Saving the school would have been easier as a cafeteria worker

"This is harder than expected," Cal griped to himself, staring at the ceiling. "Right, let's try again." Cal's muscles coiled, and he sprang upwards. His fist found the smooth marble of the sanctum's roof.

The sensation of punching through stone was an old friend. Rocks had been his first training partner, later replaced by the bones around the cabin and then the beasts beyond the perimeter.

However, before he became intimately familiar with the feeling of stone crumbling against his knuckles, there had been another, more memorable experience. The marble, helpful as it was, decided to let him reminisce about it.

"Son of a fucking bitch," Cal hissed, landing roughly on the ground. He cradled his limp hand. The way it flopped resembled a leather bag filled with gelatin. "Stupid tower."

He glanced behind him, seeing the perfectly good door he could waltz through. That had actually been his initial plan, and he'd just about crossed it when he realized he had no explanation for what he was doing in the sanctum.

Cal had thought about using his speed to sneak past, but with everyone out there, the success of that was far from guaranteed. The solution that came to mind was simple.

Punch his way to the ninth floor first, and once he was no longer above where the sanctum was, punch his way down.

Was that eerily similar to the idea he ruled out for getting to this floor in the first place?

Yes, yes, it was.

However, he was no longer afraid of making a big entrance, as long as said entrance didn't come from the sanctum itself.

By that logic, would it not be easier to go downstairs via the pool and then proceed from there? It would make more sense for him to approach from the lower floor.

There were two problems with that. The first was that he'd only thought of it after his first punch had failed to open a hole in the ceiling. The second was…

That he failed to open a hole in the ceiling.

In an action that was becoming all too repetitive today, he cut the damaged limb free. It fell onto the floor, and a flick of a finger reduced it to ash.

"Yeah, laugh it up," Cal said, addressing the stone. "I'm pulverizing you."

It should have been expected that the marble that made up the sanctum was of a higher quality than the type used in the rest of the tower. Otherwise, these idiots wouldn't have had so much trouble trying to get inside.

That last attack had made the problem clear. Aside from its sheer durability, the second his fist made it past whatever finisher they had used to polish it, his shell had blinked out of existence. It was a startling development because he'd never outright encountered any anti-magic material.

Then again, it might have simply been absorbing his magic on contact. Which also shouldn't be a thing, because his control was nothing to slouch at.

Rather than mull over that further, Cal raised his good hand, lighting a flame in it. He began feeding it, the act not feeling painful on his wallet after gorging himself on the demon's core. It was such a meal that he hadn't finished, and it still sat in his pocket.

He was perfectly aware that, based on his previous observations, this tactic should fail. However, his track record of assaulting problems with increasingly large amounts of magic until they were defeated was stellar.

The ball of flame had barely grown when he took a step back. A block of marble fell, splashing into the water. It wasn't alone, and soon an entire section of the ceiling came cascading down, opening a neat hole for him to jump through.

Cal let the stones settle into the pond while he drew the magic from the unneeded manifestation back into him.

"I feel like this is one gift horse I should be looking in the mouth," Cal contemplated. With the opening, his senses were no longer blocked, and he picked through what they told him. "But no time for that."

He emerged on the ninth floor in the middle of an intersection. There were four paths open to him, and he knew just the one to take. A short jaunt down a hall and a kicked-down door later, Cal was not confronting the spirit like he had planned.

The consolation prize was still worth it.

"Young friend," a boisterous voice greeted him. It was hidden well, but Cal detected a shakiness in it. "I believe your good compatriots could use your assistance. Fear not, I shall tidy up the affairs here."

Basem stood in the center of the room. In his hand was a bundle of clutched papers. As soon as Cal's eyes landed on them, they froze over and shattered into hundreds of ice crystals.

Cal did his best to commit the rest of the area to memory before it could be destroyed. The room could be divided into two sections; one was rectangular, while the other was squarish and raised. He'd entered from the lower section, and from his vantage point, he judged this had once been a chapel. The stained-glass windows crowning the ceiling were a dead giveaway, but he could also imagine the floor space taken up by pews and altars.

In their place were crammed work tables laden with vials containing dubious liquids, specimens floating in clear jars, and metals twisted in a variety of manners. The few spaces that would not induce claustrophobia had magic circles drawn on the ground. On top of the largest of such was the corpse of a beast.

