Strength Based Wizard (Book 1 COMPLETE)

Considerations

By the time Liv drops me off back at the job site, it's nearly sunset. My car—window patch job and all—is thankfully still right where I left it. Luckily, I had parked far enough from the site that I don't need to worry about getting into any sort of trouble for returning to the Gate after the incident with the Gate Crashers. Even from down the road, I can tell the entire site is a hive of activity.

"I wonder if the Black Gate is still there," says Liv, staring down at her phone. She stops chewing her gum—some of that cheap yellow stuff with the colorful animal on the package—just long enough to blow a small bubble, before snapping her mouth shut on it.

It's like she's reading my mind. "Er—how'd you know about the Black Gate?"

My sister holds up her phone. "The news. Dummy. It's all over Reddit."

Right. That makes perfect sense.

"Thanks, again. For the ride," I say as I shuffle out of the passenger seat.

"Sure," Liv says. She eyes me, and I can tell there's a question behind her teeth, knocking for air. Instead, she just shrugs. "See you back at home."

I wave as she drives off down the road and towards the highway onramp.

Then, sighing, I stretch my arms over my head, bending side-to-side. "Man, I'm itching for a workout…"

Good ole' Diesel Athletic Club. I know I'm outgrowing this gym (if I haven't already). But it has something none of those new state-of-the-art gyms with all the latest System-enhanced technology could dream of having: it feels like a second home. It feels like my gym. And noting's better than walking into your gym and finding the whole place practically to yourself.

I'm three minutes into a steep incline walk, skin already glistening with sweat. I'm at max incline and the treadmill's top speed. My phone is propped up in front of me, a group chat open on my screen.

"Team Work Make the Dream Work"

>Joseph: You guys around tonight? Extraction job today was weird.

<Joseph sent an alien head emoji.>

>Joseph: wouldn't mind blowing off a bit of steam.

I don't give details. Maybe they're more on top of current events, and smart enough to put two-and-two together, like Liv had been.

Clyde responds almost immediately, which is surprising.

>Clyde: why are you still wasting time on freelance garbage? You should be training.

I send back an eye roll emoji.

Clyde responds with a "GIT GUD" gif from a video game that I recognize but can't name.

Veronica finally chimes in.

>Veronica: can't tonight! got a date

<Nail painting emoji>

<Joseph reacted to a message: !>

>Joseph: Ooo la la! a date?!

>Clyde: you should be training too

>Veronica: I have been. You would know.

>Veronica: If you talked to us more often.

>Veronica: I've been getting better at using some new Skills.

>Joseph: BORING! Tell us about this date!

>Veronica: trying that new app out. System Match.

System Match? I think. Oh yeah!

It's the new dating app for registered System Users only. It syncs up with official records and tracks Level, Class, and Rank. The app was meant to be a solution to the issues of dating between System and non-System enhanced persons. It also had the allure of a more selective dating pool.

>Joseph: how's that been?

>Veronica: just got my account this morning. I had to go to a Guild office for an official scan to get my new Level and Class entered into my official record.

>Joseph: no way! Did you join the Guild?

>Veronica: Nope! But am in their network now as a preferred freelancer.

>Joseph: Nice.

I almost trip over my feet as I try to type and walk at the same time. Sweat is now rolling into my eyes, and I blink through the burning sensation as I work out another message.

>Joseph: speaking of Guilds. I got reached out by one. Harvest Guild. Meeting with them tomorrow.

Pause.

>Clyde: never heard of them. Be careful. Don't sign anything yet. You need to take some of the assessments.

>Clyde: Joe, I mean it man. You're awesome. You shouldn't sign up with any third rate Guild. You're better than that.

Pause.

>Clyde: Veronica on the other hand…

>Veronica: SAY THAT TO MY FACE ASSHOLE!

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

<Clyde laughed at a message>

<Joseph laughed at a message>

>Joseph: no promises. Will let you guys know how it goes.

>Clyde: back to training. talk later

>Joseph: good luck. And Veronica, good luck on your date!

