Gavrus the 32nd lived in hell. Quite literally, figuratively, metaphorically, and as far as he was concerned, any other “ly’s” you could come up with.

For a short time, before he knew what it was like, he’d believed that the Blackstone academy for Archons would be the kind of place that royals were educated at on his home world. Maybe something like the boarding school, he used to rob pies from in Winder City. Gavrus had assumed he’d spend his days practicing horse riding, learning courtly etiquette, and maybe sword fighting. Maybe with a smattering of sweet magic classes tossed in. Somehow, even after discovering the academy had resided in a former palace of a demon lord, he’d held on to that hope.

Now he felt like an idiot. It had been the worst two weeks of his entire life.

As far as Gavrus was concerned, Instructor Sarrius may as well have taken up the mantle of the dead demon lord. One the first day, the depraved man had given him about one hour to get adjusted to layout of the massive empty spartan halls of the academy. After which, he’d spent nearly every waking moment drilling him, running him, making him lift objects, and countless other activities. Instructor Sarrius taught him to fight in the harshest manner possible. If Gavrus didn’t execute a maneuver correctly he was mightily punished. He’d learned the basics of spear fighting, wrestling, hand to hand combat, dagger fighting and even how to use a shield. Conversely, he’d learned what being stabbed by a spear felt like, having your arm broken from a hold, getting punched repeatedly in the face, and shanked felt like too. He’d also learned the way to the infirmary with his eyes closed (literally, after his face had swelled up too bad to see from a beating).

When Gavrus had felt like he was near his breaking point from the abuse, the savage man would always say something rage inducing. Always seeming to be able to coax just a little more out of him when he felt like he couldn’t continue. And always knowing when to switch tasks when Gavrus looked like he wasn’t going to be able to continue at an exercise.

During one unforgettable moment, Sarrius had nicknamed him Shitfoot after he crapped himself due to overexertion during one of the runs. In recompense for losing control of his bowels, Sarrius had made him do pushups and knee-high jumps over the trail of shit for the entire day, cackling like a court jester the entire time. His fury at such treatment had protected his mind, if not his dignity.

At first Gavrus had hated the man with the entirety of his being. He’d dreamed of torturing him to death at nearly every moment he could think freely (which wasn’t often). But, after a few days of the training (if it could even be called that) he was too tired to care about anything. It really was true that a human being could adjust to just about anything.

During his morning meal on the twelfth day, Sarrius appeared next to him in the crowded chow hall. As the classes got closer to starting, more and more students had begun trickling in to fill the previously empty hallways and dining area. Many had seemed to find his treatment by Sarrius amusing, but most looked rightfully scared.

Upon seeing the Instructor, Gavrus began shoveling in as much eggs and meat as he could, as he’d learned previously that Sarrius didn’t give him much time to eat. He knew he’d technically still had five minutes to finish his meal, but if he complained or spoke out of turn Sarrius had electrocuted him. Like, by sending out a lightning bolt from his fucking fingertips. And despite all the abuse, that had hurt worse than anything he’d suffered yet; so, he did whatever it took to not get shocked.

“Peace,” Sarrius said with a placating gesture of his hands.

Gavrus looked up in disbelief, then had to do a double take. For the first time Sarrius had his hood down. The combat instructor didn’t look anything like he’d expected him to. None of the Archons had looked particularly human thus far, even the healer at the infirmary. Apparently, since the healer was a “body” Archon, he just looked like a perfect seven-foot-tall man. More a god than a human, with flawless symmetrical features, muscles that had muscles, and eyes with an endless depth.

Sarrius also looked divine in stature, but there the similarity ended. Silver spiky hairy, that looked more like actual spikes than hair adorned his head. His skin was a flax yellow, and his eyes a deep electric blue. A sharp angled aristocratic nose perched over a too wide smile with perfect silvery teeth.

Wary despite the words, Gavrus sat perfectly motionless as the man sat across from him.

“Oh, finish chewing your gods damned food, I need to talk to you,” Sarrius said looking mildly annoyed.

