna, created from a combination of Conjuration, Transmutation and Illusionary glyphs. Her old High School, Blackwattle, had a similar setup, though lacking in many ways.
"You may self-buff should you wish," the Proctor informed Gwen. "Extra points if you do not."
Gwen shook her head. "I'll be fine. Please proceed."
The refusal to pre-buff sent the crowd into a murmur. It was a recipe for disaster not to protect oneself or preload powerful spells. A Mage should sue for every advantage, especially if challenging something at the apex of one's power.
"You may begin once the creature is summoned," the Proctor informed them. "Adjudicator, you may proceed."
A burst of brilliant Conjuration mana filled one end of the arena, roughly fifty paces from where Gwen stood unprofessional white blouse and pencil skirt, looking as though a young banker had lost herself in the wilderness of the steppes.
To her limited knowledge, "fodder" creatures conjured in this way were ripped out from their home and displaced through the Astral Plane into the Material Plane, and therefore always materialised with a bad temper. Thereby, outside an academic or gladiatorial setting, such spells were only used as means to delay an opponent for reasons of its inefficiency.
As the silvery motes faded, the shape of a feline form the size of a people-mover van came into view. The creature appeared disorientated for the first split-second, but its golden eyes quickly adjusted upon Gwen as it brought its powerful musculature to bear.
"A Chimaera Lioness!" someone cried out from the stands. "Tier 7!"
The newly appearing creature would take a moment to re-orientate its new surroundings, which was perfect for Gwen's next move.
"Caliban!" She summoned her trump card even as the lioness noticed her and bared its fangs. With the motes of silver cleared, she now saw that the creature was not entirely lion-like. While its head and upper body resembled a lioness, its lower torso ended with hooves, and its tail was a hissing serpent. Furthermore, as the creature began to bear down upon Gwen, she could see that its eyes possessed that strange and alien cornea which goats possessed.
Mid-charge, Caliban burst forth from a slit in the Prime Material.
Gwen felt the safety threshold provided by Almudj's vital force instantly overcome as Caliban emerged in its newest form. Her complexion grew pallid, for she had willed her creature to appear in its spider guise, but the burgeoning mass the Void vomited forth was massive and bipedal.
"C-Caliban!" Gwen clenched her teeth. "Defend me!"
Had Caliban grown too powerful for her to command? Her mind raced, her thoughts suddenly full of chaos and unbidden fears of losing control. The Lovecraftian horror had, after all, consumed thousands of critters and an Elder Gila in the last few days, while her Conjuration had remained unimproved since before her Master was murdered by his erstwhile wife. Whatever tier Caliban may be in its new form, it wasn't containable by her measly fourth-tier aptitude.
Behind her, she could hear the audience becoming unwitting witnesses to her grotesque miracle.
As a Gila, Caliban fell onto the Transmuted floor of the make-shift savannah like a drop of tenebrous ink, then unfolded itself into an eight-foot-tall frog-lizard-humanoid spawn of indefinite shape. Its body mass was stacked like a reversed pyramid, with the bulbous musculature of its head taking up almost half of its torso. A giant lamprey's mouth drooling with grey slime sat in the centre of its faceless mien as it flexed obsidian claws embedded into three-toed fingers. Below, its hind legs were comically short but thick and stout, kinetically coiled like two primed pistons.
The two monstrous existences met each other halfway in a titanic clash, the lioness leaping into the air and launching itself into a powerful kick with its hooves even as its fore-limbs racked and slashed and its feline maw tore into the rubbery flesh of the summoned Familiar. The Chimaera's serpentine tail likewise bit into the slimy dermis of its opponent, delivering a necrotic venom that would liquify living tissue in a matter of seconds.
Caliban's rubbery flesh was torn at once, becoming ribbons of dark meat as the lioness' claws cleaved at its interior.
Gwen felt another bout of vitality drain away, stealing the breath from her chest, but what else could she do at this point? She had made her bed, and now she must lie in it. Had she known Caliban would have emerged with such size and ferocity, she would have chosen Ariel or perhaps planned out her battle better.
