Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School (25/?) (Patreon)

Dragon’s Heart Tower, Level 23, Residence 30. Emma and Thacea’s Bedroom. The Tent.

Emma Booker

I couldn’t get to sleep. No matter how hard I tossed and turned. No matter how much I twisted this way and that. Not even asking the EVI for low fidelity playlists to sleep to, helped my situation any.

Wait.

The EVI.

I sprung up as I realized I still heard its passive-aggressive replies as if I still had the suit on.

Giving myself a cursory look-over, outstretching my gloved hands, it was clear that was exactly the case.

I was still wearing the fucking suit.

Was I that tired that I’d forgotten to take the suit off before crawling to bed?

I let out a large sigh of annoyance as I stood back up, reaching over to my gauntlet-mounted datapad as I began tapping away at the suit’s manual release overrides.

I’d wasted enough time as it was stuck in this thing, I was going to make sure I could get at least some shuteye before-

CRUNCH

My fingers stopped moving. My whole body froze as my cameras began picking up movement, the same exact movements I’d logged from the garden just a few hours prior.

Instead of it being outside of the tent however, the movement was logged inside of it. Or more specifically, it was inside of the air recycling ducts.

This was impossible.

The tent was a closed system, there wasn’t any way anything could’ve entered except…

The shards.

Did… one of the shards get lodged in my suit?

I barely had any time to even process the logistics of the null being here before it rapidly oozed out of the ventilation duct like a pile of non-newtonian sludge. It was at that moment between fight and flight that I knew had to get out of there. Combat within the tent was a no-go, and I needed some space between it and myself, some distance so that I could effectively deal with it.

I leaped for the airlocked door, reaching over to manually yank it open-

Only to slam head face first against the hardened plastic floor, as I felt my center of balance inexplicably failing, my ankle having been lassoed and hooked on with an iron grip by the likes of this gray mass of sickly sludge.

Things progressed impossibly quickly after that, as I reached for my gun, only to have the thing pull me in. Like an amoeba engulfing its poor single-celled victim.

Except I was that single cell.

Though I sure as hell wasn’t intent on becoming a fucking meal, a thought that only became more acute as I was pulled into its cytoplasmic confines, the sickly grey membrane closing promptly soon after.

So I tugged and pulled, punching against the malleable ‘skin’ of the blob, only for it to stretch impossibly thin, refusing to break.

The situation went from bad to worse, as the jelly-like fluid I was floating in increased in viscosity, to the point where I felt like I was stuck in molasses. Every inch of movement felt like a herculean task, even when aided by the exoskeleton and servos of the suit, all of which were on the verge of overheating just be shear strain alone.

Then, finally, I stopped. Not because I wanted to, but because it was physically impossible to resist. My heart continued to race as my breathing hitched up in frequency to the point where I felt like I was about to pass out… but I never did, not even as I felt the thick, viscous molasses entering my suit through unseen seams, before finally, coating my whole body from head to toe.

I was suspended in this… solution for what felt like entire hours, but as the suit would indicate, it’d only been barely a few minutes since this whole situation went sideways.

However as the minutes passed, I took note as the null’s membrane grew thinner and thinner, until finally it popped. Plopping me back on the composite flooring of the tent, completely motionless, as my body refused to respond to any of my commands to book it out of there.

I didn’t understand what happened next. I couldn't really comprehend it… but I suddenly felt the cold, unregulated air hitting my back, causing me to flinch and struggle as I attempted to leap out of the suit, only to find that… I couldn’t.

Instead, something else did. And it did so slowly, carefully, methodically. As if relishing in the feeling of freedom of movement as I’d done so last night upon exiting the suit in the tent for the very first time.

In fact, I caught a glimpse of it as it strode its way in front of me, or rather, in front of the suit.

As what stood in front of me was… myself.

It was dressed in the same undersuit that I’d worn when I entered the suit this morning. Its brown hair was ruffled, messy, and unkempt, exactly like mine.

It was then that I realized, with a sudden horror and a gut wrenching sense of absolute terror, that it was me.

