And again the day dawned, and again the alarm rang at 6:45 - ushering the cadets from their slumber. To further enforce this awakening Nerael voice rang out among them, "Out! Time for morning exercises."
In the courtyard Nerael was jogging on the spot - waiting for the cadets to get out of their beds and into the new day. Of course if they weren't out soon he'd have to resort to dragging them out and giving them low altitude parachuting lessons without certain vital bits of equipment.
-
He slept peacefully as ever and then slept through wake up call. With one hand shielding his eyes from lights he didn't bother to realize he was late till it was nearly 7:05 AM He pulled himself out of bed and then sleepily got dressed. He knew he was late just by the fact that the barracks was empty. He stole out into the court yard and silent slipped into his place among the stretching and exercising cadets, hoping that Nerael hadn't noticed.
-
Unfortunately Nerael did notice - and fully intended to carry out his threat. From a pull up position he forward flipped to standing and strode towards Evenael, his voice raising into a near shout, "Stop exercise everyone - we have someone who does not believe that he needs to join us. You! Cadet Evenael!" Nerael drew himself up to his full height (although notably did not extend his wings) and stared directly into Evenael's eyes, "You are late, and as such you have brought down on yourself a suitable punishment."
-
Evanael froze when he heard Nerael talking. Yes, he noticed and that wasn't going to be good for him. Evanael bit the inside of his cheek as he watched Nerael stride over to him. He stared right back into Nerael's eyes, unwilling to let the man make him flinch or give an inch of ground. He cracked a slight smile and then said "Than I shall accept said punishment with eagerness and enthusiasm."
-
"Don't be an idiot. Follow me." Nerael turned and walked to the medical building, calling over his shoulder "Free style exercise until I get back." What exactly he meant by that not even he knew. However it would be interesting to see how they interpreted it.
Once in the building Nerael caught the attention (and the arm) of the chief medic, "This cadet requires his Soul to be saved. Now."
The medic simply nodded and turned to Evenael, "If you will come this way." He led him to an almost vertical bed, and it was indicated that he should lie down.
-
Evanael followed after Nerael silently, not knowing what was going to happen to him. When he was brought to the medic building he was almost surprised he was being led there, but said not a word nor showed any outright emotion. He caught what Nerael said to the chief medic and was immediately set on edge. He followed the man over to the bed and then reluctantly lay down. He clenched his jaw, not quite knowing what was happening, but he staid still and waited.
-
The medic pressed a few buttons beside the bed, there was a quick hum and Evenael felt a quick sharp pain throughout his head as the machines involved took a record of his memory, personality and in fact everything that made Evenael Evenael and saved it. Thankfully the pain lasted only a few seconds and left no residue - Evenael was quickly ushered from the bed and back to Nerael who looked at him coldly before turning silently and walking back to the yard.
Once at the yard Nerael took a strange disk like object two metres in diameter and pulled it out into the centre of the yard, "Everyone start doing press ups: twenty at a time with a thirty second rest between groups. Cadet Evenael - stand on this disk."
-
Evanael winced at the sharp pain, but that was all that he did. When ushered to get up he did and ignored Nerael's cold look. Rubbing the side of his skull with a hand he followed after Nerael out into the court-yard again. When Nerael had the disk he knew something bad was going to happen. Reluctantly he stepped up onto the disk as told, his wings pulled in tight against his side, obviously scared of what was going to happen next.
-
"Disk, elevation one hundred metres." Nerael commanded the disk - and immediately it began to slow ascend up into the air, taking Evanael along with it, until it did indeed reach an elevation of one hundred metres. Nerael called up to Evanael, "Feeling comfortable cadet? Good. Now jump."
A simple exercise. Would he survive? Relatively insignificant - although it did theoretically have some importance in learning how to fall etc, primarily this was a favoured punishment used by Nerael. He really disliked lethargics.
-
Evanael swallowed hard as the disk went up. When it finally reached 100 Meters he looked about, quite nervous, but at the same time rather happy for a challenge. Sure he'd probably end up with a few broken bones and several bruises and stuff like that, but it would be all for the better... he guessed. Looking around he took his time to be decisive and in stead of just straight of jumping, a bright and rather stupid idea came to his mind. He'd try to fly his way out of this. Stuck on the idea that if the birds could fly so could he and this was a perfect time to try.
He turned and backed up nearly to the edge and then took a brief few strides and leapt off the end shooting for an open patch of ground. His wings snapped open and he flapped his wings furiously, futile of course, and tried to slow himself down. Despite everything his wings were a bit of help. Instead of hitting the ground at a good 150+ MPH he managed to get it down to about 150 MPH before he just pulled his wings in tight and let himself fall. He hit the ground curled up into a tight ball and bounced once, loosing his breath and then twice, finally going all jelly bodied as he blacked out and then a third time and then slid five feet over the ground before coming to rest.
Of course he didn't move his body already racing to recover from the shock of said landing. Several of the bones in his wings were broken, making them even more useless than before. His back was going to turn into a massive black bruise and several of his ribs were cracked and one of them even broken in two. The wound on he back of his head from he other days had reopened and was bleeding, staining his hair dark red. Amongst everything else, he'd broken both bones in his right arm and was covered in enough scrapes and scratches to look like he'd been through a war zone.
-
Nerael walked over to Evanael, pulled him onto his back and carried him to the medical building - in the mean time the cadets (or at least those that wished to escape punishment) continued with their exercises. In the medical building Evanael was put inside a pod which seemed to be made of some variety of glass which quickly filled up with a thick liquid. Evanael did not have the urge, or need, to breathe as the liquid began to quickly repair his body.
-
Evanael healed well enough. When he gained consciousness half way through the process he rolled over on his side and curled up in a ball. He staid that way long after his body was done being repaired. He told himself that the next sharp knife he saw and he'd take his wings off himself. If he couldn't use them, why have them. This little punishment had dome way more to him than anything else ever had before.
-
The pod emptied slowly and Evanael was soon exposed to the air - and Nerael. Nerael took hold of part of his soaked garments and hoisted him out of the pod, "Come on cadet, back to the platform." His voice was not as cold now - simply perfuctionary. He led Evanael slowly back to the court and gestured to the platform, "Cadets! Jog around the court!"
