He strummed his mana itself across his silky, torrid flesh. Khonsu's magical-energy itself pulsed into the sanguine and sapphire-decorated gate of his ageless mansion.

Khonsu stepped towards the gargantuan door, peering into the crimson irises of his painting. He brushed a pale, smooth finger onto the picture, his mana throbbing into its design.

The mellifluent ripple of regenerative magic washed itself through my lacerated skin. I stretched my fingers themselves, swiping them at the flesh of my gashed neck.

I peered over at the runic-glaive I procured for myself in the Srooa-Kingdom's annual and popularized festival. The symbols of my favourite weapon danced, frolicked, or rotated.

Suspiring to myself, I stepped towards the sigil-decorated weapon, clicking it back into its markings-painted scabbard. I pulsated my mana into the runes, feeling their own energy deplete.

The craft of rune and sigil magic was an arduous one. Runes were different types of symbols personifying spells or features of reality itself. Observation-Runes. Fire-Runes. Or sigils of obliteration.

Spectral-Academy itself carried no official classes regarding the utilization of the magical-symbols - instead, the Upper-Schools were permitted to teach students the complexities of this topic.

I climbed through the path of the infinitesimal-arena training-sector of the school. I gave some of my school-mates polite and gentle nods, ambling into the corridors of the edifice.

Still, the notion of using rune-type spells never interested me. I sauntered out of the school's main-entrance, perambulating onto the steps of the dormitories.

I clicked open the mahogany-door for my apportioned dormitory-room, coasting myself onto the front-carpet of my evanescent residence. I heard a clang from Wukong's staff - while Vasura's hoarse, bland falsetto chuckled.

"Maniacs." I grouchily smirked to myself, stepping into the living-room of our domicile. I slouched into my personal sofa, flicking my runic-blade onto the top of my book-shelf. "Now, for something to read."

I rifled through my flood of books and novels, pedalling across the romance, fantasy, or drama sections. I bombinated; seizing a book from the 5th shelf; interested. "The death of a dimension. A short story."

I immediately perused the written-illustrations of this short-timed novel. It was a flummoxing tale of a mutable child: who wanted and craved death itself, for his dimensions, his home, his life, his existence, was dead.

"Yo, Karasuu!" Wukong's vociferous and childish soprano boomed. He settled onto another, sanguine-sofa, glancing at the runes of my symbol-painted scabbard. "What are you reading?"

"A little story." I casually dismissed, slinging the novel back onto the wooden-concrete of the shelf. I straightened my muscles and flesh, reposing my blanket over my form. "You want something?"

"The apartment's not a permanent arrangement? Or am I wrong?"

"No, you're not wrong."

Vasura, Wukong, and I all intended to purchase our own apartments or residences - the three of us were planning on renting the same apartment until we were capable of buying our desired homes.

"Karasuu?"

"Hm?"

"Wanna play Hurl-The-Karasuu?"

Hurl-The-Karasuu was - indeed - an unpleasant, disgruntling version of Vasura's game of Hurl-The-Wukong. I slithered from where my body was flicked and settled into my bed of a sofa.

I seized the blanket atop my sofa's arm-rests - until feeling a ripple or groan of mana. I stepped out of my couch, sauntering over to the source of the echoing spell. 

The aerosphere immediately splintered - as I identified Vasura: whose fingers pulsed; throbbing. He summoned a [Fire-Phantom], his purple irises revolving back into his signature sapphire, sighing. "Damn."

"Training your magic?"

"Hm? Yep, sorry." Vasura lazily murmured, crumbling the spectre of flames into fragments of frolicking mana. He slipped his hands into his ebony-slacks' pockets, reposing himself onto a crimson-painted chair. "You good?"

"I'm good." I lackadaisically riposted, perusing the scattering smithereens of [Lifeless-Magic]. I settled into my own, desk-chair, tapping its mahogany arm-rests; humming. "Graduation is tomorrow."

"Is it now? Sick." My pulseless and hoarse buddy blithely chuckled, a bland, elated grin painting itself across his unperturbed visage. He slouched into the chair, inspecting the living-room's innumerable shelves. "Heh."

"Something entertaining you?"

