Vigor Mortis

Chapter 142: Follow Orders

"Okay, so, that's close, but you need to remember that these movements don't exist in a vacuum," I patiently remind Bently. "Remember, we're not just making hand signs there, we're practicing for when we'll use these movements to physically shape a mana structure. So every single gesture you perform is relative to the gesture you performed before it. That's why steps eight and nineteen end with your hand in the same configuration but require different movements to reach that point."

"I okay" Bently answers hesitantly, trying to correct himself and failing. I carefully grab his hand, pushing down the instinctive urge to yank it up into my mouth, and guide him through the motions. This is the twenty-eighth time I've done this for this particular step, but Bently has been averaging about fifty corrections per step before finally internalizing what he's been doing wrong so I ignore my irritation. Humans have different strengths.

It's been a month since I nearly killed Captain Jelisaveta, and the final Templar Readiness Test is fast approaching. I'm pretty much set to pass, so I've been tutoring my fellow trainees in my free time. In Bently's case, that often means 'all night,' since unlike other humans he can stay awake for days at a time without suffering any noticeable ill effects. So here we are, practicing magic in the dorm common room well after nightfall. Bently still has to sleep sometimes, but his stamina talent is no joke.

Which is good, because he really needs the extra study time.

"You'll get it, Bently," I reassure him. "You're getting there bit by bit. Just keep practicing and you'll have it down in no time."

"Thanks, Lark," Bently sighs. "But then I'll have to learn to channel, and then I'll have to learn the essential eight!"

"Xavier says the essential eight are way easier than the cancel commands," I tell him, smiling toothlessly. "And I can't say I have much experience either way, but I can see it. The cancel commands are a lot more complicated. Except for the healing spells, I guess, but we'll get to those later."

My backpedaling doesn't seem to get to him, thankfully. He nods with renewed motivation, and we get back to practice, my attention split between making sure he's not performing his gestures wrong and watching the flow of mana as it travels through my own body. Channeling continues to be difficult for me, but at least I've found out why. Mana that enters the center of my soul vanishes. Which is weird, because from the outside my soul looks perfectly normal. Jelisaveta says that she's not skilled enough at soul sight to look any deeper than the outside, but it seems likely that the inner workings of my soul are different from the layers on the outside. Mana that enters the middle gets sucked away, presumably to wherever it is the stuff I eat goes. Unlike eating, however, pulling mana into my soul feels awful, sending shudders of displeasure through my body that get worse every time I screw up and suck in too much mana by accident. Things are fine if I keep the mana in my outer soul layer, but straining my limits there and trying to internally shape mana into a hollow sphere so I can hit my limit and cast spells with the maximum amount of power I have available to me is slow and takes a lot of focus. Still, I'm figuring it out.

"You guys gonna be out here all night again?" a groggy Xavier asks, yawning as he wanders into the common room with us.

"Probably," Bently admits sheepishly. "I'm making progress, but I have a long way to go!"

"Mmm," Xavier mumbles, sitting down on the couch next to him. "Okay, well, let me help then."

"You should probably sleep," I scold lightly. "You actually need it."

"No," Xavier yawns. "M'gonna help my boyfriend."

He flops over, nestling his head onto Bently's lap.

"There," he declares. "Helping."

I snort with amusement as Bently blushes, awkwardly trying to figure out what to do in this situation.

"Well, you do need to be able to perform your cancel commands regardless of distractions," I tell him, and Bently's face lights up as he resumes his work though he switches to the one-handed cancel command practice so he can pet Xavier's hair while doing it. Aww, that looks so nice. Now I want the Captain to scratch my head again.

Wait, did I just think that? Gah, no, bad idea! Dangerous, very dangerous. Keep contact to a minimum. I look away, returning focus to my own soul.

This is how most days have been. I work, I train, I read, I practice, and I help others do the same. Bently puts in more effort than anyone, even though he's the slowest to learn. Xavier continues to keep things positive, his unique combination of silliness and thoughtfulness always shining through. Harvey still mostly ignores everyone else, but is there to lend a hand to anyone that asks. And Melik well, Melik hates me slightly less, I think? But it's kind of hard to tell. He's certainly more willing to work with me and listen to my advice, so I'll count that as a win.

