The sun felt good on his scales. Technically it was on the skin beneath the scales, since iron had no way to transfer any sensation, but that iron was being heated up and provided a wonderful sensation that left him feeling invigorated.
Absently he watched each student. They were all armed. He figured about half of them were carrying melee weapons. They were the dangerous ones. While the glyphs at the tips of their swords, or heads of their maces, would be useless against him, the glyphs in the handles would make up for that.
Of the two types of weapons, blunt or sharp, he was less worried about sharp weapons. They were mostly too small and light to cut through his natural armor. He would close distance quickly with them. When the swung he'd take the hit in order to grab the arm wielding it, and break it. Disarmed they would be easy pickings.
The blunt weapons, on the other hand, could push his scales inwards, crushing internal organs. He couldn't afford to take even one hit since he knew most had a glyph that would double their impact. He would have to be patient with them. Their large mass meant they were either in constant motion or held ready for their next strike. There would be an opening eventually. It really depended on the style of the person he was fighting.
Of the remaining students most were mages, which he laughed at. Their magics were useless against his scales that would ground out any of their attacks, and the ranged gun slingers and archers. Those were the most dangerous to him. Most soldiers had glyphs and spells to negate their effectiveness. He didn't. His scales grounded out beneficial magic as well as harmful, including any magic he would cast himself. He would need to use cover and close the distance. Some of the other students would make good shields after he broke their nec....
Stop it, he thought to himself. Stay in control. I can figure out how to win in a fight. I am not sure if I will ever rewrite that instinct, but I don't have to go on a killing spree. His irritation was directed inwards as well as outwards.
While he had been studying them, they were watching him. He was a freak. How could they not stare? If he were human he would probably do the same thing. He would see the scales, which he was displaying proudly with just a pair of pants for decency. He would see his inhuman face, his toothy smile more like that of a deranged shark, a nose that was flat to his face with extra flaps to filter the desert sand out, and amber slitted eyes.
Of course, his face helped distract people from his clawed hands with gnarled elongated fingers, and taloned feet somewhere between human and rapture. Both were designed to slice and tear flesh and armor alike.
What they couldn't know was how magnified his senses were. If they did they wouldn't be whispering about him. Every word from their lips only confirmed what he already knew. He was a monster.
With that hearing he also was able to click his tongue a few times and use echolocation to identify his surroundings. It wasn't perfect, but he could detect motions and obstacles. He would not be lost or taken by surprise in the dark.
Not that he used that often. His slitted eyes allowed him to see well in the dark, and they were set slightly further apart than a humans for improved peripheral vision, but not as far apart as a bird so he didn't have their blind spot directly in front.
In every way possible he had been designed and crafted to be one thing: a weapon. He couldn't change that, but he could control himself enough not to decide how to kill people he didn't even know. He could. He had too.
There had been others who his masters had attempted to create. Of the experiments he was the only one to survive the modifications. They had been excited however. One success in fifty was more than they had expected so early in their trials.
The next set of trials would yield more they had said to each other. They didn't talk to him directly. They never talked to him. He was a weapon and a lab experiment. What would be the point?
His life was something few could bare, and he couldn't either. After eight years of experimentation he had his chance and he escaped to the desert, an environment he found he must have been designed for.
He didn't know yet the worst of the modifications they had done on him. He remembered how they did it, but never knew it's purpose. Ripping the scales off his temples had hurt. Were he normal it probably would have rendered him unconscious. He dampened the pain though. An ability meant to allow him to continue fighting when others would fall.
Then they cast spells with his defense no longer available. He was never told what. He didn't find out until the first night on his own.
The camp fire called him, and he answered. When he got close he saw humans aroud it, laughing, and telling jokes. He tensed with fear, remembering where he came from, expecting these to bring him back there. Humans were not to be trusted.
He assessed them for how to kill them all, as he had always done with new people or situations. He never acted on it before while he was a prisoner, so he assumed that would be the same here. He never took into account that in those past assessments had all told him he would die.
Because of that he was caught completely off guard when he made his last assessment and decided on the most efficient and effective order to do it. And he did it. He killed every last member old and young. He had left the young for last, assessing them as the smallest threat, and let them watch.
It was quick, and he realized what kind of monster they had made in him. He was sick, quite literally, as he emptied the contents of his stomach. He was sick mentally, unable to remove the images from his mind. Unable to stop enjoying the memories of their fear and horror on their faces.
That left him to dry-heaves.
