The Arcane Insurrection: Felix Faust

By Dexter Morgenstern

Felix is a cold, eccentric, and arrogant freshman with psychokinetic powers to boost his ego, but once he sets foot outside of home, that ego takes a hit.

He is not the only one in the world with his powers.

Felix finds both an ally and mentor at school, one with abilities he’d never thought possible. That opens a new door to his mind’s potential, but also makes him a target.

Hunted by malicious forces, Felix has to hone his skills on the run, but when his enemies take someone dear to him, he has no choice but to take the fight to their front door.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dexter Morgenstern
• Release date: Jun 18, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476388632

Dexter Morgenstern

Dexter is a Southern-born Seattle author and model. Homeschooled after a diagnosis of mild Asperger's, he learned to play to his strengths as an energetic, creative artist. He began writing at the age of fifteen, and published his first novel two years later. Outside of art, Dexter spends his time gaming, studying, and socializing with other ambitious minds. As an army brat, he attained a pragmatic sense of discipline that he uses to balance his artistic endeavors with his academic ones. Dexter's ultimate goal is to contribute to the subjugation of humanity by artificial intelligence. Image credit: Humberto Garcia

Book preview

The Arcane Insurrection:

Felix Faust

Dexter Morgenstern

Copyright © 2012 by Dexter Morgenstern

Independently Published

Cover image Copyright © COINTELPRO Photography

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.

Smashwords Edition #3: April 2018

ISBN: [9781476388632]

Author’s note:

The following is a work of fiction. I started writing when I was fifteen and published this—my debut novel—with the help of my family when I was 17. I was, and always will be a highly analytical person with a wildly fantastical mindset. I still put a lot of thought and time into theorizing subjects that won’t exist, at least not in our generation. With this novel, we see a lot of that: it’s an urban fantasy that really wants to be a sci-fi. Though, in this edition, I’ve toned the science back to make for a more streamlined story. If you like it, be sure to pick up the contemporaneous sequel, Byron Bishop. Either way, I’d love to hear your thoughts. Find me online.

Disclaim: I didn’t know anything about the DC villain of the same name when I wrote this book, but let’s be honest… it’s a badass name.

Author’s note:

The following is a work of fiction. I started writing when I was fifteen and published this—my debut novel—with the help of my family when I was 17. I was, and always will be a highly analytical person with a wildly fantastical mindset. I still put a lot of thought and time into theorizing subjects that won’t exist, at least not in our generation. With this novel, we see a lot of that: it’s an urban fantasy that really wants to be a sci-fi. Though, in this edition, I’ve toned the science back to make for a more streamlined story. If you like it, be sure to pick up the contemporaneous sequel, Byron Bishop. Either way, I’d love to hear your thoughts. Find me online.

Disclaim: I didn’t know anything about the DC villain of the same name when I wrote this book, but let’s be honest… it’s a badass name.

Chapter 1

I stepped off the bus, heaving one last sigh before beginning the first of four dull years. All for a paper I didn’t want. The moment I’d received a scholarship to this place, my parents insisted I take it. Perhaps a school in Europe would have caught my eye, but this whole concept, this higher education stuff, just a long-winded formality.

The cold Colorado air chilled my fingertips and flushed my cheeks. My plain jeans, sneakers, and fleece jacket didn’t quite cut it. I hated the cold. Hated having to shove my hands in my pockets. Hated the… bah. I walked faster to get the blood pumping.

I was a forensic psych major. Not a field I cared much for, but a niche field that I could apply my strengths to without expectations of anything remarkable, or remarkably distracting. The admissions board had suggested I take a second major, or consider something more along the lines of STEM. I didn’t owe a service to the world; wouldn’t be some rat in a lab. People called me gifted. I agreed with them, but not for the reasons they believed.

I walked amongst a mob of students into the main building. There were big, red, bold letters that read: Lance Fields University of Arts & Science and the building comprised almost entirely of large, light brown bricks with grand statues, windows and other useless, expensive adornments. Inside, warm air embraced me. I let out a breath I didn’t mean to hold, dragged my feet into the lobby and found a sign that read: New students proceed down the hallway to the left for orientation in the auditorium.

In no hurry, I followed the hallway a little and detoured into the restroom, where I rinsed my face a bit with warm water and looked into the mirror. I was a mess. My face and hands were red from the cold. My wavy, black hair seemed to cling to my head for warmth of its own.

When finished, I returned to the significantly emptier hallway toward the auditorium. A small woman greeted me as I entered and asked my name.

Felix Faust.

She frowned. A little late, Mr. Faust. Not a good start.