-
Evanael couldn't help but whine softly as he was pulled forcefully out of the pod. Outside he was wet and cold and miserable. When they got back to the court he bit his lower lip to keep himself from whining again. Whatever was next he was sure was going to hurt, but he knew what he was going to have to do soon. Better to go join some rouge band of pirates than suffer through 100 meter, parachute less drops.
-
"You didn't do badly cadet. 10 metres." Nerael wasn't that cruel, at least not this early in the morning. He turned and flipped onto his arms as he began to run in hand-stand form. It was something he was working on - as soon as he could do it at close to running speed he'd be happy, but he wasn't even nearly there yet. The platform rose to ten metres, and held there motionless.
-
He eyed the ground and then mumbled something to himself. He stepped off the edge and fell a good thirty feet. He managed to land on his feet, bending his knees so he didn't break his legs, his wings splayed outwards to let him keep his balance better. He managed to keep from falling over and got to his feet. Looking around he looked for the closest pointy object.
-
Nerael stopped running and flipped the 'right' way up, walking over to Evenael and speaking to him quietly, "Kid, I saw what you did. You want to fly, and I understand that. But we're not made for that. There's nothing wrong with our bodies - but it is not for Plebeians to fly, that is for the Patricians." Nerael sighed, "Talk to me at the end of the day, and we'll see what we can do for you. For now get back to exercises."
He turned his attention to the group, "Alright cadets, and twenty minutes of co-ordinated exercises." He dropped to the floor and began to do press-ups at an unusually high speed - expecting everyone to keep up with him.
-
Evanael growled lightly and then walked off, his feathers puffed up. He took his place and despite the burning pains in his feet and legs he set to the Press-ups going as fast as his arms would let him. His mind dulled by the soreness and pain echoing up from his nerves made him follow Nerael's every command like a puppy dog, almost ready to just lay down and die. He sensed a round of Nepleslian depression coming on.
-
Thankfully Schuyler had rolled out of bed at the right time, and cringed when he saw the other recruit hit the deck.
He kept doing his exercises, with increased fervour, for what may happen to him if he screwed up.
He figured doing these exercises was cake walk as compared to what the recruit was faced with.
-
Exercises finished, they weren't particularly interesting but Nerael seemed to have his attention on something else. He even had one finger push ups instead of his regular vertical press-ups. However the hour finished and he quickly sent them to the showers and the mess before going to collect their next teacher.
The meal today tasted of a variety of white chocolate - without the dehydrating side effects.
-
Schuyler showered quickly, rubbing soap over himself, but more than anything just going through the motions. He was thinking about far too many things to concentrate at the moment. He towelled off and headed over for the mess hall.
Schuyler didn’t really like chocolate...so he choked back feelings of nausea as he ate. He learned there were worse things than not liking a meal. He still managed to finish quickly however, and walked outside.
Something told him today would be quite entertaining, but he wasn’t sure why.
-
Evenael took his shower and came out looking no better than when he'd went in, besides the fact he wasn't covered in dirt and dust. His bangs stuck to the sides of his face and he tucked them back behind his ears.
Evanael actually enjoyed the taste of the "food" for breakfast. He made no complaints as usual. This time around though he did take a nervous look at Nerael, wanting seconds, but he nothing about that either.
Once they were back outside he let himself relax. He spread his wings just a bit to help dry them off. He folded his wings a bit and then walked up beside Schuyler and staid silent.
-
Schuyler looked to his side and saw the unlucky recruit standing next to him. He didn’t look too much worse for wear, but he probably didn’t feel completely perfect. He had just jumped from 300 feet up, and broken a fair amount of the bones in his body.
"You probably already know this..." Schuyler said looking forward again "but I don’t think it would be wise to show up late again."
He shifted on his feet slightly, pointing his shoulder into the light breeze coming across the parade deck.
-
Upon hearing the words Evanael rolled his eyes. 'Why thanks for the warning' he thought sourly and then mumbled "Wonder what the punishment for getting up early would be..." Was what he said, trying to make light of his turn of events.
Evanael shifted on his feet and then sub-consciously ran his hands over his wings, down his back and then over his legs and feet, noting the sore parts of his legs and feet. Thirty feet wasn't so bad, but he knew by the end of the day his feet and legs would be giving him grief. He sighed softly to himself and walked off to be with his thoughts.
Feeling the breeze he spread his wings and walked straight, thinking, thinking and thinking until he ran smack-dab into a wall. Evanael took a step back and then rubbed his forehead with his hand. He shook his head softly and then turned and walked back over to where the rest of the cadets were gathering.
-
At the end of the hall, sitting cross legged on the table and looking slowly over the cadets sat Reomael. Well at least he presumed they were his cadets. They certainly looked like cadets and they were where his cadets were meant to be. As such the only relatively logical and reasonable deduction that could be made was that they were indeed his cadets. Or at least the cadets he was going to instruct. They didn’t look particularly competent, or indeed particularly incompetent, but Reomael knew that appearances could be highly deceptive – for better or worse.
Reomael was a Plebeian, and in coloration was perfectly normal – slightly pale Caucasian skin, blond hair and bright blue eyes, and he was garbed in the standard mesh of a Plebeian Enlisted. However he did not hold himself like a standard Plebeian, his superior posture bringing him to well over six foot, and there was a certain … warmth about him that contrasted with that which came of most officers. In fact his face was set in something of a semi-smile. He flicked a strand of hair away from his eyes and spoke at normal dynamics but with a voice which carried throughout the hall,
“Hello everyone. I am Reomael and I shall be instructing you in the use of various firearms, so when you’ve finished eating meet me out in the yard and I’ll take you to the firing range alright? Alright, I’ll see you in a little while.” He smiled widely and strolled out of the hall.
-
Evanael looked up at Reomael as he spoke and then followed him outside, already having finished his meagre meal. He shadowed the Plebeian for several minute before stopping to puzzle something over. He picked his head up again and studied Reomael.
