14. Chapter 14

AN: I, Siege, am writing this author's note. But I, Siege, did not write this chapter, Auto did. But he apparently didn't have anything to say, so I, Siege, am left responsible for this direct line of communication with the readers.

Fox-McLoud501: Indeed. I enjoy your story quite a bit, superhero stories are always fun :)

Zeobide274: Leni probably didn't have to kill anyone. She just presented some extremely compelling arguments for why they needed to get their shit together.

Whitescorpion: My man(person?) :)

Mr. Haziq: It wasn't so much doing something nice for Lincoln as it was helping himself via riding Lincoln's coat tails. You might notice that Chandler failed to mention his part in the whole debacle.

Everyone settled down and got in their places when a middle-aged woman in a bright green sweater stepped into the classroom. "Sorry I'm late, class," she said without looking at her students. She went to her desk and put all her things down before turning to her new class. She scanned the face of every student, securing it into memory. Her face remained impasse the entire time...until she reached Lincoln.

The lips thinned as she caught sight of the nervous young man, as did her eyes. She knew who he was, that was for sure, but thankfully she didn't make a comment as she moved onto the girl sitting behind him.

"Okay, class," she said when she was done, clapping her hands together. She turned to the board and wrote her name on it. AGNES JOHNSON. She turned back and said, "My name is Agnes Johnson, but you can all call me Ms. Johnson. I'll be your homeroom teacher for the rest of the year. Every day, you'll come here first thing so I can take attendance, make announcements, and then you can spend the rest of the time reading or doing homework or doing anything, really, as long as you're not loud about it. You can ask me questions about anything during this time, but I'd prefer you just leave me alone."

At least she's honest, thought Lincoln.

"Since it's our first day," she continued, "let's all start with introductions. It'll be a chance for us all to get to know each other, as well as serve as my attendance. We'll go from the first person in the row to last, starting with...you."

She pointed at a fair-skinned girl with sandy brown hair tied in a French braid. The girl stood up and said, "Um, hello everyone. My name is Jordan—"

"Hey, that's my name too," chirped some blonde boy from the back of the class.

"Two Jordans? Oh dear," said Ms. Johnson. "Well, to make things easier for myself, we will all now refer to him as Boy Jordan and you as Girl Jordan."

Girl Jordan sighed. "Not again. I moved cities to get away from that name," she muttered as she slumped back into her seat.

"Class, take notes of Girl Jordan's introduction," said Ms. Johnson, ignoring how the poor girl wailed at her new given nickname. "It was short. No one cares about your hobbies or what your dream job is going to be. My dream job was to be a zookeeper, and look where I ended up. Just...just say your name. And maybe your Archetype if you feel like wasting more of the precious short time God gave me on this Earth. Okay, who's next?"

The girl behind Girl Jordan stood up confidently, and the first thing that struck her classmates was how oddly she was dressed. Her outfit consisted of dark tattered robes, a black cape made from the fur of an animal no one could identify, and metal gloves that brought to mind Sauron's. She had a devil tail and small horns poking out of her raven hair, but those seemed natural compared to her strange get-up.

Undaunted by the strange looks she was getting—or perhaps not even noticing them—the girl coughed into her fist and puffed out her chest with bravado.

"My name is Stella!" she declared. "And my Archetype is a great one. It is one that the heavens tremble at. It is the one that moves volcanoes and earthquakes. It is one that subjugates nations, crushes opposition, and rules with a burning glove of adamantite!"

She jumped on her desk and raised her gloved fist high. Her smirk was blinding.

"I, Stella, am a Dark Lord! And none shall oppose my glorious conquest except for the Chosen Hero, who has yet dared to show himself—"

"Herself."

Stella blinked, visibly thrown off. She looked around the class for the source of the interruption, until she noticed Girl Jordan looking curiously at her.

"What was that?"

"Herself. The Chosen Hero is a girl."

"And how do you know that? You know her?"

To Stella's surprise, the plain, innocent-looking Girl Jordan pointed at herself.