And I wasn’t stuck inside the suit.

I-

“Thanks!” It spoke, in a voice that perfectly mimicked my own, down to that subtle sing-song cadence I’d used to mess with my friends back home. As if this was some sort of a fucking prank.

“I think this is the start to a solid relationship. Because, you know, now that I am you now, I’m as trapped in this unforgiving world of mana as you were! But, hey! I have a body now! And you…” It looked at me with a cock of its head, or my head, fuck I didn’t know what was going on anymore.

“Well, you’re still alive in there, aren’t you?”

I couldn't respond, I couldn’t move.

“I take it you’re still in there. Well, listen, be glad I didn’t just melt you down or remove your soul or something. I just… moved it! And I put it in the next best thing! Your armor! Or well, I guess I should say it’s my armor now! And wait, does this mean you belong to me? Huh, that’s kinda weird. But hey! We can make that work, right?” It grinned, a playful, almost impish smile that didn’t fit my face.

“Hah! I’ll take the silence as a yes! Alright then, it’s nearly… twenty-three hundred hours. Oh wow, you… Earthrealmers have such a fascinating time-keeping convention! Your mind’s filled with all sorts of unique goodies! I can’t wait to be you, Emma! Or, erm, hmm, I guess I am you now, huh?” It continued unabated, staring at me with those ecstatic eyes, the eyes of someone who’d just escaped from max-sec prison, and was now just relishing in the freedom of fresh air.

I tried moving, struggling, trying to pull my arms this way and that, but I couldn’t. All I could do was watch, through those lens that now were my eyes, unable to even blink as the Null-turned-me maintained that cocky grin throughout my internal screaming.

It eventually hopped up on a stool, pushing its face, my face up close towards the suit’s helmet, as if to rub its victory in my face further. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of your mission. No one will suspect a thing. And when we get back to Earth by year’s end, I’ll make sure to request the Director and the Major to keep this specific set of armor. I won’t let you die, Emma Booker. I still care about you after all.” It continued on in that sing-song voice, before leaping off of that stool with the finesse of a figure dancer.

Something I doubt I could’ve even done.

Without a moment’s hesitation, it got back  in the suit, hopping back inside as it began taking full control and began walking out of the tent.

It felt like I’d taken a backseat, as my body, or rather the suit began moving under the doppelganger's whims. I could only look on in abject terror, as I continued shouting expletives… but without a mouth, no one could hear me scream.

“Don’t worry buddy, you'll get used to it.”

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

I woke up dazed, panicked, confused, and hot. Sweat covered my hair and face as I scrambled in place for a while struggling to regain my bearings, still stuck between the world of the dreaming and the world of the waking.

It took a while, what felt like minutes, before my hands reached up to touch my face, my arms, my legs, my whole body, as if to reassure myself that all of that was just a nightmare.

It was silly, perhaps even stupid to do, but at this point I doubted that any crazy outlandish fear was ever truly out of the question anymore. The line between what was reality and what was fantasy, had already well and truly shattered the moment I crossed that portal and into a realm of literal swords and sorcery.

Five minutes passed, and still I couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling of being trapped inside of the armor. Not as a passenger, not as a wearer, but as a fucking prisoner inside of the metal and composalite itself.

And just like last night, I sat cross legged in front of the veritable powerhouse of a machine, staring up at its unfeeling, unflinching face, and I shuddered.

I knew it wasn’t possible.

I knew the null wasn’t capable of that.

It was just my overactive imagination.

“I never should’ve fucking binged Castles and Wryverns’ hidden lore. It was nightmare fuel back in high school, it’s still nightmare fuel now. Fucking hell.” I spoke out loud purely to myself. I just needed to hear my own voice, I just needed the reassurance that everything was in fact, okay.

I didn’t know what particular aspect of Castles and Wyverns I was pulling from, what amorphous creature of despair I was drawing inspiration from, or whether it was just homebrew at this point… but I knew it was all just a result of my overactive imagination.