"Nah." Vasura languidly retorted, stretching a pulsation of natural-mana into his silky fingers. He suspired at the purple-coruscation atop his skin, evaporating his magical-energy. "I'm working on a new spell."

"What's it called?" I nonchalantly interrogated, lifting up three of my own fingers. I called my [Centre], clutching onto a book regarding mana and where it was created. "Hm..."

"No name." He listlessly shrugged, stepping from the shackles of his mahogany-chair. Vasura canted his lifeless skull, striding into the door of his personal bed-room. "I took some inspiration from Professor Qwoin's fire-spell."

I reminded myself of our little, infinitesimal spar. The victor of the short-timed battle was obscured, for Khonsu interrupted it - still, his [Time-Magic] was incredible, the ability to manipulate a notion itself.

The rippling and disgruntling beep of my alarm-clock clanged into the pinna of my ear. I growled to myself in passivity, hauling my sanguine-blanket from my echoing abdomen.

"Damn, I'm hungry." I drowsily yawned, my soprano guttural and rumbling. Stretching my unused arms, I clicked open my walk-in cupboard's doors; stepping into the corridor's bathroom. "Where's my tooth-brush?"

I seized my tooth-brush from the cup of bath-room tools, flicking a gargantuan amount of tooth-paste onto its fabric. I swiped it through my smooth - and impressive - teeth, washing my tongue and languid-visage.

I immediately slithered towards the Kitchen - descrying Karasuu: who flung a bowl of cereal over to me. I clutched the platter, peering askance at the dancing milk. "I swear to all devils and angels if this is poisoned."

"Your breath is poison." Karasuu lackadaisically mocked, stirring his own spoon into his cereal's bowl. He sipped a meager spillikin of milk, swallowing in his morning cup of sweltering coffee. "Graduation ceremony-"

"Is in the after-noon." I elatedly grinned back, slinging the spoon of cereal and milk into my hungry, un-satiated mouth. I gulped in a ripple of my break-fast, scanning the Kitchen table. "Where's our local Mr. Gloomy?"

"He left for school." 

"Baffling." I bewilderedly grouched to myself, brushing a napkin onto my calloused lips. I clutched my bowl of cereal, swiping the sponge across its material. "I come in at the latest time allowed."

"Shrewd of you, Wukong." Karasuu sarcastically chuckled, settling his own cereal-bowl into the sink - as he stepped into the bath-room, carrying his school-uniform. "10 minutes until class."

I glanced over to the alarm-clock atop the mahogany-desk inside the living-room. 7:50 - AM. I groaned, sauntering back into my walk-in cupboard for my uniform. "School is hell, I swear."

I perambulated onto the carpet of the front-door inside my apportioned dormitory-room, scattering my school-bag into my [Centre]. I flicked the door open, whizzing across the stairs into the edifice's lowest-section.

I descried an innumerable amount of my school-mates coasting themselves out of the dormitory and towards the silky, ageless path in the academy's possession. Suspiring outwards, I stepped into the lane of students.

"Morning, Wukong." Osiris' timeless and torrid falsetto echoed. He slipped his hands into his azure-slacks' pockets, echoing a zephyr onto his tie - until it flittered. "You're still half-asleep?"

"Yep." I grouchily murmured, brushing my smooth, yet satiny hand onto the flesh of my neck. I glanced towards Osiris: who perused the multifarious visage of our class-mates. "You packed up your belongings?"

"Indeed. My servant hired someone to teleport all of my accessories back home."

"I keep forgetting you're some rich heir." I cheekily laughed, a childish and languid grin painting itself over my features. I stretched my two arms another time, scanning the murals on the concrete. "Sick, a dragon."

"You packed up?"

"I spent an all-nighter last week packing my boxes." I lazily retorted, striding onto the stairs of Spectral-Academy's main-gates. Sifting my crimson irises through the corridor, I detected strums of magical-power. "Osiris?"

"Hm?" Osiris blandly riposted, stepping forward - into the flood of students inside the corridor. He glanced over to me, his own, fire-brick gaze perusing my mana-capacity. "Something wrong?"

"What's your post-graduation scheme?"