Right off the bat he was attracted to something this specific individual had and Evanael immediately distrusted his feelings. As proven with Nerael, it was better to kill yourself doing better than your peers than to die making up for the mistakes you made, he'd treat Reomael the same.
Even in this deep state of thought he seemed to keep loosing himself in, he still managed a delayed response as he walked into another wall and backed off and then scowled and rattled off a few colourful swears and rubbed at the bump forming on his skull. If he didn't stop that his forehead would be twice as big as his head eventually. Well at least that’s what it seemed like.
-
Reomael stopped his pacing when he noticed one of his cadets walking inelegantly into the wall. Of course beyond the results of said collision the cadet was looking fairly rugged – and not if the attractive mysterious fashion more like the ‘I’ve collided with the ground. Rather hard’ fashion. Reomael felt just a little concerned – after all walking into walls wasn’t particularly constructive for an educational environment. And as such he crossed the remainder of the courtyard,
“You alright lad?” He asked his incomplete sentence and informal language rather … unusual, even for a Plebeian.
-
Evanael was clearly caught off guard when Raomael spoke to him. He flinched away from Reomael and barely avoided jumping into the wall again. With an angry glare at the wall Evanael turned his eyes from the wall to Reomael and then after a few moments of indecision his cheeks turned a light shade of pink.
"No, No I'm not..." He said. At least he could count on his fingers what all hurt, but he wasn't about to go through said list at the moment unless asked. With another angry and futile glare at the wall Evanael seemed intent on inspecting his boots.
-
Roemael crouched down until his eyes were level with Evanael's, and gave him a rather wide grin "And are you go to unleash your torrent of woes onto me laddo? Because I'm always here to talk to/at."
-
Evanael was nearly speechless. His cheeks turned a bright red and he backed off a bit. And then he eyed Reomael and finally spilt the beans, speaking softly so he wasn't heard. "Well... My feet are sore, I've got bruises on my legs, I seem to keep walking into wall and smacking my head against them, I've got a headache, the food is terrible..." He went onto tell the obvious "...I can't fly, there's no one nice to talk to and I think you’re....." he caught himself mid way through his last sentence and gagged on the last of his words and shut up.
-
"Well that's quite a load lad. I'll try and get through them one by one if you don't mind." Roemael smiled gently looking at this cadet who was rather down on his luck as far as he could tell, "Sorry to hear about the sore feet and the bruises - if you ask nicely at the medical centre they might give you some cream for it, otherwise just try not to think about it. As for the walls - I know it might be cliché I find that standing a little straighter and keeping your head up makes it a lot easier to avoid objects up to an including walls. The headache - go get some water kid, that tends to help quite a lot. I personally like the food, but hey - you're fully entitled to your opinions. Diversity is great." He paused before moving onto the second block of questions.
"I admit that conversation can be a little sparse - but I'm relatively nice. Well I think so anyway. As for the lack of flight - I can't really sympathise. I like being on the ground, it helps me know where I am."
-
Evanael picked his head up when it turned out that Reomael wasn't going to tell him shut up and face it like a man. He blinked softly and listened for once at what Reomael had to say. He watched the man for a bit and then finally gave him a small smile and finished his last sentence "And I think you’re......cute?" He offered shyly.
-
Roemael looked at him softly, "Perfectly understandable. I am. And I'm going to say that you're not unattractive yourself. However this is not the time or the place for a discussion of nature." Roemael brushed away a strand of Evanael's hair, "But a discussion we will have."
Roemael stood up slowly and walked away with a grin on his face, an interesting development certainly.
-
Evanael stared after Reomael for a bit before he worked his jaw and then echoed the Plebeian's grin and wandered aimlessly while waiting. First off with torture and then Nerael wanting to talk to him, being miserable and then running into Reomael, a torrent of feelings and finally yet another talk with his superior about nature.
Evanael blinked and put his head up, like Reomael had suggested and didn't run into anymore walls for the time being. He finally found a spot to stand and wait for the rest of the cadets to get their butts out into the court-yard. He wanted so badly for this day to hurry up and end.
-
Schuyler just watched the new man enter, and dismissed the conversation between Evanael and Reomael as infatuation. He didn’t have to hear the words to see the look in his eyes.
Schuyler was ready to get on with it, he just wanted to learn whatever it was they were going to teach him, get good at it, and then go use it. The formalities were killing him.
-
Reomael waited for everyone to gather before speaking to them in his gently penetrating voice, "If you'll follow me I'll take you to the firing range and we can get started. Alright? Alright." Reomael smiled at them before walking off towards the firing range.
The firing range was a building which had twenty booths in it, and inside each booth there was a volumetric image projector which could create a perfect impression of any target and simulate most other situations really. Behind them was a series of weapon lockers. The one currently open had a number of practice Atromos rifles - ones that would only working in a Volumetric Setting.
"Collect a gun and look over it. Become familiar with it, and I mean real familiar. I want you to know every inch of this weapon as you do your own bodies - once you’re finished it should act as an extension of your body."
-
Evanael took a good look around before he even approached the weapons lockers and finally picked out a gun. He leaned up against a wall, displaced from the rest of the cadets and set to work, looking at everything and remembering where everything was. Than with a glance around Evanael began to go over his gun again, finding all loose pieces and gently prying them off one by one, remembering where the pieces went. He put it back together again from memory.
-
Schuyler plucked a newer looking piece from the rack, and walked away from the group. He was more interested in the workings and how it fired, than he was how all the parts went together. He just wanted to shoot some stuff.
He started taking pieces off of it, and setting them aside, noting where each piece went, and keeping entire assemblies together. The action, the handle, the slide, the springs...he made sure that he had them all where he could remember how they went back together.
After he had stripped the weapon, he reassembled it, disassembled it, and assembled it once more. After having done it once slowly from trial and error, along with memory, the second time was much faster, and he was far more comfortable with how it went together.
He took his newly acquired weapon and sighted down range towards the blank wall. He lined up the sights, moved the weapon in a small circle, keeping the sights aligned. He lowered the weapon to the "ready" position, and then quickly re-aligned the sights with his eyes, ready to fire. He repeated this several times, each time working on his grip on the weapon, the way his cheek weld matched with the stock of the rifle, and how relaxed he was with the weapon in his hands.