MEDICAL ALERT: Detecting elevated Heart Rate, Blood Pressure, Respiratory Rate, and stress hormones; EEG patterns outside baseline standard. Patterns indicate [1] episode of severe night terror. Emma Booker, do you wish to-

“EVI, shut up, I’m fine, just give me a fucking minute.” I managed out, causing the EVI to beep in acknowledgement.

Acknowledged Emma Booker. Medical event logged for field assessment reports.

I groaned out in exasperation, realizing what this meant when I got home.

Therapy.

My eyes quickly shot up to the upper right corner of my vision, expecting to see the various countdown timers and the titular clock that always seemed to be ticking towards something. However, this being one of the few moments I was actually outside of the suit, all I saw was the same stark white of the tent, and a few eye floaties.

“EVI, time?”

It is currently 2245 hours.

“Alright, give me 10 minutes, then a 5 minute snooze limit.”

Acknowledged.

=====

Dragon’s Heart Tower, Level 23, Residence 30. Living Room. Local Time: 2300 Hours.

Emma Booker

Priority number one after the weapons inspection, and before tomorrow’s second attempt at negotiations with the apprentice: get the rest of the tent’s living facilities set up STAT. I instructed myself as I lazily exited my room and back into the dorm’s shared living space.

There, as expected, I was met with the likes of Thacea and Thalmin. What wasn’t expected, however, was the return of a familiar blue-scaled face. A face that looked none too pleased about his current disposition. Which was fair, given how he looked as if he’d just crawled out of a hole.

If there was an orchestrator to our fates, it was clear they’d missed the mark as to who should’ve bore the brunt of the battle scars of the day. Though to be fair, I’m glad I didn’t bear any scars at all, because if the fight did come to that…

I shudder to think what might’ve actually come of it.

“Really, Earthrealmer? It’s rude to gawk and stare you know. I know that a thatched hut and a damp cave isn’t ideal nor conducive to nurturing a society of culture and etiquette, but I would expect that your kind would already be used to seeing attire that’s been torn and ripped apart by foul beasts.” Ilunor suddenly barked out, which elicited a sharp caw of annoyance from the likes of Thacea, and a stern growling at by Thalmin.

The latter clearly wasn’t having it, and put his foot down soon after.

“Emma, we need to talk.” Thalmin began, snuffing out the embers of the Vunerian’s fire before it could ignite into anything resembling a conversation. As it was clear that if Ilunor had his way, this entire night would’ve inevitably fell into another series of petty verbal spats.

And so, with a collective series of nods from the likes of the lupinor, the avinor, and myself, we collectively decided to disregard the Vunerian’s incessant baiting. At least for now.

“Sure, what’s up?” I managed out in between a heavy yawn and a stretch. A stretch which would’ve ended in some collateral damage in the form of some blunt force damage to the walls and furnishings, if it wasn’t for the months-long process of power armor acclimatization, or more specifically the spacial awareness courses that forced me to all but rewire my subconscious perceptions on just how much space I actually took up.

“So all of you are going to act like children, ignoring my valid points of personal privilege?” The Vunerian spoke up once more, this time, he was seething. “Fine! Be that way, I’ll take my leave!” The diminutive lizard began storming out of our little group, making an effort to make each and every one of his little stomps as loud and as audible as possible as he entered his bedroom, and slammed the door behind him shut.

We collectively decided not to address that, as far more pressing matters warranted our attention.

“Emma, I believe it would be prudent to discuss what it is you decide to tell the armorer about your ‘gun’.”

I knew at that point, it was bound to be a long conversation.

=====

The Transgracian Academy for the Magical Arts, Armorer’s Workshop. Local Time: 2345 Hours.

Emma Booker

The conversation ended up as long as I’d assumed. Indeed, it’d taken as much time as the trek that was this arduous journey towards the armorer’s workshop.

Whilst a lot had been spoken, and a lot of ideas had been exchanged, we ended up circling back on ourselves towards a unanimous decision.

That it would be best if I kept the gun, at least as it pertains to its actual nature, away from the armorer.