"Well, of course I know her. She's me."

"Y-You're the Chosen One?"

Girl Jordan nodded. "Hero Archetype and everything."

Stella was shocked. Flustered, too, as she quickly turned away from the girl in front of her and put her hands on her now-blushing cheeks. Her face was stricken with an expression of terror and confusion, and if Lincoln had to guess, she was probably thrown off by how casually Girl Jordan revealed herself. No doubt the poor girl was expecting a rival to match her enthusiasm.

He couldn't help but smile, though he made sure to hide it under his hand.

The great and terrible Dark Lord Stella regained her dramatic composure. She pointed at the girl sitting in front of her, who regarded with little more than faint interest. "Fool! You had the element of surprise, but now it is squandered. Now I shall unleash my greatest attack, destroying you and securing the throne of the world to myself!"

Stella raised her hands in the air, and her classmates watched in horror as her palms filled with crackling crimson energy. A fireball burst into her hands, growing in size and heat by the second. Some people screamed, some people tried to run, and Lincoln pressed himself against the wall…

"Yeah, no, can't have my class blow up on the first day," Ms. Johnson murmured thoughtfully to herself. "That would look bad on my record. Plus the phone calls I'd get from parents...alright, fun time's over, girls!"

The teacher snapped her fingers, and in an instant the fireball was extinguished, leaving Stella standing there, looking more forlorn and lost than before.

"Wait...what?"

"Classrooms are under the full control of the teachers," explained Girl Jordan, barely hiding the smile on her face. "You can't use your Archetype without their permission."

"Indeed. Now sit down, Stella, before I write your name on the board."

"Write her name on the board?" scoffed Chandler, who had definitely not wet himself in fear, it's just spilled water guys. "What is this, preschool?"

Ms. Johnson looked unamused.

"What's your name?" she asked him.

"Chandler McCann." he answered, pounding his chest. "I'm a Archetypal Provider of Specialized Services and—

"You're a Minion, got it." The teacher interjected, cutting him off. She wrote his name on the board. CHANDLER. Agnes then turned around with a sinister smirk on her face. The name on the board suddenly began to glow with white light, and Chandler shrieked.

"Ow! What the hell, did a bee just sting me—OW!"

"These boards were made with only the highest quality of Voodoo manufacturing," explained Ms. Johnson as Chandler suddenly began jumping up and down and scratching himself. "I write your name on the board and...well, that happens to you."

Chandler cried out in pain as he rolled on the floor, trying to extinguish the stinging.

"Now, let's all continue with our introductions. Nice and short, or you get the board. Got it?"

Her students nodded at the barely veiled threat.

"Cristina, Necromancer."

"Paige, Hacker."

"Papa Wheelie, Racer."

"Boy Jordan, also Hacker."

"Sid, Assassin."

"Ronnie Anne, Witch. Though I'd prefer to be called Bru—"

"Lance, Exorcist."

With every name and Archetype that was said, Lincoln felt increasingly nervous. He knew everyone already knew his Archetype, but he also knew that the teacher was going to demand he say it out loud. And that worried him, because not only was it an affirmation of what he was, but...well, it had a really stupid name! Harem King? What kind of a person would call themselves a Harem King in front of their class and not immediately want to stay home for the rest of the year?

"Tabby, Battle-type Magical Idol," said the girl in front of him. Lincoln snapped back to reality; his heart sped as he realized his moment was here. Swallowing a deep breath, he stood up and announced himself to the world:

"Lincoln, H-Harem King."

There was silence. An intensely awkward silence. Lincoln turned around to see why the person behind him wasn't announcing themselves...only to see no one there.

He was the last one in his row. His words were the chosen ones to linger in the air.

Ms. Johnson snorted. "Oh right, you're the kid with the pervy Archetype. I remember that."

From the back of the class, Ronnie Anne snickered. Lincoln just tried to keep his face from turning too red.

After homeroom, everyone in the class went down to the basement, where a shiny gym was waiting for them. Physical Education was going to be their first class of the day, and as Lincoln changed in the locker room, he wondered how different it would be from the PE he had in regular school.