Through their Empathic Link, she could feel the gibbering bestial joy Caliban exerted. An unexplainable desire came unbidden to her mind, embedded within Caliban's newly acquired body.
Before she could stop herself, her hungry body gave the command.
"Consume!"
She staggered back, her head growing dizzy.
Caliban swelled like a bullfrog, its rib cage violently expanding as it ballooned in size, surprising even the Chimaera Lioness who lost its grip upon Caliban's slimy exterior. With a gurgling hiss, her creature's lamprey's mouth unfolded, expanding until it became a maw the width of its body, a full meter across at the extremities.
"Wocao!" Voices in the crowd swore. "Mao's ghost!"
Even the furious monster howled in guttural terror as its goat's eyes stared into the bottomless depth held captive within Caliban's toothy hell.
"SHAA—!"
With the sound of a wet, slurping crunch, Caliban enclosed its mouth around the struggling Chimaera, attaching bloodily onto its upper body by swallowing the lion's entire frontal torso. As with a snake, Caliban's lips disregarded all properties of the physical flesh to expand massively around the lion-creature.
With a violent, slurping motion, Caliban inhaled, filling the area with the sound of bones cracking and vessels popping. There was another brief but violent struggle; then the Chimaera grew still.
"Enough!" One of the Proctors gave the command.
A burst of silvery mana came over the carcass, and the maimed or near-dead creature became unsummoned as the spell unravelled.
In front of Gwen, her Caliban bewilderingly licked its lips and wondered where its delicious meal had gone.
"What the hell was that?"
"A GILA! That's a DEATH GILA!" The crowd grew wild with speculations.
"Death Gila? As a Familiar? And what was that Element?"
While the others raved, Gwen felt her world transform into a topsy-turvy spinning top. She desperately channelled some of her recovering Almudj-mana into her body, steadying herself as to not become a fainting spectacle in the middle of an exam.
"Caliban! Return!" She called out, her voice peevish and upset at her rebellious Familiar.
"SHAA—!" her Familiar was not a happy frog and refused to return.
Gwen felt a slight, spine-tickling panic. Had she lost control? No. She could handle this. She had to.
Caliban sauntered over toward her on its stumpy hind legs.
Christ—! Gwen gulped. Her Void fiend was huge.
Towering over her in its humanoid form, Gwen realised how massive the creature had become. It was like she was looking up at an obsidian menhir that blotted out the sun.
Caliban's faceless head, lacking eyes and nose but possessing a mouth spacious enough to fit in her entire torso, lowered itself.
Does it want to be petted? Gwen acknowledged from her empathic link. Her Caliban was sad that food had disappeared.
"What's she doing?" someone asked their peers.
"Showing off," someone else stated.
"Do you think it's a Death Gila?"
"Whatever it is, I ain't fighting it," a voice remarked, much to the agreement of the others.
Ignoring the peanut gallery, Gwen patted Caliban's scarred snout, where even now the wounds made by the Chimaera were healing rapidly, leaving behind white lines in its obsidian flesh.
"SHAA— Shaa— shaa—"
The humungous humanoid-frog purred and croaked through its circular-saw lips, drooling grey-slime as it nudged her like a cat, sending Gwen off-balance.
Gwen materialised then fed her Caliban an unopened can of Spam.
The crowd in the bleachers grew silent.
She noticed the Proctors studying her.
Shit. Gwen felt her heart sink.
As Henry would say, that was a terrible display.
No skill. No finesse. No display of control or knowledge.
There was nothing but power.
Raw. Brutal. Unmitigated Power.
She looked to Richard, who did not appear touched by her horrific display. When Gwen looked to the others, she saw expressions of horror, disgust, loathing mixed with general aversion.
The short-haired pixie girl, in particular, was white as a sheet as their gaze met.
Gwen returned her attention to the battle at hand.
