Strength Based Wizard

Chapter 36

Class Sessions, Part I (Doing Your Homework)

We finish our drinks. Clyde throws one last dart—it hits the bullseye, of course—and Veronica makes a face like she’s only pretending not to be impressed. Jelly Boy is still in my bag, full of peanuts and absolutely content. I text the address to the group chat.

“This is where you opened your last Gate… when you went solo?” Veronica asks, eyebrow arched.

“Yeah. Secluded. No cameras. Nothing really adjacent to the property,” I say. “And I can confirm the owner won’t be there when I hit the gym tomorrow.”

Clyde finishes the last of his whiskey. “Let’s just hope this one doesn’t involve squirrels again.”

“Or naked sasquatches,” Veronica adds.

Clyde chuckles. “Next time they’ll take Joe in as one of their own. Like Dances with Wolves.”

“Dances with Sasquatches?” I ask.

“Exactly, Thunder Thighs,” Clyde says.

Veronica snorts.

Jelly Boy gurgles from the depths of my bag, offended. I just take it as a compliment. I do have pretty large legs, even relative to the rest of my System-enhanced body. “Hey man, I worked damn hard to get these Thunder Thighs! I just wish the System hadn’t taken such close notice of it too.”

Clyde and Veronica both erupt in laughter.

We part ways. Saying our goodbyes.

“Okay, I think this is the last thing I need to jot down,” I say, tongue out in focus as I scribble down another note.

I glance back at my System interface and the Discussion Channel thread on ‘bond’ magic. There wasn’t a lot I could easily find on warlock-based spells, but a few folks had Skills or similar abilities that allowed them to bond to creatures and receive certain benefits.

I’m sitting cross-legged on my bed, back against the wall, surrounded by scattered papers covered in my chicken scratch handwriting, my open spellbook, and a suspicious number of empty energy drink cans. The room looks like the aftermath of a grenade being launched into a middle of a Hogwarts frat party.

Across from me, Jelly Boy wiggles impatiently on the comforter, jittering like a caffeinated toddler made of gelatin. He keeps glancing at my laptop, sitting on top of my desk. Probably because the new episode of The Traitors is starting in—yep, exactly thirteen minutes.

“This won’t take long,” I assure him, already reaching into my Inventory.

He does not look convinced.

I withdraw the Spell Tome. It appears in my hand with a shimmer of blue light and the smell of very old parchment. The cover is blank. The pages are thick and yellowed, bound by what looks suspiciously like stitched skin.

Of course it is.

When I examine the tome more closely, a notification window springs into my vision, hovering over the book.

[Magical Tome: Mana (Force) Blast]

A notification pops into view the moment I open it:

This is a Magical Tome. Using this Tome will teach the User the Spell ‘Mana (Force) Blast.’ Using this Tome will expend the item.

[Do you wish to use the item ‘Magical Tome (Mana (Force) Blast)’?]

[Proceed?]

[Yes / No]

I mentally select ‘yes.’

The Tome responds by snapping open with a gust of wind that smells faintly like ozone and cinnamon, its pages turning so fast they blur. A warm, golden light pours out, bright enough to wash out the corners of the room.

Then it’s gone. Just as quickly as it had happened.

The book disintegrates midair, dissolving into a swarm of fireflies that swirl around me, the cinnamon-like smell grows stronger. They drift upward, flickering once, then vanish.

“Woah—”

The rush of knowledge fills my mind. It’s a… strange sensation that’s hard to describe. Like someone plugged a USB drive into the meat socket of my brain and uploaded Force Blast.exe directly into my frontal lobe. I know the Spell and its details instantly, as though I always had, but have no recollection of practicing the spell, reading the Spell description. Nothing.

It’s disorienting. Like waking up and suddenly being fluent in Portuguese. There is knowledge beyond the rudimentary description of the Spell’s components too. My head swims with concepts I didn’t know five minutes ago—mana channeling vectors, kinetic discharge thresholds, effective impact radius. I understand it.

Still, I mentally click through my System menus and pull up the Spell’s description.

[Spell: Mana (Force) Blast]

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Mana (Force) Blast (Evocation Spell, Level 1)

Casting Time: None

Mana Cost: 6 MP

Range: 120 feet

Duration: Instant

Description: The Spellcaster is capable of firing beam of pure force-based energy at a single target within range. The force blast has an impact of three to six inches in diameter, depending on the distance traveled and hits targets with a force approximately equal to the force required to move an average adult human (and weaker at further distances).

I blink, then look at Jelly Boy.

He’s already got the remote in one pseudopod, hovering over the “Watch Now” button.

“Alright,” I say. “You win. I’ll let you watch your murder show. But I’ll have you know, I can now telekinetically shove people!” If I use my wand to lower the mana cost, and then only once, I silently add. My low mana continues to haunt me.

He chirps in victory and slaps the remote. Dramatic music floods the room, accompanied by the voice of Alan Cumming.

I lean back and let myself smile.

“But after this episode, we’re going to use my new Spell,” I add.

He ignores me, fully engrossed in his television show.

Jelly Boy is glued to the TV. Figuratively…Mostly.

His new favorite show is back on, and he’s quivering with anticipation like a lime Jell-O mold at a metal concert. One pseudopod is clutching the remote. Another dips into a half-empty bag of sour cream and onion chips. Don’t ask me how he’s holding chips. I’ve stopped trying to understand the biology of snack consumption for semi-sentient goo.

Wait, where the hell did he get those chips from?

Meanwhile, I’m only half-watching. The other half of me—the stressed, overcaffeinated part—is swimming through the chaos that is the System’s Discussion Channels.