Cal stalked forward with measured steps.

"No, no, no," he wagged his finger, thankful his hand had already regrown for this encounter. "We're not glossing over you leaving me with the demon. Who does that? You realize I could have died, right? Hells, I think I might have. Look at me. I woke up in a pit looking like this."

He spread his arms wide, displaying his bloody self. The water from the pool had made it worse, smearing the viscera over him rather than cleaning it out.

"I'm sure you exaggerate," Basem replied easily, putting a confident smile on his face. "Your victory was assured. Fitting for someone of your stature, no?"

His stature?

"No," Cal said plainly. "Very much no."

It was tempting to yell in the man's face about his status as a bastard who happened to know his way around the Waste, but whatever fantasy Basem had cooked up in his head was probably more convincing than his actual cover.

"It seems I've found the one Empire subject with humility." Basem clicked his tongue. "In Shirai, the dullest silverware is tossed. It would do you well to abandon that trait. It makes you less. We may not yet be gods, but neither are we men."

Cal wasn't humble. He regularly mouthed off to some of the strongest people on the continent. If anything, he was worse than even the most egregious of Empire nobles. However, he could pick his battles.

"I'm going to punch you in the face," Cal stated factually while stopping a short distance from the man. "I would appreciate it if you didn't make a big deal about it."

As much as he wanted to thoroughly beat Basem up, there were bigger issues right now. A single punch was a generous compromise on his part.

"Stay your hand, young friend," Basem said. His voice was steady, but his hands dropped to his side, and a foot slid back. "I will ensure you are richly compensated for any perceived grievances."

Perceived? He was locked in a cage with a demon! They were very legitimate and reasonable grievances.

"Sounds great. I'm still punching you."

It was non-negotiable. He had to act now, or he'd never get a chance in the future. Neither the Empire nor the Federation would be thrilled at him attacking a diplomat from Shirai.

"That is…" Basem trailed off, presumably searching for the right words to placate him. "Very spirited. Nevertheless, your liege might think otherwise."

Cal picked up one of the jars, swirling it around to clear the murky liquid. Its contents were revealed to be a brain. It was the wrong shape and size to belong to a human.

"I'm more of a contractor," Cal said distractedly. He dropped the jar, allowing it to break on the floor before picking up a vial. Popping open the cork, he gave it a sniff before recoiling and throwing it to the side. "Found what you were looking for? I hope it wasn't those guys."

He waved a hand around the room. At the end of each gesture was a frozen body. Their expressions were iced over. One was slumped over the table, another looked to have tried to activate a circle, and the final two were in the midst of fleeing.

"They were complicit in the theft and learned things they should not," Basem replied in a crisp tone. "Transporting them for judgment with our current condition was not feasible, and as an Adjunctor, I saw to their sentences myself."

Cal was fuzzy on if that was legal in terms of what power the Adjunctors had. He knew there was some sort of council that assisted with their respective city's governing, but not what powers each party held.

Fortunately, he didn't really care about what happened to these people. If they had nothing to do with the grand summoning, they were better off dead.

"Don't think I missed how you dodged the question," Cal replied testily, growing impatient. "Here's the deal. I'm going to give you one good punch, and then we're going to go down and kill a spirit. Sound good?"

There was a bevy of acceptable answers—mainly yes, sure, and absolutely—but still, the man had choices.

Basem glanced around shiftily. He angled one shoulder back but made no further movements.

"That may be difficult," he said with a strained smile. "You see, I may have been a touch too enthusiastic and lost track of my reserves." Basem raised a hand while looking away. "A regrettable circumstance. They recover, but I'm in no state to be of assistance."

And Cal was a normal student whose greatest woes were deciding which table he'd sit at for lunch that day.

"That's a horrible excuse. You're in line to be a City Lord, and you're telling me you're tapped out?"

Basem's smile twitched, and his right hand seemed to tremble.

"I think you underestimate the expenditure involved in manifesting my Titan and Winter's Cradle."

Was he? He'd never used constructs himself and so didn't have a frame of reference for how costly they could be. His gut told him the man was trying to pull one over on him, and so what came next was simple.

