The days following the conversation with Zedic were a bit of a blur of pain, sandwiches, and exhaustion. The second day of Det’s tempering—as the headmaster came to call it—wasn’t about getting drowned or choked over and over again. No, this day moved on to breaking them physically. And literally.

  Every bone in Det’s body—and many he didn’t know he even had—were fractured. Then broken. Then shattered. Repeatedly. His muscles were tenderized by what his nightmares would recall as vengeful, angry meat pounders. He was hit with hammers, clubs, maces, and inch-thick, iron rods, just to name a few. He was thrown by the Beast at a wall hard enough the stone cracked, and dropped from a hundred feet up. Usually on his head.

  Concussions came and went in a dizzying flurry, with only Baba’s cool touch at every turn keeping him going. More than a few times, he was sure that was finally it. That the blow he’d taken to his head, or the fractured rib stabbing into his lung would finally end it. Every time, the angelic—or demonic, depending on how he looked at it—older woman would bring him back from the brink, just to do it all over again. They even kicked him in the nuts. Repeatedly, of course, while Beast grinned like it was the best thing in the whole world. She didn’t even swear while she did it, all her focus on her leg jack-hammering into his crotch.

  The only real positive part of the day was how his body didn’t panic when it couldn’t breathe because of his ribs collapsed on his lungs. The sensation was oddly nostalgic.

  There was also the fact that by the end of the day, Beast had to use noticeably more force to keep breaking his bones. The hundred-foot drop became two hundred, then finally three hundred, and even then, Det was already pushing himself up to his feet when Baba came over to heal him. It was like now that his body knew what was happening, knew what the training was for, it was throwing all its energy into the progress.

  After the day of suffering, and passing the required threshold, the six roommates again went back to Zedic’s shop. There, he made sure to add a bit of his exhaustion erasing magic to their food, saying they’d need it to get through the week.

  He hadn’t been wrong, with the third day moving from breaking to bleeding. Det was cut, stabbed, pierced, punctured, perforated, and any other word the sadistic instructors could use to make the red of Det’s insides spill across the arena floor. While it started tame enough, just getting bled out by slits across his wrists, that had quickly progressed to getting run through by everything from a dagger to a damned cavalry lance. Those things were big.

  Hunks of meat were carved off from him, organs were demolished, and he was even stabbed in the heart. That last one was the worst… until they’d moved onto the systematic lobotomy. No organ was sacred or safe from the instructors. Once again, Baba made it all possible, with nearly two-hundred versions of her spread across the arena field to put the Mistguard cadets back together again.

  With their uniforms thoroughly soaked through in their own blood and gore, the six roommates had still gone to Zedic’s. The man didn’t complain a bit about their appearance when they showed up, and promptly brought them their food, knowing what they’d just gone through. A few other cadets had even found their way to the restaurant, but the room was quiet as they all ate.

  Day four took everything that’d come before, then combined it into a horror show of dismemberment, crushing, and compressing. After “learning” how to lose his limbs—other than his head—and being okay with it, Det’s body, tougher than ever, got put into what he could only describe as the wall-closing-dungeon-trap. Then the ceiling-collapsing-on-his-head-dungeon-trap, followed by the giant-boulder-down-the-small-tunnel-dungeon-trap.

  Where they even got these devices was something his constantly smooshed brain couldn’t comprehend, but it haunted him. It would be just like Beast to have these in a basement somewhere for fun.

  Oddly, this day brought them to the point furthest from death compared to the previous three. None of the traps completely closed to absolutely paste them. Just enough to fracture their skulls, twist their limbs into inconvenient pretzels, or make viscera explode out of places it wasn’t meant to exit from.

  After day three, they’d all brought fresh uniforms with them for day four, because even with how patient Zedic was, there was no way he’d let them in looking and smelling like they had. As a thanks to their consideration and forethought, he gave them an extra bowl of kettle chips on the house.

  Once again, they made everything better.

  Just in time for day five. The day of experimenting with “substances”. Mainly of the venomous, poisonous, or toxic kinds. Oh, and acids. Det hadn’t needed to see his flesh melt off his bones. Or for the bones themselves to grow porous and crackle like that old pop-candy. It wasn’t that getting poisoned over and over was any better. He vomited more in that day than he’d eaten in both of his two lives combined. At least it felt like that.

