“Well, damn, he was doing well till the rookie mistake.” V's voice sounded from the pin.

  “I trust you now see why we don't use the Gauntlet to screen candidates for the academy.” Aldo's voice cut in. He sounded worried.

  “What are you going on about? Why do you keep mentioning an academy?” Oz focused on that. He'd noticed the names of his enemy, and his outfit. Noxarcer was a name he recognised, if only because he vaguely remembered an assembly at school where everyone was very pleased that someone was going there.

  “Oh, back with us, are you? Nice job with the door. You do know there was an entire weapon rack to the right of the doorway though?” The female voice he now knew as V sounded like she was dancing on the spot.

  “Door worked, didn't it? Not like I know what the nether I'm doing down here. Abduct me and stick me in some random dungeon and then tell me I'm doing it right?” Oz grunted back.

  “That's no excuse for not knowing the basics. Why didn’t you use your new skills?”

  “I could do this without them. Could’ve messed up otherwise.” He snapped back, the alien part of his mind serving up the excuse for him. He really should’ve looked around properly. He could see some knives and axes in that weapon rack which would’ve made things easier, and he was certain his skills would’ve been helpful.

  “Reasonable, if you hadn't made the kind of mistake most learn off their first mock run.”

  “What mock run?”

  “Er…” V's voice cracked, and there was a rustling and some muffled swearing.

  “Give me that! You. YOU. Go away and say nothing. You told me he would be able to handle this. I assume that meant he was at least on his school's delve team.”

  “I mean, just look at the big lunk, he's clearly Champion material.”

  “I don’t want to be no sodding Champion!” Oz barked. “I was enlisting in the Ranger Corps!”

  “So you trained delving as a Ranger then?” V asked, suddenly hopeful.

  “I never delved nothing! I just work out and did everything needed to get enlisted. That didn’t include delving with those silver-lickers. I didn’t even do the field trip to the local emissary dungeon. I was always in trouble.”

  There was a pause.

  “Wait,” Aldo said slowly, voice suddenly gentler, “you’re telling me… this is your first time in a dungeon? Simulated or otherwise?”

  “If you don’t count now. What is going on? And if she says anything cryptic about my soul, I'm going to bury this pin under a jackal and work it all out myself.”

  “And what?” V chimed in. “You think you can just punch your way through soul damage?”

  “No, but I’ll damn well try! Might as well, because you clearly want me to fail!” Oz growled. “First, you accuse me of drinking Ambrosia. Then you drop me into a dungeon with no warning, yell at me for not knowing things I was never taught, and tell me my class is [Delinquent] like that’s supposed to help! Meanwhile, my brain’s either asking philosophy questions or trying to tell me about a company that makes flat-pack furniture and frozen meatballs!”

  “Alright then, Ozren.” Aldo spoke, but Oz cut him off.

  “It's Oz. No one calls me Ozren.”

  “Oz, you are, for a number of regrettable reasons, taking Noxarcer's entrance exam.”

  “Wait, this is how people get into a school? Did they fall in the moonshine when they were a kid or something?”

  “Well, it’s an academy, not a school… that’s not important, as long as you don't call it a school anymore. So this is totally new to you? You've not heard of things like this?”

  “No! I was supposed to enlist with the Ranger Corps next week. I haven’t even left the Scablands in years. And I want my stuff back! That jacket has my dad’s medal — you can’t just grab that like confiscating chewing gum!”

  “Sorry. Noxarcer doesn't allow outside equipment into the Gauntlet. Too easy to load someone up with some artefacts. And yes, you will be getting everything back after this.”

  “Did you take live dungeon studies? Didn't want to be a big star Champion or Keeper.” V’s voice was back, this time it sounded worried.

  “No.” He snorted. The idea of being one of those celebrities was as alien as the strange thoughts from his soul. They were always in the newspapers and the illusion glass in the bar. Back before his dad’s Crystal-wave had packed in, he’d heard their voices. They were the pinnacle of the Republic’s society. Not for the likes of him.

  Oz knew himself well. Any job where he had to worry about being quoted was not the job for him. He instead focused on getting good enough grades in the studies that mattered. Everything else was a total wash.

  “Don't give me that look. Everyone I meet wants to be a Champion, or Keeper. The lad is built like a brick shithouse. I mean, who else trains that hard at his age?”