I haven't had another frenzy episode since then either, though I think part of that is because Lady Vesuvius increased my food allotment. I have enough to save for emergencies, even, which is good because I've caused a few heavily damaging internal mana explosions while experimenting with channeling, and things might have gotten bad if I didn't have extra food to heal myself with. I'm being careful, of course, but well, it's heartening to have things not go wrong. Everything is on track towards me becoming a Templar, someone respected and worthy of that respect.

Except, of course, the fact that I still haven't decided whether I want to be one or not. After all, my purpose as a Templar will mainly be to kill, and while I'm fine with killing monsters people are an entirely different matter. Even bad people. But it's okay. At least for now. I have time to make that decision.

Xavier quickly ends up falling asleep on Bently's lap as we continue magic practice through the night. In the morning we go to combat class, and I end up paired with Melik again. Which is fine, even if I've given up on his ability to kill me. He's still a dedicated sparring partner that doesn't mind when I go all-out. The more I practice with the sword and shield, the more I like them. Sure, I'm always going to be more dangerous using my natural weapons, but the rhythm of a sparring match is an enjoyable exertion. I'm faster than everyone else here, sure, but speed is far from the only thing that decides the winner in our matches. I've only recently started being able to beat our instructor in spars despite the fact that I'm faster and stronger, simply because he was better. He would trick me into overcommitting against feints, perform skillful counters against my attacks, and take advantage of my relatively light weight to force me off-balance. I can learn faster than other people, sure. I can perfectly repeat any movement I've already performed. But even that perfection got turned against me, letting the instructor more accurately predict and react to my attacks and defenses. I have to be constantly learning, constantly adapting to spar properly, and I find it quite enjoyable.

Of course, Melik is nowhere near that good.

"Fuck!" he swears, doubling over after I smashed him with a pommel strike in the gut.

"Language," I respond, letting a bit of smugness into my tone. Apparently, people always interpreted that as a taunt when I say it after winning, and against Melik I'm happy to lean into that.

"I thought I had you that time," he grunts.

"Sorry Melik, but I had mana sight on. I could see the repulsion rune you put on my sword tip."

"But when did you cast?"

I chuckle, drumming on the inside of my armor with my third and fourth sets of fingers.

"I have more hands, remember? My arms might be trapped in this chitin junk but I can still move my fingers."

"Ugh how am I supposed to win if I can't even surprise you?"

"That's for you to figure out," I shrug. "You're really creative, honestly. I think you're probably more likely to think of something than I am at this point."

"I just need more fucking metal," he grumbles. "I could wipe anybody out if I had enough of it."

"Well, hopefully you'll get authorized more of it when we graduate?" I hedge.

"Probably a bit," he sighs, stretching a little before settling back into a combat stance. "Hopefully it'll be enough."

"I bet it'll make more difference than you think," I shrug. "You're certainly the best at fighting me out of all the trainees."

"Really?" he asks incredulously. "Even better than Harvey? He has more combat experience than all of us put together."

"Harvey is strong, but mostly just because of his talent," I answer. "And his talent is mainly useful at destroying structures, deafening people, that sort of thing. He's better with a sword than you are, but your talent is way more useful in a one-on-one fight than his is."

"I guess that makes sense," Melik acknowledges, clearly cheering up a bit. I'm glad I could improve his mood before beating the stuffing out of him again! "I gotta say, Lark, I kind of hate how difficult you are to hate."

"Huh?" I ask, dropping my guard enough for Melik to bop me in the helmet. "Ow! Wait, what did you mean?"

"I mean that I fucking hate monsters, especially ones that act like people," Melik grumbles as I block his next swing. "My whole village got possessed by mind control slimes a while back. The person they sent to 'save' us killed my mentor and later turned out to be an evil necromancer, so who knows what's going on with that. And of course we've had a few people die from vrothizo attacks in the interim. The moment I found out about you, I promised myself: 'not again.' Yet here we are, being chummy even though it's just a matter of time until you go batshit insane and kill everyone. I'm just making the same mistake over and over."

I stagger him with a shield parry and reverse his offensive, managing to get my sword to his throat after only a couple more exchanges.

