Lawrence meditated. He sat on a smooth rock in a glade. A dozen older students sat on similar rocks in a circle. In the center, the soul of a monk with orange robes sat in the lotus position. A burbling brook cut through the room. Lawrence peeked. Everyone sat in silence, pretending.

  He closed his eyes. A few weeks had passed. He’d completed a CLEP test on day one. He read at a college level. They wanted him to take a math class. He aced the final exam. They wanted him take Rhetoric 101 courses. Lawrence disdained them, but he couldn’t write papers in his head. The administration slotted him into some “advanced” courses and some freshman courses.

  Lawrence had considered skipping them to spend more time in the library. Entire bookshelves were devoted to the study and theory of magic. He read every book he could. He was most interested in the ways one could make magic through music.

  One of the guys on his floor was Jack. Jack was a bard-variant Job called a Rock Star. Jack was charismatic and handsome. Lawrence once took a great whiff when he passed Jack’s room. He caught the faintest scent of Grandmother’s hut. Rotting meat, decayed corpse. Under it was Jack’s scent: stale semen. It stank.

  Jack’s music hypnotized people. Lawrence tried learning. At home, he had learned to play the ocarina. He didn’t have the gift for siren songs. Lawrence had read ten books relating to arcane music theory. Nada. Jack spent most of his time chasing girls or playing video games in the lounge. Lawrence spent most of his time reading.

  Himmel, a German vampire, spent most of his time playing video games and smoking cheap cigars. Lawrence had no idea where or how he got the ingredients to make a cigar. Whenever the vampire was around, the lounge always stank. Cigars aside, he was relaxed. Not open to being friends. It was more like the lion wasn’t hungry today, and the other animals knew.

  Reading and meditating. The mystic sitting with his back to Lawrence claimed one needed to meditate for a certain number of hours. Do this, and one’s abilities would manifest. Lawrence had his doubts about the process. He meditated every night for an hour. He didn’t spend the days of his life in quiet contemplation required.

  Perhaps it was arrogance on Lawrence’s part. He’d maintained an Erika-like silence on his abilities. He wore a .38 Special in a holster under his pants at the small of his back. Yet, no bully had attacked him. Lawrence’s shirt was baggy enough no one noticed.

  He meditated so much to modulate his precognition. It was rare he got to pick what he saw. Horrific battles of people cutting each other to pieces, aliens cutting humans to pieces, civilians burning. Enough meditation forced his visions to happen when meditating. He hadn’t seen many visions while he was living life. Though, he still had his hunches.

  Lawrence opened his eyes. Most of the students had left.

  “Class is over,” the bearded, mustachioed Asian man told him. It was a ghost, therefore its complexion was milk-white and glowing. To have real features, this one must not have been tortured for a long time. “You may continue meditating, or you may leave. It is apparent none of the students have the PSI stat. This class will be theory for them, if they continue.”

  Lawrence dipped his chin. He closed his eyes. Listening to the burbling stream was rather calming. Lawrence’s back was killing him. He straightened his spine. He took a deep breath. Lawrence gathered his will. Erika taught him to ignite mana using his will. The wizard books he read—the old-school, non-Program books—emphasized using one’s Will.

  Concentration was key. Emotions must be controlled. Lawrence’s concentration was Legendary. His problems were emotions and lack of training.

  The guru had the Eastern philosophy of teaching. He began the first class by dancing sky-clad in a circle around a bush, singing and chanting. Those students who stayed were treated to a lesson on the physics of spinning meat. The guru ended the lesson by telling everyone “that is your first lesson.” Himmel said either you get it, or you don’t.

  Lawrence was a math guy. He preferred the Western philosophy of teaching. Hold his hand, give him an equation, and let him solve it. Or, just tell him the point of the lesson and let him do the exercises.

  Telekinesis. In the novels, Jedi described the Force as a flowing current or field. Jedi could ‘feel’ the object as part of this field and themselves as extensions of it. Lawrence did not feel a ‘field.’

  He sighed. His brain tingled. Lawrence grew warm. The air in Scholomance was a balmy 72 degrees Fahrenheit during the day. Grandmother’s village was cooler. Lawrence kept making supply runs to build his yarn stockpile. He raided the artifice labs every Sunday night for his favorite acrylic colors. His current project was a dark cable-knit sweater. He’d had to restart four times. He sucked at cable-knitting.

