Strength Based Wizard (Book 1 COMPLETE)

Harvest Guild, Part I

Labonte's aura explodes outward. Well, it's not an explosion exactly—not like fire and debris and shrapnel. But it sure feels like one. A deep, pulsing whoomph of pressure shakes the room as the short old man basks in the sugar-fueled power.

His aura is unlike anything I've ever seen. Pink and yellow and swirling like radioactive cotton candy. It coils around him, thick and alive, wrapping his small frame. It's a technicolor octopus with a sugar high, moving so quickly the visuals start to make me nauseous.

Then, something deep within my core pings and I recognize a motion in his body, even though he doesn't actually move a muscle. It's hard to explain… Like, I'm not seeing his circulatory system, but can feel it. That's when I realize that what I'm sensing is his power… His mana. There's mana moving through his body and the shroud of powerful aura around him moves in response to the mana within, like a blood circulating from a beating heart.

A second ping follows. This one the familiar sensation in my frontal lobe.

[Aura Sense] (Beginner) upgraded to [Aura Sense] (Advanced)!

I don't even have time to register the System notification box when the whole damn room shudders. Aura rushes from Labonte's body, accompanied by a mighty gust of force.

The blast hits me like a shockwave. My towel is gone—torn right off my body. One second it's doing its job, the next it's a ghost of modesty, blowing away towards the showers, out of reach. I yelp, trying to shield my junk with one hand and cover my eyes with the other like I'm being hit by a candy-colored flashbang. The upgrade in my passive Skill results in the aura's visuals being sharper and so much more intense.

Labonte? He still just stands there… Also completely naked. Apparently whatever explosion of aura also tore away his towel. But he's totally unbothered. His chest is puffed out, hands on his hips, grinning like a nudist warlord at his coming victory.

The aura peels away from him in bright, sticky strands and then—pop pop pop pop pop pop pop pop—eight tiny figures materialize in the air, each one a miniature pink-skinned pixie, much like the one I had captured a few days ago. They flutter like neon-colored hummingbirds, leaving trails of sparkling sugar behind them.

One of the freshly summoned pixies does a backflip. Another giggles and points at my attempt to remain decent, as a third whispers something in its ear. A fourth mimics my horrified expression while pretending to hold an invisible towel in front of her.

"Holy shit," I gasp, diving to snatch my towel off the ground. I whip it back around my waist like I'm trying to put out a fire. "That was… wild! You—what even was that?! You turn sugar into magic?!"

Labonte looks down at himself, utterly unfazed by the human anatomy on full display. He adjusts his stance like a general surveying a battlefield. Behind him, the pixies continue to whirl and zip around.

"My Class," he says proudly, "is called Sweet-tooth Summoner."

He taps a finger to his temple, then pats his belly.

"I have a Trait that lets me convert sugar into free mana. The more sweet stuff I'm packing, the more oomph I get to throw around. Any sugar too, though sucrose works best… Though I can't hold onto the mana for long."

"…So you're like… a diabetic's nightmare?"

He beams. "I'm a nightmare for a lotta people, Joey boy."

One of the pixies lands on his shoulder and pecks him on the cheek. Another attempts to braid his chest hair. A third zips up to me and boops my nose with a tiny sugar-dusted finger before erupting into giggles and flitting off again. I'm still in too much shock to even be fazed by their annoying antics.

The room still sizzles with the remnants of Labonte's power boost. My pulse is racing. That was all just from a single pixie stick? My brain is somewhere between what the actual fuck and wishing I could do that too.

Labonte strolls towards the entrance to the icy plunge pool, sweat beading on his leathery scalp, and exhales like he just finished a satisfying workout.

"You gettin' the picture now?" he asks, eyes glinting with mischief. "This Guild? It's not your average stuffy suit-and-sigil crew. We deal in the strange, the castoff, the ones who don't fit in anywhere else. But we punch way above our weight class."

The pixies nod in unison like they're in a synchronized swimming routine. Labonte turns away from me, raising his arms above his head, hands clapping together into a single point. He dives head first into the pool. Surprisingly graceful. A barely audible splash.

I'm still standing there, head spinning. Realizing that just being in the presence of this guy's power was enough to improve one of my Skills. And thinking about what other opportunities his Guild could offer.

