“What the hells do you think you're doing!” Elbert screamed at his baffled son.

He'd just taken a direct hit from a mage bolt crackling with lightning and enough power to level the courtyard. It exploded against the nobleman shattering nearby windows and tore a crater into the roof, but as the smoke and dust cleared, he stood untouched and furious.

“Da?” Aldhelm mumbled too surprised to express his thoughts into anything more.

Elbert shifted his gaze to Mildrith. “And you just stood there while your brother attacked your sister.”

There was disappointment and disgust in his voice cutting Mildrith deep and causing her to react in anger.

“He was just teaching her to show respect!” she shouted.

Elbert advanced on her, anger and pulsing magic coming off him with every step. Aldhelm tried to come between them but Elbert effortlessly smacked his son across the face sending him sprawling into a wall and threw it with a crash.

He then grabbed the front of Mildrith’s blouse pulling her in close and lifting her off the ground. “Maybe it is you that needs to learn respect. Respect for me, respect for this house, and respect for your sister! If you have any respect at all in that head of yours, you better show it to Tanya now before she summons something to teach it to you later.”

Aldhelm walked out of the hole he made in the wall just before it repaired itself with a leisurely walk as Elbert set Mildrith down. “I'm sorry, Da. Won't happen again, I was just playing around.”

Elbert let out a sigh of frustration. “The next time you're playing around involves shooting mage bolts haphazardly, I'll flog you like a child.”

Aldhelm just laughed thinking the thing that looked like his father must be joking. “Either way, what are you doing here, especially this late? Are you thinking of retiring and becoming a Monk?”

“Oh, that's right. I have business to attend to.” Elbert turned his back and walked to leave the courtyard. Aldhelm tried to stop him but he just brushed him off. “Another time, I have stuff to do, people to see.” There was an uncharacteristically deviant smile on the noble's face as he turned to finally leave the courtyard.

Mildrith looked over to Aldhelm with a raised eyebrow repeating their father's words. “Got stuff to do?”

“That did seem strange,” Aldhelm agreed. “But what is a drow doing in the Hall?” He wiped a trickle of blood from his nose. “I'm sure he was nowhere near my cultivation, but he was able to hurt me.”

"That wasn't a drow," Mildrith said.

"Then what was he, a jötunn?"

"Maybe, but drow have solid red eyes and he seemed too short to be a jötunn."

Mildrith's expression shifted to anger like turning a page.“And speaking of whoever that was, why did you do that!”

“Do what?”

“Break his blasted hand!”

Aldhelm looked a bit sheepish. “He insulted you.”

Mildrith slapped the top of her brother’s head like a misbehaving child. “Next time I'll handle it and without crippling some idiot.”

She turned to leave in an opposite direction from where Elbert had left with Aldhelm behind her apologizing repeatedly.

****

Dagfinn wanted to scream or at the very least pass out but he could do neither. He couldn't cry out, or beg, or even move. Red filled his vision as blood dripped into his eyes like his skull had split open. That, and his nails tearing into his scalp in silent horror would have hurt less than the oath assaulting him.

The agony went on for an eternity until Mildrith and Aldhelm left the courtyard, and until the decision to harm a Bryer was gone.

Dagfinn relaxed and let his weight be held by the web-like mana strings tying him to the side of the roof.

When the sun went down and everyone but Brand and Tanya left, he traded guard duties with Cora. It seemed unnecessary at the time, but orders were orders. It was those same orders that caused the pain in his head.

The psychomancy every striker had embedded within their mind made harming any Bryer impossible. As Brand’s bones broke, Dagfinn tried to subdue Aldhelm within dozens of mana strings. He honestly had no love for the summoners and chose to ignore the rule and accept whatever pain that came, only, he underestimated the oath.

The psychomantic enneagram refused to let him move, speak, or touch his mana until he gave up on laying a finger on the restricted target. The experience left him mentally drained but at least he had a perfect view of what transpired.

Brand somehow gave a fifth-ranked cultivator a bloody nose without mana throttling. Such a feat would be impossible without an impressive focus to augment the attack. But that was nothing compared to what Tanya summoned when her brother fired a large possibly life-threatening mage bolt at Brand’s back.

Dagfinn couldn’t hear what she said but after a shout, a smoky blob arose from nothing quickly condensing into a man. The man didn’t bother to defend himself as the bolt exploded on his chest.

To his surprise, the man that appeared was Elbert Bryer, Tanya's father, a sixth rank cultivator, brother to the king, and by far one of the most powerful summoners in the city.

“Shit,” Dagfinn said as understanding dawned on him. There was only one thing that could appear out of smoke like that: the pantheons bane. “Bitarr,” he whispered to himself.

“You've heard of me!” said a refined voice from right beside his head.

Dagfinn didn’t look to see who had spoken into his ear. He lunged from his hiding spot leaving a trail of threads behind to slow any pursuers while cloaking himself as best he could in a camouflage spell.

