Ultimate NeroMancer

Chapter 4: Principal of Bastards and Fate

Chapter 4: Principal of Bastards and Fate

The world did not stop. It merely politely waited, like a bartender cleaning the same glass the tenth time, to see who would be the next poor cunt to pass out.

Kaelen trailed after the teacher whose name he had not even taken the trouble to learn. The hall behind them still resounded with the death-throes of dreams that had just been cremated, and by his side marched the other two Awakeners of the accidental miracle of Class Three: Lilian, who now walked as though she had been born with swords instead of legs, and Brian, that smug, shining bastard whose breath still smelled almost like fire.

They had not got five steps down the corridor, when fate judged that it had more souls to feed to the meat grinder.

Two other teachers emerged out of the other hall: one shaped like a refrigerator that had rusted out, the other like a paper cut that could file tax fraud. Following them were other students, seven of them in number.

One girl, probably seventeen or eighteen, moved as though her spine was hewn of discipline. Kaelen did not know her. Wouldn t have minded much had she turned into a dragon in mid-stride. Class Three at Woodstone was a bloated beast with a nine-section and more than six hundred students, and the unspoken rule was that unless they ate lunch together, fought together, or had trauma together, nobody knew shit about anyone.

A few younger-looking brats followed the second teacher. Five, all told, with that gross exuberance that only sixteen-year-olds have before the world drop-kicks them in the gullet. Class One. Naturally it was. The school system golden little shits.

The corridor was now full of the quiet tapping of feet, the hushed tones of surprise, and the barely suppressed delight of teachers who now had on their hands a statistically unlikely increase in Awakeners.

Nine of them in one fucking year. In Woodstone. A school so forgotten it practically taught apathy as a life skill.

Kaelen had lived in this dump’s educational system for three years and the total number of awakenings he could remember was twelve—and most of them were already rumors or gone. Class Two had produced nothing this year. Zilch. But here was Class Three, looking like the Federation’s mistake wrapped in dumb luck and manifesting miracles for no reason anyone could explain.

And now they were all being herded like glowing livestock toward the lair of the principal.

The principal's office had a reputation. Not for its grandeur or threat, but because it somehow smelled like peppermint, wood polish, and stress—an aroma that whispered, "I want to care, but budget cuts mean I can’t afford to."

The female teacher knocked, with the sort of energy that said I do this for the pension.

A dry, aging voice croaked from within. "Come in."

Kaelen walked through the door behind the others and took in the scene. There he was: Principal Mike Bill. A man rumored to be a retired Knight with an ass-kicking resume no one had actually seen. The kind of guy who probably once punched a werewolf during budget negotiations.

He looked up from his desk, his face doing its best impersonation of pleasant surprise, and then said something utterly banal in a tone that barely disguised his internal screaming joy.

"Nine Awakeners this year. The heavens must truly be drunk and in love with our school."

Kaelen resisted the urge to snort. The heavens were cunts. They loved nothing more than setting expectations just high enough to watch mortals trip over them.

The principal leaned back in his chair with a practiced smile that said, I’m thrilled but also mildly constipated, then gestured grandly.

"I assume your teachers have explained why you're here?"

The collective response was as uninspired as cafeteria meatloaf. "Yes, sir."

"Haha, no need for military posture. This isn’t an execution—unless you count expectations as guillotines. I’m going to repeat things you probably already know, but I’ve learned that the world rarely cares what you know. It just wants you to listen when power is speaking."

Kaelen didn’t blink. He’d heard enough voices in his life: teachers, doctors, pitying relatives, death. This one just wore a tie.

"As Awakeners," Principal Mike said, lacing his fingers together like an overly wise anime mentor, "you now walk a different road. A road lined with power, yes—but also pain, politics, and enough buried bodies to build a bridge to hell."

"If you had failed to awaken, you would have been shipped off to an ordinary university, or if you had talent in cultivation, maybe squeezed into a budget academy. But you, lucky bastards, have transcended the crawl."

Kaelen wondered briefly how many times the principal had rehearsed this speech in the mirror, and whether he ever accidentally stabbed himself in the foot while saying it.

"You'll now be eligible to enter an Awakener University. There, you’ll learn everything about what it means to be one of the few, the proud, the dangerously overpowered."

The principal’s voice lowered an octave, full of importance and bullshit.

"Yes, I know, you might be tempted to run straight into the Land of Origin on your own like some dead-eyed pioneer hoping to piss gold. But if you’ve got even half a brain, you’ll realize that jumping into that abyss without training is a good way to become monster food. Fast."

The principal now had his full Orator mode engaged, eyes gleaming with the zeal of someone who once gave a TED Talk that only thirty people attended.

"Your immediate concern, aside from deciding what kind of gods you want to fight, is enrolling in an Awakener Academy. And before that, you need to register with the Supers Association. They're the bureaucratic gatekeepers of your new life. Piss them off, and you might as well go back to selling noodles."

He paused, satisfied with the silence. No one had interrupted. Probably out of fear. Or maybe because they were still wondering if ‘Supers Association’ sounded more like a superhero union or a cult that handed out tax forms.

Kaelen nodded along with the others, barely keeping his scowl off his face. He didn’t dislike the man. He just hated being told how lucky he was when the universe had drop-kicked him through reincarnation and cancer before finally handing him a class that screamed, Congratulations, you’re probably evil!

Once the principal had offloaded enough exposition to fill a city guide, he dismissed the group with a flick of his fingers, keeping Brian behind. Of course. Golden boy needed the extra polishing.

As the students filed out, Kaelen’s awakening supervisor piped up with bureaucratic energy that could scrape paint off a wall.

"Register with the Supers Association within three days or it’s a fucking crime, got it?"

Kaelen did. Nothing said welcome to power like immediately being threatened with prison.

The teacher continued, steamrolling through expectations like a motivational speaker on meth.

"You still have to take the college exams. Being an Awakener doesn't mean you get to skip tests. Just means your tests are harder, your grades are watched by government officials, and failing might actually kill you in the field."

Then, glancing at the younger Awakeners: "For you kids, if you think you’ve got the balls, go ahead and take the exams now. If not, train. Wait. Hope your arrogance doesn’t outpace your growth."

The other teachers nodded and muttered variations of the same before peeling off like responsible adults who had more paperwork than will to live.

That left the nine Awakeners standing awkwardly in the hallway, uncertain and newly minted in their strange, ascending roles.

Kaelen didn’t smile.

He didn’t celebrate.

He just stood there, feeling the weight of the word Necromancer settle onto his spine like a tattoo of expectation inked in shadow.

Whatever happened next, he knew one thing with absolute clarity.

This world had rules. And he had just been given permission to break them.