Just hope they're not expecting to us to play dodge ball with fireballs or something like that.

He shivered at the thought of playing dodge ball at all. With the way Ronnie Anne was being now, there was no doubt that she would enjoy the opportunity to pummel him. Hell, she'd probably use some of her newfound magic to give the balls seek-and-destroy properties.

He sighed. "Calm down," he told himself. "It's the first day, we're probably not going to play dodge ball."

Five minutes later, he was standing in a line in the gym, and the coach blew his whistle and announced, in a booming voice, "Today's your first day, so we're playing dodge ball!"

Some students cheered. Lincoln just felt his heart drop to the pit of his stomach. Nervously, he looked to his right and saw Ronnie Anne glaring at him, her teeth bared aggressively.

His face paled when she made the cutting gesture across her neck.

Okay, I need to Genre Shift. NOW!

The Genre Shift was his only chance to avoid the death by rubber-foam ball that Ronnie Anne was clearly envisioning for him. He wasn't entirely sure how it worked—hell, he wasn't even sure if he could use it now at all—but this was a matter of survival.

Anything goes.

By the time the teams were done organizing, Lincoln found both Ronnie Anne and Sid on the other side. Sid waved at him and playfully imitated throwing a ball at him. Right next to her, Ronnie Anne also imitated throwing a ball. Her imitation was much less playful.

Lincoln gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing. It was now or never.

But who to Genre Shift with? He looked to his teammates. Most of them looked as nervous as he was; knees shaking, eyes twitching, hiding behind each other...with one notable exception…

"How swiftly the day of reckoning has come, Girl Jordan!" shouted Stella. She stood in front of all her teammates, the vanguard of her side of the gym. "Come, Hero, let our conflict here be mighty! My balls shall destroy you!"

"Oh no, not your balls," responded Girl Jordan from the other side, her tone only mildly condescending. "I don't think I can handle your balls."

"Too bad! My balls are great and they seek to make collisions with your flesh."

"Are they...big balls?"

Stella looked at the balls on the line in front of her.

"They are massive."

Girl Jordan bit down on her lip to keep from laughing.

Okay, so she's not the smartest, Lincoln thought, but she's the best chance I got. She's a Dark Lord, she has to be packing tons of power. If I could just get a little bit of that…

He balled his fists as he summoned all of his courage. He stepped away from the wall and walked up to Stella, then cleared his voice. "Hey, you're Stella, right?"

The Dark Lord stopped shouting and turned around to face the boy that had approached her. She opened her mouth to say something, but stopped as her eyes shone with recognition. A great smile spread across her face.

"And you're Lincoln Loud. The only person with a darker Archetype than mine!"

"I-I...my Archetype isn't dark!" protested Lincoln.

Stella rubbed her chin. "But you are the Harem King pervert, right? The boy destined to conquer legions of women and overthrow the chains of righteousness that bind this world and keep it stagnant?"

"What? No! And I'm not a pervert!"

"Relax, Lincoln, you're with a fellow devotee of evil and vice." Stella put a friendly hand on his shoulder. "Perhaps we can collaborate. My newfound rival is a female, so perhaps you can use your pervert power to lure her into your bed, whereupon I will leap from the shadows and sever her head from her wretched shoulders!"

"Absolutely not! Just...please, can you do me a nonviolent favor right now?"

Stella cocked her head; the word "nonviolent" seemed to trip her up. "Suuuuuuuure," she said hesitantly. "What is it?"

Like the swift mongoose diving towards the snake, Lincoln's hand shot out and wrapped around hers. Her face immediately went red, and reddened further when she heard him say, "Come to the closet with me?"

"The c-c-closet?!"

So paralyzed with shock she was that she didn't even fight it when Lincoln dragged her towards the nearby closet. He pushed her in, and took one last glance to make sure Coach Pacowski wasn't looking.

He instead saw Ronnie Anne glaring at him taking Stella into the closet.

Her expression was a mix of confusion and absolute hatred.