Cal blurred. The tables in his path flew backward, and he reappeared in front of Basem. His fist streaked forward, and a shell shimmered under the brunt of his knuckles. The Adjunctor was blown back, slamming into a wall. Glass shattered, raining down as his body slid down. Basem hit the floor and stayed leaned up against the wall with his head down.

"Alright, I'm happy." Cal smacked his hands, satisfied with a job well done. "Points to you for taking it on the chin. A lot of people would have tried to dodge or fight back."

With that out of his system, he was ready to let bygones be bygones. He took another look around before shrugging and heading for the door.

There were no footsteps behind him.

Cal turned, seeing Basem sitting motionless.

"Playing dead?" Cal commented dryly, pacing up to the man. His chest was rising and falling, so he wasn't even trying that hard. "Really?"

He grabbed him by his shirt and hoisted him up. The material had a lot of slack, and Basem's head rolled to the side. Cal twisted his hold, seeing the man's head sway.

Oh. Oh, fuck.

If no plan survived contact with the enemy, was there any point in ever having one? These were the types of questions Cal asked himself as he readjusted an unconscious Basem on his shoulder.

Before he could reconsider anything, he slammed his foot on the ground. Cracks appeared, and an additional stomp made them grow. Cal summoned his full strength, and with a final blow, the ground beneath him gave way.

"C–Callum!?"

Hitting the ground, Cal fell to a knee, taking ragged breaths. His cargo slid off his shoulder, being deposited at his side.

"How are things?" he asked, subtly biting his tongue. "I'm feeling peachy myself."

He spat blood away from himself and used his sleeve to wipe his mouth.

Lily stared at him with wide eyes, and he took the moment to observe their state.

The important part was that everyone on his side was in one piece. Intellectually, he knew that would be the case, but seeing it with his own eyes was a relief.

The mercenaries were worse off, and only one still stood. Shards of glass hovered around him protectively, and he was backed into a corner. Cal followed his sight and saw that Benny was standing over a corpse. At the rate it was bleeding onto the floor, it was a recent kill.

Of the students, Benny was the only one extended, with Lily and Rolland standing in front of Ferguson, who sat on the ground, his brow scrunched up in concentration.

Craven stood opposite them. His center of gravity was low, and one hand raised an open palm toward them while the other was held behind him. In its grasp was a staff that Cal identified as the sash of twine he'd been wearing earlier.

"Ho–" Lily seemed to have trouble forming a sentence. "But I saw, no, I felt–"

Ferguson proved to have excellent timing, as he felt the tower shudder again.

"Insolence!" Craven yelled with a hoarse voice. He twirled his staff, and two patches of moss, each wider than his arm span, bubbled up, swelling in size. In a blink they had reached his waist, and the bundles tipped forward, spilling toward them.

Cal stretched his hands out, flames flickering on his fingertips.

"It can expel gas," Rolland said urgently. "The fumes can corrode, poison, or combust."

Swirling flames lashed out, splitting into two streams and burning into the moss. One side lit up immediately, and the line crackled like fireworks as the flames spread. The other side was more resilient, and while the moss slowed, it wasn't stopped.

He glanced at the person responsible for the flames, and she didn't meet his eyes as she stayed focused on pushing back the tide of moss. Her use of metal manifestations meant he knew she could utilize fire ones as well, but it stung to know she might be better at them than him.

A bevy of excuses started waving their hands in his head, begging to be picked. They faded away as he set his mind on the obstacle in front of him.

Cal moved in a wide arc, bypassing Craven's moss. There was yelling behind him, but he didn't let that impede his progress. He was approaching the growth mage when a wall of mass rose to stop him. Cal leaped up, twisting in the air so that he landed on the ceiling feet first. Another push, and he was in Craven's face.

His fist was intercepted by the tip of the staff. The man flipped his weapon, causing the force against Cal to disappear. With momentum guiding him, Cal landed behind Craven, straight into a patch of moss. An uncontrolled blaze erupted upon his landing. It cleared the immediate vicinity, but the foliage was stubborn and began creeping toward him.