  Anyway, he grew warmer. It felt like he sat next to a warm fire, but it was all around him. Lawrence enjoyed the heat for a while, but the ‘enjoyment’ was an emotion. It made his brain stop tingling. When his brain stopped tingling, the warmth vanished.

  Frustrated, reached for a nearby rock with his will. A quick flash of memory appeared in black-and-white. It was a vision. The rock sat a few feet away on a stone slab. It was the Guru’s ‘telekinesis practice stone.’ Students were supposed to lift it with their minds. Levitation spells did not count.

  Lawrence sent his will in the direction of the rock. With his eyes closed, he had no idea what he was doing. He couldn’t sense a rock. He retracted his will. Instead, he focused on himself. He focused on the sensations of the cold, hard stone under his bum. Using his will, he pushed against the stone. The cold sensation lingered, but the source of hardness disappeared.

  Lawrence maintained the ‘push.’ He strained to keep away. Something was happening, but he didn’t know what. His will weakened. He strained harder to keep the sensation away. His head began hurting. Lawrence exhaled in pain. He opened his eyes.

  He floated six feet off the floor. The realization shocked him. His will vanished, sending him crashing to earth.

  “Uhhh,” he groaned.

  The guru clapped.

  “Well done. You, boy, have psionic potential. Before, you were lost. Now,” the old soul touched his shoulder. “You are found.”

  Lawrence blinked. The old man made a sign with his fingers. He moved his fingers in an elaborate gesture, doing the pagan version of crossing himself, Lawrence thought.

  PSI Skill acquired: Pyrokinesis. Pyrokinesis – lvl. 1 (+3 KNW, +3 SPL, +3 WIL)

  PSI Skill acquired: Telekinesis. Telekinesis – lvl. 1 (+3 MNT, +3 SPL, +5 WIL)

  Psionic Aptitude Perk: Pyrokinesis.

  Legendary Mental Perk: Telekinesis.

  1 PSI point remaining to be allocated. Remaining PSI point comes from Abomination Job.

  “Cool,” Lawrence said. “The heat I felt was temperature control. I need a clear mind to do it. Telekinesis was an effort of will.”

  “Powers of the mind are a state of enlightenment,” the monk said. “To access them, you must concentrate and communicate with your chakra. Power through inner transcendence. The self becomes a conduit. Congratulations. You may become a Mystic.”

  Psion Job unlocked. Psion Job requirements: Have the PSI stat. Unlock and actively use at least 2 PSI Skills (training not required). Qualifying Skills: Pyrokinesis, Telekinesis, Precognition (Clairvoyance

  “What d’you know about Psions?” Lawrence said. He rubbed his sides where he’d fallen.

  “A Psion? Bah. You don’t train a psion. You leash it. Preferably before it burns down the school.”

  Lawrence looked up at the old soul.

  “A Mystic unlocks the universe with precision,” the monk explained. “A Psion bashes it open with their forehead and calls it a breakthrough. They manifest their abilities emotionally, not intellectually. Like a Berserker, they are unstable brutes. A danger to their allies as much as their enemies. Mystics are like a finely tuned pocket watch. Like Duelists. Delicate, precise, robust. Elegant.”

  Given what he knew about Eastern mystics, Lawrence thought the old man’s attitude was wrong. It reminded him of a Wizard’s disdain for a Sorcerer. Lawrence resented the man’s attitude.

  Doctor Octavius once said intelligence was a privilege to be used for the good of mankind. Any idiot could get a doctoral degree. Lawrence corresponded with several university doctors. More than one, it was like the degree pushed out all the important non-doctorate information out of their head. Lawrence respected those people for their determination, which he lacked. Lawrence knew he’d been insulted. He resisted the urge to make a smart-aleck comment.

  At Joliet Junior College, Lawrence ran into an older professor who was a working professional machinist. The old guy lambasted a history class he’d taken in high school fifty years ago. They wanted him to know who the King of France was five hundred years ago. The guy didn’t care. As a machinist, ‘if he couldn’t make a dollar on it, he didn’t need to know it.’