"Eep," squeaked Lincoln as he went into the closet and closed the door behind him.

There was no light in the closet, but that wasn't a problem, as Stella's face was glowing hard enough to rival a lightbulb. A very red lightbulb. The Dark Lord-to be had no idea what was going on, and so she had no idea how to position herself. Her arms were raised and curled strangely, as if to defend herself while also offering herself.

"Your depravity knows no bounds," said Stella. Maybe Lincoln was imagining it, but he could hear a hint of admiration in her tone. "You've brought me here to force me to become a concubine in your harem. Oh, how I thought Girl Jordan was my greatest enemy, but you, Lincoln Loud, have truly—"

"It's. Not. LIKE THAT!" shouted Lincoln. He hated to raise his voice, but people getting the wrong impression of him was starting to get on his nerves. He exhaled, his breath coming out in a sharp hiss, and looked up at Stella again. "I just need your help. You'd say we're friends, right?"

The horned girl turned away, bashfully.

"We've been talking for literally minutes. You're the best friend I've ever had."

Lincoln felt a brief twinge of sympathy for the demon girl, but pushed forward, seeing as time was of the essence.

"So, would you say we're...close?"

Now it was Stella's turn to let out a little "eep" sound.

"Close close?" she asked in a squeak.

Lincoln shrugged. "If I say yes, will you just let me do what I need to do?"

"Do what you need to do?!"

Stella's heart began to pound against her chest so powerfully that the entire closet seemed to quiver with every heartbeat. Lots of conflicting emotions passed through her eyes. For a moment, she was stiff, but the next she had Lincoln's hands in her own. A deranged form of bravery was evident in her features.

"Let's do it," she said. "Do what you have to do, my close close friend Lincoln Loud."

In spite of how clearly nutty this whole situation was, Lincoln smiled softly. Hearing someone, anyone, call him a close friend was something he wasn't expecting when he walked into the building earlier. He had expected to be ostracized and disliked by all. But now...he felt more optimistic. Stella was a little...eccentric, but she was clearly a kind and caring person, despite her dark Archetype.

You know...I think I would like to be close friends with her.

"Alright," he said. "Let's do this."

He closed his eyes and wrapped his fingers around Stella's hands. The girl looked curiously upon him, intrigued by whatever he was about to do. Lincoln took a deep breath, in the nostrils and out the mouth, then shouted, "Genre Shift!"

His eyes tore open. He watched as magical energy crackled around them. He watched as the world melted away, leaving them suspended in a swirling limbo of color and energy. He felt the sheer power of Stella's Archetype give way to his, and offer up its power to him like a serf to their feudal lord. He could feel the great power flow through his veins, like liquid fire, spreading throughout his body and…

and…

...actually, none of that was happening.

Lincoln waited for it to happen, but no, nothing happen. He didn't feel any power coming his way, he didn't sprout a new costume like he had with Leni. He was just...holding Stella's hand in a dim closet, waiting for something to happen.

"Sooooooooooooooo..." said Stella.

"Huh...I-I guess I can't do that with you," he said. "But why not? It should work. Unless...maybe there's a time-frame for how long I had to know you?"

He would've speculated further, but the closet door burst open, and light flooded the small room. It hurt Lincoln's eyes at first, but when the blurriness cleared, he could see Coach Pacowski's unpleasant face twisted in anger.

"Both of you, get out of there." He grabbed the two by their arms and dragged them out. "You wanna do kissy-kissy with each other, do it on your own time. This is PE class, which is my time, and during my time you play dodge ball!"

The other kids were laughing at them, and if Stella's face was red before, it was practically ruby-like now.

The coach tossed them back with their team and blew the whistle. "Play ball!" he shouted. Before Lincoln could even react, he watched as Ronnie Anne ran swiftly to the center of the court, swiped a ball off the ground, and looked dead at him.

"GRAH!" she grunted as she threw the ball as hard as she could at him.

Milliseconds before the ball hit his face, Lincoln saw his life flash before his eyes.