"Tell me about the Concordium," Mithra massaged his head. “Everything I need to know to not immediately seem suspicious."

  Marcus's ghost settled into a position that approximated sitting across from him, his translucent form flickering as morning light started bleeding through the window.

  'Where do I even start?'

  "The beginning. What is this place?"

  'This is the place where all the pantheons come together in harmony. Greeks, Romans, Egyptians, Norse and whoever else the gods decided worthy. That’s the usual way, or you’re born into it as a legacy. We train together. Learn together. Supposedly become the next generation of heroes together defending humanity.'

  "But?"

  'But it's run by the same gods who can't stop fighting each other long enough to tie their sandals. Greek and Roman demigods like to pretend they're different, when they're under almost the same gods with different names. The Egyptians demigods keep to themselves which is basically everyone else here. The Norse drink too much and start fights.' He paused. 'At least the ones I met.'

  Mithra eventually got up and went to the training grounds. He passed by Demigods heading to breakfast or to morning training. He’d be doing his own type of training soon enough.

  "How many heroes?" Mithra asked.

  'Maybe ten thousand in total? Give or take, that’s how many are active at the moment. It’s spread out among different pantheons that have different population numbers.'

  "What about the Red March?"

  Marcus's expression turned thoughtful as he recounted. 'Maybe fifty to a hundred members that are active.'

  "Is everyone in Mars House in on the conspiracy?"

  'Gods, no. Most of them are just kids trying to live up to their divine parent's reputation." He gestured vaguely. "I think it’s the leadership. Arcturus and his inner circle. Maybe less than a dozen people know what’s really happening. Most are probably pawns. Like I was.' Marcus laughed bitterly.

  The Concordium was bigger than he'd imagined, with each remake the setting was more developed but he didn’t expect it to be this huge. It’s more complex, more politically fraught. In the game, it had been simplified to a few key locations and a handful of important NPCs. Reality was messier. There were roughly at least ten thousand demigods that all thought they were legendary heroes or at least were willing to fight for that prestige.

  "Tell me about Tracy Johnson."

  'What about him?'

  "Why him specifically? Why does Arcturus want him sidelined?"

  Marcus considered. 'The prophecy. There’s this huge prophecy since the founding of Concordium, something about the fate of the world hanging in the balance. Everyone thinks the prophecy is talking about Tracy at the moment. He’s currently the top candidate among the other choices. Something about elder might, final light and a bunch of other dramatic horseshit that rhymes. The specifics don't matter as much as what it means politically.'

  "Which is?"

  'Whoever controls the prophecy child, controls the narrative. If Tracy succeeds, if he becomes the hero everyone expects, then whoever backed him gets the credit. Neptune gets to claim his bloodline is superior. The Romans get to lord it over the Greeks. The entire power structure shifts.' Marcus's ghost leaned forward, became slightly more solid with the intensity of what he was explaining.

  'But if Tracy fails? If he dies on some quest? Then someone else gets to be the hero and it narrows the list down.'

  "Like Arcturus?"

  'Like Arcturus.'

  “It doesn’t exactly fit together nicely from what we heard. I mean, how does Arcturus even fit into the prophecy on any level if he wants to take Aqua boy’s place?"

  'Well… he claims he’s a legacy of Scipio Africanus and inherited his legend. So technically he has the dormant divinity of being a Jupiter Demigod.'

  “That’s… a stretch.”

  'No point in talking about it now, we need to train. You said you’d get stronger by those?' Marcus scratched his head trying to remember.

  “Stat points. In games, if you grind and train you get stat points for specific attributes.”

  'Yeah that. I have some back up gear stashed away where Tracy got beat up yesterday.' Marcus recalled as they came up to the training grounds.

  The chestplate was good quality, better than what most students had access to. Reinforced celestial gold inlaid with protective runes, fitted to Marcus's frame with the kind of precision that cost money. Mithra strapped it on piece by piece, muscle memory from Marcus's body guiding his hands through the familiar motions. Chestplate. Pauldrons. Vambraces. Greaves. Each piece clicked into place as if he didn’t grow three sizes wide and a couple of inches shorter.

  Mithra finished gearing up and made his way to the training grounds. In front of the stationary practice dummy, he drew his blade in one swift motion. The weight felt foreign in his hand, too heavy and too light at the same time. Marcus's muscle memory knew the balance and the proper grip, but Mithra's consciousness was still trying to align with instincts that didn't quite belong to him.

  Mithra took a practice swing, nearly dropping the sword! The momentum of his blade arc went further than expected as he swung. The blade shook as it met the practice, the impact made Mithra nearly drop his sword again. This was way different than he’d imagined from watching shows and playing games. They never showed the small details like this! It’s not easy holding on to the sword.

