"There are," said Braham "Bunny" Lee, who was the substitute of our teacher in General Mysticism, "levels in decomposition. Wait."
The door opened and one of the school’s staff beckoned Braham to come over.
"I’m in the middle of a lecture."
The staff looked around.
"It’s a priority."
Braham rolled his eyes.
For a few minutes, he was outside chatting with the staff. And when he came back, he seemed alarmed.
I had not seen Braham for more than a month, but he didn’t seem to be doing too bad.
Still, him being an instructor surprised me at first. I couldn’t imagine that sardonic smile off his face, but he was actually a pretty decent teacher.
The classroom itself was larger compared to the basement of a classroom for Masochism 101. It was nearly a theater, I’d say, albeit a medium-sized one.
Before the arrays of seats and continuous desks for students was a chalkboard that was the size of a cinema’s silver screen. And a sliding ladder accompanied it so that the teacher is given liberty to write from above.
Braham, after settling his emotions, made a number four motion with his pointer finger.
"There are four of them, to be exact. Four that were studied and made known, at least.
"But, before that, I’d like a few students to tell us their mage title, or otherwise known as pathway."
Someone must have raised their hand behind me, for Braham pointed at them.
I turned around.
It was Sam.
"My pathway is Magus Scepticus," she said, standing up.
"Ah," said Braham. "A Bohemian’s perfect and matching title, I’d say.
"Why Scepticus?"
"The recipe and ingredients were in the care of my family. I only drank the potion so that I could study a mystic arts course."
It was a simplistic answer that made her look like a simpleton to anyone else.
But, she had revealed that she couldn’t care less what happened to her as long she gained knowledge. I had to respect that.
Basil looked at her admirably.
Braham pondered for a moment, his fingers on his chin.
"You actually risked your lifespan just so you can study here? You do realize that non-mages can study here?"
"I’m a woman." Another simple, matter-of-fact answer. "My father didn’t take me seriously until I drank the potion."
A random male chuckled.
"What’s funny?"
His voice echoed as he was from the other side of the classroom.
"A woman should submit to men!"
The majority of the class, which were boys, laughed.
I didn’t, as well as some other, and neither did Basil.
Sam waited for the laughs to disperse.
Then, she cleared her throat.
Her voice was monotone and cold, piercing through the boy’s chest.
"When does the creator ever submit to their creation?"
This silenced the boys.
The boy who first said the statement clicked his tongue in annoyance.
In understanding, Braham nodded, his eyes moving on to the next volunteer.
There were five other volunteers openly stating their pathway until Braham thought it was enough.
There were a few that caught my interest, such as: Magus Hereticus, a mage of disbelief that is cursed to defy every angel or object of worship. It was a recipe that was similar to Magus Scepticus; it was of the same origins, but Magus Scepticus had evolved differently with changes to the potion ingredients.
Another was called Magus Callus, and it hardened the skin of the mage.
While contrary to it was Magus Cochlea, where the mage’s skin and bones were as soft as slime. However, with it you could pass through small gaps which made it useful for stealth.
I was most interested in one mage title or pathway, however.
And that was Magus Pellivagus.
There was no one in our class room that was under that title—none that spoke out, at least. In fact, this pathway’s recipe and ingredients were becoming scarce.
No one was willing to speak out whether they owned the recipe, and the ones that were known to possess it had died.
It was a title that gave the mage the ability to enter into other people’s or corpses’ bodies. However, the corpse should be fresh.
I wanted that pathway!
After a while, the students settled down.
And, he began to teach once again.
We were taught about the stages of decomposition, both post-mortem and late decomposition.
This was a topic usually taught to medical majors, but was eventually taught to mages.
"Pallor mortis," said Braham, "is when your skin becomes less bright, more yellowish and pale. Your heart and pulse slowly stops beating at this stage. This will last for a few weeks.
"Algor mortis is when your heart completely stops." His voice echoed. "Your body is beginning to decay and your body grows colder. This will last for a month or two.
"Rigor mortis will begin after a few years. Your body becomes stiff and you will find a need to replace your limbs. You can go to a limb dealer—though it is frowned upon due to problems with ethics—to replace them. Or, you can find someone to make you a prosthetic. Much better, an animatronic.
"And, lastly, livor mortis is when your body begins to become attractive to maggots and other pricks on the parts where you have yet to replace with a material like plastic or metal. Wood isn’t a good choice, but for early mages, go for it."
Braham inhaled, and I questioned what’s the need for breathing when your body had stopped living, when your heart stopped beating. I suppose it was human instinct.
The students in this class were about a year or two into their mage years.
What about me then?
"In this class, only mages and mage-to-be’s are allowed to take it."
I felt Sam glance at Basil.
"I hope you are prepared that one day you must let go of your eternal life."
I, who had no idea when I first became a mage, was at a loss.
"I understand that potions are expensive, as well as replacing your body parts."
The Colegio wasn’t a public or government-issued school. Only the classes related to mysticism were free for all.
But, besides that...
It terrified me.
"And so, I hope you understand that the lifespan of an average, well-kept mage whose body parts have yet to be replaced is but a mere nine years."
When am I eventually going to die?