Skulls of comedy and tragedy laid in a row, each fossil having a label below it - of course in indiscernible nonsense. Each of them had smiles or furrows, but such emotion should only belong on skin and muscle. It's as if these skull's expressions were built into their bone structure. The bone was sculpted in; not for aesthetics sake, but as if genetic. Their jaws, and their maws, are built like canines wolfing down entire animals. Just putting my fingertip on it revealed it can shred bones and rend flesh apart.
These were the heads of ghouls. Not skulls. Heads. And they stood on these instruction pedestals as part of our magical combat range.
After my little temper tantrum, I had myself dusted and they took me to put on some student uniform with a taste of Eastern Europe - a red ribbon, a white blouse, brown trousers, and black boots. Oh yes, I am indeed a little pioneer of a fallen empire.
They took me on this silly carriage ride through a respectable city of mixed cobble and classical concrete, and then a citadel upon a plain field came to view. We had our little university tour, but instead I asked to be taken to where they learnt battle.
That takes us here - the arcane combat range.
Some superheated light flew across the practice field, and crashed against a target, engulfing it in bright light which left char of smouldering carbon. My head turns right, and there I saw the nerd pulling out some finger-guns. Bleeding finger-guns. He was bleeding from the fingertip down to his forearm.
"See that!" The nerd stuck his tongue out. "I'll fucking do that to you if you do it again!"
I swipe up a salt shaker from a table and flicked it at his forearm. The little tin broke apart, sending streams of sodium chloride into his bloodstream.
"Shit!" He slips backward, clenching at his stung arm. "Don't fucking do that!"
"You were begging for it! Did you honestly believe I'd just let you keep doing that?"
He looks back at the instructor and then back at me. "You're crazy."
"You're fucking right I'm crazy." I shake my little fingers at him. "Want me to dig in?"
"No!" He hides his wound.
I turn to the magick instructor, who walked on crutches. "Mr. Teacher, I'll show you real fighting."
There I stand ready at the firing line, taking up a grasshopper stances, hanging my right arm forwards and my left hand supporting said firing arm. Then the right fingers lock into a focused pincer, focusing all the magicks around into this single point. The ethereal light gather around my entire body, flowing from left foot and right foot, up through my sternum and then finally across both arms and into my firing point.
The concentration swirls rapidly, and then expands into a thin laser streaming downrange. My hands flick side-to-side, and the laser swing from right to left. From its path of destruction, a single target had split in half, falling down in splinters.
The results? A quiet attack. Barely no kickback damage on my body; no scars, no bleeding. And the enemy at hand had quietly fallen. Certainly, if this target had friends, his buddies would never know how he died.
I turn to the nerd. "You're using too much energy. You're not efficient, and you're already a casualty."
"If my older sister was-!"
"Always! Always hiding behind your older sister! Are you not a fucking man?! Did mommy always wash your ass for you? Did daddy always do your homework? Has no one ever screamed at you, ever? No one even beat your ass?"
"-n-no-"
"Who are your bullies? I want to talk to them. I want to tell them they didn't do their job properly!"
"Nnh!" His eyes roll back as if I had struck him in the face. "Please stop shouting!"
"Did your parents give you that shitty haircut?! That fuckin' thing's fucking ugly! If you're gonna act like a man, then grow the fuck up!"
"Stop talking, please, I'M TRYING TO BE A MAN!" He starts coughing, and coughs so hard his shoulders quiver. The nerd doubles over, arms flailing limp, and falls on his knees. Blood drips from his nose.
The instructor crutch-walks out from behind a rack of weapons. "That is enough!" His voice cracks. "This is academy, not playground!"
I look around the training field. I see a fence, a bunch of quivering-scared adults, a row of fake targets. Around us is the rest of some village, and the battlefield is far away enough. My bet is that the only blood spilled within ten miles here is that weak nerd. It's too safe here. The entire thing is a controlled, contained environment. This is a military academy?
It's a fucking wizard playground.
