Steve spent the entire afternoon fiddling with his newfound skill. The concept of mana wasn’t completely foreign to Steve. He had spent quite a bit of time on Biablo and Glelder Scrolls before. The problem was not getting something to happen; the problem was getting anything useful to happen. He looked down at his hands and began to visualize the blue energy coursing through his veins. The feeling was invigorating and thrilling. He began to concentrate the energy at his fingertips.
Electricity buzzed through his hands, and his hair began to whip around. The buzz of static caused his arm hair to stand on end. This, this is the culmination of four hours of practice, he thought. Something amazing was going to happen, he could feel it. Perhaps he was always meant to be a mage. A dim blue ball of light appeared over his outstretched palm. It barely illuminated the unlit room in the overcast weather.
[Congratulations!]
You have unlocked [Shitty Dollar Store Flashlight] Level 1
This spell illuminates the darkness, but not very well.
“…”
Steve looked at the message in front of his eyes. Never in his entire life had he been so underwhelmed. With nothing better to do, Steve continued to practice his skill. Each time he cast the spell, it took slightly less time to cast. It took several minutes to accumulate the mana during his first dozen tries. After a couple of hours, Steve was left drenched in sweat, lightheaded, and shaky. He could get the light to appear in about 20 seconds if he put his mind to it. In those hours, he raised [Shitty Dollar Store Flashlight] to level 3. It was slightly brighter than before.
“Ding! You have mail,” A bell rang in Steve’s head. He just remembered he connected his email earlier. Steve raised an eyebrow.
From: Bernard Subject: No Subject
Come to orientation tomorrow. There might be alcohol.
-Benard
Steve arrived at the orientation drowsy and heavy-eyed. That futon was hard as shit. Steve slept horribly. Four other people were gathered in the meeting room. There was a U-shaped table with a whiteboard at the front of the room. Steve sat down with a yawn in a seat close to the front.
“Looks like we’re all here,” A small man said as he entered the room. He was not carrying any alcohol, much to Steve’s disappointment. “Now kids, let’s all go around the classroom and introduce ourselves,” The little weasel man’s voice oozed with sarcasm. The other people weren’t brand-new paragons like Steve. They were transfers from the East Coast.
“I’m Steve,” Steve started. He tried to wear the coolest expression he could, and stared with conviction at the wall. He saw a famous slayer do something similar on TV once. The room mostly ignored him. Upon further inspection, it was clear he was the plainest appearance-wise in the room.
“Nice to meet you all. I am Jun Yamazaki,” A dark-haired guy around Steve’s age chimed in. Jun looked like he belonged in a Japanese boy band. Steve had no other comments.
“Kingsley,” A dark-skinned man said next. The man was about two average people wide and towered over everyone else despite being seated. His voice was lower than a teenage girl’s self-esteem.
“Jerome here,” Steve instantly disliked the man. He had dirty blond hair and the hollow cheeks of a fashion model. His emerald eyes glimmered in the light. Jerome had a charismatic lilt to his voice that made the average guy puke. Steve wanted to strangle the man already.
“Hi, I’m Kayla,” The black-haired girl exclaimed in a sickly sweet voice. She wore red blush and fake freckles on her face over a thick coat of makeup. Steve wrinkled his nose and spit on the ground. He wanted to punch her more than Jerome.
“Now you may be wondering what my name is,” The little weasel man continued in his shrill little weasel voice. Not a single person in the room wondered what his name was. The many slicked his hair back before explaining, “My legal name is Little Weasel Guy, but you can call me Weasel Guy.” Weasel Guy was greeted silently with stony expressions from the other paragons. “I called you all here because you’re going to form a party,” The weasel guy continued.
“Party? Not a squad? Or something cooler sounding,” Steve asked.
“Oh, not a chance. You, greenhorns, get HQs worse hand-me-downs, and we actively have a policy preventing you guys from calling yourselves anything cool. Chapter 49, Section 42, paragraph 5,” The weasel guy chirped.
“Why are you putting all of us newer paragons in one party? Don’t we need a mentor, or someone strong to lead us?” Jun asked sincerely as he swooshed his bangs.