Cal pressed off the ground and was met with the wall of moss he'd avoided earlier. It emitted a recognizable odor, and he flicked a small flame from his wrist while leaping away. The resulting blast pushed him further back, and he landed with whatever grace he could.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

He didn't wait for the smoke cloud to clear before barreling into it. His shell tingled as he felt the cloud try to eat away at him, but he paid that little mind as he swung where Craven should be. The staff met him again, and the man moved with deceptive fluidity as he maneuvered around Cal.

Before he could slip away, Cal opened his palm, grabbing onto the staff. It did not like that, and parts of the twine unraveled, stabbing into his hand. The pressure they exerted was powerful for their size, and he knew they'd burrow through his shell in time.

Time he was not giving them, as flames ignited on his hand. To his utter annoyance, they did not have a visible effect on the staff.

"Outsider," Craven growled.

The staff went slack, and new pieces of it grew outwards, wrapping around his fist and then traveling up his arm.

That was not good, and he did two things. The first was to increase the intensity of the flames, which didn't seem to help. The second was to punch Craven in the face.

Craven's willowy frame swayed like a reed as Cal's fist missed its mark. Seeing that fail, he swept a leg toward the man. Moss spurted upward, enveloping his leg and leaving both limbs captured.

While considering the merits of setting his leg on fire and weathering the likely explosion, the moss that was holding him was cleaved in two.

"What are you doing?" Lily demanded in a single breath.

He thought that was obvious.

"Fighting," he said, pulling his ensnared hand back to force Craven into his reach. The staff merely stretched, thwarting his attempts. "Duh."

The order of operations was straightforward. Kill this guy, then B.

Easy.

Lily went low, slashing at the man's legs. Cal's vision blurred, and a bout of dizziness overcame him.

Right, the gases. He probably shouldn't have been breathing. A quick flex of magic into the right places had his head cleared up. It was just in time to see Lily try to slice the staff in half. It bent, but it didn't break, and she tried to hack at it again when Craven's foot crashed into her abdomen, sending her careening away.

An idea flashed into his head. Cal stumbled back, tripping over his feet as he fell to the floor. His shell flickered, and thorns bit into his hand. They injected something into him, and he preemptively fought off the effects as Craven loomed over him.

A foot came down, trying to cave in his skull.

Cal didn't let it touch him, but he did let it get damn close before his free hand snatched the limb.

"Gotcha," he uttered with a grin, tightening his grip.

The man joined him on the ground, hitting it hard. Cal swung his arm the opposite way and the man's body followed it. Craven was prepared this time and his forearm extended, stopping his full body from impacting the floor.

The thorns inside of his hand wiggled, worming their way around his bones and severing the flesh they came in contact with. Cal focused hard on the pain, on what was causing it. His magic pierced into the plant matter, and he vied against Craven for control. That battle did not preclude him from slamming the man down again. Several times even.

Lily flickered into existence above them, and he kept his hold steady as both claws came down. The twine became completely undone, no longer resembling a staff as it formed a cage above Craven. It intercepted the attack, but the split attention gave Cal an opening, and his magic seeped further into the weapon.

"You–" the man's call was cut off, and his face turned hard.

The resistance in the weapon crumbled, and Cal found himself in control of the odd bundle of straw.

There wasn't much time to dwell on that as the surroundings dimmed. A tidal wave of moss threatened to swallow them.

Cal thought fast, jumping to his feet. Craven's leg came with him, and he swung the man into Lily, knocking her out of the tide's path. The moss crashed into him, spilling over his body. He felt the ooze try to corrode his shell, and then the pull of magic as the plant tried to eat its fill of him.

That wasn't going to work, and Cal loosened the faucet. He briefly wondered if the moss covering them was of the explosive variety before engulfing himself in flames. Cal felt himself sink into the marble as the localized inferno melted the stone. Tongues of fire lapped at his sides, incinerating any moss that dared near.

Craven's expression was hidden by the roaring flames, but he could feel the man's shell was still intact. Cal's hand snapped out, and the twine turned rigid. It was thrust toward its former master. The improvised spear point didn't break through immediately, and he took a page out of Craven's book. The tip split apart, slithering around the man's torso and sprouting thorns along its length.

A spike of magic that originated from neither of them caught his attention. The light from his flames seemed to dim and Cal released his hold on the man as he took distance. He retracted his new weapon as a blade of light struck down.