He would much rather have more range...killing something from a mile away appealed to him for some odd reason. He lowered the weapon, and waited for the next instruction.
-
Evanael took time to test the sights as well, aiming the gun out into the firing range. He altered his stance like if he were actually going to fire the gun. Some guns he remembered could have very bad recoil and if you weren't careful to brace yourself you could fall right over. He shifted the gun a bit so it was even more aligned with him and then lowered the gun. He studied the gun again and then, making sure the safety was on, he held the stock of the gun and rested the barrel against his shoulder.
Backing up He leaned back against the wall. Evanael closed his eyes listening to the rest of them work and test out their guns. Just the opposite of Schuyler, he wanted to be back with the swords. He was better at close range combat, but with training he guessed he could do just as good with a gun.
-
Roemael gave them more than enough time to get familiar with their weapons before moving on to the next stage, "Alright, we're going to start a simulation of an opponent at one hundred metres. For simplicity we're choosing a Yamataian/Nepleslian opponent - Mishhu will come later. Every ten shots the target will become harder and more intelligent - dodging and so forth. We'll stop when it seems like a good time to move on."
The booths began to blur and the image of a fully armed human appeared what seemed one hundred metres away - standing perfectly stationary.
-
Evanael smiled and then opened his eyes and flipped the safety off as he stepped up to one of the booths and then settled the gun and took aim, his first two shots were off the mark completely, the next two hitting his target just below the jugular vein and the other hitting the target's shoulder. Surely damaging spots, but not good enough to kill. The next two shots were more accurately aimed and one punched through his target's ribs and the other hit right through the target's eyes.
Even with those shots he was determined to get an even more fatal shot straight through the heart. His last four shots pumped holes through where his target's lungs would be. As the target started moving, he paused for a second to discard the sights altogether and then deliberately went cross-eyed and took aim. He let three shots fly, the first clipped the figure's calf muscle, the second buried itself in the target's head and the third hit it in the chest. Getting a feel for this new gun he shifted the gun barrel only slightly and down and sent a shot into the targets hands.
-
Schuyler stepped up to the booth, and snapped off three quick shots at the target on the screen. The first shot went wide, but the second two hit the no reflex zone, right about the upper lip.
He fired 3 more times, this time focusing more on centre mass, and punched three nice little holes in what WAS the chest cavity.
Though he was enjoying this immensely, he wanted more range. He wanted a far off target, with a large calibre rifle.
-
Roemael walked up a down the booths giving advice to those that needed it and generally inspecting their work in a relatively friendly fashion. "Alright, how about we try something a little harder. Moving targets!"
The volumetric images now came to life with the figures doing their best to move in such a way to make them hard to hit - up to and including seemingly running away.
-
As soon as the figure began to move Evanael switched tactics from careful aiming to short bursts of six to eight rounds each, going for vital spots on his target. Mainly he went for the head and chest.
Evanael spent plenty of the virtual ammo, but did so wisely. He always went for the kill, keeping to single shots when the target was close, and showering in a concentrated area when the target was further away and also paused to snipe a few times around.
It looked like Evanael had temporarily forgotten everything that had happened to him so far, but all the pent up anger and confusion could clearly be seen as he poured it into blasting the hell out of the target in front of him.
-
Schuyler aimed low on the target and let a burst rip up the side of him. He let the muzzle jump bring the weapon up the target, and allowed it to move from side to side. If it were a moving target, he needed to first hit it, and then kill it.
His plan worked, he saw, as the animated blood spray died down.
-
Again Roemael waited and watched his cadets firing and slowly getting better. They still didn't seem to be making best use of the weapon, but they would. Eventually. "Alright, stage three - environmental conditions."
The Nepleslian was suddenly concealed by fog, wind and rain with only a faint outline indicating his presence.
-
There was a soft "oh.... even better", an evil sounding chuckle and then Evanael fell into hitting his target every single time. Into his shots he poured every emotion he had at the moment. His strategy? Aim for the dead centre of the blurry figure. Easy, piece of cake no?
Evanael ended up pumping his targets full of flying missiles after a while. He was getting bored, extremely bored, with this.
-
Schuyler took a rather different approach. He looked at the centre mass, but then tracked the space right about where the head would be, if the blurry part were the torso.
He got a thrill every time he saw the mist turn bright red for a few seconds, as what was a skull was destroyed. The thrill of this was outstanding, but it was lacking in...reality.
He could shoot at these all day long, but they would never shoot back. There was no danger, no real threat. That didn’t stop him from enjoying this turkey shoot however.
-
"I feel that a few of you may be growing a little bored." Roemael said and smiled gently, "And as such we shall introduce a little element of danger. Each of your cubicles has a stunning device. Your opponents will now have facilities of weapons - whenever you will be shot you will be stunned, and unfortunately there's a certain amount of pain involved. As the time progresses your opponents will become more accurate. In addition they will be hiding behind barriers and be equipped with infra-red goggles. Enjoy."
And so it was said - so it was.
-
Evanael uncrossed his eyes blinked few times and then got moving; he took down the target three times in quick succession before getting a "bullet" his side and another in his leg. He tossed away the momentary pain and kept moving. It soon became to the point where he was just plain angry and took out more targets than he got shot. He waited patiently for the ones behind the barriers and efficiently ploughed over the ones out in the open.
Evanael must have as more shots in him than he suspected at first, especially when his left side started really hurting. Of course he paid no attention to it, but eventually it did affect his quick efficiency and he was just getting shot more and that was no help. Eventually it got to the point where Evanael slid the gun down the back of his shirt and backed off. When he hit the wall behind him he sank down against it and promptly passed out.
-
As soon as the change was made, Schuyler instantly took 4 rounds to his right side. As soon as it uncramped itself, he noted the slightly searing pain it left behind.
This he liked.
He loosed a barrage at the most prominent figure in the smoke screen, before moving to another, and firing two more quick shots at centre mass. He searched methodically, looking for the next target, before pumping a few rounds in a slightly aimed manner.