“Most of our veterans commit suicide within a few years, so we’re hard-pressed on manpower. Also, your training budget went to this sick-ass HQ building,” Weasel Guy gloated proudly. Steve was beginning to question his decision-making. These guys are nuts. Weasel Guy explained some basic information to the group. They had a “Weapons Store” on the 4th floor, which, was just an illegally obtained Vietnam War equipment surplus. There were other services for paragons. Although the newbie experience wasn’t great, they had the most important services and equipment offered inside the massive HQ building. Mana potions were sold in the alleyway next to HQ for some reason.
“Now, kids, if you all get massacred on your first mission, I’ll get demoted. Our body retrieval service costs extra, so keep that in mind,” Weasel Guy squeaked.
“There’s no basic training for paragons? Not even a 3-day workshop? Not even a ‘Paragonning for Dummies’ book that we get for free?” Steve asked the questions on his mind.
“We did find that providing recruits with training did greatly decrease their initial mortality rates. However, you have to remember that we are a grossly mismanaged government organization, thus we really don’t care,” The small man squeaked dismissively. Okay then…
Weasel guy showed the party to their very gathering own room. It would be used for briefings, meetings, and all sorts of awesome party activities. It was a 200-square-foot room that smelled like squished ants. The carpet was torn away in many places exposing the sub-floor. There was one light, but one of the two fixtures was out. In the middle of the room was a common school desk covered in graffiti.
“This is uh. Nice,” Kayla blurted with a stiff face.
“We used to rent this space out until our tenants got skin cancer from the radiation levels. Paragons are very cancer resistant so you’ll be fine though,” Weasel Guy reassured Kayla using the worst combination of words possible.
“What exactly happened to the previous tenants?” Jerome asked, voicing everyone’s concerns.
“Anyway, help each other out. Your quota is four gate clears a month,” Weasel Guy completely ignored Jerome. The small man shut the door and scampered off, leaving the party. The five members awkwardly stood in silence.
“We need to elect a leader,” Jun finally spoke up. Steve agreed with the sentiment. Kingsley looked like the strongest. “Who’s the highest level here?” Jun asked.
“I’m level 2,” Kayla announced proudly.
“Level 5,” Jerome smiled with a wink. Steve gagged in his mouth.
“Then it’s settled,” Kayla squeaked like a rat. “Jerome is our leader,” No one cared enough to protest. Kingsley seemed content to spectate. Steve hated Jerome, but he was probably the most experienced. From his vague knowledge of paragons gleaned from mass media, level 5s were nothing to scoff at. Some of them were physically over five times stronger than average humans, depending on the distribution of their stats.
“Let’s all share what gifts we got so we can work together better,” Jerome said as he whipped his hair to one side. “I was given [Goblin Exploder], an A-rank skill, but it's not a big deal,” He chuckled. Kayla was eating it up like a baby koala. Is that even unfair? Does it explode only goblins and nothing else?
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“Heh, I have [Crimson Fire Darkness Flame Destroying Judgment ʳᵃᶜᶜᵒᵒⁿ],” Jun said as he swished his bangs. He said everything so confidently except the raccoon part. He almost whispered it. How did that skill even work? A raccoon? “It’s only an S-rank skill, I still have much to learn,” Jun continued. Jun’s false humility irked Steve to no end. He had a suspicion that their party was going to be extremely dysfunctional. Kayla butted in next.
“I was bestowed with [Bisect]. It allows me to chop any foe under my level in half with my mind. It’s an S+ tier skill,” Kayla giggled in the most disgusting, sickly sweet voice. No matter how one looked at it, that seemed like a busted skill. Steve was greatly annoyed at how the most annoying people had better skills than he did. Kingsley was next. He barely fit in the room and had to duck his head slightly while standing up.
“I have [Vigor] and [Regeneration], both A+. I can be our backline support,” The man boomed. His voice rattled the metal inside the desk. Steve wondered if he heard everything right. This tank of a man, who likely weighed close to 600 pounds, and stood over seven feet tall, was a supporter. Everyone hid their surprise decently well, but a few eyebrows twitched. Everyone finally looked at Steve.
“I, uh, have [Mana Control II]. B tier,” Steve said conclusively. A snicker slipped out of Jerome. Steve glared back.
