Page 37 of Architecti
He practically growls his response.“Then don’t fail.”
A mumbling breaks out across the crowd.He didn’t deny there was a risk of death.
The mood shifts, every candidate sits taller, more alert.A slow coil of dread settles over the room.Thick and choking.Unwanted awareness of danger settles in the blink of lids and parted lips.Everyone recognises that someone won’t walk out of here, but no one is ready to accept it could be them.
“Is it true?”Bastien mutters.
“Yeah.My sister came here about ten years ago.Seven candidates failed to make it through and that was a good year,” Lex says.
“Fuck.”A pool of cold settles in my fingers and toes.I came here to save my soul.Not end it early.I glance back to check the doors—they’re already locked.
Wait.I frown at Lex.“You knew, and you volunteered to go through the rite anyway?”
She sags against her seat, sighing.“Is there anything better than power?”
Both Bastien and I turn to Lex, surprise written across both our expressions.
“That’s some dark villain shit for someone wearing such colourful clothes,” Bastien says.
“We all want power, Bastien.Even you.It’s the reasons why we want it that matter.”
“And yours are…?”he asks.
She tuts at him.“I might not be a reaper with a soul to save, but I do have unfinished business.And I can’t complete it powerless.”
I wonder how many more of us have come to Finis carrying the same burdens.A strange thing to be bonded by, but the fact we are provides comfort against the churning swirl of my gut.
“Let’s make a pact.If we make it through this ceremony, I want the truth.The real reasons you’re here,” I say.
“If it includes cake and beer, I’m in,” Lex says.
Bastien nods in agreement.
Every candidate in here wears tension like soldiers on a battlefield awaiting commands.Necks, backs and shoulders are rigid in seats.Lungs full of a collective breath sticky and coagulated with fear.Fists are clenched, knuckles are white, every brow furrowed in concentration.
Every candidate in here looks like they’re going to war.
Bastien leans forward, his voice low under his breath.“I guess you don’t come here without a past and a future that you want to rewrite.It’s just the nature of death.”
He couldn’t be more right.In all twenty-nine years of life, I’ve never wanted anything more than a chance to win the Demonic Favour.It’s a need that burns in my bones.
Ignatius claps, demanding attention.“This is an ancient ritual.The severing of a piece of your soul.In the same way that the seven devils and seven angels made the underworld and celestial realms.This tower was built on the bones of our gods.Their magic is stitched into the walls.And it is that same rite you must complete today, if you are to wield that power.”
I shift in my seat.I’ve severed hundreds, maybe thousands of souls.Which means I’m way too aware of how painful this is going to be.And of how dangerous it is to play with soul material.
Ignatius scans the room, and I swear his gaze lands on me.“The stone remembers what the soul forgets.To survive here, part of you must be given freely.Like your future, like your pasts.All possibilities stem from this moment.Most of you will not leave here whole.Many of you will not leave here at all.Omnia mors aequat.”A new professor joins him on the stage.“Professor Malifax, let us begin.”
14
Midnight
Candidates are called.
One after another they leave their seats to walk down the main aisle and vanish through a door at the back of the stage.None of them return.
Lex, Bastien and I are fine until the first scream tears through the hall.It’s loud and all-encompassing, like the tower sucked the sound into the walls and spat it out again.All three of us hold our ears and lean against each other until it fades.All three of us paler than before.
The longer we wait, the more my gut hardens and my nails cut moons into my palms.I hunger for this challenge and waiting is an exquisite form of torture.