  Lawrence’s kinetic abilities had lots of money-making applications. The guru’s bush-dancing—pun intended—did not. Philosophy seldom led to a job. Lawrence shut his mouth before it got him into trouble.

  “Then, I will become a mystic,” he lied. “Teach me, master.”

  “I would love to teach a fellow acolyte,” the old soul beamed. “Class is over for today. Come back tomorrow.”

  Lawrence packed up his things. He left the glade. He entered the cool halls. He joined the line of students marching downstairs into the basement. He went to lunch. He got in line for the grill.

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  He waited forty-five minutes as the line moved. When he got all the way to the front, the student behind the counter told him the grill was closed. No more food. Most of the other students ignored this and stayed in line. Lawrence debated calling the lie. He looked up at the guy behind the counter. The guy looked down at him with an unfriendly expression.

  If Lawrence called him out, so what? They were all twice his size and age. The guy had a pin for one of the floors in Haughty. He was a magic guy. Ticking off a mage would not end well, let alone a whole floor of them. Lawrence did not mind being alone, but therefore, he had no one watching his back. And he was small. If a group took a dislike to him, it would be easy to kill him.

  “Hey kid.”

  Lawrence looked at the guy behind him.

  “You’re holding up the line.”

  Lawrence stepped aside. He took two enormous slices of bread and a plate. He scooped generous helpings of peanut butter and what looked like mango jelly. He filled a cup with water. He found an empty table at the perimeter of the room. He sat with his back to the wall. He ate his sandwich in silence.

  Psion Job. Psions are those who have tapped into an otherworldly force with the ability to actualize impossible feats using the power of their mind.

  Wizard was the dream. He had 11,000 mana points. He didn’t know if PSI powers used mana, but it was worth a shot. He had three already. One remained to unlock. He’d been here for almost a month, and he hadn’t leveled Student. He hadn’t learned anything new or mind-blowing.

  As with Wizards, Mystics appeared to be broad but shallow. Lawrence disdained majoring in philosophy. Psions appeared to be narrow but deep. He’d have a specialized skillset, in addition to whatever his Heritage Jobs turned out to be. Besides, if the Gift was one in a million, the Job had to be less. It wasn’t an overpowered Job, just a rare one.

  Psion Job selected. Psion – lvl. 1 (+3 MNT, +3 SAN, +3 WIL)

  Psion Skills available: The Gift, Discipline, Focus.

  Lawrence’s eyes tingled. He massaged them. Though he could not have been aware, his eyes had turned heliotrope.

  This Job required thought. If it was Wizard, heck, even Sorcerer, he’d have his whole build planned. He had it memorized. Which Skills to take at which level, which fields to study to get specific Job unlocks. Psion was new ground. He needed to sleep on these decisions. He wished he had a friend to tell.

  He went back to his room after lunch. He had Rhetoric 101 and Evolutionary Science in the afternoon. Rhetoric would be a lesson on expository essays. Evolutionary “Science” could jump in the void. Lawrence had the essays completed. He could ape the other student’s humility in front of the professors, but he dismissed the material. He had nothing but contempt for quackery. Exhibit A: the “Mystic,” the ghost-guru of pretentious mumbo jumbo juice.

  The mystic was dead. It was a damned soul working as a slave for demons. When its robes shifted, one saw the edges of an brand across the soul’s chest. Perhaps he’d received it after a long life of great wisdom and spiritualism. The soul was still in Hell, not the White God's paradise. Not a happy ending for someone dedicated to the pursuit of chaste monkhood.

  In the meadow, he passed a scarlet horse bearing a rider dressed all in red. The horseman ignored Lawrence. Lawrence paused on the crooked path through the long grass. He studied the rider from behind. The guy wore riding leathers. He carried a bow. The saddle had some extra loops on top the rider could squat in, so he could fire his bow from an elevated position while riding.

  Otherwise, he looked like a generic, if fearsome, steppe horse archer. Lots of furs. An imposing stature, a helmet with deer antlers. The rider whirled his horse upon reaching the hallway portal. He turned aside to patrol more of the meadow.

  Lawrence kept walking. He didn’t encounter any of the shadow beasts. He entered his hovel. He dropped off his supplies. He stuffed some food he’d taken from the SDR into his pockets. Then he went for a walk.

