It was Monday morning and Lark marched from his car like a zombie. He passed by the LED school-board advertising Dubois High’s motto: School of thought.

Obtaining information that couldn’t be gained from solely studying was the principal’s main gimmick for attracting students and donors. Expanding electives instead of focusing on standardized tests allowed for more student freedom, which allowed funds to shift into clubs and specialized classes. Though it wasn’t surprising that the more traditional organizations received more allowances than others such as Varsity sports.

A part of his noise-canceling headphones knocked off his ear as a train of students rushed passed him. The captain of the martial arts club chanted through a voice modulator, something about showing school spirit, but he quickly moved away from the scene. The music clubs blasted instruments on the side entrances, staging impromptu performances. It was definitely a more eye-catching and tactful recruitment strategy compared to the musclehead's screams.

It wasn’t until he saw a flock of students wearing shorts and cleats in front of a recruitment table full of ‘Go Vikings’ accessories did he remember why he didn’t want to stick around for Spirit Week.

Please, don’t find me. He weaved around confused, lost freshmen and made it past the cheerleaders when someone shouted his name.

“Lark. Over here!”

Just two more seconds…He inwardly sighed, freezing in place as soon as he heard his name called. The soccer coach’s natural voice sounded volumes louder than the voice modulator. Grimacing, he turned around.

“Coach... How nice to see the team together. Nice-looking visor, by the way,” he spoke, forcing a smile as he walked up to the recruitment table. The coach always wore visors even when the sun barely peeked out like today. Lark’s eyes squinted at the coach’s new visor with the printed Runetech logo.

Stay friendly now. Lark rested the headphones over his collar and waved hello to his old teammates.

“Boys, meet our newest sponsor.” The coach’s gleaming teeth blinded Lark and he couldn’t tell who had the faker smile. Coach’s tanned arm jostled his shoulder as he was pushed closer to the table. He toured the table like a shiny trophy on display. His old teammates' cold stares burned through him like a second-place medal; all the hurt glares pierced through his winning smile. It didn’t take him long to headhunt the new team captain, who was handing out free water bottles. His old camo-green sweatband with the bold. yellow ‘C’ wrapped around Wei’s wrist.

“I’m glad you like the visor, Coach, and this way…” Lark grabbed one of the water bottles. “It’d be like I’m always with the team.”

“Don’t say that,” the student manager, Daisy, spoke up. “No one’s been able to pull off that super cool tail-spin strike like you! Are you sure you don’t want to play for our last season—?” Her hand inched over to the sign-up sheet.

The new captain placed a hand on her shoulder while sizing him up. Another junior Lark recognized had also placed his elbow on the clipboard.

Lark’s heartbeat kicked up a notch. Shit Daisy, you’re really living up to your carefree name.

“If I have time, I could stop by practice and maybe give a few pointers and demonstrations,” he said, fixing the water bottle into a free pocket on his sling backpack. “You still have my number, Daze.”

Halfway turning to match Wei’s angry gaze with a smirk, he didn’t miss Daisy’s grin crimping shyly.

“But the team should be in good hands with Wei. Oh yeah, what did we call you in that game back in regionals with that body feint, Makeweeeei.”

Only the seniors and Daisy cracked a grin, while Wei’s expression seemed stuck between fuming and shock. The coach coughed and slapped Lark’s back playfully.

“Drop by the field anytime.”

After a quick retreat and waving goodbye, his watch alerted him to an incoming call from Sky.

“Please, tell me you weren’t watching.”

“Oh, oh no. I didn’t see shitty Daisy try to recruit you back into the fold, and her fawning all over you. Ha! And the look on Wei’s face too! You do hold a penchant for making frenemies.”

Hearing the sound of Sky’s derisive laughter echo across the hallway, he ended the call and walked up to the boy wearing straight cut jeans and a collared cardigan. With one hand barely keeping a lid over his mouth, Sky waited next to the stack of gray lockers. Their shared locker was conveniently located at one end, so they didn’t need to hover in between other students.

“Stop laughing already,” Lark quipped, placing his lunch bag inside the locker.

“Can’t help it, you always do something so… unorthodox. Besides, I can’t stand the sight of her all over you like you’re still together with her. It makes me want to punch her in the face.” Sky smiled innocently.

“When you say it, it doesn’t sound like a joke anymore. It makes me wonder where Teddy gets it from.”

“You’re not thinking about getting back together with her, are you?”

Before he could answer, Sky shook his head as if saying ‘never mind, you’re hopeless,’ and jabbed his shoulder before tearing off like a kid who did something bad. Lark trailed after him, shouting, “Your quads are in for it!”

This is how it should have stayed. Laughing over stupid high school relationships, planning prom, graduating from the class of 2100, not what was about to happen to them next.

Danger did not always lurk in places where people perceived security as a square deal, but when it did, the exposed underbellies of society made a great bullseye for chaos. Wangshi understood this principle since his time immemorial. Riskless jobs never existed. This felt especially true for him, and his instincts told him this likely had to do with his previous life, the time before Lars found him.

