For just a moment, he looked torn between Kristina and continuing his beating on Irene.
With one last death glare, he wrapped his raised arm around Kristina’s shoulders.
“Keep away from us you freak.”
He led her away without a second glance back, maneuvering unimpeded through the slowly dispersing crowd.
Max trailed after him, not quite managing to sway the crowd out of his way as flawlessly as Drew had managed. The last look he gave Irene was something of a cross between an apology and ire.
For a moment, Irene just sat there, going over what had just happened in her mind. The pain in her chest was quickly fading to nothing. Probably because his punch had been less of a punch and more of a shove. Pure shock at the sudden contact was what sent her to the ground.
Or was it?
Irene looked down at the wand clenched in her fist. An earth mage could increase their personal strength and toughness, but Irene had never managed to actually perform the spell before.
Then again, she hadn’t ever managed to manipulate polished tiles before either, and she had managed that at least partially after summoning that creature.
Shaking her head and sighing at the relief of not having to deal with them for the handful of minutes before class started, Irene started to shovel her books back into her bag under the watchful eyes of the remaining crowd.
None of them bothered to help. Irene was well aware that the bystander effect was in full… well, effect. And sure, her situation might have been her fault for not watching her surroundings, but the least someone could do was ask if she was alright.
They didn’t even have to mean it.
Picking herself off the ground, Irene walked over to the one book that had been kicked against the wall.
A darker hand clasped her book before she could get to it.
Irene suppressed a groan at the thought of more bullying before following the arm up to the face. Or, more specifically, the crop of white hair.
“Hello Randal,” Irene said, trying to keep any sign of exasperation out of her voice.
Though she was certain that some had leaked into her tone, Randal merely smiled. He held out the book for her after brushing some dust off. “Should watch out. People can be dicks.”
Irene took it, eying him for any sign of insincerity. “Yeah,” she eventually said. “Kinda noticed.”
“You got hurt at all?”
“Bruised, I’m sure,” she said as she rubbed her chest. There wasn’t any pain at all, any longer, but she wasn’t about to take off her shirt to actually check for bruises. “Other than that, no.”
They stood around awkwardly–Irene used the silence to smooth out a few wrinkled pages while Randal rubbed his elbow.
“Listen–” “I–”
Both stopped talking, half glaring at each other. Randal gestured for her to speak first.
“I should be getting to class. Wouldn’t want to be late.”
“Oh. Right.” He rubbed the back of his head. “I’ll see you in,” he paused to glance around, “our class. Right?”
“Um, sure?” Irene said as she stepped away. Considering how he acted back in that class, Irene wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to see him in it. But he was being strangely nice.
Especially if that was him who tossed the dirt at Drew.
Boys, Irene thought, it would be nice if there were a book explaining them.
Between Randal, Drew, Jordan, and Max, Irene just had no idea how to handle them. She had hoped that Eva’s class would give some insight on Jordan at the very least, but thus far, that wasn’t the case.
Deciding to not visit the library at the moment, Irene made a beeline straight for Professor Zagan’s classroom. There was still time, but Irene had enough excitement for the day. And, though Drew would soon be in that classroom as well, he wouldn’t dare do anything to her under the professor’s watch.
Irene stopped in surprise as she opened the door.
Usually, Professor Zagan would show up the second the bell rung. Never before and rarely later. Today, he actually sat at the desk in the back of the large room, fiddling with something on top.
The situation quickly turned awkward as Irene stood at the door, not sure what to do.
Unlike most of her classrooms, this one was set up for training for a fight. That meant large empty spaces and no desks to speak of. There were no desks to sit and read at before class started. No other students had arrived quite so early, not that Irene would really mingle with anyone but her sister, Jordan, and Eva.
She could sit on the floor or lean against the wall.
But Zagan had looked up. His somewhat yellow eyes met hers and locked on. Even after a moment of fidgeting, he didn’t turn away.
Irene quickly went over her options. Fleeing would only mean that she would have to return later in embarrassment. Ignoring him would be rude and Professor Zagan did not take rudeness lightly. With those choices out of the way, Irene pressed into the room.
“Hello Professor,” she said while walking closer. Hoping–praying that she wasn’t prying, she asked, “working on something interesting?”
Rather than answer her, Professor Zagan held up the object in his hands. A brass sphere covered in engravings with two freely orbiting rings. No bars held up the rings, so it must have been magic. Or magnetism, but given the environment, Irene was putting her money on magic.
Unfortunately, him showing her the object didn’t answer her question.
Well, it did. Partially. The brass ball was visually interesting. But Irene had been more interested in knowing what it was.
Unless they were purely decorative, the markings must have some significance. Yet Irene recognized no part of them. Even taking into account the handful of runes Eva had shown everyone as part of her Christmas gift a year ago, not a mark on the surface looked familiar.
Before Irene could ask what it was, Zagan lazily waved a hand over the now floating ball.
Thin needles extended from the spinning rings, puncturing the sphere. The brass shell peeled away in thin, blooming onion-like strips. Inside–
Irene pulled back, pinching her nose shut as hard as she could. It didn’t help. She could still smell the stench through her mouth. Or worse, taste it.
A thick violet ooze rested in the bowl of the opened sphere. Visible clouds of gas bubbled out of it, staining the very air.
“W-what is it?”
Professor Zagan, looking completely undisturbed by the smell or the ooze, just chuckled. “You can tell a lot about a creature by its soul.”
“That’s a soul?” Irene half-shrieked. She took another step back as a plethora of questions ran through her head.
Why does the professor have a soul? Whose soul? Why are souls so… gross?
He fixed her with a smile, a fairly disturbing, teeth-filled smile. “Not a human soul. Human souls are bright, ethereal, and brimming with an intoxicating amount of magic. Well, human mages’ souls are, at least. Mundane humans lack that last aspect. But they’re still bright and ethereal. You can’t physically touch them.”
In a move that churned Irene’s stomach, Zagan reached out a bare finger and dipped it right in the goop.
It reached up, latching onto his finger. Purple tendrils burrowed into his finger. Irene watched as they pulsed beneath his skin, creating vein-like patterns.
Still looking as calm as if he were relaxing on a sunny afternoon with a novel in hand, Professor Zagan pulled a small butter knife off of his desk. It must have been enchanted because the moment the blade touched his finger, it severed it completely, bone and all.
The ooze pulled the severed digit into itself, releasing more of the noxious gas as the finger turned to more of the purple goop.
Irene only managed to tear her eyes from the ‘soul’ when Professor Zagan waved his hand over the brass ball, sealing it up again.