Chapter 2: The Trouble with Art School Jocks (And How To Get Into It)

Before I could see what was in my backpack, the tallest of the bunch, JR, ripped it from my hands and rifled through it.

“So, did you steal an extra sea cow to take home and feel up?”

As the lackey persisted in violating my privacy, his face turned pale and emotionless.

The stark change intensified the suspense already boiling inside me.

Then my mind switched to a different direction.

What soul-sucking, emotionally blackmailing item had I left in there—or did I even have something of that caliber?

In a blink.

I landed on a hard yes.

“Give me that!”

The Nameless One snatched my bag like it was his own.

He paused.

Then started pulling out something curious—something I had never seen in my life.

A book.

I immediately read the words.

Rules of the Black Arts for Advanced Users.

Large.

Voluminous.

Was that the heaviness I had felt?

Before The Nameless One removed it from the bag, he shoved it back in.

He curled his nose and cast my backpack to the ground.

Under his breath—and I barely made it out—he said, “He has it.”

What do I have?

I was too lost in my thinking to pinpoint which goon blurted out, “Did that book say black arts? Is the street magician going to hex us, stick pins in a doll, and cause us pain?”

Pins. Pins!

I couldn’t stop my internal diatribe from bubbling out.

“Pins! No! Pins? No! That’s possibly folk magic, or worse, horror movie nonsense. I don’t use pins! I am a 100-level druid archmage necromancer. We cast fireballs, unleash and command the armies of the undead. And you failed to mention the hundred-plus spells at my disposal for purging bad guys’ souls.”

Looking back on that moment, I don’t know if the trio was slightly terrified by my commanding words or shocked that I even said them.

“Let’s get this straight, Bramwell-Gates. You’re the bad guy! You mocked me in class, and now you’re threatening me?”

The Nameless One’s voice was eerily soft, but his grip was forceful.

He seized my hoodie and shoved me to the wall.

The flunkies circled me on either side to mask their anointed leader’s actions. Posturing, The Nameless One moved his snarling face toward mine.

I wasn’t backing down.

Was I?

The following words squeaked out of my mouth:

“It’s not a threat. I am an archmage. I live to destroy evil. Are you evil?”

“I’m not evil, nerd, but I am ready to give you an evil ass-kicking.”

The Nameless One balled his mighty hand, and I prepared myself for the beatdown his fist promised to unleash.

Whenever I fought in a dream, my body reacted like I was moving underwater. Now, I finally understood why.

Time appeared frozen.

I needed my hand gestures to comply with my thoughts, but I involuntarily tensed and barely mustered any movement in my fingers to align with the words of my powerful dissuading spell.

“Pro’ elium h’t.”

The Nameless One and his cronies erupted into laughter.

“He really thinks we’re back at the role-playing table.”

Ever since I banned these fools from role-playing in high school, I’ve tried to ignore, avoid, or wish them out of existence.

Yet, like NPCs, they kept showing up with annoying regularity.

It was a price I paid for our families’ continued intertwined history.

I stood trapped in a bubble of guffaws echoing in slow motion as The Nameless One suspended his fist in the air. I had no doubt my magic locked it in place.

“Hey! Take your hands off Billy!”

The Nameless One’s powerful arm dropped as his eagle eyes alerted him to Gene and Myles running in our direction.

Another save chalked up to my magic.

My spells worked in a mysterious way.

“Nudged Synchronicity” was what I called it.

The Nameless One’s hesitation allowed Gene and Myles time to arrive. They placed themselves in front of me.

Unfortunately for Gene, The Nameless One was a beast that quickly sniffed out fear.

“Or what, Gene?”

Gene’s Captain Save-A-Friend body language switched to full-on panic.

He served as a cleric in The Lords of Omni; physical confrontation was not his forte in the game or in real life. But as he stepped aside, Myles pressed forward.

“Or I will call campus security. See right here, saved in my top five. Some words of warning: all security issues are logged in the school newspaper. Are you sure you want the bad press, champ?”

The Nameless One’s aggressiveness did not wane. Instead, he edged toward us, but RJ, the most sensible of the trio, laid his hand on The Nameless One’s shoulder.

“Come on, Dane. Let’s drop this. Bad press! The coach will kill us.”

“RJ’s right. Too many witnesses, and Coach was very serious about no trouble.”

JR redirected The Nameless One’s attention to the surrounding students.

Honestly, no one had even acknowledged our dramatic little scene, too wrapped up in their oblivious, bee-like routines. I’d wager the spirit of indifference that ruled my campus would have made them blind to my battered body on the sidewalk.

Unfortunately, I could tell The Nameless One had the same sentiment—a devilish expression twisted across his face.

“You geeks think the campus would turn on me? They love me. They would gladly do anything for me because I’m their champion. I don’t give a crap if your family owns our grounds, buildings, or the staff, Bramwell-Gates. The hearts of everyone here are mine.”

Not one of us responded to The Nameless One’s crazed words. We knew he was right. At that moment, we all resigned ourselves to a three-way ass-whooping.

But, surprisingly, The Nameless One backed down.

He leaned into his bulk like a bully making a final threat when an adult had their head turned.