  'Oh good,' Marcus said. 'We're definitely dying.'

  "Man, help me! I wasn’t born with this in my ass like you!" Mithra complained at the tall blond.

  'I'm a ghost. What am I supposed to do, possess you? We're already in the same body. This is as possessed as it gets.'

  Marcus gave Mithra some drills to run through, after his terrible comedy routine. Mithra with new instructions tried another swing. It felt much better. His brain knew the theory, he read the books, the comics and watched enough of the game's combat animations to understand the basic forms. Yet it didn't click for him. There was some sort of wall, something just wasn’t coming together for him. He spent about twenty minutes in the training grounds, before dry heaving and falling to the floor.

  'So not only can you not swing your sword properly, your footwork is terrible,' Marcus observed from the sidelines.

  "Thanks. Super helpful. So do you have any actual advice or are you just here for commentary?"

  Marcus tilted his translucent head, considering what to say. 'Try shifting your weight forward. More on the balls of your feet. Your feet are too heavy, too rooted'

  Mithra adjusted his stance. It felt unstable, wrong, like he was about to fall forward.

  'There,' Marcus said, clapping his hands once Mithra was able to stabilize. 'Progress. Remember to stay light on your feet, like you’re always ready to dash.'

  Mithra rehydrated himself near a fountain before coming back. This time he lasted almost an hour, before everything felt like prickling pain at his sides and burning.

  'You're really going through with this,' Marcus observed.

  "The duel? Yeah." Looked up from the ground at Marcus.

  'Against Tracy Johnson, one of the guys who's destined to save the world.'

  "That's the one. Who else is going to tell him about his quest being sabotaged? The only person who can save him, is basically us." Mithra muttered.

  'I feel confident that a gamer who probably got more action climbing stairs is fighting instead of me.'

  Mithra grimaced as he got up. "I went to the gym sometimes."

  'Did you though?'

  "I thought about going to the gym recently."

  Marcus laughed. 'We're going to die. Again.'

  "Probably."

  The System chimed in, a translucent blue notification appearing in Mithra's vision. He wish he had an adblocker for the annoying popup.

  [WELCOME TO YOUR FIRST FULL DAY AS AN OTHER WORLD PROTAGONIST!]

  [Scheduled Activities: Fighting in ritual combat. Your current task is to get to the Arena on time (in 4 hours) and survive the day! ]

  [Good luck! (????)]

  "I hate you," Mithra said to the System.

  [The feeling is mutual! ?(′▽`)]

  Marcus was watching the System notification with interest despite not being able to read it. 'Is it being sarcastic again?'

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  "Always."

  'What's it say?'

  "I'm probably going to die."

  Mithra checked his stat screen through the system window. Much to his displeasure, nothing changed.

  Mithra concentrated on his sword forms again for the remaining hours. His stats weren’t improving but the time kept going regardless and the promised time was approaching.

  'The duel,' Marcus said slowly. 'They'll be watching. Arcturus will wonder why a dead body is fighting Tracy. So what's the play?'

  "I fight Tracy and put on a good show. Going back to the house is suicide, so I need to lose and get convincingly injured enough to get put into the infirmary." Mithra paused at his swings. "And I start gathering allies, one body-snatching gamer isn't going to take down an evil organization and warrior demigods along with whatever else might be out there."

  'You need more than allies, you need friends.'

  "I need anyone who isn't actively trying to kill me or hates me, which given your track record is a pretty high bar." Mithra complained as he went to the fountain again to hydrate. Oddly enough it suddenly sputtered mid way through, and blasted his face! The water pressure nearly waterboarded him.

  "Having fun there, Minatius? Leave some for the fishes." A confident demigod with cerulean hair and olive skin came into view. He twirled his sword as he approached, the blade caught the morning light in ways that suggested expensive craftsmanship.

  "Almost didn't recognize you. What happened? I almost thought a werehippo breached Concordium grounds. Not that there's a difference."

  Mithra wiped water from his face, squinting at the newcomer through droplets that clung to his eyelashes. The demigod moved with extreme arrogance; shoulders back, chin up, each steps wide and out there. It was way too cartoonish, if Marcus bullied him? He wouldn’t hold it against him. This guy’s armor was polished to mirror brightness, decorated with wave patterns that seemed to move when you weren't looking directly at them. There was a Trident symbol etched on his breastplate.

  "You are?" Mithra asked, playing for time while his brain scrambled through Marcus's fragmented memories and his own hazy one looking for a name.