I'm standing in front of the Harvest Guild's headquarters, and to be honest, it's not what I expected. It's actually a pretty ugly, nondescript building near downtown.

Labonte is beside me, wearing a sky-blue tracksuit and holding a half-eaten cinnamon roll. The pastry disappears in a flash as the old man tucks it away into his Inventory.

"Ready?" he asks, already halfway through the front door, and brushing the cinnamon sugar off on his track suit's pants.

I follow him in. Unlike the building's exterior, the lobby is sleek, modern—glass, steel, clean lines. We approach the elevator bank, and Labonte waves a palm over a scanner. The panel flashes green and the doors open.

"Forty-eight," he says, tapping the screen inside the elevator.

We ride up in silence. I try not to fidget. I keep thinking about the steak from the Schvitz. The rest of our afternoon had been pretty uneventful. Labonte hadn't pressed the matter about joining his firm. I sweat some more, took a cold plunge, and had hell of a meal as we exchanged small talk about the misery of Cleveland sports, which was even more depressing given System Users were banned from competing in professional sports. Watching prime athletes that now seemed like bumbling, uncoordinated children in comparison made sports even more frustration. Labonte thinks that there will be System-enhanced leagues, or entirely new sports, eventually. Once they figure out how to address spectator safety concerns.

Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

Ding!

Forty-eighth floor.

We step out into a foyer where a receptionist sits behind a curved desk made of white stone and polished wood. She's elegant, mid-50s, with big glasses and hair so precisely curled it might be bulletproof.

"Morning, Ellie," Labonte says, beaming.

"Good morning, Amos." She smiles back like they've been ribbing each other for decades. "Mr. Williams is on his way."

"Have him meet us in the Assessment Room, please. And save me one of those lemon bars if the bakery delivery comes in early."

She winks. "Already hidden in the back fridge."

"Ellie, you're a goddamn saint!"

We move past her station and into a stairwell. Down the stairs, then through a hallway that leads to a room that feels out of place in the modern, corporate office setting. It's white, sterile and seems like something I would find in a research hospital. There's a single massive piece of equipment in the center.

It looks like a TSA checkpoint scanner sitting atop a raised dais. It has an arcing black-metal frame, the inside covered in faintly glowing panels. There's a small panel of touchscreens attached to a pedestal connected to the dais.

"You'll be hopping up there," Labonte says, tapping at one of the panels.

"Will this, uh... I don't know… What does it do?"

He shrugs. "I'll be honest, kid. I don't really understand the science. I think subtle power signatures are picked up by the machine and then translated and we get the digestible data on this end."

Before I can reply, the door opens and in walks Jerome, the man who had accompanied me home after the Gate Crashers incident. He still looks like he could be cut from stone. His navy suit is perfectly fitted and he stands with an almost too-perfect, straight posture. He takes us in through the frames of his designer glasses. He nods to Labonte, then to me.

"Mr. Sullivan," he says with a polite smile. "I'm glad to see you've decided to learn more about our Guild."

"Um… Jerome? Pleasure seeing you, too."

I get a feeling off him. It must be my improved [Aura Sense]. It's not visible like Labonte's aura had been. But it's there. Like static before a thunderstorm. It's controlled, like a blade in the hands of a trained chef.

"If you don't mind me asking…" I gesture toward Labonte, who is flicking sliders on one of the touch screens. "Are all members of your Guild… y'know. Sparkly people?"

"Heaven's no," Labonte chuckles. "We're still early on. Got a few other Classers. Normal ones, mostly. But you'd be our first Spellcaster other than me and Jerome here."

I raise an eyebrow. "Wait, Jerome's a Spellcaster too?"

Jerome inclines his head. "I am."

"What kind?" I ask. If his boss is a sugar-fueled summoner, I'm curious what kind of magic he'd have? Meat magic? Dairy divination?

He taps his temple. "The System isn't random. It knows who you are. It makes available what you give it, and tailors the options it presents based on the data you provide. Ultimately, a person's Class reflects qualities they already possess."

He folds his hands behind his back.

"So, let me ask you, Mr. Sullivan. What kind of Spellcaster do you think I am?"

I think. "Uh... Lawyer Wizard?"

That gets a small smile.

"You're not entirely wrong, actually. As foolish as that may sound. My Class is called Magistrate. Not the most descriptive, I admit. I suspect the System named it for the pun."

