As he lay on his back, a fiendish rocky face glared down at him. The gargoyle-griffin Professor Yullis Rockheart sneered. “Took you long enough, fungaloid fool. I’m surprised you made it at all. Now, restore your form, and we can continue.”
Logan grinned at that one word. Restore. He sighed and closed his eyes. “I don’t know how to do it, but I love the sound of it.”
“Tree above,” the professor spat, “but you are pathetic.”
Logan’s eyes flipped open as the gargoyle grabbed him by his one remaining arm. Rockheart shook him a few times, in front of a room full of his fellow students. The gemstone in his belly gleamed, and Logan felt Apothos flow from his core to his extremities, circulating out like a river, pumping energy through his limbs, then returning to his core in a never-ending circuit. Logan’s burnt leg plumped back into shape and turned a pasty white. A new arm came flapping out of his stump.
Rockheart slammed Logan back onto his little toadstool feet before storming away in a huff. The gargoyle-griffin marched up the steps of the dais at the front of the room to stand next to a giant geriatric turtle man leaning casually on a black staff. A black gem, badly damaged and leaking a reddish glow, was embedded in the turtle’s belly.
Rockheart addressed the room. “Congratulations to you all for surviving the Threshing. Seven recruits died, thank the Tree of Souls, because that gives us an even number, divisible by four, which is what we want.”
A big demony fire guy stood a bit too close to Logan, causing his shroomy skin to dry and shrivel. Logan eased himself away.
Rockheart continued. “We will divide the forty-eight into cohorts of four. Each of the cohorts will belong to a clan. At the Shadowcroft Academy, you will be in constant competition with your fellow cores. We will have a leaderboard marking the progress of both the clans and the cohorts. The top clan as well as the highest-ranking three cohorts will be gifted with extra power, magical items, and cultivating pills and potions. The losers will get nothing but ridicule, as is right and proper.”
Logan was trying to listen, but the Balrog-wannabe kept inching closer and his flames were hot. Logan figured if demon boy didn’t step back, he’d have to punch the guy. It might mean a bad burn, but no one was going to bully him.
Marko sauntered over, pretended to trip, and slopped his wine onto the feet of the demon. The wine hissed, and the fire guy let out a grunt and moved away.
Marko rolled his goat-like eyes. “Chadrigoth might be the best dungeon core in our class, but that’s not going to stop him from being a total asshat. As in wearing a metaphorical butt for a hat, which would be both inconvenient and smelly.”
Logan knocked Marko with a doughy, boneless elbow. “You made it, Marko! Congrats!”
“Silence!” Rockheart thundered. “Yes, you have all passed the Threshing, but your status at this school is not secure nor will it ever be secure. You were reaped, you were threshed, and during your freshman year, you will be winnowed.”
“The Reaping, the Threshing, and the Winnowing,” the turtle man croaked. “Yes, that is what we do. Watching you brave cores, I am filled with hope, however. And even if you die, you simply join the Tree. We all rest in the end. Now, it’s time I earned my paycheck. I’ll divide you fine cores up based on your choices in my dungeons.”
Logan didn’t like the sound of this winnowing business. But he took a second to go over the math, speaking his thoughts out loud. “Forty-eight students divided into twelve cohorts of four. That means there will be three cohorts in each clan.”
“Of our year, yeah,” Marko said. “The Shadowcroft Academy is a four-year program, and from what I’ve heard through the ol’ grapevine, each class has around fifty students.”
The gargoyle-griffin lifted his claws and spread his wings. “Doubtless, you all know of the grand clans of the Shadowcroft Academy. You will be part of your cohort, closer than family, and you’ll be part of your clans, more powerful than death. The clans are taken from the greatest guardians of all time—the four Primal Guardians, also known as the Four Auspicious Beasts. The Azure Dragon of the East. The Vermilion Phoenix of the South. The Crystal Tiger of the West. The Onyx Tortoise of the North.”
“Yeah, but there’s a fifth guardian,” Marko murmured. “The Golden Serpent of the Center is not a clan but represents Ashvattha itself. That’s why they call this the Golden Serpent Hall.”
“Welcome to the Golden Serpent Hall!” Rockheart echoed.
“Like I said.” Marko gave Logan a knowing smile and a wink. For being such an easy-going guy, it was obvious there was more to Marko than strictly met the eye.
The turtle tapped his staff on the dais. “Yes, yes, grand heroes of the past, though I am more interested in the heroic dungeons of the future. And so, on to the meat of the day. The First Cohort will consist of the best students. That would be Prince Chadrigoth of the First Realm, the Archduke Jimi Magmarty of the Eritreus Elite, Her Lady Elesiel of Everstar, and Tet-Akhat of the Coptic Champions.”
Demon boy was Chadrigoth, and he was joined at the front of the room by a hulking earth elemental not unlike The Fantastic Four’s Ben Grimm. Lady Elesiel was a lich queen as thin as a desiccated corpse and as beautiful as a moonless night. Green necrotic energy glowed around her skeletal hands and snaked up her arms in intricate swirls. Tet-Akhat had an Egyptian-cat-woman-goddess thing going on. So that was the best of the best. And yes, they were sorted into the Azure Dragon Clan, which Rockheart led. He made that clear. He was enormously proud of it.
Logan frowned as more students were called up and sorted into cohorts and clans by the ancient, slightly loony turtle. Other house masters walked up onto the dais to represent their clans. A woman wearing dark glasses, her head wrapped in a pink scarf, was the master of the Vermillion Phoenix Clan. A massive shark man with a hook for a hand, wielding a spiked anchor, led the Onyx Turtle Clan. Lastly, a tiger-headed giant in white crushed velvet robes glimmering with diamonds and rubies was the clan master of the Crystal Tiger. That last reminded Logan for all the world of a cross between Elvis and Liberace—assuming either had had a tiger head.
Logan didn’t catch their names. He was too busy watching.
Marko sipped and grinned and nodded. “Yeah, it’s looking like you and me are going to be together in the sewer, my mushroom man. Makes sense, since we are obviously terrible. But the real question is, who else will be joining us?”
Rockheart clapped his stone hands together to quiet the room, as the new cohorts were talking loudly. The room hushed.
The Thresher cleared his throat and spat to the side. “Yes, yes, thank you, Yullis. We are down to the last cohort.”
Rockheart nodded. “This last cohort doesn’t matter. But you, you forty-four dungeon cores, are the universe’s greatest hope.”
The Thresher laughed a rusty chuckle. “This last cohort does have a great deal of work to do. Yet.” He licked dry lips and raised a gnarled finger. “Yet they survived. And so we’ll get them sussed out. The twelfth and last cohort will be the following students: Inga Thosa Therian, Treacle Glimmerhappy, and Marko Laskarelis. And one more, the unlikely Urothling, Logan Murray.”
Marko slammed Logan on the back. “Welcome to the Terrible Twelfth. We suck, but we’ll have fun.”