  The demigod stopped mid-twirl, genuine offense flickering across his face. "You're joking. Tell me you're joking." He waited. Mithra stared blankly.

  "Caspian Delmars. We've literally been in the Concordium together for three years! I-"

  "Right. Caspian. Obviously." Mithra nodded remembering there might’ve been a character like that in the story.

  "Obviously," Caspian echoed, voice dripping with mockery. "Though I'm not surprised you forgot. You were probably too busy beating down on smaller kids into lockers or whatever it is you do when you're not embarrassing your dead parents' legacy."

  Marcus's ghost bristled beside Mithra. 'Smug bastard. He always talks like he's hot shit, but he’s riding the coattails of Tracy and his divine father. Never shuts up about it.'

  "I heard," Caspian continued, circling Mithra like a shark scenting blood, "that you challenged Tracy. My cousin. To a duel." He stopped in front of Mithra, close enough to smell the ocean. "That true?"

  "Allegedly."

  "Interesting. I also heard yesterday, you ganged up on Tracy with your Ares goons.” He pointed his sword at Mithra.

  “I saved him from getting jumped by my house actually.”

  Caspian's eyes narrowed, his sea-green irises going cold. "That doesn't sound like the Minatius I know. The Minatius I know would've helped hold him down."

  "People change."

  "In one day? Bullshit." Caspian jabbed a finger at Mithra's chest, hard enough to hurt. "I don't know what your game is, but if you think that I’m going to let you do anything that even slightly injures my family—

  "I'm not going to hurt him."

  "Forgive me if I don't trust the word of a bully who's spent three years making everyone around him miserable." Caspian stepped back, sheathing his sword.

  “…”

  "I'm challenging you," Caspian announced, loud enough that several nearby demigods stopped their morning routines to watch. "Right here. Right now. You want to fight Tracy? You go through me first."

  "I don't have time for this," Mithra said, which was absolutely true. The duel was in an hour, there wasn’t enough time for this. He needed to preserve what little energy he had left.

  "Make time." Caspian drew his sword again, the blade started to change. It seemed to be made of captured waves, flowing and solid simultaneously.

  "Ain’t now way this clam fucker is trying me right now." Mithra muttered under his breath drawing his blade. It didn’t look like he was getting out of this one.

  A crowd was gathering now. Students are drawn by the promise of violence, forming a loose circle around them. Mithra sucked his teeth when he saw the phone light. Someone was already pulling out a phone to record. Then there was someone else taking bets.

  'This is bad,' Marcus said. 'This is really bad. Your body is running on fumes and spite. Caspian's fresh, rested, and actually knows how to fight.'

  "I noticed," Mithra muttered under his breath.

  "What was that?" Caspian asked, smiling sharply.

  "Nothing.” Mithra grimaced, forgetting he was speaking out loud. “Just dealing with your barnacles since you're clearly not going to let this go."

  "Smart-“ Caspian blinked, registering what Mithra and grit his teeth. “So you got jokes too? Don't worry. I'll try not to hurt you too badly, I’ll have to apologize to TJ later since I’m taking his fight away"

  Mithra drew his sword, and the weight of it didn’t feel good. His arms were already burning from hours of practice. He wished he ate before this started, not that he’d be able to keep it down anyway.

  “Hey peanut gallery I’m betting on me triple whatever the highest amount is! I’m turn this guy into clam chum-”

  Caspian attacked before Mithra had fully settled into his stance. His blade came in fast and low, aiming for the legs. Mithra jumped back like there was a cockroach in his room. He managed to dodge barely and sent some sword thrusts his way. Their quick exchanges didn’t carry much weight in regards to the fight, they were all probing strikes.

  "Sluggish. You got worse." Caspian observed, flowing into his next strike without pause. "Tired. Sloppy. Did you even sleep last night?"

  "Not really," Mithra gasped, blocking another strike that nearly tore the sword from his grip.

  "It shows."

  The next combination came faster. There were slashes that aimed high and thrusts that attacked low. He managed to handle himself well until a sudden arcing blade came flying at him. He didn’t manage himself well when it came to reacting to that attack. Mithra dived to the ground hard and rolled. Panting Mithra came up with his sword somehow still in hand not willing to give up just yet.

  Caspian didn't press. He just stood there, sword at ready, watching with amusement. "You're fighting differently. Not better- Gods, definitely not better. It’s wrong, somehow it’s like you forgot everything you knew about swordplay and are making it up as you go."

  "They say the greatest level of fighting is to be formless," Mithra said, forcing himself back into something approximating a combat stance.

  "Interesting." Caspian's blade came up. "Let's see how far improvisation gets you."