  “I just like working out!” Oz shouted at the pin. Having placed it next to his foot on the door, he could properly look at it now. He wished he could give it a dose of [Frightful glare].

  “And watch your language, Venna. This is a place of education. Right, Oz, let me explain the situation. Please listen to the whole thing. I promise my entire focus is on helping you.”

  “Thanks, I'll listen.” He was, despite his earlier mistrust, starting to like the second voice. Even if it was to blame for his current situation, at least it was trying to help.

  “I am the Aldimere Brackham, Archchancellor of Noxarcer. You were brought to me with your soul sundered by… an acquaintance of mine. Based on the fact you were found unconscious in front of a draught of Ambrosia, we assumed you’d been poisoned by essence overdose.”

  “Nope. Never would've done that.” Oz was getting annoyed.

  “You're certain? I found it in front of you.” V's voice cut in.

  This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  “Well, I don't know what to tell you! I barely even drink. I don't do drugs. I'd never take Ambrosia — we had entire assemblies on what it can do to you. Besides, anything that's not accessed through a healer could be cut with anything. I'd never take stuff that messes with my soul outside of a medical setting, let alone a draught of it. How would I even afford it? I've heard people chatting about what a thimble of that would go for. Ask Mr Goddley. He'll tell you this is a set-up. He'd vouch for me.”

  Teachers were often surprised that Oz was a man of principle. A few, though, had got to know him.

  Goddley had stood up for him when someone had tried to frame him for nicking a load of booze from the back of the Rizz’s bar. Goddley knew it wasn’t him. The Scablands was packed with living evidence of the damage drink and drugs could do to a man, and he knew Oz would have no part of it.

  “Well, fuck. This suddenly got a lot darker,” said Venna. The laughing tone was gone, and even with the tinny sound of the magic distorting it, Oz got a wave of chills up his spine.

  “Language! But... on this occasion, I can't help but agree — something is very wrong here.” Aldo’s tone turned grim. “Right, Oz. Regardless of your willingness, you somehow ended up flooded with a massive dose of unrefined essence. Enough to give you tremendous raw potential — but it burned a chunk out of your soul in the process.”

  Oz winced. He’d sat through the school lectures on Ambrosia. Everyone had. Nobody paid attention — but you remembered the warnings.

  “From what I remember,” Oz said slowly, “people don’t come back from that.”

  “No, they don’t,” Aldo agreed. “But I was convinced to try a... radical approach. Experimental. Extremely restricted. And to my continued surprise — it seems to have worked.”

  “So that’s why my soul is... jank?” Oz tasted the unfamiliar word again. It still felt right.

  “Better ‘jank’ than dead, I’d hope you’d agree.”

  Oz shrugged. “Jury’s out.”

  The other voice in his head — the snide, overly literate one — was whining again. Probably about ethical consent or soul trauma or furniture warranties. Oz did his best to tune it out.

  “Okay,” he said, “that explains... enough. But why the hell am I in a dungeon?”

  Aldo sighed. “Because Noxarcer has no sense of timing.”

  Oz blinked. “What?”

  “You were brought to me unconscious. I was preparing to stabilise your soul and explain everything — but before I could so much as wake you up, the academy's core yanked you into the Gauntlet. It claimed it had ‘detected potential’ and initiated the trial without waiting for clearance. It... does that sometimes.”

  “You’re telling me the school kidnapped me?”

  “The academy kidnapped you,” Aldo said, deadpan.

  “And you work for it?!”

  “I’m its Keeper,” Aldo muttered, “but getting Noxarcer to change course is like trying to steer a lighthouse.”

  Oz groaned and rubbed his face. “So this is a school entrance exam?”

  “Academy,” Aldo corrected again, his voice straining the word. “But yes. Noxarcer won’t accept anyone as a student — or allow them to receive a proper class — without passing its entrance test. Normally that’s a written exam. But as you wouldn’t stand a chance on the written portion—”

  “Harsh but fair,” Oz muttered.

  “—this dungeon trial is deprecated but still valid alternative.” Aldo paused. “And unfortunately, once it starts, I can’t stop it.”

  “So now that I’m patched up, I can’t leave?” Oz gestured at the blood-stained bandage on his leg. “Because this is a bit much for a surprise quiz.”