Some guy in Toronto bonded with a murder crow. Now he can echolocate like a bat and cough up bones. He says it’s a feature, not a bug. Another user claims their bond with a fire gecko gave them heat resistance and an immunity to bad salsa. The forum argued for three days about whether the salsa part was metaphorical.

There are others that seem far more serious in nature. Bond with a hawk as your familiar? Boom, you’ve got eagle vision. Team up with a cat? Say hello to darkvision.

But what about a slime?

Jelly Boy isn’t exactly a textbook familiar. And, even then, what I’m about to attempt isn’t even similar to the testimonials others have shared. I was unable to find anything specific to warlock classes or pact magic. But it was analogous enough.

What could I gain from bonding with a creature like Jelly Boy?

Acid spit? The ability to consume spells? A spell that turns all my bones into jelly?

The possibilities are... weird.

The episode ends. Some dude got backstabbed by his best friend and Jelly Boy lets out a squelchy noise that sounds suspiciously like, “I knew it.” He wriggles back to the center of the bed and gives me the look. That “Okay, dad, time for science and emotional vulnerability” look.

I scoop him up with both hands and plop him down in front of me. His semi-transparent body glistens in the glow of the room lights, faint hints of snack debris still swirling inside him like cosmic dust in gelatinous nebulae.

He looks up at me with big, innocent googly eyes.

“You ready, buddy?” I ask.

Jelly Boy jiggles. Affirmative.

“Okay, then.”

I extend a hand. He extends a pseudopod.

Our limbs meet. Goo touches skin.

And I cast the spell.

[Pact of the Novice Scribe]

It’s like being punched in the chest by a marshmallow made of light. A glowing aura erupts around both of us, golden and warm, like the inside of a dream you don’t want to wake up from. Firefly motes swirl again, dancing in the air, spinning between us. My heart thunders, not with fear, but with the weird, giddy anticipation of knowing something big is about to happen. Before I know it the minute as just about passed.

Jelly Boy squeaks, but it’s not pain—it’s excitement. Pure, childish glee. The light grows, then fades, dimming down to a flicker.

Ritual complete! Pact of the Novice Scribe: Successful.

[New Spell: Slimy Shield]

Slimy Shield (Abjuration Spell: Level 1)

Casting Time: Instant

Mana Cost: 4 MP

Range: Self

Duration: 30 seconds

Description: Summon a disk of ooze approximately 12 inches in diameter that provides additional protection via a physical warding effect. The disk of ooze has all the qualities of a common slime. When struck with physical force, the spell creates a splatter effect with the slime.

He jiggles smugly.

I grin.

“Hell yes.” I think.

I don’t know what awaits in that Bronze Gate, but now I can summon a shield of goo. That’s good, right?

And I’ve got a slime bestie who watches reality TV and eats bar snacks.

We are not a normal team. We are not a smart team (speaking for myself).

But we will absolutely be ready.

“Good!… Good! Enough. Let’s start our cooldown,” Jordan shouts, her voice sharp through the headset, like a commander giving orders in a war against our own cardiovascular systems.

I step away from the punching bag, soaked. Sweat slicks my shirt to my body like a second, swampier skin. My arms are trembling. My legs are threatening to unionize. I’m pretty sure my lungs are trying to sue me for reckless endangerment. Cross-training, I realize, is killer.

I collapse onto the floor like a felled tree, limbs sprawling out in a puddle of personal regret. Around me, the other students groan and lower themselves to the mat like they’ve just survived a small plane crash. Jordan transitions smoothly into the cooldown stretches, leading us through hip openers and hamstring torture poses like she wasn’t just annihilating us with a thirty-minute cardio murder session.

Tomorrow is my first Jiu Jitsu class. Because of course I decided one combat sport wasn’t enough. And the day after that? Bronze Gate time. Which is fine. It’s fine. Totally manageable. Just your standard, possibly lethal dungeon dive with interdimensional consequences. I’m starting to get nervous, but also… excited? It’s hard to explain.

Earlier today, Jelly Boy and I had a little... science experiment. We tested his spell absorption capabilities. Verdict? The little guy is great at sucking up anything purely substance-based. The Light cantrip disappeared into him like a marshmallow into a campfire. Same with my Slimy Shield—which, yeah, I guess is kind of poetic, considering he is slime. When he absorbed the shield, I think he got slightly bigger during the remaining duration of the shield. If I could spam the shield, could he absorb them all and become a kaiju slime? The thought was tempting, to say the least.

But Wizard’s Hand? Jelly Boy didn’t have as much luck absorbing the Spell. Lefty and Righty handled him like a ball of pasta dough. Jelly Boy jiggled like he was offended. Construct spells, especially pure force or raw mana types, seem to be difficult for him to absorb.

“Great job, class,” Jordan says as we finish the last stretch, her headset clicking off. She steps behind the desk, sweatless, glowing with that frustrating post-workout aura of a minor deity. I have to admit, I’m very impressed.

I grab my stuff and shuffle over to her desk like a teenager asking their crush to prom. Which, if we’re being honest, this kind of is.

“Hey… uh… do you maybe have a few minutes?” I ask, swallowing my nerves and my dignity. “I wanted to know if you could show me some boxing stuff I can work on at home?”

Jordan raises an eyebrow. “Getting serious after just one class? . . . Or are you trying to flirt with me?”

I laugh nervously. “Not flirting, I promise… But I totally would, I… Er, nevermind!” I clear my throat. What the hell Joe? I settle for giving a little shrug, scratching the back of my neck. “I want to get better at fighting. Like once I start a new hobby… I kind of get a little obsessed. Ya know?”

She smiles at that. Not a polite, ‘please stop talking to me’ smile. A real one. The kind that briefly makes me forget I’m covered in sweat and probably smell like a gym sock left in a microwave.

“Sure thing,” she says. “Let’s make you dangerous.” She gives me a sly wink.