No wonder they need us. All these mages are just single-use casualties on the field - they don't bother controlling themselves! No wonder they have no real discipline - all these fucking weaklings playing soldier! They'll probably end up destroying the kingdom in an accidental explosion when they leave here. Hell, after even one battle all the mages will probably drop dead and now this country is left without a single weapon. And we? We're here because they think we're going to save them.
I looked at this place. I knew it wouldn't be long till someone tried to take control of it. Who knows why? Maybe they needed a warlord or two. Who knows. This academy's supposed to be a training ground. It' s all just an illusion. A lie. A trick. Everything we have here is a game, a distraction.
And I hate games. Especially when I lose.
So what does this teach them?
"Mr. Teacher! Show me your best magicks!"
"Me? I am cripple. I cannot."
This translation spell sucks. Do I have to reword it? "Who's the best mage here? Show me how it's done!"
One of the ladies come forward, and curtsied lightly. "My name's Catherine. I could cast the highest amount of magicks."
"Alright, Ms. Catherine."
"Please, call me Kate." She kneels down at the firing line, and begins her arcane stance. Her arms curl inward, her legs bend slightly. I notice a slight tremor, as she slowly closes her eyelids shut. Her body goes slack and still, her movements slow, until she's completely still. Only her chest rose and fell, her breath steady.
This is taking too long. She'd be dead by this point
Kate dances her arms, until one by one those arms reach up, and her whole body glows white. Her torso, legs, and arms all turn into shining particles, floating upward in front of her. As these particles float around, they begin to glow brighter and brighter, until all the particles shot across the target field.
Her mouth opens wide and screams. White noise bursts through the air, echoing into the ears. The field fills with a blinding sun, its deafening boom rupturing across my body.
The field is left in a shattered glowing white. People scream in horror, yet I could not hear. Some of the students run over in fear. Some stay and watch.
There where she once stood, I found Kate sprawled out five feet from her previous position. Her intricate dress paints with dark red; her saphire hair scattered about. Her face was covered in wounds and scratches, blood oozing all over her. Her neck laid at a strained angle. There's barely a sign of life.
The instructors quickly gathered about the half-corpse, calling for the medics.
There is no strategy being taught here. The true lesson is taught elsewhere. There is true war out there. As a patrician of the modern age, and not of some backwards fantasy shithole, I've watched enough combat footage, movies of great war and philosophy, news headlines of failing nations, and world leaders humiliated by their own people. To see a person like this wounded by her own magic, only shocked me of her great stupidity.
Why the fuck would you almost kill yourself for some outside nobody? Are they so proud that they risk their lives?
This "magick until failure" routine has to stop. This shit won't get you anywhere. This shit won't help anybody. Magick doesn't care about you, and it will run you over like a semi-truck. This bullshit only serves to remind people of what can happen if you aren't careful.
I sat down in defeat. How the fuck. How the fuck does some outsider know better about magick than this worlds' own denizens? I've only learnt of this "Lux Luminous" art only an hour after my entrance to this new world - the translation spells. One cup of some milk of knowledge was served to me, and the mysteries of these light magicks became known to me. Is it because I'm a hero? That some fantastic prophecy helped me along?
No, mythological gods don't grant common sense.
They're stupid. They're ignorant, but this ignorance makes them a threat - makes them an annoyance. So I must deal with them before this nuisance becomes too great for me to handle.
I take out my flask and down a shot or two.
"Hey!" Mr. Teacher calls out. "Your training session is over!"
I raise my head slightly and look around, spotting a crowd gathering around me. Students are pointing and looking at me in shock. I smile and wave to them. But they don't respond, not even nodding. They were staring at me, at the strange new guy they had just witnessed humiliating this oh-so-prestigious academy. Maybe I should just leave. Maybe they should start paying more attention to their studies instead. I'm sure that once everyone figures out I'm nothing more than an idiot with common sense they'll forget all about me.
They won't forget me. And they will know that I shall be either a villain or a hero in their history books.