  Lawrence stood at the boundary of the long grass for a while. A warm breeze stirred the yellow blades. The scarlet rider circled the village. Lawrence put his fingers into his mouth and whistled. He saw several pairs of eyes rise from the grass. All were a bowshot away, but the nearest could get him if it wanted.

  “,” Lawrence intoned. “.”

  Five pairs of eyes approached. Lawrence stood his ground. He shoved his hands in his pockets. He had his will prepared, but he hoped he wouldn’t need it.

  Witch Job – lvl. 2 (+1 KNW, +1 MNT, +1 WIS)

  Five shadow-creatures emerged from the long grass. Their bodies mimicked real animals, but poorly, the way hunters wore animal skins to sneak close. One good sniff revealed the disguise, not to mention the creatures just looked wrong. They were square in the middle of uncanny valley. Sweat beaded on the back of Lawrence’s neck. He was terrified.

  He brought out the food and threw it at them.

  “.”

  All five of the creatures regarded him for a long moment. None of them blinked. Lawrence thought they looked like lions waiting for him to flinch. He kept waiting. He put his hands back in his pockets. He released his will. Without it, he couldn’t ignite his mana. He was defenseless. The creatures seemed to sense the change.

  They watched him for another long moment. When it became apparent this wasn’t a trick, they approached. One by one, they bent their heads and ate. The largest of them stepped forward enough to leave the grass. It kept its head low, muscles half-coiled. The creature opened its mouth.

  “Why do you want passage?” it said in a guttural, inhuman voice. Its voice was wrong, full of unsettling intonations and elongated ‘s’s. It made the hairs on the back his neck prickle.

  “I must find a river or creek. I need clay,” Lawrence said. “For witchcraft.”

  “The Ancient One has let you join her coven?” Its eyes flicked to Grandmother’s hut.

  “I don’t know.” Lawrence shrugged. “Yes, but maybe. We’ll see.”

  The creature considered this for a long moment.

  “I will show you where to find clay,” it said. “Perhaps if you continue feeding us, then perhaps we will allow you to pass.”

  “My gratitude, sir,” Lawrence bowed low at the hip. He followed the shadow-creature into the grass. The others fell in around them. Lawrence didn’t know whether to feel terrified or reassured.

  Witch – lvl. 3 (+1 KNW, +1 MNT, +1 WIS)

  To calm himself, he reviewed his Skills. The Gift was a random PSI General Skill. It could be anything. Lawrence could make a Fate check to ensure he got something he wanted. He wanted to unlock his remaining PSI before acquiring more. There was something to be said for gaining proficiency with one’s existing tools before acquiring new ones. Too many toys led to choice paralysis.

  DisciplineA Psion’s Disciplines are the mental exercises required to turn their Will into a spell-like effect. Any Psion can use any Discipline, but those created by an Order reflect the Order’s ideals. Picking an Order to follow increases the effect of those Disciplines, but bars the Psion from other Orders

  A cursory overview showed him a long list of stuff. It was complicated. Overall, each Discipline was a themed grab-bag of spells. He might learn additional Disciplines as he leveled, and he began with two.

  Focus. The Focus meter allowed him to recycle the excess energy generated from using his abilities. He began with two units, generated by two uses of any ability. Focus decayed fast. He would gain some unusual abilities requiring Focus to cast. One ability was Chain “Lightning.” Another generated transparent cover behind which he could stand, protected.

  The Gift was a generic power-up. Discipline was a straightforward mage. Focus was combat-reliant. If Lawrence was exploring the wilds of Maelstrom with Erika and a party, Focus would be awesome. He could kinesis-block bullets, then Focus-cast a Chain Lightning of pure Psychic damage. Few creatures resisted Psychic damage. Resistance depended on Will, though one’s Sanity and Mental played a part.

  He needed to speak to Erika. She said it was important to talk to her about stuff like this. Of course, the reason she said it was to control him. Lawrence knew he needed someone wiser to teach him. He needed a mentor. Erika was a parent.

  He could take Discipline, then pick disciplines related his existing abilities: precognition and fire. He could take one on Telekinesis, but the abilities or spells it gave were generic. Or he could take a Discipline in something new. Choice paralysis ensued. This was why Job and Skill builds were important. Stupid government making Psionics illegal.