Blinding light, partially filtered by his shell, filled his eyes. He took some deep breaths, centering himself.

"I can't tell if this is teamwork," Cal huffed, making a show of his breathing. "Or kill stealing."

When it came to cultists, or people who summoned demons, two was always better than one. Of course, Cal wasn't referring to their number, but to how many pieces they should be in.

Craven lay sliced in half, Rolland panting as he knelt by the corpse. His blade rested between the severed halves of the man's head. The split crown clattered aside, pulsing erratically with magic before flickering out.

Hmmm. That could have probably cut through Cal's shell if he had let it connect.

"Parlay!" A shout was heard, and he turned to see that the glass wielder was locking blades with Benny. "The covenant is extinguished."

Benny backed up a step, looking toward Rolland, who had yet to recover. His eyes turned to Cal next.

Uh… what?

He gave a tentative thumbs up? Cal wasn't sure why his opinion was being asked in this scenario. His instinct had been to kill the mercenary, but maybe he would know more about this Watcher fellow?

"Finally," another voice sounded, this one tired and gritty. "Took you brats long enough." Ferguson rose, planting both feet on the ground. "Grab hold of something."

The floor was bare, so he wasn't sure what he was meant to grab. That seemed to matter little to the former Finger, and the man roared, swinging a fist high.

Cal had experienced the tower shudder many times since their arrival, and the one resulting from Ferguson's latest action didn't appear to be any different from its predecessors. So why was there a ghost of a smile on Ferguson's face?

B's power washed over the tower, and the structure jerked back into place. Ferguson's smile solidified, and his foot tapped on the ground once.

It was a small action, and Cal was beginning to believe the man had grown senile when the ground lurched. He was weightless for a moment as the tower shifted downward, only for the B's power to reverse the movement. Cal found his footing, preventing himself from being thrown to the ground.

Less could be said about the others.

"It's a dumb one. Didn't realize I was pulling the foundation up from under it." Ferguson stated to no one in particular, tapping his foot again. "Its power doesn't stretch that deep. All it can do is hold it up and pray." There was another tap. "And there goes the roof."

Cal looked up, not seeing what the man was talking about. He still didn't understand what the man had done when B blinked into existence on their floor. Its eyes were alight with rage, and a palm was raised toward Ferguson.

That was until it spotted Cal. It turned unnaturally still, as if remembering his existence.

"It's your fault," B intoned with a flat voice. "Blight. Defiler. Scourge."

Cal blinked at the expanded vocabulary, wondering what had changed. The seed felt hot in his pocket, and a hypothesis grew.

Any further rumination was put on pause as a column of light was blasted his way.

The last time he'd been hit by one of these, he'd lost an arm. Normally, the lesson learned from that would be to avoid such attacks in the future. Cal was not a normal person.

His wrist flicked, and the twine turned into a spear again. The weapon felt natural in his grasp, and he brought it down on the light. Cal's magic needled its way into the manifestation. The sheer weight behind the attack, along with the speed of its delivery, meant he had a split second before he would need to explain how he was able to grow a new torso.

It was enough, and the light parted, digging two moats on either side of him.

Cal was prepared for a follow-up and grew puzzled when none came. He wasn't sure what to make of the rage in B's eyes receding.

For that matter, the gazes of his companions weren't great either. Had they tussled with a spirit before, they would know their control was famously poor.

Mia would get it. Maybe. She'd at least spoken to A before.

There was a muted thud from outside. Many more followed it, and through the hole in the wall, Cal saw the new weather forecast. It called for hail in the form of boulders.

Ah. When Ferguson said the roof, he didn't mean the tower's roof. No, that would be silly. He meant the cavern's roof.

"Are you insane?" Lily barked. The delusion of an ally crumbled as he realized it was directed at him. "Why would you— no, dammit. Gah, I can't even be mad."

Cal fell to a knee again as the building lurched downward.

"I'll tunnel us out," Ferguson responded, evidently also thinking that was for him. "Don't you worry, lass."

The reassurance was short-lived as Cal's senses picked up a magic signature. It was distant, and not really a cause for concern. That threat assessment was predicated on it being a lone occurrence.

Which it wasn't.

