The words of Cleric Valentine echoed in my head as I went back to Hell—well, class, but I could not see a difference. Sitting for hours listening to Dean chatter away, I wondered if he ever got tired of talking.

DEAN

One pipe out of you,

He said, locking his eyes on me as I entered,

DEAN

I am sending you right back.

Respect Dean... How? I wondered as I took my seat in front of Delve.

DELVE

Father's bitch.

Delve hissed from behind me.

I disregarded his hushed remark. I took the charcoal pencil into my hand and took myself into my mind, a place of never-ending imagination, while my hand moved on its own, jotting down every word that came out of Dean's mouth. Doing this every day for fifteen years, my ability to listen, write, and daydream was so perfected that even I was surprised.

CAIN

Instructor Dean!

I awoke from daydreaming of being an adventurer at the sound of Cain's voice—Master Cain. We all sprang to our feet as Cain stomped towards Dean.

DEAN

Yes, Master Cain.

Dean stood calmly despite Cain's scowl, and they stood eye to eye.

CAIN

Care to explain to me why there was a fire in your barracks?

Dean glanced at me, but I kept my expression blank and my eyes forward just past Cain's short, buzzed auburn hair.

DEAN

Might have been—

CAIN

Might have!? You do not even know what is happening under your nose?

Cain's pure black eyes cast a glance my way and at others briefly, before he continued,

CAIN

I do not care what it might have been. Your students! Your barracks! Your fire! Come!

He gestured for Dean to follow, and they headed for the door. Cain stopped and observed the class,

CAIN

Are you just going to leave them here? Then another fire happens here in the classroom that might have been the students you did not have your eyes on!

Dean tightened his jaws as he faced the class,

DEAN

Come along, class.

And we followed them out of the classroom toward the barracks. I did my best to stay up front while avoiding the shoving and pushing of the others. We reached the entrance to our barracks, and I stood on my toes to see Delve's wooden dresser and cabinet badly burnt.

CAIN

So, it might have been what?

DEAN

Pain.

He said that right away without a second guess.

CAIN

Pain!?

He nearly smiled as he strode towards Delves' cabinet and picked up the ruined oil lamp, holding it for Dean to see. He then stomped over to the front of the footboard and read the engraved name,

CAIN

Hmm... Delve.

He shot Dean a glare, and Dean looked over to Delve.

DELVE

I turned it off!

Delve exploded.

DEAN

To the Fathers—

CAIN

Again!?

Cain interrupted. He stomped over to Dean and stopped just in front of him before thrusting the burnt lantern into his arms.

CAIN

Maybe if you call a Father down here to see them out, this might have never happened. If this happens again, I will be sure to lock you and your entire class in these barracks and let the flames have at you!

He pushed past Dean,

CAIN

Out of my way, you dirty insects!

And with that, he vanished. Dean materialized a Scryer from his robes, a small enchanted hand-held glass resembling a mirror used for distant communication to call down a Father. Dean knew I was the one who did it, and so did Cain, Delve, Hugo, and probably the rest of the class, who were not so daft.

Hmph... I quickly realized every time I was sent to the Fathers, it was because I lost control of my temper. I decided to try my best and control my anger—for Valentine's sake.

But despite my perfectly planned revenge, I felt quite uneasy about Valentine. Every year, I make a friend, but every year I also lose someone close to me. It has been going on for as long as I can remember, and Sora Tinhelm was my last friend who died two years ago from brightshroom poisoning.

SORA

You need to get him back.

His voice echoed in my head. I smiled to myself, remembering his love for revenge.

SORA

Bastards need punishment. If people wanted revenge, they should act upon it—let it feed their passion to seek justice—rules created by the strong and privileged. But there were some who did not know how to properly enact revenge—they were sloppy and impatient.

That gave me the conviction that he was deliberately poisoned. He ceased being heedful at some point, and it cost him his life.

But I had no time to mull over that as we returned to the classroom for at least another hour of lectures and writing. Afterward, by the fourth hour, we were finally released to the mess room to eat our first meal of the day.

Unlike the previous sub-levels, the last sub-level was shared with the other classes—four classes total, but only three were present. The mess room had a vibrant red glow, illuminated by Petty Lighting Crystals welded upon a dozen pillars that held up the mess room. On a daily rotation, an instructor would be assigned to watch over us as we ate. Ironically, Hugo's old Instructor, Malakai, watched over us today.

We had no servants to give us food, any plates to hold our food in, nor any silverware to eat with. Near the front of the mess room were three stalls filled with either bread, dried meat, or a pile of fruits and vegetables, most of which were rotten and aging.