Wangshi waited outside in front of the parked SUV. All morning he felt a disturbance in the air, but he hadn’t let it shown on his face as not to further his young master’s worries. He lit up another one of his cigarettes; it was his third one that morning.

His old bones shook.

He remembered this exact feeling during the day of Sr. Rune’s funeral. It was also the first day in ten years that he wielded a sword. He couldn’t exactly remember how he’d done it, only that his body remembered the movements for him.

Ever since the senior’s passing, he never once let down his guard. Sr. Rune’s death was a shameful mark on his promise to Lars Rune. How could he face Lars, wherever he was now if he let anything happen to his savior’s son. That would be a fate worse than death.

Wangshi wasn’t born omnipotent and had hoped his feelings of danger were more from the imagination than reality. However, that didn’t seem to be the case today. The police chatter on the radio went haywire and sirens wailed in the distance. It seemed whatever trouble was happening, it was all over town.

Brandishing the sidearm he took back when the cultist fled, he relocated to a vantage point between the school and the car keeping camouflaged by sliding from shadow to shadow.

Glimpses of fighting in total darkness often came to him through dreams. It happened more often since the funeral and looking at Mishka’s drawings. The sequences of how he worked often went like this: silence, dispose and repeat. Whether or not those people in his dreams were real had no effect on him. Just like that cultist the other day.

He discovered the sewing needles Sr. Rune’s wife left in the house were of good use for information retrieval purposes. Truthfully, he doubted the cultist would know that something big was going to happen. A lowly figure in the AA cult definitely wouldn’t be given a lot of information, but that didn’t stop his prodding.

Unfortunately, for that cultist, Wangshi recognized the type of gun they used. Unable to explain the weapon’s distinctive appearance and alien tech applications, the cultist surrendered upon questioning and the gun fell into Wangshi’s hands. What the incompetent agency didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

A sword cutting a person’s hand at a distance was unheard of. But he managed it somehow and that ability was able to save his young master’s life. Even if he received that gift from the devil, it would be acceptable to him as long as the young master’s life was okay.

He snapped the revolver’s chamber open. Empty. Still, he aimed it at the roof of the building, feeling energy being sapped from his body. As he thought, these were how cultist guns were used.

A sharp wind brushed against Wangshi’s pony-tail. He could sense their arrival; wings beating past 100 mph and other horrible, foul-smelling abnormalities.

As he scoped the distance between the SUV and the school, a single, red dot appeared in his vision. Wangshi’s glass eye worked a little bit different compared to other artificial eyes. It allowed him to see what others could not.

One finger held the trigger. Then a few red dots lined up around the first one. They multiplied until a few hundred encompassed the buildings from the air.

With fatal precision, he let his ranged weapon open fire onto the high school’s rooftop. The pierced monsters let out an animal-like cry, alerting the mob to impending extermination.

From this distance, he estimated, he could take out a portion of their defensive line with that move. Wangshi withdrew his side-arm and grabbed the hilt of his sword.

On that fateful day, he spoke the words from his heart and soul that could save Lark. His brain couldn’t remember where they were from, but again it didn’t concern him for the time being. As long as he had the will to keep standing, he would fight any enemies!

Power rose within himself. It wasn’t the same kind of strength he was used to like lifting groceries, but a cross between a brain freeze and sailing on a roller coaster. A youthful rush!

He flew from his hiding place, launching a surprise attack onto one side of the encirclement. From five hundred yards away, his sword encased in a green glow and he stabbed the air with quick precision. With the naked eye, one wouldn’t have been able to tell how many stabs there were, but judging from the screams, it was well over a hundred. Their malodorous bodies rained towards the ground with a cushioning splat.

The tiny red dots in his vision disappeared, but a hundred more replaced them and a good portion flew out to intersect him.

Good thing he hadn’t used his most draining attack yet. He needed to find young master Lark and his companions fast, he thought, as he slashed in horizontal and vertical strokes. His faraway attacks enhanced by the wind energy penetrated the dense pack of flying monsters. They flew towards him, dripping sticky, translucent fluid along the way.

Lark yawned as he packed his things to go to the fourth period. Sky had already ditched him after a quick shower to meet up with Mishka.

For a split second, he thought he could see the gray lines glow red. But it was only for a split second. He wasn’t sure if he was seeing red because he played too many Runesteam games, or if he was going crazy. Everything about the pyramid was strange. Almost as strange and mysterious as his grandfather.

He brought the pyramid with him to school, as dangerous as that may be, but he needed their help to brainstorm, and maybe assure him he wasn’t going crazy. He sat on the bench, examining the pyramid in his backpack when another unexpected event occurred.

“Hey, Lark!” Wei called him. “Instructor Fuego wants to talk to us for a minute. He promised to write us a note for fourth-period if we’re late.”

“Kay.” Lark nodded as he slid his backpack on. The two headed towards Fuego’s office and a deep awkward silence hung between the two.

A voice, muted like a distant radio, whispered in his ear. “Danger!”

And without anyone noticing, the pyramid started to emit a strong, red light.