  To make matters worse, it wasn’t like the instructors went with one poison, venom, or toxin at a time. Nope. They used cocktails of the stuff, dosing Det and the other cadets with enough bad stuff, Det was dying a dozen different ways every second. Not to mention the different way to administer the horrible concoctions. Ingestion. Injection. Mists. And, just when Det was getting used to all the substances, the instructors added electrocution to the mix. Because, of course, what could make getting poisoned to death more fun than thousands of volts of primal lightning ripping through his body at the same time?

  Still, the acid bath was by far the worst. Getting stabbed in the eyes and having his tongue pulled out had been plenty bad on their own. Having it all melted at the same time was next level.

  At least that had been the end of the day. So, with a heal from Baba, a pat on the ass, and an ‘Atta-boy’, the group once again trudged over to Zedic’s. More sandwiches, kettle chips, and—this time—milkshakes, got them back to their suite, only to get up and do it all again.

  Day six was a bit different than the previous days. Instead of being about endless physical suffering, the ReSouled cadets were exposed to mental debilitations. Illusions, fear effects, magic to confuse and control. Considering what Puppeteer—a B-Rank ReSouled—could make them do, Det had a new appreciation for what Zedic had said about cautionary tales. If a man like Puppeteer went rogue, he could do an insane amount of damage. And he was only B-Rank.

  Also, unlike the other days, the cadets were told even their ReSouled bodies wouldn’t be able to completely resist illusions and the like completely. They might be able to resist the mind control, but the nature of illusions and fear effects made them constantly changing. They were never the same, not even from one second to the next. Feeding off the victim’s own thoughts, they would modify themselves in real time, making them almost impossible to adapt to. Kind of like a nightmare.

  The best the cadets could hope for was being able to realize they were under the influence, and fighting to free themselves. Or, at least endure long enough for help to arrive. It was one thing to be told that before the illusion took hold. Another thing entirely when you found yourself running from some kind of rhinoceros the size of a tank that seemed to be using magic to make it charge faster. It didn’t even need that or the sigils glowing around its horn that promised a really bad time.

  Worse still, all the conditioning he’d undergone the previous days did absolutely nothing to help when the rhino caught up to him. His mind had told him he was so broken, he’d started to feel his soul leaving his body.

  Which was exactly when the effect had ended, Beast crouched in front of where he lay on the ground. After only a few laughs at his expense, she told him the pain was a good sign he was trapped in an illusion. Since none of the ReSouled conditioning diminished the pain, it wasn’t real.

  Easy to say after the illusion was gone, much more difficult to realize when it was all happening.

  “Good thing we’re going to practice this all day, so you can get better at it,” Beast had laughed, before transforming into her monstrous form and ripping Det’s leg off to beat him with it. That lasted far too long, until he’d realized how much it hurt meant it wasn’t real.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  That had only been the second in a long line of tortuous, forced fantasies. Not all of them… bad, when they got into what were called internal illusions. While the external illusions were shared, shows of light and magic for all to see, the internal ones existed entirely within the mind of the infected. They weren’t shared or apparent to anybody other than the one under the influence.

  For Det, his internal illusion that showed him sitting back in his home with Yumi and Nat was almost enough to trap him entirely. It was so perfect, every detail right where it was supposed to be… unless he looked closely.

  Even then, he forced the discrepancies away, wilfully going along with the illusion, until it’d been torn away by the caster, leaving Det with tears in his eyes at losing them all over again.

  It’d been Beauty that’d approached him after that one, warning him illusions like that were the most dangerous. The ones that showed him what he wanted to see, where his own mind would happily work with the deception, were the most difficult to escape. He’d ignore details that didn’t make sense. People that shouldn’t be there, or things that would be said. All to live in the moment just a few seconds longer.

  The most insidious part of it was that the caster didn’t even control the depth or progress of the illusion. It was just a seed planted, growing into the victim’s desire. Most people saw scenes of wealth or success, lust, accomplishment, or crushing victory of those who were rivals. Scenes of peace, lost loved ones, or memories of better days were even worse. The mind fought hard to get back something it had lost.