I walked up to the pile of dried meat and scanned through them with my eyes. Along with the pile of dried meat were oversized boiled eggs—of which animal or fiend, I did not know. But I searched the stack for two or three eggs every meal.

Making my way to sit in front of Hugo while carrying two massive eggs, my bare feet scratched against the unpaved stone floor, and I arched my feet to prevent the discomfort of the loose pebbles burrowing into me.

HUGO

Do you never get tired of eating that?

Hugo asked once I took my seat.

PAIN

I never get tired of eating.

I placed down my large eggs, and Hugo moved his pile of jerky away from being crushed.

PAIN

I told you before, right?

HUG

Told me what?

He garbled, chewing his jerky like a horse.

PAIN

With boiled eggs,

I cracked the shell of the first one.

PAIN

Nobody, not even the cook, can tamper with it.

Delve, done with his meal, stopped at my side.

DELVE

I know you did it.

I refused to acknowledge him, as did Hugo, smiling after he caught my unwavering gaze.

PAIN

As for that meat, you are eating—

DELVE

I will get you back.

PAIN

—it could have been all over the floor, rubbed along someone's backside, or spat on.

Hugo's chewing slowed down as he gave me a side-eye.

HUGO

What the hell, Ire.

He grumbled, and I grinned at him,

PAIN

I know I told you before.

HUGO

But while I am eating?

He swallowed in disgust, and Delve, realizing he could not garner my attention, parted.

For a short while, Hugo and I dined in solitude. I wanted to ask if he was afraid but wondered if he would be bothered by it. Hmph, it bothered me, and I was not even an adult yet. Hugo was an adult, and so was Oralan, so eventually, they would go missing.

I stared at my half-eaten egg and remembered when I was younger; I noticed nothing. But as I got older, I began to notice that students over the age of fifteen simply disappeared. Some other students were still oblivious to it, some worried, and those like Sky and Delve laughed at it.

I looked over at Oralan sitting alone two tables down and studied his solemn purplish face sullied by sporadic black lines. He rested his head on his hand as he poked at his food. He scratched his dark purplish hair and suddenly locked eyes with me. His crimson eyes scowled at me before I turned away.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

I took a deep breath,

PAIN

Are you worried about—

HUGO

Not really.

I looked at him, and he was grinning with a mouth full of jerky.

HUGO

You were thinking about it. I could read it on your face.

PAIN

How are you not worried?

He shrugged,

HUGO

I try not to think about it.

I looked back down and grabbed my second egg.

HUGO

You have no fear yourself. Slitting your wrist and all.

Hmph, I had plenty of fear. None of which was dying, though.

PAIN

What do you think happens? Where did we go when we die?

He smiled again and shrugged,

HUGO

That will be me thinking about it. But that is not the answer you want, huh? The truth is, I do not know.

He looked around the mess room briefly.

HUGO

I know you are going to be alone...

I shook my head as I cracked my egg and began to peel off the shells.

PAIN

No worries.

I stared at the egg.

PAIN

I am getting used to this cycle.

I smiled back at him, and he grinned back at me.

HUGO

Try not to think about it.

I nodded, but that was impossible for me.

After our first meal of the day, we returned to the lectures in the classroom. Dean rambled on about the achievements of Master Cain the Executioner—something we have already learned. At the ripe age of fifteen, Cain enlisted in the Holy Knights. During the War of Rebels, he garnished fame for being a ruthless executioner of captured prisoners.

Afterward, Dean went into math, biology, and another reiteration of the Fire Kingdom's recent history. Meanwhile, I was thinking about what Cleric Valentine said about seeing into Limbo. Was that even possible? I should have questioned him on why and how he did it, but now, I doubt I would get another chance. I had a horrible feeling I might never see him again.

The tenth hour was upon us, and we were again herded into the mess room to eat our second meal. Afterward, back into the lectures, and by the twelfth hour, Crisis and Delve went into a trance—their eyes rolled into the back of their heads, and their hands moved at lightning speeds, writing furiously throughout the book.

Red mana energy swirled around them, forcing others and me to vacate our seats. We all watched silently because Dean believed in the possibility of an opened spell book—something that could destroy the Fire Kingdom. I did not for once believe in such possibilities. Why would a King permit something as dangerous as that to occur under his nose?

However, Dean believed that disturbing someone while spell writing could prevent the spell book from sealing afterward, causing it to cast its spell wildly and to an insane degree.

After spell writing, Delve and Crisis were sent to rest as they became too fatigued and sore to function. While we listened to Dean's lecture, Hugo entered a trance just before the twentieth hour. We all stared in silence once more.

DEAN

Everyone around you but you,

He mumbled at me and grabbed the Spell Book: Fire from Hugo's desk.