"Please, Caliban, do it for mummy!" She begged her Familiar. "Go home..."
Instead, her frog-fiend sniffed the air and hung out a tenebrous tongue of pink flesh to lick her face.
"Okay, okay, buddy, come on! Go home!" Gwen caressed its snout a little more vigorously, rubbing it with her knuckles.
To her horror, Caliban turned toward the bleaches to regard the young Mages with a feeling of intense hunger.
Gwen felt within her body a renewed tug of war.
"No!" She slapped Caliban wetly on the flank. "GO HOME! NOW!"
Caliban pushed her aside roughly.
"Friend!" Gwen pointed at the Mages. "NOT FOOD! Go home!"
Then, there was a moment of hesitation between Master and Familiar, as if a higher power answered. With a "Shaa" of protest, Caliban returned to its Pocket Dimension, returning to the amiable form of the serpent.
Gwen breathed out a sigh of immense relief and turned to the Proctors.
An awkward round of applause began in the bleachers, likely urged by Richard, ending with only the clapping of her cousin.
"You may wait on the other side." The Proctor motioned to the side where the other students were sitting.
Gwen nodded, willed a little more of Almudj's energy to fortify her health, then carefully and slowly, she stalked across the arena.
Dozens of other contestants regarded Gwen as she crossed the threshold.
"Hello." She waved to the largest group. "I am Gwen Song."
The group turned to look at the pixie girl, who did not greet Gwen back. Awkwardly, Gwen retracted her arm and turned to the trio on the sidelines.
Thankfully, these waved back, but their body language was neither invitational nor amiable, merely polite.
Gwen sighed. From the looks of it, even if she was to assume a scholarship position, she wasn't likely going to make new friends. But her social life aside, her mind added wistfully. She needed some immediate and dire instruction on what happened when a Familiar grows above and beyond the tiers of Conjuration possessed by the Conjurer. How can she wrestle back the mental control she had once maintained over Caliban and prevent her darling beast from taking her life force to 'protect' her whenever it felt necessary to do so?
All of that would have to wait until the semester began and she could speak intimately with a course coordinator.
Wiping the others from her mind, she patted down her dress and sat on the wooden slabs that made the bleaches' benches. She crossed her legs and tried to regulate her breathing, watching as Richard entered the stage.
Richard's field turned out to be a semi-urban setting consisting of stunted walls and broken rubble. His challenge of tier 6 Summoned beings was a troop of cunning Corpse Wolves, Undead creatures riddled with disease and venom. A single wolf was barely past the range of tier 3. However, when the wily creatures worked as a pack, they became a significant threat to settlements and expeditions, capable of taking down entire parties of Mages. A few seconds into the fight, Gwen could see that the Alpha of the pack was highly intelligent, commanding the others to surround Richard as soon as the wolves orientated their senses to their new surroundings.
As before, Richard spread motes of water throughout the surroundings, abusing the superior elemental control afforded by Lea.
A minute later, the pack was quashed, and the Alpha whimpered in a Watery Tomb. Then, with casual cruelty, Richard dispatched the beast, rending it limb from limb like a child tearing the wings from a fly.
Richard waved at her—or more precisely, he waved at those behind her, leaving no doubt as to what he would do should they bully his cousin.
Waving back, Gwen swallowed anxiously, wondering why her hands and feet were stone cold.
With the Undead Wolf torn to bits, Richard asked the Proctor if the exam should continue. The Proctor affirmed his success, and the practical exam ended without incident.
For Richard, the applause was genuine.
"Well, shall we?" Richard extended a hand toward her as he came up the bleachers. " Shall we? There's one more to go."
Gwen shot a sideways glance at her fellow contestants, whose faces were unreadable masks of consternation.
Her wane lips broke into a smile as she looked up at her peerless companion.
"Let us go then," she replied, taking his hand.
The interview.
A future curriculum.
And Caliban's rebellious teenagehood.
Richard's was right—for now, she had bigger fish to fry than these kids and their teenage angst.