"I feel the same way," I answer honestly. "But Captain Jelisaveta insists the goal is to not go insane. She believes in me, and I believe in her."

"Half of us are better fighters than the Captain," Melik grunts. "What does she know?"

"Maybe if you talk with her more, you can find out," I answer. "I'm sure she'd be happy to chat with you, give you some advice."

"I guess," Melik allows, shrugging his shoulders. "She's just weird and intense."

"Am I not weird and intense?" I ask, raising an eyebrow under my helmet.

"No, you definitely are," Melik answers flatly. "That might actually be why the two of you get along so well."

"I guess? The Captain always seemed pleasantly casual, to me."

"She is casual," Melik agrees. "But she's like intense about it. I don't know how to describe this to you, it's just nothing fazes her. At all. I feel like I could bring her Bently's severed head and she'd just kind of glance at it and say 'hmm, that's not good.'"

I tense up, my whole body suddenly clawing for violence.

"Don't you dare hurt Bently," I growl.

"What?" Melik yelps, jumping back a little. "I'm not fucking going to! It was just an example, shit!"

"You're not allowed to hurt anybody other than me," I insist. "If that's something you need, you can go until I tell you to stop."

Next to us, Xavier suddenly busts out laughing in the middle of his spar and nearly gets smacked in the face.

"Don't don't say it like that, Lark," Melik sighs.

"What?" I ask. "I thought that was reasonable! What did I do wrong this time?"

"Sex thing!" Xavier calls out to me.

"How is that a sex thing!?" I protest.

"Get your asses back to your spars!" the instructor orders, and I obey with a scowl. Lady Vesuvius tests the limits of my pain tolerance for scientific reasons all the time! I don't get why it would be a sex thing.

Though humans certainly have a lot of 'sex things.' I'm glad I haven't developed their apparent obsession with it, though I'm growing increasingly terrified that eventually I might. Despite having superficial similarities to an adult human woman, I still haven't hit whatever vrothizo puberty is. And considering how awful every single other aspect of being a vrothizo is, I've no doubt that it will be horrifying, unpleasant, and incredibly dangerous for everyone around me.

So, business as usual, really. What's weird is that I'm starting to think I might actually be able to handle it.

After class I decide to head to the bath in the barracks, since it's been well, at least a few days since the last time I washed off. Even though I can bathe any time I want, the barracks bathhouse is a bit of an awkward place for me. Still, I enter, strip down, rinse off, and enter the women's bathing area. Immediately, the two other people inside stop talking. One is my Valkan Law instructor, the other is a middle-aged woman whose face I don't recognize but whose smell I do. She's just one of the many Templars that frequents the base, I presume. Wordlessly, both of them get up and exit the bathing area, leaving me with nothing but my own embarrassment and dread to keep me company.

I've managed to make friends here, and I'm thankful for that. But I wouldn't describe myself as well-liked. I'm treated professionally, for the most part, but none of the other women here want to share a bath with a vrothizo. It hurts, but I can hardly blame them for that. At least I can flex my quills and soak up what little heat the bath has without bothering anyone else. Warm water holds so much more heat than warm air, for whatever reason. I happily start sucking it all down, my body humming with the pleasant vibrations my throat makes whenever I feel content.

"Mind if I join you, Lark?" a familiar voice asks me, causing me to jump in surprise. "I thought you might want some company."

"C-captain!" I yelp. "Did you already know I was here?"

I turn to face her, wincing slightly as I notice her arm is a slightly lighter skin tone than the rest of her body, even after all this time.

"Lark, not to sound creepy, but as long as I'm conscious I know exactly where you are at literally all times," she grunts, stepping into the water. "Oh, wow you got this chilly fast."

"Sorry! I didn't think anyone else would be coming!" I apologize.

"It's fine," she sighs, sinking into the frigid bath. "It doesn't really make much difference to me either way."

I nod, but I still fold my spines flat against my back and settle into a proper seat rather than continuing to suck up all the heat from the middle of the pool.

"It's, um I don't think it's creepy," I reassure her. "The fact that you know where I am, I mean. It's reassuring."

Jelisaveta lets out a dry chuckle.

"Well, I'm glad we can be weird in complementary ways."