Huh. I wasn’t about to let some stranger condescend toward me. As if anything were at stake with my being a couple minutes late to an orientation. Her life must have been so pointless that she used every opportunity she could to be petty in order to have some meaning. I stopped myself; I hated people, but couldn’t go on mental tangents every time I dealt with their stupidity, otherwise this four years would feel a lot longer.

She handed me a laminated nametag that had my name on it, and motioned for me to sit.

There must have been at least thirty other students all sitting on overpriced chairs that probably weren’t even comfortable. Money… it was a nuisance that led people to make the dumbest choices. For those that didn’t get scholarships, stuff like this is probably where all that student debt went. I sat in one of the chairs, looking up at the speaker. He stood upon a small stage with a luminous wooden floor. He had already begun speaking, but it wasn’t until I looked at him that I heard what he was saying. That was the perk of my mind. It didn’t multitask well, and liked to hone in on whatever I was paying attention to at a given moment.

I liked it. It filtered out the nonsense.

The speaker talked about our different schedules, punctuality, where to find stuff, resources, et cetera. Nothing new. I looked at the speaker’s assistant, a rather tall student who couldn’t have been much older than twenty. He had short-standing, brownish hair, thin glasses, and looked overly fit. He handled slides that I had only just noticed: maps of the campus and how the classroom environments worked, but I barely paid attention. I’d find out what I needed to later, much like anyone else who even bothered to listen to the orientation.

My focus drifted back to the assistant and his awkward physique; a strange mix of fit and nerdy. I didn’t know what to think of him. My gaze drifted around to some of the other students, only to find the expected. In some areas, the overachievers focused their attention directly on the speaker. In the back, the rowdier students chit-chatted with one another, completely disregarding the speaker. Finally, there were those like me… who didn’t want to be here.

Not soon enough, the orientation ended. We flocked like sheep into separate buses off to the dormitory areas. Oddly enough, the dormitory buildings were only single-storied. I looked over my papers, searching for my room number. Building 20, room 129A. I walked through the lone hallway of the winding building, looking at the room numbers. What the place lacked in height it made up for in length. Took a five-minute walk to find my room.

I walked in and grimaced at the bunkbeds. A roommate. My suitcase already rested on the bottom bunk. Good… at least there’d be no arguing about that. On the opposite side of the room sat a large double desk for two and a mini-fridge. Toward the back, a man emerged from the bathroom. I sized him up: muscular, greasy, long hair in a hat, and attitude across his face, not unlike mine. Survey said he got a sports scholarship.

What are you glaring at? he tested.

I ignored his question and proceeded to my suitcase to unpack.

What? Are you too good to answer me? Nice to meet you too, dude. Glad we’re gonna be sharing a room all year. He could fuss all he wanted. I would continue to ignore. Not worth my energy. He smacked his teeth and continued about his business.

Two sets of drawers sat underneath the beds. Based on the lack of scattered undergarments and profane magazines in the room, I guessed he hadn’t bothered to unpack yet. I claimed the left set of drawers for my own use. After I finished, I moved over to the desk and put notebooks, pencils, and my padlocked laptop case on the left desk.

I loaded the schoolbooks from my bag onto the bookshelf on top of my desk. At that point, my roommate had started unpacking; we both worked in silence. I liked that. If the rest of the semester stayed like this, having a roommate wouldn’t be an issue. After I fully unpacked, I looked at my class schedule.

My first class wasn’t until 7 AM the following morning, and it wasn’t even noon yet. Plenty of time to wander, so I left the room only to be reminded of the bitter cold waiting outside. Probably worth getting used to... I walked around until I found a shuttle bus, riding it until they announced the library stop.

A woman greeted me as I entered. You must be one of the newer students here.

I nodded.

Well follow me, I can get you registered. Have you received your school email?

I nodded again. They’d issued my school email way back during enrollment, over a month before I’d actually flown here from Montana. She should have known that. Dumb question.

She took me to one of the main reference desks and had me sit. I handed her that nametag from orientation, which apparently doubled as my student I.D. Once I was good to go, I nodded my thanks and headed straight for the sci-fi section. I browsed through the large section through a series of unknown authors making mental notes of any titles that interested me. There were actually quite a few. The library (or maybe the more fad-following students) seemed to have carefully filtered out most of the generic titles, leaving only the more original books available. I grabbed one to pass the time. I selected a moderately large book: some scientist’s story through an apocalypse. As I carried the book to the checkout, I anticipated the cliché formula. The scientist would find out the cause of the apocalypse and then learn how to stop it. He’d be criticized by antagonists fueled by plot-induced stupidity, publicly humiliated, and then pull off some renegade clutch and save the world. Tropes, and whatnot.