After that he worked to keep his distance from any other intelligent life and learned control. He wasn't sure how to do that, if he was honest with himself, but he got results anyways.
He would never be normal, no matter how hard he tried. A simple life as a farmer , or a miner were out of his grasp. He could join one or the other as an extra hand. They didn't care much if you were a chimera or a human. You were a fresh body able to work. It would be wonderful.
Until he killed someone.
He didn't have total control of his blood lust. Eventually it would win. So what was he doing here? A school seemed unsuited to a violent uncontrolled murderer.
When he had been caught in the desert he had expected to die. A sane human would for his own safety.
Unable to sustain himself, and afraid of humans and himself, he had been forced to rob any travelers he saw. If they fought back he could lose control during the fight and inevitably he killed everyone. The ones that lived from the attack had to have told all the cities and villages in the area, and with his modifications it would be hard not to recognize him even from a vague description.
They didn't kill him though. Instead he had been brought here, to the academy in the south east. He learned later they were specifically sent to capture him, and bring him here. Once there he was chained for their own safety, a smart move in his opinion, and the headmistress approached him.
He flinched slightly. She reminded him of his last kill. "Hello, my name is Stacy, and I run this school."
He stayed silent. He knew she could have him killed, and he expected to be after she got whatever information she thought he had. Maybe something about his past owners? If that were true he'd give everything he knew with a smile.
It was also possible she thought she could use him to fight. He was a weapon after all. No matter how he tried that would never change.
With a knowing smile she continued. "I think you have questions for me, including why I spared your life."
Her voice was very kind, and she never made a threatening move. He wasn't used to it. His masters rarely talked to him directly except to give orders or yell at him when he failed to perform properly. Some small part of him wanted to trust her. It wasn't large enough to register consciously however.
"I know a lot about you," she stated flatly. "You were born thirteen years ago in Sierra Vista, kidnapped at age two with mental modifications beginning immediately, body modifications two months after that. At the age of seven they modified your biological clock to double your age rate, and at ten you escaped to become a desert raider."
To all the key portions of his life summed up, none of them pleasant and the early ones even he hadn't known, such as the town he had been born at. "How?" he asked involuntarily as his curiosity overrode his distrust.
She had a friendly smile on her face the entire time. His familiarity with smiles was fleeting, but he thought it was honest. The smile didn't leave her face, but it changed. If he were to put a name to it, he would call it hate. It wasn't directed at him however. "One second. I knew that would be asked, but not so quickly."
She turned around and walked down the hall. As she walked she continued to talk. "I know you don't have a name. I think we should fix that. Do you have any ideas?"
A name? He never had thought on the possibility. He shook his head to the negative. "How about Simon?" He tilted his head and thought on it, occassionaly saying it to get a feel.
Reaching the end of the hall she reached into a small alcove, and then begin heading back with a box. It wasn't a large box, and obviously not a heavy one either judging by how easily she carried it.
Deciding it really didn't matter he told her "I will use Simon."
Smiling her understanding she returned to the original subject. "I think you'll recognize this."
She placed it just within his reach if he stretched the chains, then returned to her seat two feet beyond that. He reached and grabbed it. Opening it he let out an involuntary gasp. It was the last thing he would have expected to see, and he was sure it would horrify humans, but all it did is make him laugh.
"He gave us quite a lot of information. I have people who can be very persuasive. His information was not simply about you, but on the entire organization he worked for. In the end he was begging for death, so I granted his request."
Simon looked into the box one more time, and laughed again at the head within. The eyes were still open, his last expression of horror still visible in death.
It made him more inclined to trust her, at least. A lot of items clicked into place instantly with this revelation. "How did you find him, and why bother doing anything? He wasn't bothering your school."
"I like to look at the big picture. Like attracts like. He might not have bothered us directly, but his clientele would, eventually."
She was not a woman to trifle with! She may be friendly when she wanted to be, but she was also as cold as a snake when needed. Which half was the real half? "So when you tortured him he said something about me at some point?"
"All of his projects, actually," she replied, as if it had been a pleasant conversation. "As I said, he had a lot to tell us and was eager to do so."
He was curious about the rest of the information, but what mattered most was him. "What did he say that made you come after me?"
"Nothing really. I just felt it was wrong to leave you like that if I could stop it."
It had been nagging at him in the back of his head, but he couldn't figure out what. It suddenly stopped hiding and ran forward to slap him. Was she speaking to him the same way she would another human? That had never happened before that he could remember.