He whispered in a low, monotone voice, “Your lack of filter has earned you a world of humiliation, Bramwell-Gates. You have it coming.”

The Nameless One and his crew strutted off and blended into the crowd of bees. Even though his presence had faded from sight, the threat in his expression lingered.

What was coming? And why was he whispering?

“Billy.”

What was coming? The words kept spinning.

“Billy.”

What was coming? The thought froze me.

“Billy!” Gene’s emphasis finally penetrated my worry, but I only acknowledged him with a glance.

He handed me my backpack.

I took it and instinctively slid it over my shoulder.

“Dude. They’re gone.”

“Yeah,” I muttered in relief.

“So what the hell happened?” Myles had genuine concern in his expression.

“Be real, Myles. It’s what always happens: Billy’s mouth.”

Gene’s response erased Myles’s inquisitive look. They both knew I wasn’t the master of discretion, especially when it came to The Nameless One.

Although I was not a fan of Gene’s tact, I had to admit his deductive skills were legendary. At times, damn near supernatural.

Or maybe.

In this instance, my behavior was way too predictable.

“Walk and talk?”

I filled my friends in on the sordid details leading to the confrontation.

“So your dissuading spell saved the day. Remember when you used that one to save our asses against Nikki’s horde of Dark Azul Orcs.”

I found belief in my talents, especially from my best friends, strengthened my connection to the magic.

“Myles, don’t feed into his delusions, mixing reality with game night”

I shouldn’t have included Gene in my sentiment.

“Gene, I am a 100-level druid archmage necromancer,” I proclaimed in a stern, unyielding tone.

“Billy, it’s cool around us, but save the wizard persona for The Lords of Omni. In public—Street Magician, cool. Wizard, borderline crazy.”

“How can you doubt? You saw his fire magic.”

“Thank you, Myles.” I proudly commended my friend and continued.

“If people like The Nameless One can brag about being a champion quarterback in a sports game, why can’t I brag about being a powerful wizard in a strategy game? Isn’t Myles a dark elf rogue in the game?”

Almost on cue, Myles sprang into action. Keeping a relaxed stride, he poached a passerby.

His non-threatening, innocent look and lightning speed made him practically a ghost. No one saw the thievery.

“Does anyone want a piece of gum?”

We happily partook in the Strawberry Rush Lovable Bubblegum loot.

“Like I was saying. Why should I separate myself from my accomplishments? No one else does.”

“Okay, Billy. I could note some pronounced differences, but I concede. True skill and talent are worthy of praise.”

Myles flashed a wicked smile. “Ha. I knew you would come around, Gene. Aren’t you and your game character practically the same person? You’re both book nerds.”

I didn’t even give Gene time to respond. I had the answer.

“Hell yeah, they are. You’re our investigative cleric—and both of you are always reading.”

His small loft contained hundreds of jam-packed binders, each filled with typed and handwritten entries detailing his cleric’s dogma—one he personally believed—a system based on secret knowledge encoded in every form of storytelling.

“Yeah. Can’t lie. We’re damn good investigators. Which reminds me. I’ve deciphered another passage of the Bramwell-Gates Legend. I’m pretty sure it aligns with the annual Moondog happening at the end of the month. But what I do know for certain…”

Gene was about to say it!

“…this is the year of the massacre.”

I knew it.

“Come on, Gene. Not again. Wasn’t it last year and the year before that? They call it a legend for a reason. It’s a tall tale.”

Just like every university across the world, we had a campus urban myth. But Gene was deathly serious about ours.

Even worse for me.

The legend was tied directly to my family.

And not in a good way.

“Everything’s falling into place. This is the year.”

“Look at the time. Next class is in five. Fill me in on the details later.”

“You should stop avoiding it.”

“I’m not. Class.”

Before we departed, I had to hype them up. Our big weekly event was on the horizon.

“What’s tonight?”

We all geekily shouted as we went off in separate directions.

“Game night!”

***

I slowly made my way to class. Truthfully, I had plenty of time to get there.

Gene was right.

I had avoided talking about the Bramwell-Gates Legend. I hated it.

The myth.

The massacre.

My family.

It was just some stupid smear campaign from years ago that somehow stuck.

It had been hanging over my head—my entire life.

And, as fate would have it, I became best friends with someone who was obsessed with it.

At some point, my mind shifted back to the stand-off with The Nameless One and his goons.

And I remembered.

Rules of the Black Arts for Advanced Users.

I stopped and peeked into my backpack.

It was there.

Gene or Myles must have stowed that obscenely old-fashioned book into my backpack.

Maybe it’s a subset rule guide for The Lords of Omni?

Suddenly, I became aware of the overcast clouds.

My stroll had sunk into a sullen wash of grey.

I looked around, and I didn’t see anyone else.

No one.

Our campus was nestled, nicely, in the valley on a mountain and surrounded by woods. The shift made the forest forebodingly dark.

A rustle in the brush, unexpectedly, startled me.

It drew my attention.

And I tracked something moving out there.

Something large.

Something that, for a fleeting moment, seemed to have red eyes.

Then it was gone.