As his feet touched the ground, he throttled his mana focusing on speed, and sprinted for a ledge. On his ninth step, a creature slithered around his body wrapping him tightly and causing him to fall to the ground. With only his head free he was able to see what had ensnared him. As he saw it, he wished he hadn't.

“I expected a big scary striker like you wouldn't be afraid of snakes,” Bitarr said standing on what could only be described as a wave of gigantic snakes like slithering tree trunks.

Dagfinn recognized the snakes. They were the same serpents used in his training as a striker, the same ones in the pit that he was thrown into, the same ones that plagued his nightmares for weeks after.

“Was it the swelling?” Bitarr continued. “Was it seeing your foot swell like a bloated corpse, or the yellow pus or the pain? I'd really like to know. I can see these things in your head, but I can't really understand them seeing how I'm not really fleshy like you are.”

Bitarr was now inches from Dagfinn's face but didn't meet his eyes. It was like the god was looking at an animal.

“Aren't you gonna say something?” Bitarr said.

Dagfinn was too busy trying to keep his breathing under control to even think about answering. After a handful of moments, Bitarr became tired of waiting and banished the snakes. Before the striker could attempt to escape the god clutched his throat forcing him to the ground.

“Don't even try to run little human. Ain't nothing you can do this body can’t do better.” Bitarr released the striker's neck allowing him to sit upright.

“What do you want?” Dagfinn asked hesitantly.

“That's better. I wanted to know why you didn't help my kitten.”

“You mean Tanya?”

“No, the drow looking bastard. Of course, I mean Tanya!” Bitarr shouted cracking the ground with the force of his borrowed voice and power.

“I can't tell you,” Dagfinn said.

“I can bring the snake's back,” Bitarr said his voice soft, soothing, and filled to the brim with a threat.

Dagfinn shook his head furiously. “It won't matter. I literally can't tell you!”

Bitarr looked deeply at the frightened striker's tilting his head as if trying to uncover a mystery. “Oh, psychomancy. I get it. Well, this was a huge waste of mana.”

Bitarr unceremoniously rose to his feet and began to walk away. Dagfinn wanted to ask the creature how it knew of the strikers, what it planned to do with Elbert's face, or who had given it that form, but he was too scared. The hissing of snakes still rang in his ears and the thought of that thing leaving was too great a comfort to risk talking to it again.

****

Hurried steps echoed through the empty corridor leading to the tower of life. The tower was one of many containing the culmination of all works pertaining to the body, human or otherwise. From the healing of burns to the use of forbidden blood magic, all things pertaining to the body's inner workings were studied there.

The doors to the ward were opened forcefully as Azmina entered.

“No need to be in such a rush,” a monk said nearly running alongside Azmina. “He was unconscious last I saw him, and our best healers are working on him. I'm quite envious in fact. Most of us would pay for a chance to heal a Jabari.” The monk's voice took on a tone of excitement her fingers twitched. “I wonder if there’s any significant difference in his bone structure or if he metabolizes potions at a different rate. There’s even a rumor that he may have two hearts”

Azmina spun meeting the monk's eyes. “I don't want to hear how you like to cut people open!”

“Ok, you moody girl,” the monk said, giving Azmina the directions to Brand’s treatment room.

Upon entering said room, Azmina was surprised to see Brand was awake and having what seemed like a pleasant conversation with a couple of monks. The better of his two hands looked a bit bruised but the other was a completely different story.

His right hand had no skin. The bones and muscles seem to be growing out of nothing. Slowly but surely, muscle and nerves were knitting themselves back together over the bone as If dressing a bed with sheets. Just above the mauled appendage were the hands of a gray-bearded man in robes showering green energies on to mess of tissue.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be given a sleeping tonic,” said another much monk that wiped the sweat from the old man's brow.

Brand took a long puff from a cigar in his mouth breathing odd-smelling smoke through his nostrils. “I'm good,” he reassured, looking closely at his flesh knitting back together. “I'd rather keep looking at whatever you're doing.” It was then Azmina noticed his eyes were glowing a dull blue.

“It's just that most people empty their stomachs when they can see the flesh weaving being done to themselves,” the monk said.

Brand blew a stream of smoke into the air. “This pipe is enough to keep me good. Hey, I see that the runes you’re using are jumbled together like they’re floating in water. How does that even work?”

“You will learn soon enough if you study our mysteries,” the old man answered standing up with a bit of difficulty.

As the monks left, Azmina took the opportunity to finally speak to Brand. “How did this happen?” There was a strange mixture of a commanding presence mixed with worry in her voice.

Brand smiled as he noticed his mistress. He tried to get up but was barely able to move as if he had no sensation in his limbs. Azmina immediately recognized his condition and ran up to him.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “Can't really move all that well. The healers gave me something to keep me still and numb the pain.”

Azmina took a seat on his bed holding his unmarred hand. “Who did this to you? You weren't in an official match or in class. You were attacked, not beaten.”

“Not much of a difference,” Brand sighed. “But you're right. Some powerful cultivator laid me out like I was nothing.” He chuckled without mirth. “I've been getting a bit soft here, been enjoying this too much. I should-.”