  He attacked in earnest now, no more testing. His sword became a silver blur, striking from angles that seemed geometrically impossible, each strike flowing into the next like water finding cracks in stone.

  Mithra couldn't keep up, he couldn’t understand what was going on. He was being cut up, the only thing he could do was run! Out of breath, he started to lose the feeling in his legs. He blocked one strike, only to miss the next. A sword pommel to the ribs that drove the air from his lungs, Mithra peddled backwards tripping over his own feet trying to create distance. Lucky the sword whistled by overheard missing at that moment, but Caspian didn’t deliver the final blow on his follow up attack. He waited, giving Mithra a chance to catch a breath.

  'LEFT!' Marcus screamed.

  Mithra moved left. Caspian's blade whispered past his ear, it was close enough to feel the wind of its passing.

  'DUCK!'

  Mithra dropped. The sword whistled overhead.

  'BLOCK HIGH!'

  Mithra's sword came up. Barely catching the blade and letting it slide. Parrying the descending strike may have spared his skull, but it killed his shoulders. White hot flashing pain, made his knee buckle as well. Caspian was too fast, too skilled, too rested. For every attack Mithra managed to avoid, three more got through cutting him up.

  The crowd was murmuring now. This wasn't a fight. This was an execution happening in slow motion.

  "You're done," Caspian said, not even breathing hard. "Yield and save yourself the embarrassment."

  Mithra spat blood onto the training ground, he grabbed a fistful of dirt before getting up. "Not yielding."

  "Stubborn and stupid. Perfect combination." Caspian's sword came in for what was clearly meant to be a finishing blow to end this joke of a match.

  Mithra didn't try to block it properly. Instead, he stepped forward into Caspian's guard, dangerously near the reach of that beautiful water blade. Caspian's eyes widened. Mithra threw the training ground dirt directly into Caspian's face, before he could connect the attack properly.

  The demigod recoiled, blinking, he was momentarily blinded and whiffed his attack. Mithra used that moment to drive his sword's pommel into Caspian's chest with all his weight.

  "DIRTY!" someone in the crowd shouted.

  "CHEATER!"

  "What the Hades is that?!"

  "I don't care!" Mithra grunted, following up with a wild swing that caught Caspian's shoulder. He scored a shallow valley through expensive armor, drawing some blood.

  Caspian's face went from surprised to furious in a heartbeat. "You little-"

  His sword came up faster than thought, faster than Mithra could react. The blade came at Mithra's throat. Marcus was screaming commands, but Mithra's exhausted body couldn't respond fast enough. It was then Marcus gambled on something impossible. He persisted in commanding Mithra, enforcing his will going past what felt like a barrier. A familiar jolting sensation pulsed through both of them.

  'MOVE!'

  The world inverted briefly. Mithra’s form suddenly surrendered to the disciplined currents of Marcus’s training. Caspian’s blade no longer reached Mithra. They were able to exchange moves now, much to Caspian's surprise! Mithra’s movements were textbook yet seamless in their execution. Mithra kept launching sword attacks snapping from one stance to the next, without a single wasted breath.

  "What in the-" Caspian recovered from his shock, and began to smile. Now it was a real duel, this was the Minatius he fought against! The two trained demigods were exchanging blows with the kind of speed that made the earlier fight look like practice. Steel rang against steel in combinations too fast to count.

  It was pure agony for Marcus end, he felt the punishment of trying to use forces it wasn't meant to channel. This wasn’t a dance he could continue for long. Electricity arced through his translucent form, the Ghost of Marcus convulsing as he forced himself into a body that wasn’t his no longer. The ghost's form was growing translucent even in Mithra's mental perception, being eroded away by the electrical agony of maintaining control.

  'i can't hold this', Marcus's thoughts bled through, ragged with agony. 'Can't- it's too much-'

  'Don’t worry, it’s time to use my special move.'

  “It’s like your first day here, and now we’re exchanging swords on an equal playing ground.”

  Mithra grinned and slipped his hand through the gap holding Caspian’s collar. In this close proximity he wasn’t going to miss his chance.

  “Then let me introduce myself, Barnacle Brains. I’m Mithra.” His right leg winded backward before launching upward. For the briefest of moments, a gradient of reds and orange corded lightning sparked up his head. Marcus caught wind of Mithra's plan and aligned himself following through with the kick. Ancient divine power flooded through borrowed muscles.

  The demigod's eyes went wide at the detonating power, all of the male students winced and held their own private treasures. Caspian doubled over falling hard, his eyes going white. His back slammed against the training ground with enough force to knock the wind from his lungs and send his sword clattering from his grip.

  The crowd was silent.