Nope. Nope, nope, none of that. Time to redirect the conversation.

"Actually," I said, breaking the spine-tingling, truth-prying eye contact to pull out my phone, "I was hoping to get your insight on something, Mr. President and Co. I met some interesting students this morning..." I opened the photos I'd taken of the construction site trio. "Are these students in my grade by chance?"

Quint's eyes narrowed slightly at the disruption, but he leaned forward to examine the images along with the couple behind me.

"Ah," he said, his tone carefully neutral. "I see you've already encountered Ms. Nova and her... associates."

"That's Cass!" Christi squealed, leaning over my shoulder to look at the photos. "Oh, and Em and Io too! They're totally in our grade, yes."

"Cinder," Lance added.

I turned to him.

"My sister... prefers to go by Cinder these days," he added, looking resigned.

"Interesting group," I commented, watching their reactions carefully. "They seemed... colorful."

"That's one way to put it," Quint's lips twitched slightly. "Ms. Nova and Ms. Stratos can be rather... Overly passionate about their interests."

"Em's super intense!" Christi chimed in. "She's like, totally dedicated to being the best at everything forever! And Cass err… Cinder is amazing at music, even if she can be a bit... um..."

"Temperamental," Lance supplied diplomatically.

"And the Mothman?" I asked innocently, flipping the photo to the cigarette-pack manifestation. "Iogann, was it?"

The three student council members' expressions darkened simultaneously at the sight of the interdimensional cigarettes. Lance's jaw visibly clenched, Christi's flames dimmed to barely-glowing embers, and Quint's amber eyes flashed dangerously.

"Mr. Wanderer's... procurement habits are a matter of ongoing disciplinary review," Quint said, his voice dropping several degrees in temperature. "The possession and distribution of interdimensional contraband is strictly prohibited at Skyfall Academy. I trust you understand that participating in such activities would be... unwise for a new student."

"Of course," I nodded quickly, making a show of looking appropriately chastised. "Can't stand deathsticks, drugs or alcohol. Prefer a clear mind for my lunch chess matches."

"Would you mind forwarding me those photos?" Quint asked, his amber eyes gleaming with predatory interest. "As Student Council President, it's my responsibility to ensure all disciplinary infractions are properly... documented."

I caught Lance's subtle teeth-gnash from behind me and turned to him. "Cassiopeia is your sister, right? You two seem... Very different."

Lance's orange eyes flickered with something - concern? Frustration? Anger?- before he carefully schooled his expression. "We have different approaches to school life," he said diplomatically. "I work within the system. Cinder... prefers to challenge it."

“I can see that,” I agreed.

Lance stepped forward, placing a firm hand on my shoulder. "I can handle any concerns about Cinder. No need to involve official channels for what's clearly just... artistic photography practice. Right, Alex?"

His grip tightened meaningfully. The message was clear: Don't rat out my sister or I'll break your arm.

"Oh! Of course," I said, quickly pocketing my phone. "Just trying to capture the morning light. Besides," I added smoothly, "I wouldn't want my first act at Skyfall to be getting your sister in trouble. Especially not over something as trivial as a smoke break."

Quint's claws twitched at my diplomatic deflection. "While your discretion is... admirable, Mr. Glock, the rules exist for a reason. Interdimensional contraband can have serious consequences. Last semester, a student brought back cigarettes from a reality where the smoke carried memetic mind viruses. Half the senior class spent a week believing they were cats that had to groom each other."

"That was kind of hilarious though and a few people finally decided to date ‘cus of it," Christi giggled, then quickly sobered under Quint's sharp glare.

Lance ran a hand through his gray, scale-type dreadlocks in frustration. "Look, Pres, you've talked to Cinder about this, no? Multiple times. Every time we crack down, she just gets more... creative with her rebellion against the system or whatever. I just... I don't know what to do. She had detention from every single teacher already!"

"We just have to find a punishment fitting enough that'll get through..." Quint began.

"No! I don't want to hurt her! If we do that she will just snap! Every time we push harder, she just digs her heels in deeper. If we piss her off too much, she'll ask Iogann to fetch her something far, far worse than cigarettes from one of those doomed dimensions!" Lance declared with an exasperated face. "I don't want her hooked on Topaz, Quint, that effin’ stuff is impossible to wean off of!"

"Maybe..." I ventured carefully, "you're approaching this from the wrong angle."

All three council members turned to look at me.

"What do you mean?" Lance asked, orange eyes narrowing.