Azmina suddenly interrupted Brand demanding answers. “Who did this to you!”

He looked at her for a handful of moments before answering. “If you really want me to tell you I will, but I'd rather not.”

“Why the hells not?” Azmina scoffed, putting emphasis on one of Brand’s favorite curse words.

“Because the guy that did this to me is too rich and too powerful to fuck with.”

Right as Azmina was about to refute Brand’s words he lifted a hand to stop her or tried to but the gesture was clear. “Think about this. He's been learning magic for much longer than us. He's obviously much stronger than us and probably more spendable gold to spend freely. With money comes influence, which we don't have much of. I'm not worth the shitstorm you'd be kicking up if you went after this guy.”

“You don't think the monks can do anything about this,” Azmina almost hissed in her anger towards Brand and his attacker; Brand for being correct and his attacker for harming what was hers.

“The monks can't do shit,” Brand declared. “People don't go around crushing hands if they don't know they can get away with it so just let it go and I'll be more careful from now on.” Brand’s eyes lit up with mana. “At least I broke into my second gate from pushing my throttling so far. Now I have the mana needed to use mage sight.”

A pair of monks walked into the room. One of them, a middle-aged man with a scruffy beard, beamed at Azmina. “You're his patron?” Azmina nodded. “Can I collect a few samples from the man?”

“For the last time no!” Brand bellowed.

Azmina made a disapproving face. “You people are weird.”

****

Tanya wiped her eyes dry for the 100th time. Her face was a puffy red mess that stung as she cleaned it. She sat on the floor of her room back pressed against Leo as she purred.

“Why did they have to be here?” she thought. “Why do they have to ruin everything?”

This happened once before around the time Tanya was first discovered to be a summoner. There have been other child servants in the Bryer household. Some of them Tanya thought of as friends, but they soon became targets for Mildrith's frustration over her beast kin sister inheriting the family's focus while she didn't. But Mildrith's harsh pettiness was nothing compared to what Aldhelm had done to Brand.

Tanya didn't know her brother well, she’d only seen him in passing due to him being sent to the Hall years before she came into her power. She hadn't known until now how cruel he could be.

Her tears flowed anew as she remembered last night's long events. Once Brand was able to free himself from Aldhelm’s grip, he ran but would have been hit by a powerful mage bolt if not for her summoning Bitarr.

For only a second, she saw the smoky cloud that made up its body with the two red orbs that might have been his eyes. Then she saw her father right before being pushed off the ledge Brand had been aiming for.

When they finally crashed on a lower level, Brand passed out after over throttling his mana. As she dragged him to try to find someone to help, a pressure that could only be his enviable mana gushed from his body, a telltale sign his second gate was forcefully opened by the night's turmoil.

Soon after she was able to find help. Healers were called in from the Tower of life and proceeded to cut Brand's more broken hand off with a blade. Tanya growled when the maiming happened suddenly. She was about to tear out his throat with her claws when he hurried with an explanation.

“We can grow a new hand faster and better than repairing a broken one.”

After he was in their clear, Tanya left going back to her room and sobbed quietly to herself.

“You are one ugly crier,” said a mocking voice from the balcony of Tanya's room.

She jumped to her feet reading herself for an attack. She didn't know how but even though the voice that spoke belonged to her father she could feel deep within that it was Bitarr.

“Is that really how you should act to someone that just saved your friend,” Bitarr said walking into the room.

“How did you become Lord Elbert?” Tanya asked not lowering her guard in the slightest.

Bitarr smiled in a mirthful way his borrowed face never could. “I got this form from a little beast girl with big daddy issues.” He took another step forward prompting Leo to close in at his rear. The fear monster just rolled his eyes. “You know there's no hope of stopping me if I actually wanted to hurt you.”

He tore a button from his blouse and flicked it at Tanya with his thumb. It barely missed her head creating an explosion of rocks and dust when it collided with the wall behind her. Cracks expanded from the impact point and would have collapsed the entire wall if not for the enchantments placed upon it by the monks which immediately started to reform the stone.

Bitarr took a step forward almost daring to be stopped. “We need to learn to trust each other, Kitten because this arrangement is not as convenient as I had hoped.” Seeing that Tanya was still apprehensive, he tried to sound more pleasant than his usual eerie nature. “I can't get more than a few miles from you without this form starting to dissipate. The farther I am for you the more mana, your mana, it takes for me to do pretty much anything.”

Realizing what Bitarr meant, Tanya looked within herself. Her mana pool was a paltry sum only moments from emptying completely. In her sorrowful state, she hadn't noticed the constant drain her summons needed.

Bitarr continued sounding genuinely concerned. “You needed me, and I need you. I have a form that is easily capable of killing you and yet, you're not dead. I think this is a good place to start.”

Tanya heard Bitarr’s words but was unable to speak as the last of her mana left her. Starved of mana, her mind fell into darkness. The last thing she saw before unconsciousness was her frowning farther fading away as blue sparkling lights.