The morning sun barely managed to pierce the thick fog of Shadow Valley, but the sound of wood splintering was a very effective alarm clock.
Vincy was jolted awake as the door to Room 404 flew off its hinges, skipping across the floor like a flat stone on a pond. Standing in the doorway was a youth who looked like he had been built out of bricks and bad intentions. He wore the blue robes of the Outer Sect, and behind him stood two lackeys smirking like hyenas.
"Rise and shine, trash!" the leader bellowed. This was Baron, a three-year veteran of the Outer Sect who had made a career out of "taxing" the new students. "It's Monday. Protection fees are due. Ten Spirit Stones each, or Grog here gets to see if he can bounce as well as that door did."
Dax scrambled under his bed, while Grog sat up, looking confused and clutching his raw turnip.
"Ten stones?" Vincy stammered, rubbing his eyes. "I don't even have ten copper coins! I'm from Buckinga Village!"
"Buckinga, eh?" Baron stepped into the room, his heavy boots crunching on the debris. He loomed over Vincy's creaky bed. "Then you can pay in manual labor. I need someone to scrub the Spirit Beast stables, and you look like you've got the spine for it. Or maybe I'll just break it and save us both the trouble."
Inside Vincy's mind, a cold, elegant sigh echoed.
"Vincy," Piet's voice sounded dangerously calm. "I was having a dream about a very rare vintage of Phoenix-Blood wine. To be interrupted by a man who smells like wet dog and has the facial structure of a shovel... it is unacceptable."
"Wait, Piet, don't—!" Vincy whispered.
"Too late. Switch."
Vincy's eyes didn't just change color; they seemed to sharpen into violet diamonds. His panicked expression smoothed out into a look of such profound boredom that Baron actually hesitated.
"Are you finished?" Piet-Vincy asked, his voice now a smooth, terrifying silk. He didn't get out of bed. He just propped his head up on one hand. "You're vibrating the air with your shouting. It's tacky. Truly."
Baron's face turned a shade of purple that rivaled Kaelen's bruise. "What did you say, you little—"
He lunged, his fist glowing with a faint brown light—The Earthen Crag Strike. To a Sect Student, it was a bone-shattering move. To Piet, it was moving in slow motion.
Piet-Vincy didn't even use a technique. He simply reached out and tapped Baron's wrist with two fingers.
Pop.
The brown glow didn't just vanish; it inverted. Baron's own Qi backfired, traveling up his arm and dumping him unceremoniously into the hallway.
"You... you used a needle-point disruption!" Dax squeaked from under the bed, his goggles lopsided. "That's a high-level Inner Court counter!"
Piet-Vincy stood up, stretching his limbs with a grace that shouldn't belong to a human body. He walked to the doorway and looked down at Baron, who was currently trying to remember how to breathe.
"Ten Spirit Stones," Piet-Vincy mused. "Actually, I think the 'tax' has changed. From now on, you will deliver ten stones to this room every Monday. For the... emotional distress of waking me up."
"You're dead!" one of the lackeys screamed, though he was backing away. "The Outer Sect elders won't let a Student treat a Disciple like this!"
"Then bring an elder," Piet-Vincy smiled, and for a second, a shadow of a massive, multi-headed dragon seemed to flicker behind him. "I haven't had a decent conversation with anyone over the age of five since I got here."
The bullies scrambled away, dragging Baron by his heels.
The violet light faded, and Vincy collapsed back onto the bed, his heart hammering like a trapped bird. "Piet! You just declared war on the entire Outer Sect! I'm going to be turned into a rug!"
"Nonsense," Piet's voice drifted back into the shadows of his mind. "They're too arrogant to report this to the elders. They'll try to handle it themselves. Which means more practice for you. Also..." Piet paused, sounding slightly embarrassed. "The big one... Grog? Tell him to cook that turnip. The smell is making me nauseous."
Vincy looked at Grog, who was staring at him with wide, worshipping eyes.
"Vincy," Grog whispered. "You... you're a god?"
"No," Vincy groaned, burying his face in his hands. "I'm just a guy with a very loud, very rude roommate."