"Well," I said, choosing my words carefully, "from what I've seen, Cinder seems like someone who rebels against direct authority. The more you try to control her, the more she'll push back. But what if... instead of fighting her rebellion, you redirected it?"

"Explain," Quint commanded, his amber eyes gleaming with interest.

"Look, I've got perfect scores in drama, theater and social studies from my old Nazarite school," I explained, warming to my pitch. "Plus, I'm pretty decent at reading people and situations. What if instead of trying to force Cinder to conform, we gave her a different kind of challenge?"

"Like what?" Lance asked skeptically.

"She clearly has a protective streak for outcasts, right? I mean, she hangs out with a disaster-seeking Mothman. What if..." I paused for dramatic effect, "We gave her something… someone new to protect? Someone who could subtly influence her toward better choices while appearing to need her guidance?"

"Are you suggesting..." Quint began thoughtfully.

"That I could befriend her? Yes." I shrugged casually. "I'm an outsider to Leviathan's Cradle and my Omnithean blood percentage is low enough that I'm basically a walking target. She seems like the type who'd enjoy taking a helpless half-blood under her wing just because some authority figures will hate me."

Lance pursed his lips.

"I can infiltrate her friend group, be your eyes and ears, help guide her away from the really dangerous stuff while appearing to be just another lost soul seeking protection and pretend-fighting against authority," I grinned.

Quint leaned back in his chair. "Interesting proposal, Mr. Glock. Though I must warn you - getting close to Cinder Nova can be... hazardous to one's health. She has quite the temper. The last male student who tried to ask her out ended up punched through three walls and out a fourth-story window."

"And? Does everyone forget that we're basically immortal?" I tapped my bracelet.

"The Lazarus bracelet may restore your body, Mr. Glock, but the pain... that you will remember quite vividly," Quint pointed out.

"Pain is temporary," I shrugged. "Helping friends is... eternal. What was it that Leviathan Slayer Nazareth himself taught us?"

I spread my hands out like a goodly Preacher at a choir.

"The value of sacrifice!" I boomed. "The Slayer willingly gave his life to stop the Leviathan when it first emerged from the Wormwood Star's impact crater. His holy blood mixed with the sky-beast's as they fought, and from that battle the first uplifted Omnitheans were born!"

My NPC-Preacher voice made the trio go silent and thoughtful, careening the Student President sideways, as far as possible from interviewing me with magic-eye bullshit.

"So if Lord Nazareth could sacrifice his life to birth our entire glorious civilization," I continued, really hamming up the religious spiel fervor, "surely I can sacrifice a few painful deaths to help guide one lost soul back to the light!" I placed my hand over my heart dramatically. "After all, isn't that what being a true Omnithean and a student of Skyfall Academy is all about? Helping our fellows achieve their highest potential?"

"That's... Really inspiring," Christi said, her flames flickering brighter. "And theological! Awww, I didn't expect such passion for our history from a transfer student!"

Lance was studying me with new interest, while Quint's amber eyes gleamed with what might have been approval.

"Very well, Mr. Glock," Quint said finally. "We'll give your... social experiment a chance."

"Thank you!" I grinned. "If I fail horribly, I'll send the interdimensional smokes-summoning pictures to you. Please give me all of your Omnigram contacts too - I'd love to stay in touch and report my progress!"

"You are quite bold," Quint observed, but he seemed more amused than annoyed now. "I approve. Very well… And Alex?" His amber eyes locked onto mine one final time. "Do try not to get killed too often. The paperwork is... tedious."

"Cassie and her buds are always getting into trouble and smoking on or near school grounds," Christi said. "I'd be ever so grateful if you helped my Lancy's sister step to the path of righteousness and goodness!"

I couldn't help but 'tsk' at the mention of smoking. "Ugh, cigarettes. Nothing worse than poisoning yourself and everyone around you."

Christi's eyes lit up at my reaction. "Right? It's so gross! I keep telling Cass that she really should quit, but she just doesn't listen! She hasn't listened to me once since she got into that troupe with Iogann and Emerald!"

"A troupe?" I asked.

"Oh yes!" Christi bobbed, excited that I was listening to her. "They call themselves 'The Dreadful Delvers or D&D' - they do these.... umm... avant-garde monster-slaying performances... which end in... incidents."

The longer she spoke the more sour-looking her face became.

"Incidents?" I prompted.