He took another round from the right, and almost yelped with the sensation. He turned and fired bringing the target to its knees, where the second shot removed its head.
"Now this is more like it..."
-
And this indeed, was more like. More like a real combat situation and far more like true training. Well ... it would get harder, but for now this was hard enough. However as Roemael noticed Evanael being knocked out by a barrage of shots his heart went out to the poor guy. He did seem down on his luck ... and Roemael had always had something about underdogs.
He ran over and kneeled over Evanael, lightly shaking his shoulder, "You doing alright laddo?"
-
Schuyler noted several more targets, and felt the shots go past him. He levelled his weapon, ripped a stream of rounds loose, dropped to his knee, and picked off the ones still standing.
The object of course was to avoid getting hit, since in a real combat situation, a hit meant a death. Schuyler was already sick of taking rounds, but it did add to the realism of the drill.
"Another one down," he muttered, as he fired two more rounds through the chest of a simulated enemy.
-
At the shaking Evanael slid so that he was lying on his side, completely un-responsive. It took a good five minutes before he even twitched. His mind soon cleared and was launched into a dream automatically.
He was flying, not under his own power, but upon something he couldn't see. He could feel it beneath him, but couldn't see anything that would give him a clue as to what it was. Then they were diving, stars, planets, supernovas, and entire galaxies flashing past him at the speed of light. Then a soft light attracted his attention and when he looked back out over the landscape he could see the Barracks and the rest of the training camp spread out beneath him.
All too suddenly he was dropped and jaws of some terrible beast formed out of the shooting range and reached up to snatch him out of the air. He never reached the jaws of the terrible beast for he was caught in mid air. When he finally looked up, it was into the eyes of a familiar and strangely comforting face. He fell asleep and then he had a horrible sense of falling through the air. He opened his eyes and got a terrible sense of vertigo as he plunged towards the surface of the ground, unable to right himself.
As he woke up from his dream, his stomach revolted from the earlier sense of vertigo and suddenly being on a solid surface. He threw up the remains of his meagre breakfast, stomach acid and blood. He kept his eyes closed and lay there trying to even out his breathing before he passed out from hyperventilation. It took a few minutes before he could move again. This time he immediately curled up and passed out again.
-
Roemael was surprised. He had never seen a cadet react so badly to the stunners used in this exercise, and it made him wonder whether Evanael actually had the physical capacity to become a member of the Elysian Infantry. Thankfully the cadet's vomit missed him, but after Evanael returned to his unpleasant slumber Roemael gently scooped him up and began to walk out, "Continue with your exercise cadets."
He walked towards the medical bay.
-
Schuyler took fire from the direction opposite that which he was facing, and as he turned took 4 more hits across his body. 1 in the left knee, one in the right thigh and 2 in the lower right side of his torso just above his hip. He dropped to the ground growling in pain, teeth barred.
These bastards kept shooting straighter and straighter. There didn’t seem to be any way to dodge these blasts either, but he figured he was doing alright. First time getting his feet wet, 30 or 40 kills already, of those that shot back, and only 10 rounds taken. He figured he would still be breathing, if just barely, were this a real situation.
As he fell and hit the deck, he turned to bring his weapon to bear, sighting on the group that had blindsided him. He picked his shots carefully, trying to use only a single shot on each target. The first 3 went down great, but the second two scrambled for cover behind the bodies of their fallen imaginary brethren, and he couldn’t get a clear shot.
It was about this time that he felt as though he was sucker punched.
He writhed in pain for a moment before realizing what had happened. One of those bastards out there had scored a perfect head shot, right to the side of his temple. It hurt like all hell, and it throbbed like mad. That would have easily been a killshot, but looking at the destruction he had caused, he thought that he had done rather well. A total of maybe 3 kill shots on him, and a total of 40 enemies down. A ratio of 10.3 to one, if he had the math right.
"Not too shabby, if I do say so myself..." Schuyler muttered, as he picked himself back up, before stepping off the firing line to clear his head for a second.
-
Hikael watched, arms crossed, as the cadets went through their training with Atromos. It had been something that she had always despised, but that was mostly because she wasn't that good at it.
A nod to Roemael as he passed, Evanael in his arms. "...never liked the part where they stunned me, I admit. He'll be alright? I'm fond of that one. He's some fencing habits that need to be smacked out of him." She finished this with a light-hearted salute and a smile, and then turned back to her observations.
-
Roemael paused and turned to the fair Hikael. Simply because one did not swing that way did not mean that he could not appreciate her beauty, as far as it went. He smiled in a friendly fashion, "He should be fine, but I have no idea what made him like this. The stunners simply cause pain and some limited short term incapacitation ... not this." He shook his head, "However he seemed to be doing alright in the firing range, and he's certainly determined. And determination is usually good ..."
-
Eventually he became aware of someone holding him, fighting to at least stay aware of his surroundings. He had a bit of a clue as to whose arms he was in and shifted his head slightly so that his cheek was resting against Roemael's arm completely. He lay silently for a few seconds and then sounded like he was trying to clear something out of his nostrils and when he finally quit with a wheeze, little drops of blood slid out of his nose.
He lay there disliking the feel of blood in his nose, but not enough to try and wipe it away. It took a minute before his eyes flickered open slightly and he mumbled something close to "This isn't good..." before falling into a fit of coughing up more blood. He licked the blood of his lips and then turned his head into Roemael's arm before drifting off into a near-comatose sleep again.
-
Schuyler sat for a few minutes, at the wall behind his booth. Some of the other cadets were doing the same, some more were failing miserably on the firing line, and others were still getting lucky. Him? He just wanted a few minutes to let the throbbing subside, before he jumped back up there again. He didn’t mind pain; he just hated dull aches, things that nagged at you, gnawed at your concentration. Pain he could deal with rather easily.
He stood up and stretched himself out slightly, getting ready to go back to work.
-
Sighing Roemael adjusted his grip on Evanael and continued on his way to the med-bay. Once there he handed him over to the medical staff, who were somewhat surprised to see him again, and they placed him back in the same regeneration tube he had been inside earlier in the day. Roemael looked at him in a worried fashion, but remembering his duties told the medics to send Evanael back once he'd regenerated and returned to the firing hall at a brisk jog.