  “Can the caster see what I saw?” Det had asked. “Can they let me see it again?”

  Beauty had shaken his head. The magic didn’t allow the caster to read the victim’s mind, or see what they saw. As for experiencing it repeatedly, that was the one defense ReSouled had against illusions. It was unlikely they’d ever see exactly the same scene again. Their mind was ready for that particular string of events.

  And, the internal illusionist didn’t pick what people saw. They didn’t even choose whether the person saw something good or bad. Rumors existed of a ReSouled in previous cycles who could control what their target saw to a limited degree, but they were long gone. That kind of internal illusionary magic wasn’t that common, with some cycles not even seeing somebody born with it.

  After that illusion, the following mental intrusions didn’t have the same sort of effect on Det he and the caster expected. When they weren’t of his family, he shrugged them off almost immediately, like his mind didn’t have time to deal with the nonsense. While other cadets floundered on the ground or writhed in imagined terror, Det stood back up and got ready for the next round.

  When that process happened six times in a row—with Det breaking free from the spell within seconds each time—he got taken aside by Beauty and an annoyed illusionist. It was the first time they’d seen anything like it, and they wanted to test it.

  No matter what they threw at him, internal or external illusions, it was like he’d been vaccinated. They wouldn’t take hold. His brain wouldn’t let them in for more than a few seconds. At least, not until another one with his family showed up. As soon as it had him in its grips, he was completely lost to it, utterly compliant with what it wanted to show him. Even after the illusionist stopped actively using their ability on Det, his mind held the magic within it, trapping him far longer within the spell than was normal.

  For some reason, Det was resistant to normal illusions, but fatally vulnerable to anything that touched on his wife and daughter. The best Beauty—and the headmaster, when he heard about what was going on—could figure, was that it was connected to Det’s drive. The only question was whether or not the school could use something like that to help other ReSouled protect themselves.

  While not many ReSouled had a magic related to illusions, it wasn’t uncommon among the Uncored and the Cored. Or, so Beauty said. Illusions on the front lines of the Corelands were a constant threat. Being able to ignore or pierce them would be a huge advantage, and a few comments were made about Det getting assigned a tour there as soon as he graduated from the academy.

  Ignoring his future getting decided for him—if going to the Corelands would make him stronger, sure, why not?—the fact he was suddenly resistant to the horrors of the afternoon made the sixth and final day of the initial training surprisingly pleasant. So much so, he ended up leaning against the arena wall beside Captain Simmons as the pair watched the rest of the cadets dealing with an illusion of dog-sized spiders. Det had vaguely felt the spell scratch across his mind, the terrifying, eight-legged monsters, spreading around the floor. He’d even seen a brief flash of a woman in spider-like, white armor stalking in his direction before the spell had broken. Something about her had been truly terrifying, which was enough for his brain to nope-out. Just like that, he’d been free.

  “The spells really don’t affect you?” Captain Simmons said.

  “Not for more than a second or two,” Det said. “I have to ask, though, who was the lady in the white armor?”

  Simmons chuckled. “Not sure, beyond her being some kind of old urban legend. A kind of boogeyman, you know. Behave or the Daughter will come for you.”

  “The Daughter?” Det said.

  “That’s what they call her. Depending on who you ask, she might be some kind of god or something. One who has a short temper and hates repeated questions. Who knows if she’s even real.”

  “Then why do they use her in the illusions?”

  “Cause real or not, something about her is scary as hell,” Simmons said. “Did you not see her?”

  “Like I said, just for a second.”

  “Trust me when I tell you, seeing her and knowing she’s coming for you, it’s… you’re lucky you don’t have to experience it. It’s one of the most powerful illusions cadets have to deal with before they pass this day.

  “But, enough about that,” Simmons said. “Congratulations on making it through one of the toughest weeks at the academy!”

  Det slowly turned his head to look at the man and his perfect curl. “What do you mean one of?”

  “Caught that, did you?” Simmons said with his usual laugh.

  “I did, and you didn’t answer my question.”

