Olimpia

Excerpt From The Mad Scholar's Wall—

Areekail, High King of the Great Woodlands, waved his hand, and fire no bigger than a candle's flame unfurled from the tip of his pointer finger. Like it was shot from a bow, the fire leapt toward the fort.

As the fire traveled, it grew in size and changed color.

At first, it was the cherry red of a campfire's coals. Within a dozen feet, the candle flame that leapt from the High King's finger had grown to the size of a bonfire and started to change to the light blue of the sky at the edges.

The growth never stopped, and the core of the fire shifted to an azure hew. Then it became the purest of whites.

By the time the once tiny flame had nearly reached the base of the walls, and the gathered beastmen outside them, it had become an ocean.

Stretching out before the High King in the shape of a cone, the earth was scorched. Any grass below the flame was burned to less than ash. The now barren ground Looked like it had been baked in a kiln and had cracked open, with the air above shimmering with the intense heat it held.

Nothing could stop the torrent as the flames born from the underworld reached the tens of thousands of beastmen.

Before the flame could reach the poor creatures, their fur burst into flames. The blood-curdling death screams of thousands rang out into the world, then stopped as the white core reached them.

Without a hint of change, the flame swept forward, curving around the fortification like a boulder dropped into the middle of a stream.

When the fire disappeared around the bend of the fortifications, nothing was left. Not even the ash of the dead.

"Follow." Said High King Areekail, his word filled with intent and meaning. A request made by a being who once again looked like a god made flesh to my eyes. And this time, we followed without any compulsion.

We finally understood. There was something the High King needed us to bear witness to.

**********

Weakly lashing out at what hit me, I moaned in annoyance. I wanted to fall back into the warm embrace of sleep.

As stark reality pulled me out of the darkness of unconsciousness, I was only feeling worse. Struggle how I might, I could not force my mind to shut down. There was too much wrong with me, and survival instincts were forcing me awake.

A deep cold was biting deep into my whole body, which was actually helping to numb all of the spots of pain flaring to life. I couldn't even really feel my hands and feet.

The cold did nothing, however, for my pounding head… And more importantly, the bitch screaming into my ear and shaking me.

"Get up, you fucking Twig! I know your knife-eared head can hear me; they are twitching! We— need… you." Her last few words were said through a tight throat and were dragged out of her one syllable at a time.

"Feed me, and I'll think about it," I said, opening my mouth. I was still half asleep and trying to stay there, but the hole in my gut needed to be filled by something. I knew in the back of my mind I needed to get up, and I was not going to fall asleep again, but I just didn't care.

“Ahh… Wha— di— you say?" Asked Celeste, her voice taking on a high and uncertain tone.

Celeste was, to put it bluntly, crazy hot. Gotta emphasize the crazy part. She is not the most attractive person I have ever seen, but that fanatic intensity gives her a certain… wild appeal.

"I'm willing to fuck crazy if you wanna give it a go?" I asked, not really paying attention. I was adjusting to my body's aches and cracking my eyes open, trying to adapt to the blinding light stabbing into them.

There was nothing for a second, and then another second passed, the silence growing heavier. Suddenly shocked laughter filled my ears, and I wondered why until it froze, eyes half open as I thought back on the last minute. Oh, shi— "Ahh! Fuck that hurt." I said nasally, rolling to the side and clamping my hands to my face.

My hands were immediately slick with blood, as my nose was broken by the boulder that hit it.

"Calm down!" said a voice above the splashing of water behind me.

Another voice said, "He wasn't fully awake! Let it go!" Their words did nothing as the sounds of wrestling increased.

I had to assume that the barely contained laughter in their voices as they tried to calm the situation was not much of a help.

Not wanting to be attacked, unaware again, I forced my eyes open.

My vision turned white, and the pain in my head spiked, causing tears to come to my eyes. It was like I took two knives, shoved them into my head, and wiggled them around.

If I had one of those hypothetical knives as I clutched my forehead, hands shaking from pain, I would have seriously considered if it was less painful to be done with it all and just cut out my eyes. A perception sphere is better than eyes, after all.

Instead, I got to resist clawing out my eyes by digging fingernails into my scalp. I'm not a healer or anything, but digging them out with my nails has to hurt more, right?

Finally, my eyes adjusted to the light, and my surroundings swam into focus.

I was surrounded by water, lit up by a ball of fire in the sky with… my eyes widened in shock as I saw distant figures on the shoreline. I saw the beastkin move, and a moment later, I picked out a rock flying through the air.

Instinctually, I let out a pulse, looking for danger.

"Augh!" I screamed, holding my head in my hands. It felt like my head was trapped between two strands of mental energy and was slowly being crushed.

Information was flooding my mind.

A pulse of mental energy reacts when it hits a body and any objects infused with energy, such as a weapon. When you use a pulse, usually, you get a picture of a ball of burning light for a head and dimmer lines of energy radiating out, giving a rough outline of the body.

Through practice, one can gather more information and extrapolate what is happening from the flash of information they receive. In a Union with multiple pulses every moment, there is little to no question of what is happening.

This pulse was different. I saw everything.

From where I sat on the raft to a foot into the water and a dozen feet into the tree line, I saw every detail all at once.

I could mentally inspect the pants and tunics of legionaries next to me, holding down Celeste, her face twisted with rage. The grains of the rough rocks flying through the air were like a book, and the delicate weaving of the cloak of the beastkin on the shoreline was a story, telling of years of skill and practice.