<Joseph sent flexing arm emoji>

As I wrap up my warm up cardio, I meditate on the day's events. On my fight against the Gate Crashers. Playing the fight back in my head, I think about how agile of hand-to-hand fighters those masked guys had been.

That's when an idea blossoms in my head.

Smiling, I re-open my phone and thumb through my contacts. Quickly finding who I'm looking for, I type a quick message and hit 'send.'

The room smells sterile in that clean, mechanical sense that triggers a deep, primordial fear somewhere within my mind. The walls look like a padded cell designed by IKEA. It's one of the new System User sparring rooms: a public facility, State-funded, available to the public for a reasonable hourly rate, and built to survive people like me throwing punches powered by metaphysical cheat codes.

It's the size of a half-court basketball gym, with padded walls, padded floors, padded ceilings. The guy at the check-in desk swore it could handle high-impact martial Classers throwing each other around, even low-tier magic. But also said, and I quote, "If you nuke it, you buy it."

Apparently, the rooms that could handle powerful destructive Spells were still being piloted almost exclusively by Guilds. Go figure.

"I've sparred a few Spellcasters here," says Kyle, readjusting the gym bag strap across his shoulder. "Rooms have surprisingly good resistance technology built into the floor and walls. Fire blasts didn't leave a mark."

Good to know.

Kyle is my jiu jitsu coach, and now my soon-to-be System sparring partner. Five-foot-eight of coiled muscle, tanned skin, curly black hair, a thick beard that would make any Roman sculpture blush, and cauliflower ears that look like someone took a cheese grater to a Nerf football. All this to say: Kyle is an absolute badass.

After my fight against the Gate Crashers, I knew I needed help. Wizard's Fist is my signature Spell. But those guys made my spectral fists look like limp dicks as they backflipped around them and made the fight close-and-personal. Despite my Strength score, I'm still a new fighter. I didn't stand a chance back there if I didn't have [Levitate] to bail me out. I knew I needed to train how to use my Spells and fight if an enemy tried to engage with me directly. Ideally, I'm casting Spells from the backline like any good caster. That Gate job had taught me that it's not always my choice. So, that's where Kyle comes in.

Kyle had been eager to take my up on the sparring request, instead of the usual one-on-one grappling lesson. I explained to him that I was a Spellcaster, but wanted to practice getting up close and personal with my opponents. He understood completely.

Kyle doesn't smile. He never does when we spar. That warm and wide, toothy grin of his melts away as soon as we're on the mat. And maybe he's less incline to show kindness and mercy when I've got four floating fists of arcane muscle hovering behind me like angry, translucent boxing gloves.

[Wizard's Fist]—Lefty, Righty, and their new cousins: Punchy and Clobbo.

"Go," he says.

I'm happy to oblige. Go, I mentally command.

The fists shoot forward with a silvery shimmer, cracking the air like small sonic booms. Kyle's feet blur, and I swear the bastard glides across the mat, taking to the air like he's running up a flight of invisible stairs.

Wind Dancer.

That's the name of his Class. He explained it to me before we started our first spar of the morning.

"You explained that you're a Spellcaster. And your main offensive Spell. It's only fair that I tell you this."

Wind Dancer is a melee martial class. A bare-fisted fighter built around chaining combo attacks, with an additional focus on speed and agility buffs and stunning strikes that slow and cripple his enemies.

After he had finished explaining, I gulped and realized I may have made a small mistake. But it was too late to back out now!

He weaves between the first two fists, palm strikes the third so hard it fizzles like a popped balloon, his hand enforced with mana. He then roundhouse kicks the fourth, sending the meaty phantom fist spiraling through the air. All the while, he continues to move through the air, slicing an arcing path towards me.

But I'm ready. I flex, striking a quick crucifix pose, before slamming my fists out in front of me.

I cast [Force Blast].

The beam of kinetic energy launches itself at Kyle point blank.

The shorter man is too quick, though, and he spins to the side, flipping in a tight curl before landing on the padded floor in a crouch. He looks up at me.

"I thought you said your Spells were about these magical hands?"

"I never said it was my only Spell," I say, shrugging, but unable to hide the sheepish smile on my face.