Gavrus laboriously swallowed his mostly unchewed food in one herculean gulp. Somehow, he didn’t choke which was a feat in and of itself. Sarrius laughed at his frog impression and smacked the table with an open palm, causing everything to rattle. It was hard to imagine the combat Instructor as any kind of nobility.

“Alright, I need you to invoke your status, and read me the numbers off your attributes. We need to see if you’ve improved.” Sarrius said.

Gavrus complied, pulling up his status.

Sir Gavrus the 32nd

Class:

(3) Unascended Archon

Locus:

Void

Rank:

Knight Errant Squire

Attributes:

Strength: 4

Agility: 5

Endurance: 5

Intelligence: 4

Perception: 6

Willpower: 8

Disciplines:

Locked

Inscriptions:

Basic Language

Imperial Codex Standard

Imperial Account

Deaden Pain

Currency:

Az: 150

Gavrus hadn’t thought to look at the status screen since he learned about it. There just hadn't been any time to dwell on the codex. He was surprised to see that his strength had gone up twice, his agility once, endurance twice, and willpower once. Further, he wasn’t sure when or how he’d acquired deaden pain, but it had explained a bit about his ability to endure the seemingly endless torture of the past two weeks. Finally, he noticed he’d gotten paid 150 az. How or when he could use the currency would have to be a mystery for another time.

However, Sarrius only inquired about the attribute numbers, so that’s all he told him. It couldn’t be stated enough that Sarrius was not a fan of superfluous commentary.

“I got to hand it to you Shitfoot, I’m not sure many people could survive what I did to you. I kept expecting you to collapse or give up, but you just wouldn’t. You ended up chewing up all my fucking time along with yours each day-- something that has never been done in all my years of drilling. I put you through a worse training regimen than I do for the Warhull recon teams. I even ended up inventing new conditioning maneuvers because of you. All you had to do was quit, but you never did.

Anyways, I’m pleased with the progress you made. The attributes always improve fast at first but take significantly more training to increase at higher levels. Your high ass willpower makes a lot of sense, even if your physical attributes are still shit. At least, I’m no longer worried that you will die during the ascension. I think you are way too damn stubborn to die. I’m really excited to get to train you for the next three years. I don’t think either of us will be able to forget the other. I’m going to make you my personal project.” Sarrius finished.

Gavrus opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. He repeated the sequence two more times before finally sputtering, “I could have QUIT!?”

Sarrius smirked, then said, “Well, yeah technically you're not even one of my initiates yet. Until the ascension you are just a guest here. You just kept doing what I said, so I thought you wanted more. All the other instructors were impressed with all the extracurricular training you... wanted.”

Gavrus stared at him for a full five seconds, then burst out laughing. The laughter welled up stronger with every second, then began wracking through his entire body until tears began pouring from his eyes. The absurdity reached a crescendo that left him gasping for air and his face hurting, as he fell off the bench while continuing to roar in laughter. Some untold minutes later, he’d finally gotten it out of his system to see that he was at the table alone. Then the name “Shitfoot” popped into his mind unbidden, and he fell back to the ground laughing again. A part of him considered that he’d finally gone insane.

⍏

After Gavrus was able to compose himself again, he did the thing he’d been dreaming of most since he had arrived (besides murdering Sarrius). He slept.

Sarrius had never let him sleep longer than five hours a night. Sometimes he even busted into his room in the middle of the night and started hitting him with a wooden stick or dragged him out by his feet and tossed him into the desert. So, he decided he was going to absolutely nothing until the academy started. He had considered that Sarrius was just setting up him with some type of psychological torture, but he decided he didn’t care. His weariness was so great that it claimed him the moment he laid down on his bed.

Approximately twenty hours later, he woke up in the wee hours of the first day of the academy. Sarrius caught him in the hallway on the way to breakfast and told him to go to the reception hall after breakfast. It was finally time for the ritual (whatever that meant).

Today he would become an exalted Archon, or he’d die.