All that information was shoved into my head, and it was too much. I was not prepared, and I was far from being at my full capabilities.

Shoving at the deluge of information, I forced it down and away, like I did with the unnecessary information in my perception sphere. But this was to a far greater level than I had ever imagined.

Every inch the pulse extended increased the burden and pressure building within my mind by several times of magnitude. An inch of ground was like a whole world expanding before me.

Instead of an inch of soil containing leaves, dirt, fungus, and insects I could ignore while stepping over, it was the valleys and peaks of mountains with thriving and unique life.

After what felt like an eternity of fighting to not be swamped under the information, I felt my tortured mind begin to clear, as nothing more was being crammed into it.

I spent a moment relishing the blissful silence of my mind.

My body still ached, the cold eating at my bones while my head throbbed, but that no longer mattered. Perspective was everything, and right now, I was existing in the euphoria of the absence of all-consuming pain.

A moment before, I was a waterskin on the brink of bursting as ever more was crammed in. Now I was a water skin gradually shrinking as I tried to regain my previous shape, but the stretch marks would leave their mark.

Reveling in my newfound comfort, I left my mind wandering, skimming over all the information I had received.

Lunging to the side, I stretched out my hand, forming a tendril that lashed out of my palm and struck the stone, shattering it. I paused for a second, eyes wide at the power of my casting. I had just meant to force it to the side.

Letting the casting go, I turned to Sathera as she slowly followed my arm to my body. When I saw her eyes, I gave her a shaky smile as new spikes of pain stabbed into my mind and body, as the mental energy I used was like sandpaper running over irritated skin.

And this wasn't a light brush, either. The sandpaper was really being taken to town as if trying to reach my bones.

Ignoring my pain, my eyes flicked to the side at a sudden burst of motion.

As I took in the legionaries walking out of the water, unleashing their powers on the gathered beastkin, I smiled, saying, "Knights."

Sathera looked at me blankly before her head slowly turned, taking in the knights on the banks of the Rush. She whispered something I could not hear before letting out a sigh of relief and slumping forward.

I could not tell if she was awake or asleep, but I would guess she was awake. How could someone stay upright with their shoulders slumped forward while sitting on their heels, legs folded under them?

That would take… not so much skill as luck. I guess it could be skill, but who would practice it? I mean, Darell did practice falling asleep with a mug of ale in his hand so he could wake up to a drink. But that's something completely different. At least you can throw the mug into someone's face if they attack during the night. What's the benefit of falling asleep kneeling? In that light, Darell's stupid skill was reasonable. Wonder if Sathera would be embarrassed if I asked her how long she practiced.

Silence descended upon the raft, the grunts of effort and splashing behind stopping as everyone looked past our little raft in a daze.

I joined them in blankly staring, but more because the relief of my mind not exploding was wearing off, and now I had all my other pains, plus feeling like my insides were stretched out. As if I had eaten a meal for five people and then threw it all up. I was just… hollow.

I threw a half-hearted look over my shoulder, looking at the dozen legionaries on the raft with me. Their faces said it all. They didn't entirely believe what was happening.

Given how beaten down and worn out they all looked, I could guess how tired they must be. Though I had no idea how long they had been running while carrying me, given the fact the last thing I remembered was it being daytime, looking at everyone from the center of—

A shudder ran through my body at the line of thought. Memories of excruciating pain exploded into my mind, causing my body to break out in a cold sweat and start trembling.

I sat on the raft, the cold waters of the river lapping at my legs, but I barely felt it. Looking at but not really watching the figures fighting on shore, the light of the fire overhead faded. With every second, I regained a little bit more control of myself, suppressing the full-body shudders wracking me into hardly a shake in my hand.

With implacable efficiency, the beastkins on shore were slaughtered. Every swing of a knight bisected one or more beastkin. When they grouped up, a casting would scatter their numbers.

The only one I could see that put up a fight was the beastkin who threw fireballs around, and even I could tell the fireballs were feeble things. Exhaustion was clutching onto his spells as much, if not more than those on the raft.

When a knight bisected that beastkin, a small vindictive cheer rose up around me. One filled with so much emotion I wondered if I was in a mental link for a moment.

Before the last of the beastkin were cut down, two figures walked out onto the river's surface like it was any other street in the Republic. One was a Knight Aqua, allowing them to walk on water, and the other was a Knight Ignis and Terra.

I could not see anything about the water knight, as their helmet was on, but the other was helmetless, and I recognized him. If only from legend and story, if not person.

How could I not? Every youth of my generation grew up looking at his face in the papers, wishing to be a knight.

Brackus, the Molten Man, is talked about even now. My father even told me how he fought alongside him for a time.

I vaguely remember hearing rumors of him taking up a teaching position at the tribune school outside the walls of the south fort. I guess they were right.

The older man walked up to the raft and looked at all of us huddled on its logs. Blood spattered and half-drowned, we were falling asleep even now, finally given a moment where constant danger wasn't keeping us awake.

His eyes held no scorn or pity, only understanding and expectation. Of course, we were alive and fighting our way back. What other reality could there be?

Taking the initiative, he slammed his fist to the chest in a salute, then said in a surprisingly mellow tone, "Glad to see the reports of all the scouts being wiped out were false. What do you have to report?"