A Bored Lich

"It's time to make ourselves known," Doevm said.

"Understood," Frey nodded and a strange smile appeared, a mixture of anxiety and long awaited release. "Finally."

Thomas's eyes returned to normal as Doevm's mana ran out. "So," the young noble's own voice came out of his own mouth. "That was weird. How are we going to convince a bunch of mages to follow complete strangers?"

A collection of gasps brought the trio's attention back towards the group of students, in the center of which lay an unconscious Trenton. A Demi knelt down beside the instructor and took care of the bleeding with a quick cauterizing flame.

"Why wasn't this done sooner?" The disciples heard Lance ask as they pushed through the crowd.

"He wanted to preserve magic and our limited medical supplies,'' the Demi in question explained. "That, and he feared 'A weak mage like myself' would pass out from the pain."

"So this was a gamble?" Lance asked.

"Yes instructor Lance," the Demi replied.

Frey stopped as he finally made his way through the crowd and saw Lance's expression again. Previously, the man's calm yet sturdy face had been together with a deep seeded tension, reminiscent of Doevm's masked psychoticism. The instructor allowed the pressure to shatter his outward appearance in a sudden metamorphosis. What emerged from the cocoon, however, was not a picturesque beauty. It had been there all along, growing in a place which light never touched: simple, raw emotions.

Lance took a deep breath outwards as if to expel the last of his former self, turned around, and climbed to the top of the closest standing grave. He faced the group of students. Even though his old, ink-stained sleeves pulled his wrists back towards the ground, he stretched his arms out wide. "Regardless of what year you came here, all of you were confused and alone at one point. I told you that day: instructors are given two choices when taking students under their wings. I can either tell you of the overall situation or I can keep you in the dark. I prefer my disciples to know their situation."

As he talked, Frey received an elbow to his ribs. He glanced over to find that the elbow belonged to Thomas: "A speech is one thing but I think these people will need something more before they'll put their lives on the line. I know I did." He gestured to a nearby corpse of a demon, covered in its own blue blood. "They need a hero, who overcomes all odds. Come on. We need to hurry."

"This is the situation," Lance continued. "This place is our home. The inhabitants, who are being mowed down by demonic hands, are the closest thing to a family we have. We have nowhere to run and nowhere to hide."

Faces filled with fear were driven deeper into despair by the very man who should have offered hope and reconciliation. Lance took another deep breath. A divide seemed to open between him and the rest of the students. Since he had cleaned himself, he wasn't injured or hurt like them. He hadn't shared their pain. Frey could sense it all as Thomas slapped blue blood into his hair. 'Ignorance should have been best,' he thought. 'In terms of leadership, no matter how bad the situation, you should never announce a pessimistic view of things.'

"I can't run either..." Lance continued. "Because I want to kill those demons. I want to save my friends and family. I must fight. What has my lifetime devotion to magic amounted to if I just throw it away because I'm scared? Remember all the pain you endured these last two weeks?" He took a third deep breath and his three-fingered hand curled into a fist. He gritted his teeth, pushed through the pain, and slowly lifted his left arm skyward.

"The last two weeks where you people just stood and watched," Frey heard one mutter over his shoulder.

"They were no help then, so what can they do now?" Another whispered.

"I heard the first years filled up the medical wing," more mutterings continued. "Who cares if he's an instructor? He didn't fight like Trenton. He'll probably just use us because he's scared of getting hurt."

The students were still, each and every one of them staring at the raised fist with hesitancy. Some stepped forward and looked over their shoulders as if asking if the others would join them. The more injured stayed back, shaking their heads at the instructor who hadn't fought through the demons like they had. 'It's not enough to convince them,' Frey thought.

A single, large ray of sunlight entering from a hole in the previously-smooth stone walls expanded as one last piece of rubble crashed to the ground. Lance flinched as the light struck him, thinking it was more demons. His sleeve fell down, exposing the horrendous scar which ran down his arm for all to see.

"By the goddess," gasps replaced the mutterings. "So the rumors of him taking down a dark mage were true?"

"Maybe he will fight after all."

"Maybe the instructors were distant from him because they feared him."

It was at this moment that a bright, flaming aura wrapped around Frey's body like a cloak. He pulled a weapon from his spatial ring. It was much longer than his mace for it was his old bloodwood spear, reinforced and reforged.

General Alexander had returned it half-way into Frey's training along with the advice: "Frey, learning a new weapon from scratch is not what you need to get stronger. I wanted you to get used to the mace's explosive force. Meanwhile, I secretly had our dwarven friend change out the spearhead of your bloodwood weapon. With a hammer face opposite an axe and a deadly point in between the two, this polearm is referred to as a poleax. With your weight behind it, I'd love to see the faces of your opponents. Have fun."

Frey stopped at Lance's feet, faced the group, and raised his spear high above his head: "I am the hero, prophesied to slay the demon king. By the will of the goddess, march!"

Cheers were followed by shuffling as students steeled themselves and followed their new leaders to the second floor, where an army of demons awaited them.

'Now Doevm,' Frey thought. 'I've done my part. Now let's see you do yours.'