"Scheme? You're painting me in the image of a villain." He monotonously grouched; unimpressed. I noted of the similarities of Vasura's and Osiris' lackadaisical sopranos - their voices were both pitiless. "Heaying."

"Huh?"

"Return to my home-dimension." Osiris casually shrugged, slithering into the door of his own class-room. Professor Qwoin was his professor for morning-classes. I felt bad for my fellow school-mate. "Nothing less."

"Nothing less?" I bemusedly mumbled to myself, stepping into professor Krwn's personal-sector. He peered towards me, flicking his text-book onto another page. "Morning. Professor. Depressed."

"Morning to you. Mr. Tied-Up-On-A-Tree." I still remembered being discarded into the frosty, glacial aerosphere of the night - a study-book floating in front of my convulsing visage. "Now, onto your chair."

I instantly bounded into the fabric of my flinty school-chair. Tipping it back, I inspected professor Krwn: who stepped up from his chair, clicking the button of his azure-painted pen. "Okay, all of you!"

"Your graduation ceremony is in the morning." He casually groused, pressing his pen onto the scriptures of his clipboard. My mentor tapped his pen at the paper, sighing. "Oh, and for the ones leaving the dorms."

Professor Krwn flicked three of his pulsing fingers forward - flinging a gargantuan letter of cash - or Erai - onto some of our desks. "The principal is giving you funds until you're capable of supporting yourselves."

I seized the letter of 10, 000 Erais - dissolving the cash into the pocket-dimension of my [Centre]. Yawning in a throaty, listless soprano, I peered over to Vasura, my buddy channelling a purple ripple onto his hands.

"Now, for this class, I'm gonna allow all of you to discuss your own topics." Krwn languidly smirked, settling back into his office-chair - as he scanned his text-book. "Remember. One - PM is the ceremony."

My class-mates immediately strode from their chairs, gathering into their little squads for different types of discussions. Vasura reposed himself onto another chair, canting his head onto the desk. "Damn, Vasura."

"Are you dead?" I immaturely mocked, lounging on top of my eternal-chair. I slipped my chair back forward, slumping into its obsidian-frames. "Huh, lifeless-magic plus being dead..."

"Your epiphany is stupid." Vasura monotonously chuckled, ambling out of the chains of his evanescent-chair. He coasted his hands into his slacks' pockets, hearing the clang of the first-class' bell. "Come on."

"You're the stupid one." I disgruntledly mumbled; offended. Vasura gave me a sardonic, unimpressed smirk, striding into the corridor inside the inundation of our class-mates. "What class, now, then?"

"Combat-Class." He casually yawned, slithering into the corridor-section of the arena-room. I summoned Horuss, shrinking my staff into the size of my index-finger - as Vasura hummed. "Professor Solea's last lesson."

"I'm not gonna miss him." I languidly retorted, my voice itself echoing and unbothered. I gyrated my signature staff, planting it onto my pinky-finger, sighing. "Where's Karasuu?"

"His class is Physiology-Study." Vasura care-freely shrugged, coasting himself over to the crowd of students. His pulseless, sapphire irises perused the infinitesimal-arena; fatigued. "Study about different types of entities."

"Remember dissecting-"

"I'm not gonna be reminded." My impassive and pitiless buddy flippantly dismissed. Vasura straightened himself up, watching some of our class-mates saunter onto the top podium in the arena-sector. "It was traumatizing."

Saue and Raiqen both sauntered - or floated - over to the two of us. The latter brushed his fingers through his cyan-decorated hair - while Saue flicked his cloud-created eye-patch. "What's up? Wukong? Vasura?"

"Waiting for professor Solea." Vasura blithely mumbled; suspiring. He raised all five of his fingers - while I identified a ripple of lifeless-mana dancing into its flesh. "Oh, and creating another, new spell."

"You were working on it at the first-class." Raiqen shrewdly riposted, a bemused and interested smirk atop his languid, coarse features. He stretched his legs, stepping back into the crowd of students. "See you later, then!"

Okay, we were all still waiting.

Karasuu sauntered into his physiology-study lesson, sinking himself into his class-room chair. He inspected the tools on top of the table, descrying a blade and dagger.

Keen eyes watched.