I got back to my room; that guy was gone. His area… cluttered. Mine, too, would soon be cluttered, so I couldn’t hold that against him. At least he was gone. I plopped on my bunk and began reading. The book held my attention but struggled to immerse me with its overly analytical setup. I read at lightning speed compared to most people, and finished the book in a few hours. Regarding the plot, I was mostly right, but the ending was a bit different. The hero scientist actually died, but his followers took up his plan and proved him right in the end. They mixed it up. Nice.

I looked at my watch; late afternoon.

As if on cue, my roommate returned, laughing loudly with one of his new acquaintances outside. He walked in and eyed me.

Man, you seriously got yourself a staring problem. Show some respect.

I looked over at his friend. Much shorter than most athletes. His small size didn’t stop him from giving me that same condescending leer.

What do you know of respect? I asked.

Excuse me? he tried. "What do I know of respect? What do you know of respect? You been giving me that same pretentious look all day. You even bother to learn my name?"

Tch, pretentious was a word I got a lot. I didn’t bother trying to suppress it though. I looked at his nametag and back at his face.

Maurice? What’s mine?

He did an exaggerated double-take. Oh wow! Look here. He can read.

His sarcasm along with generic, unoriginal insults blended with proper English revealed someone trying to sound dumber than he was for the sake of being cool. I usually did the opposite, resulting in a pretentious tone, but there’s a difference between thinking you’re better than someone, and—case in point—knowing you’re better than them.

Well, I spoke. I showed you the respect of learning your name. Do you have the respect to learn mine?

Whatever, bro.

Ah, the word ‘whatever’: when someone refused to give up an argument by either admitting they were wrong, or, in this case, couldn’t overcome their own pride.

Maurice muttered something to his friend, who chortled as he left. Maurice headed to the bathroom, Yeah, if he acted like that the whole time, I would not survive the semester… at least not without having to use my gift.

Chapter 2

6AM is far too early. It should not have been allowed. Anger flooded my mind as I woke. I didn’t have a sleeping problem, just wasn’t a morning person, or a day person. Maurice smacked his teeth at my alarm, despite being on the same schedule; just trying to be a jackass about it. I lingered on why my first class was a calculus class. I mean, honestly, did they actually expect people to pay attention to mathematics at 7 in the morning? I didn’t bother with breakfast; not hungry.

After I packed my bag, I scuffled to the shuttle stop outside of the dormitory, internally questioning why it wasn’t simply a multi-story building. It sucked having to walk for five minutes just to get out to the street. Wouldn’t it save room just to have several stories? I shrugged it off when I finally got on the bus. It took me over to the main building where most of the standard classes were held. At least the walk woke me up a bit.

I was reading the paper that had my class information on it when someone shoved past me forcibly. I glared at the offender to see Maurice.

Wake your ass up and watch where you’re walking, he jabbed.

I was already cranky from having to rise early so I didn’t feel like putting up with this clown. I focused, concentrated just hard enough and channeled my energy toward his backpack. It wasn’t a lot of energy, but like an invisible grasp, it thrust enough to make his bag spill open. He bent down to pick up the contents, but gave me a good stare-down first.

Why are you looking at me like that? I asked. What did I do?

I chuckled a bit, only to feel a minor pain in my head, much like a brain freeze and it lasted about as long. The only thing I hated about using telekinesis was the strain it put on my mind.

I entered my classroom to see it half-filled already, and assumed a seat. The seats were up for grabs and not assigned so I chose one in the back. The teacher, whom I realized was the man who'd conducted the orientation the previous day, looked at me as I sat down.

He sighed, I guess you weren’t paying attention yesterday morning… I have all of my students fill in from the front first.

I knew his sigh was fake, and I could glean the joy he felt from calling me out.

Gleaning: the name I’d given to my ability to hear the thoughts on the top of peoples’ minds.

As I grabbed my bag and headed to the front, several sets of eyes watched me. Most of them sizing me up. I gleaned one of the male students who stared at me. He could tell I was a ‘smart guy’ and was contemplating sucking up to me so I’d help him. Hah.

It took a few minutes for the professor, Mr. Reynolds, to begin the class. As expected, his calculus class was nothing difficult, so I began to drift off into my own thoughts. I reflected on what I’d done to Maurice earlier, smiling. His bewilderment tickled me. He’d known I’d done it, and wondered if I had used some kind of ‘telepathic’ abilities.

I eyed the little card on the front of my desk. Mr. Reynolds had told us to write our names on it with a marker. I looked around the classroom: small, orderly, only about twenty students. Small for such a big campus.

Mr. Faust... Mr. Faust!

The pointed voice pierced