We were instructed to finish our last meal at the twenty-hour mark before writing independently in the writing rooms, which were located on a lower floor. This level was barred off from the upper levels by a lockable warded door, and we were to stay down here writing until the twenty-third hour.

The writing rooms were a labyrinth of staircases and hallways that led to cramped square chambers lined with bookcases and lit by shabby candles that melted between two tables. The other remarkable thing about these writing rooms was that they could detect magic. It was meant to see which student went into a trance but could also detect which student was casting Fire. I never write in these rooms—I usually read alone or with Hugo.

I looked along the bookshelves and spotted a book I read long ago—The Way of Pain, by Leon Night; a favorite because of the name and how it taught brutal ways of harming your victims. We were meant to copy the book's contents into another blank book, hoping to enter a trance. But after attempting to copy the contents once, at about five years old and suffering wrist pain, I never did it again. So, instead, I would sit and just read the entire book before moving on to another book.

Looking for another book by the twenty-one-thirty hour, I stumbled across a title that made my heart jump—Stories of Limbo with no author. Valentine's words came flooding back at the sight of this book.

I was just about to start reading Stories of Limbo when Delve came down the stone steps with his cronies, Murray and Brown.

DELVE

By yourself now.

They surrounded me,

PAIN

I am always by myself.

I closed the book and stood. Murray lunged at me in an effort to negate my advantage of being prepared. My arms gave me longer reach, and I crashed my fist into his face. He cried out in pain as blood squirted out from his nose. However, I persisted and swiftly rammed my feet into the top of his chest. He flung back and smashed his head into the wooden bookshelf—dammit, I was aiming for his throat. Brown grabbed me from behind, and I kicked off the table, smashing him into the bookshelf.

DELVE

Hold him still!

Delve leaped over the table as I bashed my elbow into Brown's nose. But Brown refused to let go, allowing Delve to repeatedly punch me across the jaw. He paused when he saw my goofy, bloodied grin.

PAIN

My turn.

And I slammed my heel into Brown's toes—he still refused to let go. Delve swung and missed as I pushed away, slightly lifting myself into the air. I came down with my entire weight on Brown's toes and felt the brutal crack.

He screamed in agony, and I broke free as Delve swung—missed me but struck Brown across his wailing face. I followed up, smashing the back of my fist into Brown's jaw—shutting him up. Delve attempted to flee, but I sprang over the table and crashed into him.

He slammed into the books and fell. Before he could stand up, I kicked him in the face, causing his teeth to pierce my foot. But I continued and slammed my feet down on the back of his head to collide his face with the stone ground.

After two stomps, his body went limp—did I kill him? I stared at him, my heartbeat shaking my entire body. No—he was still breathing, and the urge to continue overcame me. But then I figured it would be better for him to live with a messed-up face, so I dragged him up the stairs and into an empty writing room. I returned for the other two and piled their bodies next to Delve's.

Murray stirred awake with a moan and locked eyes with me.

MURRAY

Damned monkey,

He mumbled.

PAIN

I am five years older than you bastards,

I spat at him and turned to leave.

PAIN

And far stronger. Think about that next time.

I returned to my writing room, sat before the desk, and opened Stories of Limbo. I learned it was a collection of stories and tales of people's claims to the afterlife. Only a few had similar stories about constant pain while experiencing the afterlife. The rest were vastly different, but they fit the narratives of the ten realms of Limbo. In one account, people claimed they were compelled to pray to and exalt a fearsome deity with unbridled power, even though Heaven was described as a joyful paradise.

The last story I read before the twenty-third hour was about a gent named Dante, who claimed this life was his second, and he escaped Hell with the aid of a friend who resided in Asgard. Stumbling through Limbo, his soul was reborn into a newborn baby. Interesting...

I closed the book and rushed to the washrooms on the same level as the classrooms. One by one, we arrived, and Dean stood by, eyeing us with contentment. There were four washrooms for the four classes—small cubical rooms with six stalls harboring pumped showers.

A dressing hall led into our washroom, where we would undress and redress—wearing the same dirty clothes after our shower. What a pain...

Since only six of us could enter at a time, we stood in line with our nakedness shown to each other as we waited our turn.

I eyed the fresh scars on Amburlo's back—his Father did not heal his wounds, leaving stains of dried blood blotting the scars. Fathers were not obligated to heal our wounds—only a few did—which says much about our Clerics.

I felt Dean's eyes on me, but I paid him no attention. He was probably blaming me for the absence of Delve and his cronies. He could, of course, go get them and keep his obnoxious glare off of me. But as I entered the washroom, Delve and his battered cronies arrived. Dean gave them an earful, but I could not listen as the thumping sound of pumping water pummeled my ears.

