Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School (81/?) WiP 1 (Patreon)

Hey everyone! Here is the Work in Progress for Chapter 81 I hope you guys enjoy! :D

We were running.

And I had no idea why.

“Hurry up, newrealmer! We haven’t much time!” 

All I wanted from Ilunor was a straightforward explanation, a reason for this sudden and abrupt cessation in calm, all amidst the backdrop of a student body that stared at us with growing worry and suspicion. 

“What’s with the rush, Ilunor-”

“Your manaless disposition and mana-resilient armor has cost me the lead! I am now at a terrible disadvantage and you must rectify these circumstances at once by offering me your services as a makeshift steed!” 

He suddenly halted mid-stride, his chest heaving from all the running and backtracking we did in order to arrive back at where we started. All because his little shortcut proved incompatible with the mana-resistant nature of the suit. 

In short, the shortcut spat me right out, prompting us to rethink our strategies as we decided to take the usual route upwards, which put us right at the base of the dynamically-shifting staircase.

But despite the so-called ‘setbacks’, that didn’t explain the rush to get to the lounge. 

“EARTHREALMER, YOU MUST COMPLY!” He reiterated, stomping his booted feet-paws as he held both of his little arms by his side in a show of stern frustration. 

“Fine. Whatever.” I acknowledged with an exasperated breath, picking him up by the underarms, and then placing him atop of my shoulders. “Let’s go.” I shot back to both Thacea and Thalmin, who promptly began climbing up the stairs, reaching speeds otherwise impossible for the Vunerian. “So, care to explain why I’m-”

“Your insistence on accompanying me has ruined both my lead, and the context by which my speech is to be given! I must now draft an entirely new speech as we approach our destination! So hush! And remain silent and swift!” He all but yipped out, his little foot miming a jockey’s kick, prompting me to cling onto every ounce of my self control so as to not hurl the blue thing off and down the seemingly endless flights of stairs. “Onwards!” 

To say that we were the center of attention by this point, would’ve been the understatement of the week as we passed by gargoyle and student alike, all stopping to stare at the ludicrous display of a kobold riding atop of a power armored behemoth, with both legs locked beneath its chin for stability, and both hands preoccupied with writing a speech of all things in the midst of a hurried jog.

To the general public’s credit, they moved on from the strange sight almost as quickly as we passed them, with only the barest of whispers being made in reference to the ungainly sight.

“Is that the newrealmer?”

“It is.”

“And was that… a Vunerian riding it?”

“Hmm… He must have tamed it. Perhaps we’ll see the Vunerians claiming stewardship over its realms.”

“A symbolic gesture of dominance, and one quite fitting of a fellow-of-the-realm, no?”

“This isn’t just any newrealmer though. I heard that it managed to procure a library card-”

“And I once heard Professor Belnor once held an illicit party boasting nothing but stocks of her ‘special brew’. A rumor does not make an outlandish claim an objective fact.”

“To each their own, and to themselves, the spoils of truth.”

I ignored the words of the pair of elven twins, as we eventually found ourselves higher and higher up the steps, and amongst fewer and fewer members of the public as a result.

Arriving at the top floor, it was clear none of us showed signs of fatigue.

Moreover, it shocked me as to just how nonchalant both Thacea and Thalmin were amidst the exertion that would’ve otherwise caused even a seasoned parkour master to be at least somewhat winded.

The armor, for the most part, had fulfilled its power prefix, more or less augmenting my walking and leaving me barely tired, and holding my own just as well as the aforementioned pair.

“Are you guys usually this used to walking or-” 

“There’s no time for conversation, earthrealmer, now hurry!” The Vunerian interjected before I could even get a thought out, leaping off of my shoulders and scampering back onto the floor with a solid thud. Aside from that though, his small boots barely generated any noise at all as he began sprinting towards the end of the hall, more or less cementing just how effortless his mastery of sneaking was even without trying.

Though perhaps that just spoke more to his smolnness, and explained just why he was so prone to door-slamming.

He just didn’t have enough of a physical presence to command attention, otherwise. 

The path towards the floor’s common area was similarly empty, and despite the lack of natural light, was still lit up surprisingly well. In fact, the more I looked, the more I noticed little details I hadn’t otherwise picked up prior.

Details like the presence of light sources beyond just the fancy lanterns and candles that hung from the walls, manifesting themselves as rays of light penetrating through the seams in the floors and the cracks in the walls, almost like we were surrounded by a sea of light just waiting to burst through at a moment’s notice.

This effect continued as we moved ever closer towards the end of the hall, which unlike the night of the warehouse explosion, was lacking the open entryway into that expansive and window-filled space. Instead, what we were faced with was a solid wall of stone, hidden behind a painting of a cozy lounge nestled within a Victorian conservatory.

No sooner did confusion take hold however, did even more questions arise, as the seemingly solid dead-end soon morphed into something else at the behest of a few hand motions made by the Vunerian.

These random actions caused the painting to, for lack of a better term, melt. As the seemingly dry colors suddenly became wet, thick, and almost soupy. This soupy mess of colors that now more resembled a work of impressionist art, continued to morph and contort, until it finally looked animated. It looked as if the room and the subjects within were now moving about, as if we were now staring at a portal into an animated dimension through a really smudged-up pair of lenses.

I’d made the mistake of being so entranced by the surreality of it all that I got lulled into a false sense of security, and eventually paid the price for it.

"Good afternoon." A voice erupted from a harlequin mask that’d materialized within the painting.

I immediately reeled back, whilst Ilunor remained unfazed, treating this as if it were a regular occurrence. The mask looked too lifelike to have been bound within the painting, staring at me from every angle, no matter which way I moved; giving off an eerily stereoscopic effect for its foreground subject. The mess of colors swirled once more around the mask, before manifesting a jester's body that fitted the mask well.

“And how would the young master prefer their Earlshot Gretin today?”

“Stirred, not shaken.” Ilunor responded with a sharp yip, prompting the disquieting figure to eventually melt away, shattering into a million pieces in a dramatic display of undeserved victory.

This prompted even more changes in the painting, this time increasing in clarity to the point where it looked less like a painting, and more like a literal portal into some hyper-realistic animated world; the scene within now resembling the common area I’d entered on that fateful night.

Without warning, Ilunor stepped through that threshold, causing himself to become one with the animated reality.

Thacea soon followed, then Thalmin, and eventually, I did as well; braving the fears that I would become stuck in a painting for life.

This didn’t happen though… or at least, not yet.