Thalmin had already met the guy just a few hours prior as I was napping away. He’d told me everything that I needed to know, about the guy, and his relationship to the Academy. The man was an eccentric, that much was emphasized. However, Thalmin did mention he seemed more akin to Chiska than Mal’tory. Which was a breath of fresh air, but also something of a double edged sword. Whilst the man was for all intents and purposes mostly harmless, given his one-track mindset when it came to his duties, the fact remained that this sensibility might also be his greatest hindrance. For it was very much possible that he might end up as an information sponge for the likes of anyone higher up in the Academy that decided to poke around for intel.

That alone was enough to push me to commit to the withholding of information. A decision that I’d carefully weighed up in my head ever since the announcement of the weapons inspection the night prior. Whilst I’d considered divulging a limited deal of information regarding the gun as a show of force, I realized that any net gain I earned from that would more than likely be outweighed by the Academy managing to use that intel against me. Either by preparing some sort of countermeasure, or just by the loss of the element of surprise.

It was better to stay silent about the whole affair.

And, funnily enough, the whole stereotype of a mana-less weapon being all but pathetic and primitive would be useful in this regard. As I could lean into that narrative the Nexus so wishes to propagate. At least, if any rumors got out about the gun.

Regardless, I had to focus on this trek, as it was an arduous one as was to be expected.

There was one thing I had to give to the Academy. As much as I could complain about their duplicitous nature and their constantly shifting narrative, there was at least one narrative that remained consistent all throughout.

The absolute mess of a layout that they dared call anything but a fucking maze. Heck, I was honestly afraid at points that I wouldn’t make the deadline because of how complicated this whole place was.

Indeed, I thought I’d entered a few magical potholes or something with how many warnings of localized surges of mana-radiation had been logged between my dorm and the workshop.

Thankfully though, the path to the workshop proper was nothing short of a godsend in this place. It seemed to be a simple walkway, a long, insultingly straight corridor that led from the castle proper towards another structure built a good ways away from the main complex.

The long, skinny corridor reminded me of those ridiculous walkways you’d find at the old airports, converted to space ports, then reconverted to airports once again that dotted the entirety of Acela. From the ancient Newark and Legaurdia to the mid-millenium Northport and Vice President Sinclair, these airports seemed to have a weird love-obsession with these long, skinny, overly long corridors.

Though on Earth I’d be sighing at annoyance at having to commute through one, I was practically jumping for joy at seeing something that wasn’t a 100-point corridor turn here at the Academy.

Upon trekking the good 500 feet or so of corridor, I was met with a large pair of double-doors. Though instead of wood or oak, these were constructed of something hefty. Steel, or some other material, dressed up with intricate craftsmanship that I could only imagine would’ve taken years to make given how many murals lined practically each and every square inch of these 20-foot tall doors.

I barely had enough time to study them before I committed them to the suit’s virtual memory banks. As the pair of large doors opened, revealing what I could only describe as a veritable playground for the likes of the weapons-obsessed Thalmin.

The word workshop was an insult to this room. A room that seemed to be an open-planned, cathedral-like expanse of granite and steel. Archways constructed of what looked to be glowing metal curved around the open expanse, criss-crossing, and interlacing like one of those old Victorian-era factories with questionable health and safety practices. The roof to this place added a layer of opulence to an otherwise rather utilitarian-looking space. With furnaces and forges going off on their own, lining all of the walls and bathing the room in a sweltering heat.

Indeed, the room didn’t need any lighting fixtures at all.

It was the forges alone that provided the warm, orange and red glow that bathed the entire space, and there were enough of them that not a single corner of the room was left in the dark. Even this late into the night.

But that wasn’t what was most impressive about the space. Throughout my conversations with Thalmin, despite us getting into the specifics of the armorer’s temperament, we’d more or less left the details as to his actual physical characteristics out of our discussions.

I’d assumed the man would be yet another elf. Or, perhaps another petting-zoo person. Or perhaps even a giant or even some sort of a dragon-derived being.

Perhaps even a dwarf, now that I thought about it.

However what awaited me wasn’t any of those options, but instead, someone that gave me pause… as if I’d bumped into a spitting mirror image of myself.