"Because of 'magi,' right?"

He nods. "Exactly." His face doesn't say he finds it particularly humorous.

Labonte chimes in from behind the screen. "He's being modest. Jerome's one of the best legal magickers in the world. Guild contracts? Enforcement rites? Doubt there's anyone better. And while his Class isn't a one-of-one, like mine, there are only five other Magistrates registered in the world."

Labonte turns to me, eyes bright.

I can't help from showing my surprise. "Oh, wow… Really?" I ask.

Jerome shrugs. "There are technically many Classes that share identical traits, though not the name."

"This man was with me before the System," says Labonte. "He was my lawyer then too. My consigliere. My guy. Most powerful one in the building, if we're being honest. And then? After the System? He could be working for any of the big names out there. I'm talkin' Pegasus Guild. But loyalty begets loyalty. And I'm damn lucky he stuck with me."

Jerome simply nods again, his expression unreadable. His aura hums, quiet and deep and heavy like the toll of a church bell.

"What kind of magic does a Magistrate have?" I ask.

Jerome straightens his already-too-straight posture and adjusts his glasses. "That's a Guild secret. I would only be permitted to tell you after you sign a fulsome NDA."

Pause.

I blink.

Then, he smiles.

"I'm kidding, of course."

Labonte lets out a wheezing laugh. "The look on your face, Joe. Priceless."

Jerome continues, his tone easing slightly. "In many ways, I'm a normal Spellcaster. I use mana to cast magic. Where I depart is in what my magic can do, which is far more expansive than most. I'm not limited to a list of Spells."

"Practically limitless," Labonte chimes in, waggling his eyebrows like a game show host who just unveiled a new car. He's seems to have finalized whatever configurations he was working on, and is now leaning against the pedestal.

Jerome shrugs, humble as ever. "Perhaps. I still haven't explored it enough to say for sure. But I can create [Rules]."

He continues. "These [Rules] can affect other persons or objects. However, the cost in mana scales significantly based on the difficulty of control, or the level of resistance in being bound. If I am creating [Rules] for two parties mutually signing a Contract, I can do a lot with relatively little Mana. But attempting to bind a resisting entity to a [Rules]? The Mana cost may be astronomical. And the more broadly tailored the [Rule], the more it costs. The narrower, the less intensive."

"That sounds insanely broken," I say, because it does. "Can you give me an example?"

I can see Labonte's eyes twinkle. Jerome's expression doesn't change at all.

"If you're willing to stand still and not move for a moment," Jerome says smoothly, "I can show you. Is that OK?"

"Sure," I say, shrugging.

His voice drops an octave. "You will not move for ten seconds."

The air quakes. I feel something—deep within my core—settle over me.

Jerome casually steps forward. And he just pokes me in the forehead. Hard.

"Hey!"

I try to raise my hands out of instinct. Try being the key word.

Because I can't.

My muscles scream and twitch and burn like I'm trying to swim through drying concrete, but they don't budge. My brain is screaming move, and my body just won't listen.

"What the fuck is going on?"

Then, a couple seconds later, like a switch flipping back, my arms shoot upward and I stumble forward, catching myself before falling over.

"What the hell?" I pant, rubbing my head. "I couldn't budge. That was… terrifying."

Jerome nods, perfectly calm. "Because of your agreement to the [Rule], and the short duration, it cost minimal Mana… Now, do you understand?"

"That's amazing," I say. "You could own a battlefield with that kind of power."

Jerome tilts his head. "Yes, well, my Mana pool is still just average for a Spellcaster. As a result, powerful [Rules]—ones that apply to unwilling targets or broad drafted—are dangerous to my safety. Overexertion can be fatal, after all."

I look at him, wide-eyed. "I don't know, man… That power is absolutely monstrous. You're a scary dude."

"Okay, okay," Labonte says, waving his hands. "Enough chit-chat. You ready, kid?" He taps the side of the scanner. "Let's test those Sub-Attributes."

I swallow. "So… this machine's going to tell you what I've got under the hood?"

"It'll do more than that," Labonte says. "It's gonna tell you what you've got under the hood. And with that knowledge, you'll really be able to do something special."

He gestures to the dais. "Ready to find out what kind of monster you are?"

I step toward the machine.

"I think I am."