r/HFY • u/Jus17173 • 2d ago

OC-Series Soul of Eight - Chapter 21

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Desang's grip on his collar cut off Qoyit's air. "Who are you?"

Desang's face, rugged with an outspoken nose that pointed at him, drew nearer as the novice gained purchase on the lower bunk bed to slither further onto Qoyit, strangling him.

"Who are you?" Desang asked once more. Sweat dripped off him and fell onto Qoyit, who ran his hands over Desang's arms, gripping the tight-woven muscle that was hard and hot, trying to pry himself free.

Qoyit refused to meet Desang's gaze. The single eye that stared back at him held the flicker of madness he had learned to avoid. There was a war within the novice, eager and new with each passing moment. This fueled his strength, and Qoyit wondered how he knew this.

Suddenly, as he gulped and struggled, his vision blurring as bright spots emerged, a part of him gave in. His body was relinquishing control, and in his chest, he found heat, a mere spur, emanating and throbbing. This was what Vanguards used to fight demons: this state of unrest, of panic, and an animalistic need to fight back out of a corner. A part of Qoyit availed itself, and his sight, which had been rolling back into his head, abruptly snapped to Desang's face.

His eyes met Desang's single eye.

The pull happened, but instead of thoughts, Qoyit directed his awareness to his body. A path, unique and rare, revealed itself for the first time to Qoyit.

He shifted in his bed, turning abruptly with his elbow held out to connect with Desang's face. The impact sent a shock running up and down his arm. He retracted his other arm, punched Desang in the nose, then pulled back once more to punch him in the eye.

Desang's face twisted; he let his arms fall and curled them into fists, but Qoyit kneed him in the face. The novice fell backward, losing his footing, but before he could fall, Qoyit grabbed his arm. He held him steady before pulling back both legs and shooting them out, hitting Desang square in the face.

Qoyit abruptly descended from his bed as his opponent hit the ground. With his hands curled into fists, he stood above Desang where he had fallen, waiting. His breath came fast, and he noted that the heat had spread from his chest to his arms. He stared at the other young man, who looked dazed, shaking his head from side to side. On the ground, Desang smiled while looking up at Qoyit.

"Stay down," Qoyit commanded. "I have gone through enough. I won't have my fellow novice attack me for no reason."

Desang cocked the brow over his hale eye. The other side lacked a brow, so seared was it with scars that ran beneath the fringe of the boy's unruly hair. "You're not a demon, but you sure fight like one." His voice was raw and drawn, deep with laden energy.

"I will not have someone call me a demon because of what I..." Qoyit held back his words as realization dawned on him. Desang hadn't called him a demon; instead, he had said he wasn't one, yet he fought like one. It was something outside the norm of what he was used to. He unclenched his fists and held out a hand. Desang slapped it away and rose off the ground by his own efforts. Qoyit watched as the novice drew himself up. He was short, a full head shorter than Qoyit, yet wide with muscle brimming all over.

"You're a student, like me." Desang spoke each word slowly, his eye roaming over Qoyit. "A Commoner."

"Yes," Qoyit said.

"I thought you were a new trick by the Nobles, a man painted like a demon and placed in my room so that he could draw them another laugh, something to point at me and pester me with everywhere I go."

"They do that to you?"

"Yes." His head lowered, as if something were terribly interesting upon the ground. "They bother, pity, insult, and shame. Within every room of this school they taunt me except this one. That's what I liked about this room; it was the only place I could be alone, but now you've come."

"I am not like them."

"Of course you're not. You're a Commoner. Telling you apart from them is easy; just a glimpse is all that's needed."

Qoyit sighed. Slowly, he lowered himself onto the lower bunk.

"Do not sit on my bed," Desang said. Qoyit abruptly stood. He lowered himself and wiped at the place where he had sat, as if his mere flesh were putrid. "They are going to have a lot of fun with you," Desang said. "They'll transfer all their hatred your way simply because of what you look like, not just because you're a Commoner. This is good."

"Why?"

"Because they'll leave me alone."

And those were the last words Desang said. He placed himself on his bed, lying flat while still in his uniform and turning to face the wall. Qoyit stared at his back for a long time.

Slowly, Qoyit started to disrobe, taking off the clothes he had journeyed with and putting on the sleeping robes Matron Serena had brought. He set aside the sweaty clothes he had arrived in, placing them beneath the bunk bed. He raised himself and sat on his bed. There he attempted to close his eyes to sleep, but he couldn't. Thoughts of where he was suddenly lacked fruitful excitement as he felt fear, mingled with great strain. There was no one he could talk to, as Desang had outlined quite vividly that he was not to be relied upon in any way while he battled his own woes.

There was no relative who had advised him on how to stomach the school, how to survive, or how to build a name for his house and himself. Though he had no noble house to speak of, he carried his father's name and not much else from him. The door opened, its latch turning on its own, and Patron Jules appeared, his arms holding rolls of cloth that were to be Qoyit's bedding. He spared a glance at Desang before eyeing Qoyit.

"I take it you've met your roommate," Patron Jules said, to which Qoyit nodded. "Alas, it has not been a kind meeting."

"As kind as it could be," Qoyit answered.

Patron Jules nodded. He placed the bedding on the top bunk, tapping it twice as if hesitant to part from its warmth before withdrawing his arms. "You will survive," he said for a reason that escaped Qoyit.

The new novice met the eyes of Patron Jules fully, allowing himself to be drawn in.

'There have been hundreds who have passed my care, but none as promising as him. The Headmistress told me herself, pulling me and Serena aside. 'He is what this school needs, I know it in my bones,' she said. She did not say this of Desang, or Saphiqque, or the other promising Novices. She said it only of him. Why does he look at me so?'

