Turns out that was also the bad news. It’s one thing to lose to Alan Jackson or Nadia; pretty much everyone does, and the fact that I’d scored a hit on Orca had to count in my favor. But when you lose to Stonewall? When you end up breaking every bone in both of your hands because his skin is solid rock and your power doesn’t give you the strength or durability to match up?
That’s when you find yourself back in Nikolai’s office.
•—•—•
This time, I didn’t bother taking a seat. Partly because I knew what was coming, partly because I was pissed, and partly because my ass was bruised to hell and back after the fight with Stonewall. Instead, I rested my puffy, swollen hands on the back of the chair and waited.
Nikolai didn’t mince words. “I’m sorry, Banach. You’re out.”
Even knowing the words were coming, I felt the bottom of my stomach drop. “It’s been less than three weeks since I learned how to trigger my powers, Nikolai. Give me more time.”
“I gave you long enough. Much more of this and I have a feeling I’ll be explaining to Bard why he has another dead first-year on his hands.” Nikolai shook his massive head, jaw clenched. “Part of my job is knowing who’s suited for close combat and who isn’t. Like it or not, you’re in that second group.”
“That’s bullshit, man!” After all that work channeling the emptiness that was my power, it was almost nice to indulge in some genuine anger.
“That’s life, kid. Of all people, you should already know that.” He leaned back in his badly undersized chair and fixed me with a glare. “I was part of the Cape team that took down Lord Bone. Did your study group uncover that little bit of information when you were researching faculty?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Crimson Death gets all the press these days, but Lord Bone was the real deal. Absolute nightmare in a top hat and white tuxedo. It took seven of us to take him down. Our Shadecaster got his ticket punched and most of the rest still bear scars.”
I wasn’t sure where he was going with all this ancient history, but I saw my opportunity. “Now imagine having a Crow on your side for once!”
Nikolai continued as if I hadn’t said a word. “I’ve heard some of your classmates call what you do going full-Walker. But do you know what makes a real Walker dangerous?”
“They don’t feel pain and they don’t stop?”
“Nah. That just makes them a pain in the ass. What makes them dangerous,” he explained, “is that they come in packs. For every walking corpse you take down, the damn Crow will be killing normals and raising another three or five to replace it. An endless supply of expendable soldiers, every one of them tireless, fearless puppets.”
“I don’t get tired—” I began.
“That’s not the fucking point, Banach. When you use your power, it’s impressive, I’ll grant, but there’s only one of you. Even worse, you’re not raising Walkers, you’re turning yourself into one. So what happens when someone decides to put you down?”
There didn’t seem to be a great answer to that.
“You die,” he concluded. “Not feeling pain is a long way from being invulnerable. A Crow’s power lies in sending the dead to do their bidding while staying safe themselves.”
“But my power doesn’t work that way.”
“Yeah. That’s why we’re here.”
I smacked the back of the chair with one hand and did my best not to howl at the pain that raced through my recently healed fingers. “So what the fuck does that mean for me?”
“It means you need to leave Close Combat to those built for it.” If I didn’t know better, I’d have sworn the old Titan was trying to be kind. “Maybe you’ll have better luck with one of the other Cape paths.”
“No doubt. I’m sure I’ll kick some serious fucking ass at Perception,” I growled. “Come on, Nikolai. I’ve taken History of Powers. Everyone knows powers manifest internally or externally. Never both. The other Crows were externals, but I’m clearly not. Combat’s the only thing my power’s good for.”
“Then you need to give serious thought to another career,” the big man growled back. “I’ve got enough dead kids on my conscience without sending another one to his grave.”
I wasn’t going to beg, not to Nikolai, and not to anyone else. But still… “Give me until the new year. Maybe there’s something more I can—”
“Sorry, kid. I told Bard my decision while you were being healed at the med ward. Just thought you deserved to hear the news straight from me.” Nikolai rose to his feet, massive bulk blocking the light of the single lamp, and nodded to the door behind me. “For what it’s worth, I wish you luck.”
Like most wishes, his was worth nothing at all.
•—•—•
It took less than an hour for the news to spread among the first-years. Their reactions were about what you’d expect. Kayleigh was all outrage and sympathy, Silt was gruffly supportive, and Wormhole was… still convinced I was going to murder her, I guess. Caleb spent the next week walking around with a victorious smirk on his face as if he’d had a damn thing to do with my failure. Paladin’s expression was perfectly calibrated between appropriately sympathetic and aloof, and Jeremiah…
Turned out my roommate was all marshmallow beneath that dark chocolate shell.
“I’m so sorry,” he said for the second time that day, and the seventh in the past week and a half.
“Stop apologizing.” I was flat on my back on my bed, Glass face-down on my chest, as I stared up at our dorm ceiling. “It’s not your fault.”
“You went straight from our fight to the med ward to being kicked out of Combat. How is that not my fault?”
“It just isn’t. Was it Alan Jackson’s fault—” I was not calling
