Harbinger shot forward with immense speed, the likes of which caught both Jackson and Elquire off guard. He flew like an arrow shot from a bow, propelled by a single thunderous step that cracked the ground where his foot had made contact with the cobbled floor. Jackson could barely react in time, using his Ego and pushing himself to the side, just managing to avoid the right hook Harbinger had thrown at him. He stumbled slightly, trying to get his footing in order, but Harbinger was on him before he even touched down onto the floor, launching a blistering kick straight into his side and sending him flying down the hallway.

  Jackson gasped as he crashed against the floor, rolling a good few meters before sliding to a painful, grinding halt. The kick had landed just below his ribs, and it hurt like hell. Luckily for mages, their Tincture gave them enhanced bodily functions, such as temperature regulation and, more importantly, durability. Jackson raised his head, still clutching at his side, to see Elquire attempting to defend himself against the aggressor, moving his sword every which way to try to block the attacks.

  Harbinger dodged a slash aimed at his neck and shot out a lightning-fast jab that took Elquire on the shoulder. The boy yelped but kept his sword up, twisting the blade in an attempt to catch Harbinger as he went for a hook. Harbinger danced around the blade—not so much with grace, but with sheer force propelling his attacks and retreats. He was like a boxer, weaving in and out of Elquire's attacks and landing powerful strikes to his body, not yet managing to connect one to the boy's head. He bent himself backward with surprising athleticism, ducking under a broad cleave from Elquire before using that momentum to spin on his heel and dig a powerful kick into Elquire's knee. At that, the elf screamed, dropping his sword and collapsing to the floor, grasping at his knee. Harbinger rolled the hilt of the sword onto the top of his foot, kicking it into the air and catching it in his hand. He examined it but tossed it to the side with slight disapproval.

  "Never liked usin' swords myself," he said with a condescending, prickish stress to his words. "What good's a weapon a fella can take from ya?"

  He kicked Elquire while he was on the floor. It wasn't as strong as his other attacks, more so designed just to keep Elquire down for the count. It did, however, still send him a few feet down the hallway and farther away from Jackson, who had managed to rise to his feet. The boy tried to creep up on Harbinger, but the man just turned around and smiled.

  "Ya more durable than ya look, kid, I'll give ya credit for 'at."

  Harbinger launched himself at Jackson again, but this time, Jackson was prepared. He grabbed hold of the earth beneath him, shaping it into a small column that he raised a few feet into the air. The result launched Jackson into the air on top of the pillar, and Harbinger slammed into it with a loud thud. Jackson landed near Elquire, checking to see if the boy was still conscious. He was—but barely—clutching at his leg with tears streaming down his face. Elquire wasn't a mage; he wouldn't have the increased durability that came with having a Tincture, so Harbinger had probably shattered, or at the very least, broken the boy's knee.

  "He could use a splint," came a voice from right beside Jackson.

  He turned quickly to see Harbinger—completely unharmed from his collision with the pillar—smiling at him. Before he could react, Harbinger grabbed him by the collar and threw him into the air. Jackson tried to stabilize himself with his Ego, attempting to rotate and right himself, but Harbinger appeared beside him a fraction of a moment later, hands clasped together and raised above his head. The man slammed his fists into Jackson's chest, winding the kid and sending him streaking to the floor in a blur of motion. Jackson crashed into the ground and actually bounced back up a few feet from the force of the impact—an opportunity Harbinger exploited when he fell on top of Jackson, heels first into his chest. Jackson felt some of his ribs crack as he tried to scream, but there was no air left in his lungs. He lay motionless on the floor, Harbinger perched on top of him like some demonic gargoyle. Jackson felt heat emanating off the attacker, flowing off him in gradually cooling waves. He saw Harbinger reach into his pocket and grab some sort of black rock, potentially coal. The rock began to crack in his hands, falling apart and turning to dust that fell over Jackson's body as Harbinger slipped one of the vials from his belt, downing it with a hiss.

  With all the strength he could muster, Jackson raised a fist and slammed it into Harbinger's face. Harbinger didn’t even flinch—the punch connecting with his face did absolutely nothing. On the other hand, Jackson felt like he'd just punched a wall, his fist throbbing massively. In a desperate attempt to get out from underneath the man, he used his Ego to push away while shaping the air just above him to form a sort of wall that separated the two as Jackson slid across the ground over to where Elquire was, sweat drenching both of them.

  "Ya got gumption, kid," Harbinger said as he strolled over to the boys with a confident swagger, "but ya ain't got skill. Inferion, ain't ya? Hybrids never do use their skills as well as ya'd think they would."

  The man continued to walk down the hallway, but all of a sudden, he was blasted away in a burst of air, clearly caught off guard as he was blown back to the end of the corridor. A woman appeared—gruff and stern—out of a room in the corridor. The infirmary. Cealta Croi had arrived, hearing the ruckus going on just outside her workplace.

  "Lord Almighty, lads!" she yelled as she laid eyes on the broken and battered Jackson and Elquire. "What in all the Hells is going on?"

  Elquire only managed to squeeze out a few words. "A... threat. He's a... commission?"

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  Cealta paled slightly, rushing over to the boys and drawing a strange symbol on both of them—Elquire on his leg and Jackson on his chest. "This'll help with the pain. It won't heal ya at all—I don't have the energy stored for that sort of thing—but this should let ya operate. You lads need to run. Now."