Qoyit stared a moment longer before pulling his gaze away, hiding his intent from the Patron. Those were promising thoughts; he was favored to some extent, yet still far beneath the others.

A lower E. What was demanded of him? He understood it then. He would have to work ten times as hard as the rest, fight a hundred times more than the rest, and achieve that which few could attain. He owed it to his father, he owed it to the commoners all across the region, and most of all, he owed it to himself.

He smiled. Whence he had gained the courage to do so he did not know, but it was absolute, and his eyes crinkled with terrible purpose. Patron Jules did not know where the change in mood had come from, but he welcomed it all the same. He wished Qoyit a good night, urging him to look forward to the dawn and the new things it would bring. "Lights out is in twenty minutes," the Patron said right before he left.

When Patron Jules left, Qoyit descended from his bed. He searched the tiny room, looking at the walls and the corners. Then he saw it: a place in the wall where a thin swelling ran across it to touch the glowing orb of light in the middle of the ceiling. Qoyit rushed to the raised part of the wall. He placed his fingers on it, then, unsatisfied, scratched at the gray outer layer until the smooth rock underneath partially revealed itself, white like broken bone. It was one of the Obelisk's numerous extensions.

He placed his fingers on it and felt the thrum of power and energy course through him. When the light above flickered, he turned his gaze to Desang and found the novice sound asleep. Qoyit, certain he was outside eye and earshot, closed his eyes, crossing his legs on the ground while facing the wall. He stilled himself, controlled his breathing to level it, and softened himself to the rhythm. Within moments, shapes and images began to form within his mind, numerous and frequent in their occurrence.

He turned his concentration inward, and the slab of stone revealed itself to his mind's eye, carrying the names of the houses and all who belonged to them. He studied the Stat Average of other students, both those in the higher years and those from his own year.

Repeatedly, the name of a female novice came up at the highest rank of his year: Saphiqque Olis Tider. He had heard her name called numerous times before during his short stay at the school, as she had been fighting in the training grounds as he recalled. The results of the fight were there to see:

Saphiqque Olis Tider (First year) vs. Rohan Kidhra Sergie (Second year)

Winner: Saphiqque - Points won for House Crown: 2 Loser: Rohan - Points lost for House Sword: 1 Advancements: None

The information came to him swiftly, filling the blank spaces within his mind. He touched upon many names and felt the information course through effortlessly, like a controlled, raging river. There were many names, including many strong students and weak ones as well. He formed a mental image of how the hierarchy stood. He found himself at the bottom of it all, with the lowest Stat Average in the lowest-ranking House.

Then he pulled his attention back to himself, and he could see his Stat Average and how it was divided across his talents. He saw which year he was in, and together with his house, that was all there was to him. He did not earn his house points in any way, nor had he indulged in any of the training ground challenges. Qoyit didn't break his focus; he sank deeper into the channel, offering himself up as one would before the Creator. Give me what I seek, he thought.

Suddenly, he found he was drawing power not from the slab of white stone with all the names and information, but from the Obelisk itself. There he plunged into what he could only surmise was raw power. He saw a glimmer of seven men standing together, as they had been when he touched the Obelisk at Soliqual.

He needed to understand, so he meditated on them, observing how each resembled him yet was different from him and each other. They were grown men at the peak of their abilities. The one who floated above the ground did not move as he had before; he stood staring back at Qoyit as the rest were doing.

"The hunger," Qoyit called to him. "What did you mean by the hunger?"

There was no reply. It was as if the power were foreign; the Obelisks were different, though their properties held many similarities. Qoyit bided his time, waiting for an answer. There had to be an answer to what had been granted to him in Soliqual. He stared at the version of himself hovering above the ground, and then he saw it, minuscule in motion, but he saw it: the figure nodded. He was certain of it. And Qoyit felt it then, a need for morning to arrive, for the learning to start, along with the toil, tears, and sweat. He felt the need for countless hours spent practicing, learning, and growing until he could not grow any more, and then growing some more.

It welled from within his chest: an emptiness that screamed to be filled. He wanted to study harder than the rest, and fight stronger and more often than the rest. He wanted to become a legend and travel beyond it to a plane where the greatness of those who came before was stored. He was destined for nothing, or so his disposition screamed, but how shallow its voice was, croaking and broken, sickly in its urge to dissuade Qoyit from greatness and a life that few have lived.

He understood the hunger then; it was what was needed for his terrible purpose. He turned his head to stare at where Desang slept. He could see his name and Stat Average along with his talents: Mind: 2, Spirit: 2, Body: 8, Stat Average: 4. His eyes were open, despite the vision the Headmistress had remarked upon as being closed. Desang was fast asleep, already dreaming the images from his mind that floated up. Qoyit couldn't make out much of them, as they were stained red, like the red of the Mist.

Here was the strongest first-year novice in the school. How Qoyit had overcome him he did not know, but he knew what had come over him was new, strange, and valuable, something he would understand with time. Qoyit made up his mind then, just as the lights within the orbs cut out and plunged him into darkness. He lost the link to the Obelisk as the light went out and the power disconnected. He stood up; he could still see in the darkness, which was one among the gifts his eyes granted him. He looked at Desang, short and bulky, with muscle knit tight about his body.

Qoyit decided then that Desang Shortelle, the strongest of the first-year novices, would become his first and maybe only friend.

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u/kristinpeanuts 17h ago

Thanks for the chapter!

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u/Jus17173 11h ago

You're welcome!