"Uhh..." Christi's flames flickered nervously. "Basically, Iogann plays this creepy harmonica that opens gates to doomed dimensions. He's their Gater. Then Cass does this haunting vocal performance as their Bard, using her voice and wings to attract something nasty through the gate. Usually it's some kind of interdimensional horror."

"And?"

"And then Em leads the charge as their Slayer," Lance added with clear disapproval. "She's got this special flame sword that she can ignite with her dragonfire. Vespera and Solace back her up as Knights using random weapons and armor from History Club."

“Uh-huh.”

"They fight whatever comes through in front of an audience," Christi continued. "It's supposed to be 'art' or something, but it usually ends in property damage. During their last performance at Spring's End Festival a bunch of students in attendance died from... a flesh-tree thing that came through the gate," Christi added solemnly. "Plus many were grievously injured. Em and her knight crew tried to slay it, but it took them too long."

"Soooo… they don't actually go into a dungeon. Which part of that is delving?" I arched an eyebrow.

"It's not delving at all - it's reckless foolishness for the sake of showing off!" Lance huffed. "Proper delving involves careful thorough scouting, preparation, planning, anchored gates or exploring a known, mapped dungeon. What they're doing is essentially throwing open random doors to doomed realities and hoping whatever horror stumbles through will make for good slaying entertainment. It's not art - it's interdimensional Russian roulette with an audience!"

"They're now banned from performing in most venues within city limits," Christi added with a sigh. "Which only made them more determined to find 'underground' spaces to practice."

"Last week they were rehearsing in an abandoned subway tunnel near the school," Lance added grimly. "Iogann opened a gate to what he claimed was a 'music dimension' and... Let's just say the cleanup crew is still trying to contain the memetic songs that get stuck in people's heads."

"Isn't that just normal good songs?" I asked with a small smile.

"Not at all! They're these awful lullaby songs that start sort of normal and just get more psychotic. Like... Baby bus that goes round and round till everyone dies horribly," Christi winced. "So, if you hear creepy laughter of children singing in your head, please head to the nurse right away!"

"Noted," I said.

"The worst thing is that Graves likes that sort of experimental stuff," Christi whined. "D&D somehow convinced him to play in the auditorium this week! It's going to be a huge catastrophe, I know it."

"Emerald assured me their next performance will be much more... controlled," Quint interjected smoothly, "The auditorium's wards are significantly stronger than the makeshift barriers they've been using. Vice Principal Graves himself approved the safety protocols."

"So it was you!" Christi rounded on him, her flames flaring bright orange with anger. "Several student deaths, Quint! And that one poor janitor who is still occasionally speaking in backwards nursery rhymes about the world of flesh!"

"Em knows what she's doing," Quint stated. "She's one of our most talented combat students-"

"Oh please!" Christi's hair blazed higher. "We all know you'd approve anything she wants, even if it means risking the entire student body!"

"Em knows her limits," Quint said with finality, his amber eyes glowing brighter for a moment. "The performance will proceed as planned. Lance already agreed-"

"Lancy!" Christi's head snapped towards her boyfriend with a glare.

"I'm not actually attending," Lance raised his gray hands. "I'm only paying for part of the catering and helping with ward setup. I just wanted to support my sister. At least in the auditorium we can control the environment. Better than them sneaking off to do it in some abandoned tunnel or warehouse, right?"

"Hrm. I could help document the event," I offered innocently. "You know, take some artistic shots of the carnage–I mean, the performance. Plus, having an extra set of eyes on safety protocols couldn't hurt."

Lance nodded with a look of appreciation.

"Text me the deets. Maybe I can help contain whatever eldritch horrors they summon… with my amazing photography skills. Nothing says 'stop summoning interdimensional horrors' like getting their bad side in a photo," I joked. "Plus, I'm pretty good at editing out blood stains in post-production."

Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

Christi burst into delighted giggles. "Oh my gosh, you're funny! Quint, shoo shoo, I need the computer!" She practically bounced over to the desk, playfully nudging the Wendigo aside. "I know exactly what to do for Alex's schedule! Yep, yep!"

Quint raised an eyebrow but gracefully surrendered his seat, gathering his papers. "Very well. I have other matters to attend to anyway. Lance, walk with me to the lounge? We should discuss the upcoming delve preparations for Instructor Zalimar's class."

The two taller students departed, leaving me with the overly-enthusiastic fire elemental.