  “In theory,” Aldo said carefully, “yes. I have a plan to extract you. Unfortunately, the moment I started discussing it...”

  The stone walls around him rumbled. Dust shook loose from the ceiling.

  “...You mould-ridden excuse for a centre of learning,” Aldo grumbled. “Apparently we’re not doing that.”

  “What was that?”

  “That was the dungeon core vetoing my plan. It insists you must finish the trial in order to maintain your E-rank class.”

  “Couldn’t you just put me down as a janitor or something?”

  “Technically yes,” Aldo admitted, “but that could destabilise the soul repair. The strain might cause another rupture.”

  “So... if I don’t finish this, my soul goes in the gritter?”

  “No, no,” Aldo said quickly. “We’d find a way to keep you stable — but it would be difficult. Bureaucratically, magically, emotionally… exhausting, really. And you’d be flagged for constant monitoring due to the soul bleed.”

  “So this ‘soul bleed’ thing…” Oz said, poking at the bandage with a grimace. “That’s the bit where I’m getting thoughts that aren’t mine?”

  “Exactly,” Aldo said. “Residual echoes from the grafted soul. Memories, habits, bits of personality. They’ll mostly fade as the souls adjust to each other.”

  “Mostly,” Oz muttered.

  “Yes,” Aldo admitted, “there’s always a risk. Not every soul we recover is... pleasant.”

  “Well, that’s reassuring,” Oz said. “So how do you know I didn’t get some psychotic warlord or a cursed librarian with boundary issues?”

  “Because this is my field of expertise,” Aldo said, with a touch of pride. “And because Noxarcer has been conducting these procedures for a very long time. There are safeguards.”

  “Like throwing me into a dungeon and hoping I don’t die?” Oz deadpanned.

  “We prefer to call it ‘experiential testing.’”

  Oz scowled. “And what happens if I do die?”

  “You’ll respawn,” Aldo said. “Your soul will be automatically recalled and reconstructed by the Gauntlet.”

  “And that’s... safe for me?”

  “Safeish,” Aldo replied. “You’re right to be cautious. In your current condition, respawning would strain the graft. Too many deaths could tear the patch loose or permanently corrupt your soul space.”

  “So I’m on limited lives,” Oz said. “Good to know.”

  “Yes,” Aldo said, sounding relieved. “Exactly.”

  Oz leaned back against the cold dungeon wall. The pain in his leg had already started to dull — troll regeneration doing its work. The pin crackled softly, like it was waiting for him to scream or panic or rage.

  Instead, Oz just exhaled. Slowly. Controlled. Just like his dad had taught him back when a bad day meant eating bruises behind the water tower.

  “So what now?” he asked.

  “Now,” Aldo said, “you survive. Explore the dungeon. Overcome the challenges. Defeat the Guardian at the end. That’s the test. If you pass, you’ll be accepted as a full student with an E-grade class and support.”

  “And if I fail?”

  “You’ll still live. But it will complicate things. A lot. You may lose access to the class entirely.”

  Oz’s mind went back to the flickering text from earlier — the strange stats, the [Delinquent] title, the sense of something powerful and broken stitched together inside him. It was janky. It was unorthodox. It might even be insulting.

  But it was his.

  “Alright then,” Oz said, pushing himself upright with a grunt. “Let’s see what this damn class can do.”

  “You’ll want to meditate,” Aldo advised. “Properly this time. Let the soul space settle — it will help clarify the interface.”

  “Is there anything you can tell me? What isn't cheating?”

  “First things first, you need to check out your class and really understand it. Second, this isn't timed. You need to defeat the champion, but there are different approaches to take. Third, you should expect a variety of different challenges… and—”

  Oz looked at the pin. Some of the words began to get lost, the sound of static — an alien concept that perfectly encapsulated the hissing, spitting sound that started to drown out the headmaster.

  “Archchancellor, your voice is beginning to get fuzzy.”

  “You useless excuse for a centre of learning. Don’t… traps—”

  The pin then became silent. Oz cursed and pledged to find a way to punch Noxarcer somehow.

  Time to meditate. Time to see what kind of messed-up class the universe thought a broken-souled, half-hijacked, rage-fuelled orphan deserved.

  Time to meet the [Delinquent].

  After the first ten ratings I'll put up another post!

  If we reach a hundred Follows I'll be also throw up an extra post!