Kyle's face darkens slightly, growing more serious. His entire body blurs, like someone took an entire eraser to his form. I blink and he's inches from my face, body twisting into another roundhouse kick. I'm barely fast enough to throw my right arm up and block it. I mentally summon my three remaining Wizard's Fists to my side.

Fists clash like jackhammers. An elbow like wrecking ball crashed into my shoulder with a sickening crunch. Then there's a spinning kick to my ribs that knocks the air out of my lungs.

A System message flashes across my vision.

You have triggered [Hold Your Ground]! You have successfully resisted an effort to be physically moved.

I swing back. Raw, brute force. I may not be as technically sound of a fighter as Kyle, but I knew the basics of throwing a good one-two punch, and had a big Strength score to back it up.

He ducks. I punch the air so hard it makes a noise like a whip crack. My fist accidentally slams into one of the Wizard's Fists and the swing is so hard that it eviscerates the Spell-formed fist, turning it into a cloud of silvery dust.

Kyle's under me now, hand snaking through my guard, leg locking mine out with practiced ease. My back slams onto the padded floor. I try to get back to my feet, but he's behind me and on my back before I know it. He wrenches himself backwards.

Arm bar.

I tap. As fast as I fucking can. Not fast enough to still feel the painful stretch in my shoulder joint.

He lets go and rolls to a crouch, breathing evenly. I flop onto my back like a dropped gym towel.

"Again?" he asks, standing.

"I mean…yeah," I wheeze. "If you want to keep feeding your ego."

Now that the spar is over, he's all smiles again. He laughs. But through my [Perception] I notice that one of his eyebrows twitches.

I get back on my feet, summoning a new entourage of Wizard's Fists again. "Think you could take it a little easier on us this time? I need practice using all of these hands in concert. And… Well, shit man. You're too damned fast."

Kyle laughs. "Sure, no problem," he says.

This time I throw the punches first, and I'm the one who chooses to stay close. Trying to box him while having each of my fists follow up with specific combos. The mental strain of actually controlling and instructing the fists in combat, instead of letting them go rogue, is challenging.

And it doesn't work.

After a few minutes of Kyle mostly dodging while sprinkling in a few penetrating kick and punches, he closes in. He practically floats through my defenses. Another flurry. Another blur of movement. Another arm bar.

Tap, tap, tap! I yield!

Kyle lets go, smoothly rolling to his feet.

"Maybe I should rename my Class to Tapping Technician," I groan. "Two tap outs is so lame."

This time, he isn't smiling. "You're thinking too much. I can see it in your face when we fought. Try reacting a little more."

He offers me a hand up. I take it, groaning as he helps pull me to my feet. I dispel the remaining Wizard's Fists floating around me.

"Can I walk you through a couple of things?" he asks.

I perk up at the request. "Hell yeah, man! No pride here. If you've got pointers, I'm all ears."

We're exiting the sparring room, and as I towel the sweat off my face, I ask Kyle, "Hey, Kyle… you ever been to the Schvitz Social Club?"

His lets out a short bark of laughter, which sounds almost like a sea lion.

"Yeah," he says. "I have."

I blink. "Wait, really?"

"Sure he says, wiping his brow with a small white towel that is somehow less soaked than mine, despite him doing five times the ass-kicking.

"Huh. I've never even heard of it until yesterday. Got invited there this afternoon."

Kyle raises an eyebrow.

"Uh… Guild meeting, I think."

"Unique place for a meeting. But the Schvitz is great."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. It's old-school. A real Cleveland institution. Hole in the wall building. Nothing else around it. But hell of an experience. I always walk out feeling like a million bucks!"

I blink. "That actually sounds… kind of amazing."

"It is," he says. "Extremely hot sauna. Sweat everything out. Then a quick cold plunge. Best thing for sore muscles."

"I could definitely use that," I say, rubbing the spot on my ribs where he had landed a couple of kicks that could've registered on the Richter scale.

He claps a hand on my shoulder, his grip like a vice made of meat. "Just don't forget to hydrate. And uh… wear sandals. Trust me. As awesome as that place is, it's… Well, you'll see."

"Noted." I say, looking forward to my meeting with Mr. Amos Labonte.