"You know," Christi chatted as she sat down on the plush computer-facing red-leather chair pulling me into the seat right beside her instead of across the table, "My poor Lancy is ever so worried about his sister. Cass really does need better influences in her life. Em is very passionate and Io just does what he is told by her… The combo of both of them is not exactly the best influence for a young, impressionable lady like Cassiopeia…" Christi trailed off. "Yes, we could really use someone like you around here. Someone with... fresh, healthy, unique perspective, a genuine Nazarite."

I nodded, she was basically repeating what I offered already, except speaking like she was a jet airplane trying to take off.

"Mm-hmm," Christi nodded with a smile, "Cass really needs more positive influences before she graduates! And you seem so... Well-put together! Excellent grades, plus, you're into photography and art - Cassie totally loves creative stuff too, even if she pretends not to care about anything!”

"Hmmm..." I tapped my chin thoughtfully, considering my need for the Quetzi-girl exposure therapy. "Maybe if I was in more of Cinder's classes, I could... help keep an eye on her? Make sure she's actually attending them, try to help her quit smoking?"

"You... you would do that?!" Christi's eyes ignited like I'd just handed her the keys to the kingdom.

"I absolutely would," I said sincerely.

"EEeeeee!” She clapped, hair igniting like a flashbang as she squeed loudly, making the boys look up from their couch-filled distant corner of the office. “That's such a wonderful idea! I was thinking the same thing, oh yes! I will absolutely help with scheduling..." She practically bounced in her chair. "I could definitely arrange for you to share most if not all of Cassie's classes. For her own good, of course!"

"Of course," I nodded solemnly, while my heart was doing backflips. "It's important to help others. And since I'm new here, it would help me adjust too, having a... consistent classmate."

"Yes, yes! I'll get this sorted right away! Oh thank you so much, Alex!" Christi fluttered, momentarily burying me in a super-heated, skin-blistering hug. “You’re the best!”

I sneakily recorded her login info with my wrist spycam as let go of me and logged into the school’s network via the student council computer.

Christi spent the next hour enthusiastically arranging my schedule to match Cinder's, occasionally muttering about "positive influences" and "such a wonderfully unique opportunity."

Her entire body wobbled with increasing excitement radiating heat like hot sauna stones. As she worked, I continued to ask her questions about Cassie and her known relationships, constructing a pattern of approach.

----------------------------------------

Soon enough, I bid the student councilors adieu and went to have lunch in one of the smaller Art Nouveau cafes at the edge of campus.

Enjoying a fresh croissant and a Caesar salad, I sketched out Vice Principal Graves in one of the stolen Omnimart sketchbooks while whisper-chatting to Yulia about my plans.

I wasn't worried about being overheard by other cafe patrons. Yulia and I spoke in an endangered Kaska language of the First Nations people of the Athabaskan ethnolinguistic group.

Mom had tried teaching me this language when I was young, but like most dumb kids, I hadn't appreciated its value then. It was only after losing her, after spending countless nights training my large language model to understand the near-extinct tongue, that each word became precious - like holding onto fragments of her voice, her smile, her patience as she'd tried to pass on this piece of her heritage.

As I finished the sketch, memories of evening walks with mom through North Acadia's misty forests prickled in the back of my mind.

She would point out different plants and animals, telling me their names in both English and our ancestral tongue. Her voice would grow soft and reverent when sharing tales of how our people first encountered the "Star-Born Ones".

. . .

"The Tutchone shamans were the first to see them," she said as we crouched behind fallen logs to watch the multi-eyed, tree-antlerred spirit deers grazing in twilight clearing. "When the Wormwood Star fell the God Beasts emerged across the world, most people ran in terror. But some... saw beyond the fear, learned that the star shards reshaped reality itself."

Her eyes grew distant then. "Those shamans believed in Animism, that everything had a spirit - the trees, the rocks, the rivers. To them, the God Beasts were just new spirits... transformative forces, neither good nor evil. Like fire or storms - dangerous yes, but also full of potential. The first Tutchone who dared to slay a God Beast didn't die because he uttered a prayer of forgiveness to the spirit as he spilled out its blood."

"Why did they have to kill the God Beasts, mom?" I asked. "Couldn't they just... talk to them?"

"The primordial God Beasts of long ago were but animals changed by Wormwood shards, born wrong, incompatible with reality," Mom explained. "Like putting a whale in a desert or a flame in the ocean - they suffered, and in their suffering they made others suffer too. The shamans understood this. They knew that sometimes, the kindest act is to end suffering, to help transform it into something new."