Once there he decided to pick the pace up, "Sorry about my absence. Now we're introducing some heavily armed ID-Sol's to the mix. Enjoy."
From out of the mist and rain the hulking forms of ID-Sol's appeared.
-
It took a while before Evanael's internal organs rebuilt themselves. As soon as he woke, He glared at the nearest person. As soon as they let him out of the regen tube he got to his feet and then wretched the bun out of his shirt and shook the excess fluid off of it. His nose twitched and he kept all staff away with a murderous glare, but said nothing. With another look about he stalked off, heading back to the Firing range. The only thing he said before he left was "It'll keep happening, but I'm sure you don't care..."
When Evanael finally reached the firing range he'd cooled down a bit. He trod past Hikael without a flicker of attention to her. His grip tightened around the gun as he approached Roemael and his knuckles went white. The feathers on his wings were fluffed up and it was easily told he was still in a foul mood. He puffed his feathers more. As he passed Roemael he gave the Angel a cold glare and then with a quick twitch of his wings he brushed the man's cheek with his flight feathers, seemingly stretching his wings backwards.
With a soft snort he folded his wings tight and then without question or order he stepped back into the firing range and just started blasting everything that moved. Within the first minute alone he took down several of the hulking ID-SOL's and every other target that so much as twitched. He took out his anger on his targets and kept right on going.
-
His first thoughts were, "Oh dear God what is that huge ugly thing?"
His second set of thoughts were much more reasonable. "Who the hell cares, let’s shoot it!"
Schuyler snapped up his rifle and began pumping aimed shots into these monstrosities trying to find a weak or at least slightly better place to shoot.
For these he used more of a surgery with chainsaw idealism, and just kept pulling the trigger, moving it around on the hulks that were wandering out. He knew it probably wouldn’t be a good thing to get hit by whatever it was they were carrying, and made himself as small a target as possible.
-
Roemael, of course, noticed Evanaels behaviour, and it both confused and hurt him. He got the feeling the young cadet actually held him in some resentment, which was a shame since he thought he had a good working relationship ... and perhaps the hint of more ... going with him. And yet that seemed to have gone for nothing, and Roemael was far too professional to interrupt this session any further for a single cadet, no matter who he was.
Instead he crossed over to where Schuyler was firing and studied his work for a while, "Now the important thing to notice is their personality. All good soldiers must work out the mentality of his opponent - know who they are and you will know how they fight, and therefore how to kill them. Ideally you should know them better than they know themselves. And as such look - Nepleslians are always overly confident in their own abilities - especially ID-Sol's. It is partially their company and partially the fact that ID-Sol's are used to being the strongest things around. As such lure the, insult them if you need be, use whatever psychological tricks will give you an advantage."
He stepped back and talked to the group, "A little more exciting now, you both get to fight inside bunkers." The volumetric image changed so that both the Elysians and the Nepleslians were within bunkers, firing out through the 'windows'.
-
Schuyler wasn’t a fool, if you gave him cover, he would sure as hell use it. He instantly moved to a wall, ducked down so that all that was visible was the very top of his head, his rifle, and the hand that was supporting the barrel on the parapet.
He longed for something with a scope, something with a little more oomph, something that would make easy work of enemies within such fortifications.
"Roemael, do you have anything with maybe slightly better optics than iron sights?" He asked as he fired a quick staccato of rounds at a newly acquired foe.
-
Evanael overheard Schuyler talking to Roemael and snorted rather loudly. Theses were just fine, he thought, the boy wanted too much. Then again...so did Evanael. He wanted to fly, he wanted to be free, He wanted better food, he wanted....above everything else...Roemael....
Evan was careful to put himself against a wall out of sight of most of his enemies. It took time to mow them over with the poor iron sights this thing had. Yeah he was starting to agree with Schuyler on that little fact.
So now it was Evanael's times to actually talk to Roemael. He managed to keep all but the slightest touches of emotion from his voice. "Yeah, something with better Scopes would be nice." He nearly had to bark it to be heard over the rattle of gun fire, both from himself and others.
-
Roemael looked at them both strangely, "I don't know what you're talking about. The Atromos rifle - which this is, albeit which only works through interfacing with the projection systems - contains a full shrouded sight with telescopic, red-dot and gyro-gun sight movement compensation systems - the last being activated through voice command or the right button there." He pointed.
-
There was an audible sigh from Evanael and he thumbed the switch for telescopic and then chuckled. "Next time don't hesitate to speak up..." Evanael grumbled and then started improving immediately. Of course he'd given over to grumbling to himself, not a good habit. He was in a bad mood from earlier, but the killing spree was helping.
It took a good half hour before Evanael's mood from earlier had vanished. Now he was plain fighting to kill, kill everything in his sight and everything that moved into his sight.
-
"Fine, just hide the switch and don’t say anything...I see how it is." Schuyler muttered to himself under the crack of the rifle fire, as he pressed the button. Everything jumped forward, and he took aim at vital spots on the ID-SOL's. Head, small cracks in the armour, things that could easily cause death or dismemberment.
-
"Alright, you're doing well, all of you. Now to make this exercise really worth-while we're going to give your ID-Sol opponents the equivalent of full intelligence. Be careful, conservative and brave - hide behind your cover and draw them out rather than the other way around. Remember your patience is probably a darn sight better than his. You have all the time in the world - except now you have limited ammunition. Ten shots before you have to ask for a reload from me. Enjoy." Evanael spoke, walking up and down the exercise room expecting his cadets.
-
Evanael sighed and then stood behind a 'wall' for about five seconds. He came up with a strategy he thought might work. Arching his wings out over one of the 'windows' he drew an ID SOL's fire and sniped two shots, one to crack the armour at his neck and the other to cut through his spinal cord. He shifted his weight backwards as he was shot at and then rustled his wings, of course the bullets would do little more than ruin his wings, but he didn't need them anyway.