  What if he never hurt anyone? No, Uncle Sam would hate him regardless of what he did. Better to develop his abilities now. Morality was a luxury for those who never struggled. Lawrence faced prejudice at every turn for being in Culling, or being a kid in college, or being a loner.

  He was a target for predators. He needed defenses. He was too small for martial training. He couldn’t rely on the guru for Psion training. He didn’t trust the demonic professors or Administration. Better to play to his strengths.

  Skill selected: Discipline. Discipline – lvl. 1 (+3 MNT, +3 SAN, +3 WIL)

  Disciplines selected: Precognition, Pyrokinesis.

  Precognition Discipline – lvl. 1.

  Precognitive Abilities:

  Precognitive Hunch.

  Cost: 2 MP.

  Type: Buff

  Effect: Until concentration ends, whenever you perform an action, the odds of success increase by 10%.

  Pyrokinesis – lvl. 1

  While focused on this discipline, you gain +50% resistance to Fire damage, and your Fire damage is increased by 20%.

  Pyrokinesis Abilities: Combustion.

  Cost: 5 MP.

  Type: Targeted.

  Effect: Choose 1 creature within 120 feet. Target is set on fire for 10 HP per 5 MP spent. Target catches on fire and takes half damage every six seconds until your concentration ends or until it or another creature extinguish the flames. If the target’s Will exceeds the caster, target takes half as much damage and is not ignited.

  Lawrence smiled. These abilities were tasty.

  The creatures led him to a brook. All but the leader went back to the grass. The leader settled down a polite distance away to watch.

  Lawrence found a flat rock on which to work. He scooped up handfuls of clay. He shaped the clay into a fair representation of a humanoid male. Holding the clay doll in one hand, he cupped his other hand. He concentrated. He made an effort of will. In the corner of his eye, the creature tensed.

  Instead of fire, a slimy, pale, sticky, snot-like substance appeared in his hand. It wasn’t much. Lawrence saw the creature rise. It knew what this was. Lawrence smiled. Theory correct; he smeared the substance over the clay puppet while chanting.

  “.”

  Witch Job – lvl. 4 (+1 KNW, +1 MNT, +1 WIS)

  Witches were better than most at being petty. Lawrence knew there was plenty of food left. He wouldn’t stand for the bullying. He couldn’t act in the open. Open retaliation would invite further retaliation. Lawrence had no problem shooting a bully, but others would not see it his way.

  If he pissed off one guy, a whole team would be gunning for him. Lawrence might be able to burn down the school, but he didn’t think he could do it at level one. He had to swallow his feelings. True vengeance would come. Except, to get it, he had to hurt someone. Well, he couldn’t afford the luxury of morality right now. He needed to win.

  Lawrence took the clay doll back to the village. He made an effort of Will to lift it with the power of his mind. He tried to maintain the minor levitation through the forest. It proved too difficult. Lawrence ceased before he dropped it. More practice required. He laid the doll near the edge of the fire. Overnight it would turn into a rock.

  He went down to dinner. Instead of the grill line, he got in the regular line. Food was a tasteless, nutritious slop. The grill line served toasted cheese ham sandwiches. Lawrence grabbed a slice of pizza from the pizza bar. On his way out, one of the demon chefs emerged. Without preamble, the demon began screaming at the student who’d wronged Lawrence.

  The entire cafeteria screeched to a halt. Heads turned. The room got quiet. The demon raged, humiliating the student in front of his peers. Lawrence called it justice. It was better than shooting the guy and wasting a bullet. He might need those.

  He smiled watching the drama. He didn’t think his curse would work so fast. He didn’t know it would be so powerful. He’d used a unit of soul instead of mana. The spell power involved was orders of magnitude greater. Pleased with his restraint, Lawrence went to his usual seat by the wall.

  “Hullo, kid,” Jack said in passing.

  “Jack.” Lawrence nodded at him. The three freshmen women hanging around Jack ignored Lawrence. Himmel sat nearby. He stank of smoke. He smiled. The blood was red on his teeth. Lawrence jerked his chin. Himmel lifted his chin.

  They did not invite Lawrence to sit with them. He did not ask. He ate alone with his back to the wall. He wondered what tomorrow would bring.