"You could stop it by killing me," he pointed out. Secretly a portion of him would welcome that solution. He was not a quitter, but he'd rather quit than kill again.
"I could," she agreed, "or I could work on removing those compulsions they put in your head. I can do that you know. He told me all I needed to know to do it."
"You casually torture people, then worry about the fate of one chimera in the desert?"
That friendly smile broke out on her lips again. "I worry about all of my students."
Huh? "I'm not a student."
"You are now."
That had been several months ago. During that time he remained a prisoner. He got constant therapy to deal with his anger and the blood lust that came over him. It was slow, and no matter what either said he could not think of himself as anything other than a weapon. They were only refining him to be as precise as a rapier instead a blunt mace.
There was a quicker way, but Stacy had flatly refused. They could remove his scales lake his masters had and work on him magically. It would have been painful, but he could endure it. She would not torture him any further though, even if he was begging for it.
The psychiatrist had been good, but it was still not safe for people to be near him. That was when the school ring came into play.
His fingers were where his armor was the lightest, merely leather at the joints. They need to be at least mildly dexterous to grab larger items. It was thin enough to form a circuit with a school ring.
His ring, unlike the others, was large and did in fact have the crest of the school upon it. That was a ruse however. If he were to push the center of the ring it would change the use of magic from the slightest of trickles to the torrent of a flash flood during monsoon season. He would pass out from it in seconds as his energy manifested over him as a flash of light. It was the ultimate fail safe, and it made him more confident in this crowd of strangers.
Strangers that must fear him, maybe even hate him... Even the other two Chimera avoided looking at him. They still looked mostly human. He was a monster. A living weapon.
A military school seemed perfect for a weapon.
He saw her with his peripheral vision. She certainly couldn't have known though. "It isn't wise to spy on me."
The girl laughed. "I need to practice more I see. Well, that is why I am here."
Turning he looked at her directly. "What do you want?"
"A simple trade, really," she said affably. "You can handle yourself in a fight, but how good are you at scouting, or at setting traps? As a team we could definitely get past whatever combat scenario they're going to throw at us. Don't you agree?"
She wanted a weapon, and she'd picked out the best one in her opinion. He understood. At least she wasn't afraid to wield him, unlike the rest who treated him like an unstable bomb.
Before answering he studied her. Her clothes were that of a spy or of an assassin. Most likely assassin he guessed. She wore black from head to toe. She was well armed, though the knives were hidden. A casual observer would not notice them. Her stance, subconsciously held even when not in a fight, said she could fight, but it would be filled with trickery and misdirection. It wouldn't be enough for someone on his level, but more than needed in most situations. He also knew the quality of her stealth from personal experience now. She was more than competent. Had she not been overconfident and gotten so close he wouldn't have noticed her.
She would make a good ally.
"Your name?" he asked gruffly.
With a nod she answered "Ana Mutet, and may I have your name as well?"
"Simon," he said shortly.
"Just Simon?"
Would every human get caught up on that? "I never understood the need for a second name and was never given one."
She didn't attempt to get anything more out of him on the subject, which was favorable. "I see. So are you agreeable to my plan?"
She had not flinched from him at any point, and like the headmistress she treated him as an equal. Her motives may be obvious but they did benefit him as well. There wasn't a reason not to. "I agree."
"Excellent." He decided from that single word he would need to be careful around her. The tone had been identical to his own. A voice that enjoyed killing.
A commotion caught both of their attention as a robed figure left the expensive looking vehicle. When he raided he would have known better than to try that car alone. People who drove such things had enough money to buy the best, including weapons and men.
It was obvious that she was one such. It was equally obvious to him she was perhaps the best trained person here. The verbal fight between her and a child made no sense to him. 'San' and 'samas" seemed to be put in after every name for no reason, but it obviously was making them angry.
He wondered if the rich girl would kill the upstart, but decided not. She was deadly, but she wasn't a killer. Neither of them were. An odd thing to find in a school designed to make everyone into a weapon.
That was the real reason he was here. The headmistress had been clear that he could leave any time he wanted to, but he had stayed. He hoped that the other students would become the weapon he was. He hoped he would find friends with that commonality.
"Let's go," Ana said, pulling him out of his thoughts. Simon nodded and moved to the open doors.
Acquiring him had taken almost a year, six months of that simply trying to find him. Those scales didn't just ground out combat spells. The grounded out any location spells she'd had cast to find him.
That made him the shortest arrival and preparation to bring under her wing. Her plans were going smoothly. That's always when things go badly. She had to keep an eye on them.
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