He took out another ID-SOL as it carelessly shot at his feathers and then took down another with two shots. Five shots left, He growled softly. After a few more minutes he managed to take down another two ID-SOL's and then took down another. He folded his wings and then let out a whistle to draw Roemael's attention. As he waited he smiled to himself and then one Roemael was close enough he stepped up to him and with a quick look around he gave the Angel a kiss and then stepped back and casually rubbed the side of his nose. "Reload?" He asked, still smiling to himself.
-
Schuyler had a much different plan of attack. He instead lay down, and looked just barely past the wall he was at. He saw 4 ID SOL's running across the other trench line, and lead them slightly, before firing 4 shots, with 3 successful headshots. The other one took a round to the chest, and slammed face first into a wall, before one shot tore into his skull, and another shot tore through his throat.
Schuyler looked around, and saw another 2 hiding behind a low wall, firing at someone down to his right. Fine by him, another 3 rounds later, and 2 more ID SOL's were down, with another destroyed throat, and a severed brachial artery.
One round left. A quick snap shot at an ID SOL blew apart the weapon it was holding, but left him alive. Not for long though, as someone else cut him down.
"Reload!" Aetius said as he rolled behind the wall he was near, as he started to take fire.
-
Roemael allowed his face a brief look of surprise (although he certainly didn't look angry), before taking a step back and adjusting his trousers. Regaining his mental faculties after a second he granted the cadets reloads with a wave of his hand - their weapons now indicating that they had full magazines.
He did seem to have particularly talented cadets at the moment. Schuyler, whose capacity for tactical thought combined with high accuracy was very impressive. And Evanael. He didn't have the formers planning, perhaps not even his accuracy ... but he had passion, spirit and ... a rather attractive body.
Roemael would have to be careful. Very careful.
-
Schuyler noticed the number jump on his weapon back to 10. He instantly drained it again, to help push back a rush by the ID SOL's. 10 rounds out, 4 bodies on the floor, and the rush was broken.
"RELOAD!"
Schuyler moved back behind the wall, before peeking around the corner to try and spot his next targets.
-
It wasn't even a minute before Schuyler was asking for another reload. Evanael snorted softly, turned and fired two shots and two more. He brought down three ID-SOL's with the first four shots before hiding himself behind a wall and taking aim again. He smiled and then fired another four successive shots, intentionally making the meagre muscle he had, ripple.
He'd taken down another three and then a seventh ID-SOL before he paused to take a deep breath. "Reload" he said calmly, scouting out his next targets like Schuyler. He smiled to himself at the thought of Roemael looking surprised.
-
Roemael noted Evanael's improvement with a cautious smile, again waving his hand and granting another reload to the cadets. "Let's make things a little more interesting, now."
As he spoke, several large tanks came rolling into the streets of the simulation, and within ten seconds had set to opening fire on the positions the Elysians were meant to hold while the charging ID-SOLs regrouped.
-
Schuyler cursed under his breath slightly, before ducking down as an explosion rocked the earth.
His ears were ringing, his body was aching, and he was pretty sure he was loopy, but he was still "alive".
He got to his feet slowly, leaning out of a small crack in the wall he was behind. He dropped 1 ID SOL with a carefully fired round through his face plate. He shifted his attention to the tanks however, because they were the largest threat. Where would they be weak? They didn’t seem to have any weak spots in their frontal armour, and Aetius doubted that they would turn around so he could destroy them if he asked. All of the cockpits were enclosed, so that wouldn’t work either.
"Let’s try this..." he breathed as he exhaled slightly before holding his breath, steadying his rifle.
Schuyler aimed his weapon down the barrel of one of the tanks that had just fired, and put three rounds down it. If he couldn’t destroy the tank, he might be able to get a round down the barrel and into the crew inside, or possibly detonate a shell in the barrel. Or, if he was extremely lucky, he would cause enough damage to the barrel to force a shell to explode inside.
He fired 3 more rounds down the same tank barrel, and then moved behind the low wall fully again.
-
A few seconds after Schuyler retreated back behind the wall a wisp of smoke emerged from the tank, followed by a sizable explosion as through some rather complex and unlikely event within the body, the shells stored within the armoured vehicle ignited to predictable effects.
Roemael clapped slowly, standing behind Schuyler, "Impressive, cadet. Not many can shoot so accurately down the barrel of weapon, especially one mounted on an armoured chassis like this one."
With a thought and a click of his fingers the volumetric projections vanished, "That brings us to the end of today's exercise. You have all made good progress, and we shall meet again in a few days. Until then I must put you back in the capable hands of Nereal."
As if on cue the intimidating figure of Nereal appeared in the doorway, silhouetted in the dying light.
-
Evanael kept his new challenge in utter chaos until Roemael said that their exercise was over. With a grin he stepped back and then placed the gun back where he'd gotten it. With not so much as a glance towards the Angel in the door way he stepped up to Roemael and grinned "See you later sir..." and with a crisp salute he stalked off towards Nerael. He seemed almost happy and looking forward to more physical punishment.
But the thing was he was sure he would get to "talk" later with Reomael and that just put him in good spirits. Plus from the traumatic events earlier he turned to thinking that if he meet his challenges with a positive attitude he'd get through said challenges much faster and probably more efficiently. Thereby avoiding any further punishments he might receive. With a pepped up grin to Nerael he stood just off to the man's right and waited patiently.
-
Schuyler too replaced the weapon where he had gotten it.
He stood slowly, feeling slightly sore, from the "hits" he had taken.
"Sounds like fun, sir" as he snapped to attention, before saluting, and leaving in the direction of Nereal.
-
Nereal looked over them slowly. They didn't look nearly tired enough for him, but perhaps he would remedy that later.
"Food time." He said simply, turning around and indicating that the cadets should follow him, leading them back to the mess hall. Inside there was a small queue for food - which this meal tasted like a form of cheese.
-
Evanael fetched his food and ate it, still in unbelievable high spirits. The few plebeians he sat next too, moved away. After scarfing down his meagre meal he got up and worked out the kinks in his neck.
Within a few minutes he found himself a place within the mess hall that allowed himself to stretch out his sore muscles. He made a mental list of all the bruises, scratches, scrapes and healed over wounds he'd gotten since getting here. With a grim smile to himself he cracked his spine with a soft sigh.