Like everything else on this fifth level, the washrooms were made of stone. Though, unlike the range, the stalls were separated by stone-layered walls. Inside one stall was a series of pipes, levers, and knobs. I exhaled in annoyance at having to mess around with all of these just to get cold water to spray out of the shower. Since scribes could use Fire, we heated the neck of the nozzle.

Locking the latch, I took the tiny worn-out soap block—soap pebble—and attempted to clean myself. I tried to think back to the last time I washed my back. Even if I could reach back there, I would not dare rub soap across my wounds. The sting of water running down my back was annoying as it was.

After our shower and finding and redressing in our tattered clothing, we stood back in a line facing the opposite way. While serving a maid, I remembered handing her a drying cloth to dry herself off. But, unfortunately, we had nothing of the sort.

I spotted Delve with his nose deformed, lip busted, and a dozen minor scratches across his face. He felt my glare, and I knew he did, yet he remained looking straight ahead. Serves the bastard right.

By the twenty-fourth hour, we were back in our beds, and as everyone fell asleep, I stayed awake, wondering how in damnation, Dean figured I had slit my wrists the other night. Finally, I rolled over and pulled open the first drawer of my cabinet.

It was gone—the wooden chip from the range stall I had secured and sharpened. I quietly closed the drawer shut as I fixed my gaze upward. Sudden flashes of Valentine, my imagery of Limbo, the memory of slamming my feet down upon Delve's head, and all the times I had been whipped by a priest other than Valentine, all of those squinty thoughts ran through my mind.

Light came down on me, and I opened my eyes. My loyal subjects stood before me in the form of demonic shadows. However, I could look around unlike in my last dream. I was in a hall resembling the Fire Kingdom's throne hall, but there were no walls, revealing a void of black and gray smoke. I was in Limbo. I was sure of it, yet a tingle of joy rose within me as my eyes traced the pristine red and gold carpet leading toward the hall's entrance. Above me was a floating enchanted glass ceiling that bathed me in warm light. But as for my subjects, the light did not reach them. Their bodies were low to the ground, seemingly bowing down to me with their unwavering red eyes staring at me from within the shadows of Limbo.

PAIN

Fascinating...

My voice echoed in the distance before I jolted awake. Along with the other students, I hopped out of bed and stood in line. Dean's eyes momentarily traveled up and down my body.

DEAN

To the classrooms.

Hmph... Another day, another cycle, I thought. We all turned to move out—

ORALAN

Where is Hugo?

I turned back—Hugo was nowhere to be seen. I clenched my jaws—

HUGO

Try not to think about it.

His voice echoed in my head. How could we not? How could I not think about it? My eyes watered, but I blinked the tears away. I could feel stares bouncing off my body and I refused to show weakness.

I breathed heavily—we rarely talk about the disappearance of older students. Not a soul has even dared to challenge Dean about it. Rumors floated around among all the classes and the maids, with the most notable one reining supreme—they were killed off.

DEAN

Who?

He questioned blankly.

ORALAN

Hugo!

Oralan was rightfully scared as he was of age to disappear.

DEAN

The Fathers would know.

He said surprisingly calmly.

DEAN

You should ask them.

He pulled out his Scryer.

ORALAN

You never told us what happened!

In a state of fear, he searched the room for assistance. Sky and Crisis giggled like idiots while the rest of us watched the events unfold.

DEAN

The Fathers will inform you.

Dean stated softly.

ORALAN

No...

He shook his head, and tears rolled down his eyes,

ORALAN

They kill us... they slay us when we are of age!

Dean stayed quiet, and a memory seeped into my head from a book I once read, Silence is the admission to guilt. I shook off the memory as two fathers arrived.

Oralan lost it—

ORALAN

No!

—and began to cast Fire at the Fathers. Other students and I leaped out of the way as his Fire pelted off the Fathers' wards.

ORALAN

I do not want to die!

He sobbed as the Fathers got close to him. One held up his ward while the other conjured golden magical chains to wrap around Oralan.

I watched, unable to blink from the safety of my cot. Fucking idiot! Any student who attacked an instructor was sentenced to torture and life in prison! Not just here among the scribes, anywhere within the castle.

ORALAN

I do not want to go to Limbo!

He wailed, and I clenched my jaws harder at seeing him being dragged out. He kicked and screamed to no end. His fearful face was too much to bear that I nearly wanted to scream out against the Fathers. He grabbed my bedpost, almost pulling my bed along before a Father seared his hand with flames. I was never fond of Oralan, yet seeing him in such a state was painful. I understood his fear and saw the horror in his eyes. I had to look away, but his screams of fear echoing from the hall rang in my ears.

DEAN

Now,

He stated as if nothing had happened.

DEAN

To the classrooms.