  As she said that, the runes began to glow, and Jackson found himself able to function. He still felt terrible, and pain still surged through him, but it was reduced just enough for him to move. Elquire appeared to feel the same, rising on his leg with a slight grimace but displaying nowhere near the suffering he had mere moments earlier. Cealta offered a hand to the boys, but before they could take it, a shape blistered toward them from the dark. Harbinger smashed into Cealta with a crackling tackle, carrying her down the hallway and smashing her through the wall into an empty classroom. Jackson and Elquire gave chase, ignoring the nurse’s commands to flee. They entered the room to find Cealta with a bloodied face, nose crooked and bent out of shape, as Harbinger picked her up and punted her into the lecturer’s stand. The boys’ sweat intensified as they viewed the scene.

  Cealta managed to look at the boys, though she was clearly not in good shape. "Go," she managed to gargle through bloodied teeth. Jackson wanted nothing more than to do just that. But could he really do that? Abandon someone who had helped him—not once, but twice? Was it really abandoning them? After all, they asked him to. He should listen...

  Elquire shot past him into the room, no such thoughts passing through his brain as he made haste toward the onslaught. Jackson gritted his teeth, reprimanded himself for his hesitation, and followed his friend into battle.

  The two rushed side by side at Harbinger, splitting off to his sides in an attempt to flank him. Jackson employed the same trick he had used in training, opening up the stone floor where Harbinger was standing before closing it again, trapping the man in place and preventing him from moving. The pair made use of the opening—Harbinger clearly surprised by this particular use of Shaping—with Elquire slashing at the man’s calf and Jackson lifting a chunk of rock from the floor and slamming it into the man’s face. The two moved backward after their attacks, clearly expecting Harbinger to have fallen from the assault. The man simply stood unharmed, a shit-eating grin plastered on his unblemished face.

  "’Ats more like it!" he yelled. "’Ats somethin’ fun." With seemingly little effort, he stepped out of the floor, the stone immediately caving as he did so.

  Jackson stood, shocked. How? The man had been hit with multiple chunks of earth, had his leg slashed at, been thrown around by wind—and yet somehow, he hadn't taken a lick of damage. Meanwhile, Cealta was seconds away from passing out, attempting to draw a rune on herself with the blood pooling around her. Her hand went limp as consciousness left her. Luckily, it seemed her magic continued to work even when she wasn’t awake, so Elquire and Jackson still had a chance to…

  To what? Fight? This man seemed unkillable. Maybe they could run? No—this man was faster than even Mr. Landy. They wouldn't get twenty feet. That left one option. They had to stall. Drag out the fight as long as possible so the heavy hitters could figure out something was wrong and jump in to save the day. Someone like Miss Aster, or—Hells—even Efail, might be able to do something here. He didn’t know if it was possible, but it was their only option. Elquire seemed to agree, giving Jackson a look, his eyes conveying the same dreadful realization.

  The pair charged down Harbinger once again—Jackson using his Ego to shoot behind the man, kicking him in the back of the head as he passed. The man didn’t seem affected, turning his head with his hands in his long coat pockets to give Jackson a cocky glance. Elquire moved into the man’s blind spot, sending the pommel of his shortsword into his crotch in a desperate attempt to deal damage. Harbinger turned his attention back to Elquire, a look of disappointment and discontent plaguing his face.

  "Ya really gonna go for a man’s jewels? I mean, Hells, even I don’t do that."

  Harbinger punctuated his remark with a backhand slap that connected with Elquire’s face, sending the boy pirouetting to the ground. Jackson moved in again, reaching for the air in an attempt to send Harbinger into the sky, where Jackson would be at a slight advantage—or so he hoped. It worked. Harbinger lifted off the floor in a messy jaunt, his hat coming free from his head and drifting to the floor as the tails and unfastened belts on his Wastes duster flapped as he went. Jackson pushed himself into the sky, rotating mid-air so that his feet slammed into Harbinger’s face.

  The man ate the attack, showing no signs that it had affected him. Then, all of a sudden, he stopped completely in the air, surprising Jackson, who was still being carried by the momentum from his push. Jackson briefly caught a flash of something—wavy distortion—as the man froze. Harbinger grabbed hold of Jackson’s ankle. A searing pain shot through him. Smoke began to stream from his ankle as his flesh burned in the shape of Harbinger’s handprint. The man swung Jackson around by his ankle before flinging him back to the ground, colliding with Elquire upon landing.

  Harbinger was strolling over to the two of them, another black rock crumbling in his hand. Jackson was in a daze as he lay, unable to move. Some of the pain would fade in a moment thanks to Cealta’s sigil, but for now, it was immobilizing. So he did the only thing he could.

  He thought.

  The man wouldn’t be a Shaper—that much was obvious. He didn’t know about the others, but this was unlike anything he’d seen or heard. It was unique. Therefore, it was Ego magic. Shit. There was only one underlying commonality between Egos—that being they used magic directly from their own source rather than from the world around them, like Shapers did. He needed clues, information. How could one Ego be so versatile? The man could move at blistering speeds, turn invisible, freeze mid-air, burn others’ flesh. What was the commonality? What could possibly let a man do all that? Could he have been a Hybrid? It was possible, but he definitely wasn’t an Inferion, so that wasn’t very helpful.

  It was no use. Jackson couldn’t piece it together—at least not under these conditions.

  Harbinger strolled up to him. "It was a good effort, kid," he began. "Really, it was. Hells, I’m surprised ya even kept tryin’. But fun’s over. I need to wrap this up. Don’t worry—I ain’t gonna kill ya. I’m just here to complete my commission."

  Harbinger placed his hand on Jackson’s head. The boy resigned himself to failure, closing his eyes.

  "I suggest you stop that," a voice echoed from the entrance to the classroom.

  It was feminine—strong and full of energy.

  Jackson cracked his eyes open, glancing toward the familiar tones.

  There, in her immaculate flowing robes that held visions of the cosmos within their very fabric, stood Miss Aster—

  A confident grin on her face.