Everyone in the group intermingled for a little while while they got to know each other. That is what Steve wanted to say. Kayla and Jerome flirted with each other, while Steve watched a spider weave a web in the corner. Jun mostly flipped his bangs and hit cool poses while muttering about saving his Nakama. Kingsley watched everyone from the clouds with probably amusement. Steve couldn’t see the giant’s eyes behind the black goggles he wore.
Steve ultimately decided to leave the gathering and look for any books he could purchase about spells. When he asked the others about learning new spells everyone told him to “Don’t bother, it takes too long. Just buy them with skill points,” which annoyed the shit out of him. It was just a hunch, but Steve didn’t think buying skills and spells was the same as learning them from scratch.
Luckily, PIMP HQ had a bookshop on floor 10 geared towards knowledge useful for paragons. It was just like a normal gift shop except all the books were titled strange things like How to inhumanely dispatch Goblins 101, The Benefits of Wearing the Skin of Your Slain Enemies, and so on. Some items were just pamphlets, while others were leather-bound tomes. Steve walked through the shop. His shoes squeaked against the polished granite. There were no employees managing the shop, nor was there a front counter. A few titles interested him. One was a leaflet titled Fire Magic in Hindi. Another was Unethical Spells for Dummies. Steve was most interested in the tome titled Basic to Intermediate Mana Theory. The title by itself was mundane, but the author especially caught his eye.
The tome was written by Archmage George W. Bush. Steve was going to ask his supervisor about that.
Steve left the shop with two books and no one stopped him. Am I stealing? There’s nowhere to pay… Steve hopped in the elevator and pressed the button for floor 157. The elevator smelled strongly of cigarettes and urine. The ride up itself was smooth. The elevator barely felt like it was moving as it shot upwards. The pedestrians on the sidewalk gradually turned to ants before a thin layer of fog obscured the ground.
The elevator slowly came to a halt and let out a ding. Steve bolted down the empty hallway toward his room. On one side he passed by numerous offices, while on the other were windows that reached the ceiling. Miles and miles of Seattle’s dreary scenery could be seen from the top floor. But Steve wasn’t interested. He slammed the door and locked himself in his room with his new, legitimately obtained books.
Steve flipped through Unethical Spells for Dummies. The book depicted numerous blueprints of mana circuits for heinous spells. Certain pages were entirely redacted, likely for legal reasons. Many of the spells were left alone because they weren’t fatal by themselves. One such spell that caught his eye was [Remote Blister], Circle 2.
[Remote Blister]
Inconspicuously apply a hex to someone’s clothes that can be activated remotely. Activation causes a small detonation above the target’s skin that will cause a small burn.
The spell was much too complicated for Steve, but the implications it held were immense. He could cast a spell that stuck to someone, and that could be remotely activated at a later date. If he learned how to alter it, he didn’t have to cause a small burn. He could do whatever he wanted, like a much larger detonation or cause a blood clot. A detonation that caused a full-body burn. Steve couldn’t help but laugh maniacally at the potential of magic.
Still, he didn’t possess the background knowledge required to learn an Upper Circle 2 spell. Or even decipher spell prints. Spells were divided into 10 circles, depending on complexity, power, and difficulty to learn. The average person with average intelligence couldn’t become much more than a 4th circle mage. The path one took as a paragon still greatly depended on aptitude.
Although Unethical Spells for Dummies was fascinating, he didn’t have the technical skill or knowledge to pull any of them off.
On the other hand, Basic to Intermediate Mana Theory by Archmage George W. Bush seemed much more promising. It focused primarily on basic theory and exercises, rather than practical spells. It explained the fundamental concepts of spellcraft that Steve didn’t even know existed. Leveraging the power of the mind to harness mana lies at the core of the Arcane. Magic allows man to freely transform matter into energy and vice versa, as long the conservation of energy is maintained. Those words echoed within Steve for hours. Magic can do anything except break the laws of the universe. Steve felt like a little kid again.
Steve brought the mug to his lips and sipped the steaming black liquid. He tuned out the soft bustle of the cafe as the bitter liquid slid down his throat. Still tastes like shit. He ordered a black American because he thought he would look cooler. Bernard ordered hot cocoa and looked to be enjoying it immensely. Steve reached into his backpack and pulled out a leather tome.