  “No, I didn’t,” the captain said. “Can’t have you thinking it’s all smooth sailing from here.”

  “Are there more torture weeks?”

  “… no comment.”

  Det groaned.

  “Don’t worry about any of that now,” Simmons said. “Tomorrow, you’ve got your first real day of normal classes. Looking forward to it?”

  “Normal classes?” Det said. “I… have no idea. The last week has been a blur. I haven’t even had the mental energy to think about the idea of tomorrow. Or a classroom. Tomorrow is in a classroom, right? Not a room filled with giant spikes?”

  “If you’re anything like I was,” Simmons said, laughing off—and very clearly not answering—the spike-room part. “Each day, you went somewhere to grab something to eat, went back to the room, then completely crashed out until the next morning.”

  “Close,” Det said. “Sage has been making us watch the ‘Seven Pillars’ movies. One each night. To help take our mind off the day and decompress.”

  “Interesting choice,” Simmons said, thoughtfully nodding his head. “A good blend of comedy and wacky action, with enough ReSouled characters to keep you all motivated. But, he’s been making you?”

  “Forceful suggestions, with popcorn as a bribe,” Det said. “Not that anybody needed more than an invitation.”

  “Everybody in your suite is watching the movies?”

  “Yeah,” Det said. “Tena always falls asleep by the end. We’ve had to explain the ending of each movie on the way to the arena the next morning every time. At least it stops us from getting worked up about what we knew was coming.”

  “You sound like you’re getting along well with your roommates,” Simmons said, a bit of suspicion in his voice. “Made some new friends?”

  Det blew out a breath while he thought about the statement. “I don’t know if I would call them friends, but, this whole thing…” Det extended a hand to gesture to the field of screaming, fleeing, and seizing cadets. “This, plus the sandwiches at Zedic’s, then the movies, it’s been a kind of bonding experience.”

  “Bonding over shared suffering,” Simmons said with a nod.

  “Yeah, I guess,” Det said. “I still don’t know anything about the others—besides Calisco—but I feel… closer to them? Closer than almost anybody since I got dragged to Elestar.”

  “That’s not a bad thing,” Simmons said.

  “It’s not… but it’s also not why I’m here,” Det said. “I don’t want friends. I want to go home…”

  “I hear a ‘but’ in there,” Simmons said.

  “But…” Det said. “This sounds more cutthroat than it should.”

  “Go on.”

  “But,” Det went on. “Any new friends I make could help me get home. You included.”

  “Ah, so you’re using me for more than my good looks,” Captain Simmons said, bringing his hand to his heart like he’d just been wounded.

  “I… don’t think you understand our relationship,” Det said evenly.

  Captain Simmons just laughed, then shuffled over a little closer on the wall until he was standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Det. “Let me let you in on a secret.”

  “Is it about your curl?” Det said.

  “Sorry, that remains strictly classified. And, maybe it’s you who doesn’t understand our relationship,” Simmons said with an infuriating smile. “What I’m going to tell you, you can decide whether you want to share it or not. You’re not the only one looking for advantages from friendship.”

  Det waited for more. Nothing came.

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it,” Simmons said. “Here in the academy, we all have our drives. You need to accept you—and them—are going to do things to feed those drives. Make friends. Make allies. Make enemies, if you need to. Use them all to get where you’re doing.

  “The rest of us are doing the same thing.”

  Det considered the man’s words before he said anything. That wasn’t what friendship was supposed to be. Using one another to get ahead. But, like he said, he wasn’t there to make friends, not in the traditional sense. If his roommates could help him get home, he’d use them for that. Just like they’d use him to reach their own goals.

  He couldn’t—wouldn’t—hold that against them, as long as it didn’t get in his way. That only left one question.

  “What are you using me for?” Det asked Captain Simmons.

  This time, the man didn’t laugh.

  “You’re catching on,” Simmons said, and gave him a wink before pushing off from the wall to walk away.

  all in on the torture, but sort of compressing the other days into one. I hope nobody minds. If you are desperately looking for some good ol' fashioned body horror, though, feel free to check out the final chapter of my Blood Dancer story. It's a short set in the same world... and, yeah, i think i put a trigger warning before it as well.

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