"Maker's blessings," Basem's body shifted, and the man fought to stop himself from rolling as the building threatened to collapse under them. "What struck–"

"Guys," Cal interrupted, calling attention to himself. "Anyone want to double-check what I'm feeling?"

Two, three, or a dozen magical signatures would not cause him any alarm. He stopped counting once the number breached two hundred.

None of his schoolmates caught his meaning, and even Ferguson was slow on the uptake. Basem, on the other hand, turned very pale, very quickly.

He didn't say anything, but ice started forming on his body as he prepared to fight for his life. Through the window, Cal could see the first of the beasts crash into the ground.

"A wave," Ferguson uttered in disbelief. "On our heads? Gods be damned."

It was times like these that Cal remembered he had been offered to fill in as a low-level staff member. What a glorious alternative that would have been.

"It's my fault," B said, his voice rising. "It's my fault!"

The spirit pulled at its beard, thrashing its head around as it shouted at the world. Its palms whipped out, and rays of light were launched. The good news was that their lack of direction made them easy to dodge. The bad news was that each one was stronger than the last.

"Great," the mercenary remarked in a dry voice, his words almost drowned out by the growing howls of beasts. "That was five minutes of life I bought for myself."

A part of the tower was gouged apart by B's attack, and a beast hit the exterior of the tower, roaring into the opening. Shards of glass and ice penetrated its eyes, and it reared back. A slab of marble dislodged it completely, but Cal could feel several rushing to take its place.

Run. Running was a viable plan, right? Cal glanced at his group. Of them, Benjamin was the most likely to escape. However, that would require him abandoning Rolland, which was a non-starter.

The chilling presence of the void was ever present. With its aid, he was impervious to the wave. His companions were less so, but he'd saved people in the hells themselves.

It was doable.

All it would cost was the thin veneer of humanity he clung to. It wouldn't be the first time he'd shed it, yet there was a consequence that accompanied it.

He'd bear it. He always had.

Cal's magic began building inside of him, his shell thickening as he prepared to bring what he had to the surface.

"The relic," Lily's voice reached him, causing him to take pause. "Who has the relic?"

Hold on now…

Benny reached into his breastplate, producing the Wayfinder.

"It failed–"

His argument was cut off as she snatched it from him, and she looked at them angrily.

"Now and then are different. Get over here," she demanded, her face scrunching up. "If it has an intelligence, it will know how screwed we are."

Cal didn't dawdle, dodging the arcs of light as he approached her swiftly. The others moved quickly, if at different paces due to their injuries. A beast burst through another opening, and he didn't hesitate to fill its face with a glut of fire, forcing it back.

"NO!" B regained its faculties, and by that, he meant it noticed their plan and launched a column of light toward their gathering.

As the resident spirit wrangler, Cal swept his spear, tearing the magic apart as he had last time. There was a follow-up, and he tore it asunder, noticing how it had taken him the slightest bit longer than before.

That wasn't good.

"Any second now," he urged, maintaining his position.

Rolland and Ferguson were the last to slide behind him, and that foreign power came not a breath later. His vision went dark, and to his chagrin, the first thing he saw was a column of light. He sliced it a moment later, knowing it was a likely outcome.

"Ferguson, cover," Cal ordered, pulling back as a wall formed between him and the next beam. Ferguson braced himself behind it, reinforcing it while grumbling about his lost weapon. "Hand it."

He realized asking was a waste of time and took the golden compass from a rigid Lily.

"Listen, you piece of scrap," he threatened in a low whisper, injecting his magic into it. "You better work or I swear to your dead creators I will–"

It activated, the needle spinning as it rose from his palm. Cal focused on the power it pushed out as his vision faded again.

All at once, the signatures of the beasts and spirit disappeared from his senses. The thundering of the boulders, the roars of the beast, and the ranting of B seemed like a distant memory to his ears.

What replaced it was an eerie silence, broken only by his companions' labored breaths and his racing heart.

There was no longer any chaos. There was only certainty.

Certainty that they walked amongst death.

Half of his party collapsed, falling to their knees as the ambient magic attempted to force itself inside them. They must have been surprised, both at its potency and flavor.

On top of a hill, just behind the rising sun, was a black monolith.

Home sweet home.

The compass fell into his palm, and he stared at the traitorous object.

Okay. Very funny. He'd take the wave, please.