"Yeah," I agree, and a comfortable silence descends. Captain Jelisaveta has been getting busier and busier as the month goes on, but she still finds time to at least pop by to ask if I need anything every day. Her calm confidence, her optimism, her thoughtfulness it really does remind me of August. It makes me feel small again.

"You'll be done with your training soon," Jelisaveta says after a while. "Just a couple tenday. Have you made your decision yet?"

"Well, no," I admit. "But twenty days is a lot of time, right? I'm thinking about it."

"Well, what are your thoughts on it?"

Bluh. I'm mostly just trying not to think about it, if I'm being honest. On one hand, eating someone on purpose fundamentally contradicts the person I want to become, and represents a regression that I'm not sure I can recover from. On the other hand, the people I trust to know right from wrong think I should do it, and Vita tastes really good.

"I should probably do it," I say quietly. "I don't want to. I don't like the idea. But I probably should. The Templars know better than I do."

Jelisaveta regards me critically, leaving me unable to even guess what she's thinking about.

"...That's the hope, isn't it?" she says quietly. "That there are some people who actually know right from wrong. But I still think it's best you decide for yourself. If you choose to follow orders, acknowledge that's still your choice."

"Okay," I nod. "I will. Like I said, I'm still thinking about it."

"Good."

We don't say anything after that, but that's okay. We finish getting clean, dry off, get dressed, and return to work. I meet up with Bently to do more training. Days pass like this, one after the other, until twenty days becomes ten and ten days becomes one. And of course, 'plenty of time to think about it' becomes no time at all.

I move through the exit exams as a nervous wreck, not because any of the exams themselves are challenging but because I still have no idea what to do. Being a Templar means killing people. Killing people is wrong. But protecting people is right, and sometimes you have to kill in order to protect. I mean, I normally just kill monsters, but if people are going to act like monsters, then I don't know! Gah!

I'm still freaking out over it in my head when I suddenly find myself standing in front of a Templar General, about to receive my official armor. Aaaaaaah, how did this happen so quickly!?

"Trainee Lark," the General intones. "Your journey with us has perhaps been one of the strangest gifts the Mistwatcher has sent us. Your story is one that many may doubt, but from this day forward let none of them be Templars. Though your past may be riddled with woe, you more than anyone have proven that with enough determination, consideration, and compassion, anyone may claw themselves back into the Watcher's good graces. You are an exemplar not only of your race, but of all people. And it has been determined that you are worthy of the title 'Templar.'"

I swallow nervously, trying to find my voice from within the chaos of my mind.

"Thank you, sir," I manage to choke out.

"And so, the time has come. Do you, Trainee Lark, hereafter dedicate yourself to be the Watcher's servant in all things, fighting not for yourself but for the greater well-being of His community?"

I don't know. But what am I going to do, just say that to his face!?

"I do," I tell him, and the choice is made. Not by thought, but by inertia.

"Then from now on, you are Templar Lark," he intones. "You will report to Inquisitor Captain Jelisaveta for your assignments. Congratulations."

He hands me my new, pristine white helmet. I take it, shuffling off to the side so that my fellow trainees can accept the ceremony next. We all graduated, even Bently, though we certainly had to cram to get him certified at casting. Oh, Watcher, is this right? Did I make the right choice?

The five of us, myself, Bently, Harvey, Xavier, and Melik all report to Captain Jelisaveta's new office after the ceremony, decked out in our shiny new gear. Solid white armor, swords, and shields, all made from the strongest chitin-producing beasts in Valka. For once, our Captain is also wearing her full uniform, the white chitin of her armor trimmed with the black of the Inquisition and the blue of her rank. She regards us with uncharacteristic imperiousness, as if trying to impose the seriousness of the situation with posture alone.

"Well, Templars, in three days time you will be deployed on your first mission," she declares. "Like all missions, it may be your last. But the lot of you are particularly unlucky, and you're going to be thrust into the thick of something nasty right from the start. I suspect one of you already knows what the mission is."

The others glance around with confusion, so I clear my throat and speak up.

"We're going to kill Vita," I say.

A startled surprise settles on the room, Melik and Bently both tensing with stress. Captain Jelisaveta, however, just snorts derisively.

"Well," she sighs, "I suppose we're certainly going to try."