She picked up a fallen leaf, turning it over in her hands. "Death begets death, my little fox. But death also begets life. When a Divine Beast is struck down, its blood can make the forest burn or bloom depending on the hunter's wish. The shamans taught our people to wish for transformation, not destruction and so the forests of Acadia bloomed and became filled with new life."

"But what about Slayer Nazareth, mom?" I asked. "The Omnids say he was this great hero who sacrificed himself to save everyone from the Leviathan."

"When the moon shattered, people needed heroes," she explained. "They wanted to believe that someone great could triumph over the Leviathan through strength and will alone. It's easier than accepting that we're all just caught in forces beyond our control, that true power comes from understanding and adaptation rather than conquest."

"So what really happened?"

"No man could truly hope to stop a God. The Leviathan smashed into the moon and began to decay away on its own because our world was finite and filled with rules, incompatible with its nature," mom explained.

She pulled me closer as we watched the small harmless forest spirits graze, their multiple eyes glowing in the twilight. "Nazareth found the dying newborn Leviathan who kept shedding its body and leaving bits of itself behind. He was not slayer, he was just a selfish, mundane man who desired one thing above all - love."

"Love?" My young self blinked.

"Yes," Mom said. "Love. Nazareth knew how to wield wishes and so he carved a golem from the Leviathan's heart - a Magdalene of living crystal and starlight. Their children were the first Omnitheans - human at heart, but also shaped by desire."

"Shaped by desire?"

"The firstborn Omnids were more... fluid," Mom explained. "Like soft clay, they could be reshaped by the collective beliefs of humanity. As they spread out across the world, some became living gods of great empires, while others turned into nightmarish horrors who devoured whole villages."

"But the Omnitheans today aren't like that, right?" I asked. "They have police and lawyers and schools and stuff."

"Yes. Over centuries they became less fluid, hardened, ground in our reality, became more confined to specific forms from legends or stories," she explained. "Gained specific powers."

I nodded along.

"Now... They're just people with super strength or speed or mental control," Mom sighed. "People who came together, claiming Leviathan's Cradle as their sacred land and built their own Empire. They think their powers make them gods, but they're still just people playing with forces they don't fully understand."

. . .

I opened my eyes and exhailed. Mom had always seemed to know so much about Omnithean history, but I'd never thought to ask her how or why. Was it all just stories she'd made up to help me understand the world better? Or had she learned something during her years working for Omnicorp that she couldn't openly share?

I needed to know more about the Omnids around me to blend better into their social structures.

I waited until late afternoon when most students had cleared out before making my move. The security patterns were fairly predictable - guards patrolled in 30-minute rotations, with shift changes at 4 PM. Perfect timing for a quick heist or two.

I painted my face to resemble another student, pulled on a white wig, glued a lush beard to my neck and attached predator-type claw extensions to my fingernails.

The storage building connected to the security office was a squat concrete structure near the maintenance area. I'd noticed earlier that the back door had an old electronic lock - the light stayed green a few seconds too long after each swipe. All I had to do was time it right.

I lurked behind a dumpster, watching a guard swipe his card and enter. The moment the door started to swing shut, I darted forward and caught it just before it latched. Slipping inside, I found myself in a dimly lit hallway lined with lockers and supply closets.

Footsteps echoed from around the corner. I quickly ducked into an open supply closet, holding my breath as the guard passed by.

I slipped deeper into the storage area, following the sound of running water. As expected, I found the security guards' locker room. A shower was running - perfect timing. I quickly located a shelf with the extra uniforms and grabbed a spare uniform in my size, stuffing it under my shirt.

Making my exit was trickier than getting in. I had to time my movements carefully between patrol rotations, using the maintenance corridors to avoid cameras. A close call with a janitor nearly gave me away, but I managed to play it off by pretending to be intensely focused on my phone.

Back in my van, parked in the student lot's blind spot, I changed into the stolen uniform and modified the ID badge based on the scanned list of security personnel. A 21 year old Dover Demon by the name of Nunkish Throg who was absent this week due to 'family issues' was easy to emulate. A bald cap, latex jaw and gray face paint went on smoothly to change my appearance once again to resemble Nunkish. Orange contact lenses completed the disguise. A quick check in the rearview mirror confirmed I looked passably Omnid, especially in the security uniform.