If I were to get a magical glow-up that is.

Because the person that stood there, in the middle of this cavernous room, was a being clad in armor. An armor that was intricately designed, detailed, and adorned with motif after motif. From gold to copper, and gems of emerald and sapphire, the man looked as if he’d just ran through several raids to get the highest tier of armor possible from every single MMO in existence.

Though it was clear his armor wasn’t just for show, either. As several chips, scrapes, and even dents on it were clearly visible.

Why he hadn’t yet repaired that was beyond me.

But what surprised me was just how much mana he was giving off just from standing there, as the suit yelled at me once more. This time, with a rather significant warning.

ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 700% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS

And the source of all of this localized mana? Aside from the forges that were logged at around 500% above the background radiation levels?

Was the man himself.

“Ah, here at last! I’ve heard a lot about ya missy.” The man bellowed out. As if his voice had emerged from somewhere deep within the suit, and not from the helmet itself. “You’ve caused quite a stir for the folks at the top. Might I say, it’s been quite an exciting day awaiting your arrival. So, shall you begin, or shall I?”

I cocked my head at that line of question. “If you don’t mind me asking, what do you mean by that sir? I was under the impression that I was supposed to disclose and explain the contents of my ceremonial weapons to you.” I offered, speaking in a tone that was more reserved and subdued. I wanted to give the man a shot, and so I gave him my due respects.

“Oh? Oh! Oh, my word!” The man blurted out as quickly as he’d heard me speak. “Erm, my sincerest apologies for that little bout of social faux pas, my fair lady! Or, is it my fair knight? Hmm, they said it was cadet… I assume that’s a military title, knight it is then! Unless you have any personal reservations on what title I should use to properly address you by?”

“Erm, just, Cadet, or Emma, is fine, sir.” I offered, my composure not once faltering, even as the man seemed to spazz out for a moment there.

“Oh stars above! I apologize if this is too intrusive of a question, but by the gods I must know! Word is in the student body that you are a recluse of some sort, or perhaps even a golem or some other foul creature. But my ears… hah! When I did have ears of course, do not often deceive me! So I must ask, are you, another one of my kind?” The, what I assumed, to be a large burly man underneath that bulky suit jumped about in joy. As if celebrating the return of a long lost… relative? I really couldn’t tell at this point what this man was about.

“Your kind, sir?” I shot back simply.

“Ah but yes! Of course!” He began as he completed the last of those impromptu jumps for joy. The last set of which ended with a loud, clash of metal against metal. It sounded… off, more akin to the ringing of a hollow bell than that of occupied armor. “I do apologize for the overstepping of bounds and the presumptuous nature of my excitement!” The armorer was quick on his feet, unnervingly so, as he came too close toward me for my liking. I took a step back in response, almost reflexively. “Yes, my kind! Our kind? The soulbound? Surely I am not mistaken, but the voice which is uttered from the confines of your own suit, is clearly not generated via traditional, wait, conventional? No… organic? Yes! Organic means! Nor is it enhanced with a simple spell of voice amplification! I know a simple spell of voice amplification when I hear one! Indeed I can feel it in the air! Which I do not feel now! Your voice, as I hear it, is generated via a means not unlike my own! Not through a series of fleshy chords, nor the inhaling and exhaling of stagnant air, but via other means! Which can only mean-”

“Erm, sir. I apologize if I’m interrupting here but I can assure you I am not a… ‘soul-bound’ or anything of the sort. I’m…”

Wait, is this really the first time I’m revealing myself as anything but an Earthrealmer?

“I”m human, sir. An Earthrealmer, as people here seem so predisposed to say.”

“Ah. So. Flesh and blood?” The man uttered with a wide-angled tilt of his head, and a clear tinge of disappointment coloring his voice.

“Yes sir. Flesh and blood underneath this suit.”

“Darn!” The suited man snapped back, both through his voice, and more literally as he snapped his gloved fingers with a loud, metallic clang. “But, your aura, or lack thereof. And the lack of any life force, it’s-”

“It’s a long story sir.”