“Why exactly is George W. Bush an archmage?” Steve pointed to the lettering on the cover. It had been eating at his mind for days. So much so that he invited Bernard for coffee.
“Ah, good question. I can tell you now that you’re a paragon. Well, first, you should know that the North Atlantic Magic Association is an open secret. What I’m saying is wizards are real,” Steve’s jaw dropped slightly, but he hid it as he sipped his awful coffee. “They’re not even hiding online. You can even find their forums publicly. Everyone just thinks they’re pretending though. A lot of normal people have even joined in,” Bernard continued.
“This is crazy and all, but what does former president George W. Bush have to do with any of this?” Steve asked genuinely.
“What does he have to do with NAMA? Well, he’s widely considered to be the most powerful mage in modern history,” Bernard chuckled. It was such a curve ball that Steve choked on his coffee and fell into a coughing fit. Steve had much to learn about the world. Strange things have been going on long before the meteor shower I guess. The two chatted about mundane topics for a bit. The conversation died down after a little while. Bernard’s face turned serious.
“Your party has just been given its first quest,” Bernard said as he clasped his hands and rested his elbows on the table. Steve followed suit because it looked cool.
“Why is it called a quest and not a mission?” Steve asked.
“Missions are for slayers, you shitters get quests,” Bernard elucidated. Steve couldn’t help but feel a little hurt at being called a shitter. Bernard wasn’t wrong though. He had no skills useful in combat yet. “Anyway, you guys are supposed to close a gate on the outskirts of Yakima. A previously unknown meteor fragment was found a few weeks ago and opened a permanent rift,” Bernard explained. Steve had received an email about such a mission that morning. He must be worried about me, Steve thought.
“I know about that,” Steve interjected.
“I’m getting to it okay? Gosh,” Bernard pouted. “I need you to pay for gas. Those black SUVs your party will take guzzle gas the way I drink alcohol,” The dishonest-looking man clasped his hands together and begged.
“What?” That was all Steve could say.
“I gambled our department's yearly transportation budget on Counter-Strike skins when I was drunk last weekend,” Bernard answered with the most confident smile after confessing to a crime. Steve was once again at a loss for words. A few days ago, he wouldn’t have believed this man was serious. Steve was genuinely amazed at what one could accomplish with perfect teeth and a suit despite being grossly incompetent.
“You can’t just write it off or something?” Steve asked. He was a broke 20-year-old. He didn’t have money lying around.
“You don’t understand, we are $20,000 in debt, and I have three months to make our budget back,” Bernard said in an exasperated tone.
“That sounds like a YOU problem,” Steve responded curtly. “What do you think Weasel Guy would say if he found out?” Bernard’s face went white, and his lips stiffened. Steve raised an eyebrow. Bernard frantically began digging around in his coat pocket before producing a wad of cash.
“Please, don’t do that. Here’s 250 for gas. Just don’t mention it to him, please,” Bernard begged. Steve happily took the cash.
Steve flipped through his books on the floor of his room. Bernard had made it clear no one was getting any training, but Steve still needed an offensive skill so he wouldn’t die tomorrow. He didn’t have any skill points to buy skills or spells. Nor did he have the time to sufficiently understand mana theory to learn the most useful spells. He couldn’t just buy a bat and call it a day. Guns didn’t work on the scourge either. They just regenerated. He continued to mull for several hours until something caught his eye.
[Aura I] Briefly imbue an object with a small amount of mana
Steve read over the procedure several times looking for anything complicated. Luckily, it was very simple. It was in the back of the book because George W. Bush didn’t even consider it magic. He described it as barbaric, crude, and somewhat useful at times. Still, it would work on the scourge. Steve picked up the golf club he grabbed from his apartment the other day, along with all his important possessions. He began to concentrate the flow of his mana to his hand. His mana liked to listen to him. It flowed without much resistance and began to pool in his hand. He began to let it seep out of his hand.
Mana is volatile when incorrectly expelled from its vessel, Steve remembers. Sparks of blue flashed brilliantly as he wasted 20MP in half a second. Shit. He was having trouble getting the mana to climb and absorb into the club.
Several hours passed, and Steve consumed half of his mana pool. He was exhausted. He concluded that the bat was too large for him to imbue with his current skill. He had to try something smaller.