The badge and uniform gave me almost unlimited access. I started with the administrative wing, casually strolling past offices while appearing to check doors and windows. The night cleaning crew barely glanced at me as I made my rounds.

I carefully made my way through the records room, scanning documents with my phone's camera. Student files, staff records, security protocols - anything that could be useful later.

A tone sounded in my ear - Yulia had finished analyzing the latest batch of photos.

"Analysis complete," she whispered. "Identified key access points. The security system has several potential exploitable weaknesses. Would you like me to outline potential infiltration scenarios?"

"Later," I murmured in Kaska.

A sound in the hallway made me freeze. Footsteps approaching. I quickly closed the file drawer and pretended to be checking window locks just as a real security guard walked past. He gave me a brief nod which I returned, keeping my movements casual and practiced.

"Time check?" I whispered.

"19:42. Shift change in 18 minutes."

I nodded, making my way towards the exit. I'd pushed my luck far enough for one day. As I passed through the administrative wing, I noticed light spilling from the windows of the Vice Principal Graves' office.

The tall, faceless man was still at his desk, his void-like head bent over paperwork. I glanced up at the shattered, half-crystallized moon and asteroid field sparkling in the slightly cloudy sky overhead and quickened my pace slightly, not wanting to risk a closer encounter.

. . .

For late dinner, I sat in the security lounge, munching on a sandwich from the vending machine while reviewing the files I'd photographed.

"What did we get on Emerald Stratos?" I asked my AI.

"Numerous fighting incidents resulting in deaths of other students. Appears to be the leader of several student groups. In an open relationship with Student Council President who covers up a multitude of illegal activities such as unauthorized delving and bullying. Has a dedicated following among other predator-type upper-class students used to target lower-class students repeatedly to death or a catatonic state. Particularly aggressive towards... perceived weakness. Relies on two delving Knights as her 'lieutenants' - Vespera Simmi and Solace Exill."

Peachy.

"Cross reference the D&D performance incidents with student injuries," I instructed.

"Processing," Yulia whispered in my ear. "Notable pattern - majority of serious injuries and deaths occur to audience members rather than the performers themselves."

I nodded, taking another bite. The sandwich was surprisingly good - apparently even Skyfall's vending machines were top tier.

"What about... K. Kells?" I asked, thinking of that haunting painting I'd seen earlier. "Any connection to our target group?"

"Loner. Limited direct interaction with student body," Yulia replied. "Katherine Kells - Stollwurm classification. Iogann's half-sister. Exceptional artistic talent but severe medical issues. Frequently absent from classes in patterns of every 13-15 days due to health complications. Some records indicate previous friendship with Cinder Nova in freshman year."

"Anything of value on the teachers?"

"Cross-referencing complete," she reported. "Found something interesting in the staff records. Victor Greyfield, science teacher. Listed age 127, appears late 70s. Dover Demon-Human hybrid."

I perked up. "A successful hybrid? That's rare."

"Indeed. His presence may explain the school's relatively lenient policy towards mixed heritage students. Also explains some of the more... experimental aspects of their science curriculum."

I nodded thoughtfully. A hybrid teacher could be a valuable ally - or at least a source of information about surviving as a "mixed-blood" in Omnithornia.

"What about problematic teachers?" I asked.

"A few. The worst of the bunch is Arx Delving Instructor, Koshei Zalimar Evernacht," Yulia replied. "A naturally immortal Omnid, doesn't wear the Lazarus bracelet. Tenured Archmage, 600 years of teaching Delving at Skyfall. Centuries-long pattern of student abuse, student disappearances and other unexplained accidents in relationship to what he listed as 'impure blood' in his reports. Extreme prejudice against mixed-blood students. Known to hit students who annoy him enough. Do NOT engage target without preparation."

"Got it," I said. "Going to need to figure out how to deal with an immortal lich. Ideas?"

"Zalimar believes in arcane blood laws of honor. Set fair terms, challenge him to a duel to the death and make sure to win," Yulia replied.

"How?"

"Unknown. Subject extremely dangerous, high level and impossible to kill. A single curse from him could shatter your soul."

Lovely.

I sighed, moving on.

Thinking back to this morning, I pulled up the photo of Cinder on my phone, zooming in on her face. Despite her fierce scowl and punk attitude, there was something vulnerable in those ocean-blue eyes.

"Yulia, analyze Omnid cryptitype facial expression and body language," I whispered.

"Processing," the AI replied softly. "Subject displays classic defensive posturing - raised shoulders. Micro-expressions indicate underlying anxiety despite aggressive facade."

"Elaborate on the emotional indicators," I prompted.

"The subject appears to be using the smoking as a coping mechanism," Yulia analyzed.

"What else?"

"The eyes," Yulia pointed out. "There's moisture accumulation at the corners - barely noticeable unless you know what to look for. She appears to be fighting back tears in this photo."

I flipped through the pictures and zoomed in. Sure enough, there were tiny sparkles of wetness at the edges of those ocean-blue eyes that I hadn't noticed before in the last photo. Something twisted in my chest.

"Her feathers and scales are also displaying extreme distress patterns," Yulia continued. "Compared to the vibrant, color-changing wings, the body coloration is limited, muted to silver-grays, especially around her face, chest, neck and shoulders - a clear sign of emotional suppression in Quetzalcoatl physiology."

I Oodled videos of Quetzalcoatl preachers and politicians and discovered that their wings changed color along with their bodies when they ranted about Slayer Nazareth to the gathered crowds. Then I went back to staring at Cassiopeia's photo, seeing it with new eyes. Behind that fierce punk facade, those rebellious poses and that defiant scowl... was someone barely keeping it together. Someone hurting.

"Cross reference with her brother's statements," I requested.

"Lance Nova expressed concern about her 'snapping' if pushed too hard," Yulia reminded me. "Combined with the emotional indicators and her association with a disaster-attracting Mothman... Classic pattern of someone spiraling but trying to maintain control through increasingly risky behavior," the LLM concluded.

I nodded, agreeing with my AI's assessment.

This wasn't just about getting close to her for my own purposes anymore. Something was genuinely wrong with Cinder Nova, and everyone around her seemed to be either enabling her downward spiral or trying to force her into compliance. Neither approach was working.

"One more thing," I said. "Check the academic records. How are her grades?"

"Significant decline in all areas over past two years. Multiple absences, repeated detentions, incomplete assignments. Teachers note 'apparent disinterest' and 'increasing hostility'."

Classic signs of depression masked by acting out. I'd seen it before - hell, I'd lived it after mom refused to tell me that she was sick and dying.

The difference was, I'd channeled my pain into something productive - learning every trick, social hack and scam I could to survive. Swindling became my art form, forgery my craft, and theft my means of staying alive. Each con was a performance, each fake ID a masterpiece, each successful heist a small victory against a world that had taken everything from me.

I shook my head.

Focus on the present.

The school's furniture storage area was my next target. The lock was pathetically simple - a basic electronic keypad that probably hadn't been updated since the building was constructed. A quick spray of UV powder revealed the most commonly pressed numbers, and from there it was child's play to figure out the code.

Inside, I found exactly what I needed - a dolly, a box of half-depleted micro-beast cores and all sorts of old furniture for student lounges. Rich kids probably demanded new furniture every semester, leaving perfectly good items to gather dust in storage.

I worked quickly, selecting and boxing up items that would fit in my van without being too obvious. Old decorative beast-core powered string lights, several rugs in deep blues and purples made from some slain beast's hide that radiated warmth long after its owner's demise, a pair of oversized bean bag chairs in ruby red, a small beast-core powered cold box and and an assortment of pillows would make my van feel more like a home and less like a rust-pitted box on on wheels.

Back in my van, now considerably cozier with the stolen furnishings, I settled into one of the plush bean bag chairs and reviewed my notes for tomorrow. The magic rugs helped muffle the constant hum of the city and kept the van's interior above freezing, while the string lights I'd installed gave the space a cozy, lived-in feel.

I pulled up my schedule on my phone, grinning at how thoroughly Christi had managed to align my classes with Cinder's.

I closed my eyes, imagining all the ways tomorrow could go wrong - getting thrown through walls, set on fire, or sucked into an eldritch dimension before lunch - but with my new Lazarus bracelet and a solid plan, I was ready to dive headfirst into whatever spectacular disaster Cinder and her crew had brewing.

Perhaps it would be smart to stay away from mind-control wings, but I refused to break, desiring to learn how to bend instead.

Besides, those piercing ocean-blue eyes, the way she floated down backlit by rays of morning sun, her punk outfit, even that rebellious scowl and her invisible emotional breakdown - it all screamed "danger" in the most tantalizing way possible.

I had already taken a big, dangerous gamble driving into the heart of Omnithornia in a nearly dead van.

What was an ever deeper leap towards the heart of the abyss?