He was ready for anything Nerael had to throw at him.
-
Aetius went to the mess hall, he was too sore to want to do anything else, but he wasn’t about to show it.
He cracked his back, neck, and fingers. He was ready to rock as far as anyone else knew. His mind however was cursing him for being a bastard.
-
Nereal waited before all of his cadets finished eating before shouting, food was of course vital. However when it came it was like his voice always was - devastating, but not overwhelmingly loud, filling the room without rocking it.
"Right! You've eaten, now for some exercise before bed to make up for all of the firing you have wasted your energy doing! Do not forget, stay in rhyme or fell my wrath."
Leading the way outside he began to lead the group in a slow combination of Pankration movements - in order to loosen up the body but also to establish good practices for the days ahead when they would be studying that noblest of arts.
-
Evanael meet the exercise with intense, un-explainable, irrational & overall happiness. He worked hard at the stretches and threw in a few pre-sword fight stretches in there as well.
-
Michael jumped out of the shuttle, more than happy that he was finally at the barracks; he never enjoyed rides into the atmosphere of a planet especially in such a small shuttle that looked like it would fall apart if he kicked it. It seemed the pilot of the “brand new” ship he was just in didn’t think regulations applied to him or the small hunk of rusting metal his ship seemed to be. Michael thought about reporting it but he didn’t want to get anyone in trouble so he just jogged over to what seemed to be the barracks and peeked inside. But no one was there so he ran over to what looked like the parade ground. And saw a few tough looking plebeians doing some sort of weird dance/stretch that he had never seen before. He went over to what looked to be the officer and bowed speaking deliberately and somewhat slowly not wishing to get chastised for mispronouncing a word
“Cadet Michael Brazille Reporting Sir!”
-
Evanael caught sight of the new, albeit late recruit and watched him curiously from the corner of his eye. Hmm, certainly seemed spunky enough. He had a feeling the new recruit's spunkiness would be taken care of by Nerael eventually. With that thought he remembered the first day here and snorted softly.
Somewhat distracted by this new kid on the block, Michael did he say? , He continued to stretch nonchalantly. His stretching was slow, but he stretched anyway. The past few days had been nothing more than work, work and more work. First running a good twenty miles or so, then sword fighting, gun fighting and hell knew what was going to be enacted tomorrow. He almost looked forward to it... and the fact he was going to see Roemael after Nerael got done with them.
-
"Goddamn Newbie." Schuyler muttered as he continued his stretching.
He wasn’t about to try and help the new guy on the block, until he knew whether or not he would try and help himself.
His mind was in overdrive, thinking about the stretch, and what types of things it was affecting. What muscles, what bones, how everything moved. Anything at all that hurt, anything that was tight. All of those things would need to be fixed, and limbered up.
Schuyler glanced at Evanael and noticed a glint in his eye. He looked away so that he wouldn’t be caught staring. That was definitely one odd man, Schuyler thought to himself. Very odd indeed.
-
Nerael looked over for a few seconds while conducting a slow thrust kick to where the head would be, "Noted, now is there any particular reason why you're not joining in with your comrades? Have you got yourself something of superiority complex?"
Going back to his exercise he began a series of back kicks, starting slow and working there way up in speed - before then going through an open palm Pyrric (roughly the same thing as a Kata).
-
"Arschloch!" he muttered under his breath at the instructor as he took up position beside one of the tough looking Plebeians. He enjoyed taking advantage of his knowledge of languages. Especially German since it was the language used by his human ancestors. He followed the moves that everyone else was doing not exactly knowing what he was doing... having never done the stretch/dance thing they were performing but he supposed he would get used to it. He had to if he was going to survive in this habitat and one thing he was good at was adapting. He smiled worriedly hoping the drill instructor didn’t have a knowledge of German or there was a good chance he might be in a fair amount of trouble.
-
"Do not speak the human tongue if you wish to escape additional training. That particular training will be how to survive interrogation." Nereal called out without missing a beat in the increasingly complex Pyrric, "You may be speaking an unfamiliar dialect, but my ears are sharp. You will speak Seraphim or you will be silent."
-
"Idiot..."Schuyler muttered as he followed along with the stretching. This new cadet was really pushing his luck, seeing what they did when they got there when they were supposed to, and so far, had only been abused pretty much.
He wouldn’t last very long. Not without getting his ass kicked at least.
-
Evanael grinned when the new recruit muttered something in a human language and got reprimanded for it. He managed to contain his mirth, his thoughts then followed after Schulyer's and he shook his head softly as he continued to follow along with what Nerael was showing them.
It was completely right, Michael would have his ass kicked very soon if he didn't quit with the smart mouth. It would probably be fine when they weren't around Hikael or Nerael, but.... he suddenly wondered if nearly would make Michael jump from the heights like he'd had to. Hmm, that might be interesting to watch after all...
-
Michael smiled a bit as he continued doing the strange stretch after he heard the instructor’s voice and what he had to say, Michael spoke again.
"Actually sir, I would find the extra training quite enlightening. But if you don’t want me to do it I won’t. As you know I live to serve."
A small strange look appeared on his face as he started to think.
"Sir wouldn’t it be wiser to know human languages? I mean if you were in a fight and intercepted a radio transmission from the enemy. And it was in German you would think it would be bad, if you had no idea what it was saying. Especially if you were in a tight fix and the transmission just happened to be the enemies’ orders and battle plans, that could change the tide of the battle? I’m not trying to question your orders but it just seems... well stupid not to learn what you do not know. That would be like taking a test but you couldn’t study because your teacher says it’s a heavens way to take a test. If you take my meaning sir."
He kept his humour inside knowing he would prob. be in a lot of trouble. He never seemed to make friends with his commanding officers. Speaking was a second nature to him and he would prob. get it beaten out of him.
-
"I asked you for two things. The first, thankfully, you have decided to grant me. The second, unfortunately, you refuse to do. This is a time of exercise not of talking, especially with your inane ideas! Do you believe you are better than our military commanders, that anything that you could have thought of could be better than them? Perhaps so - and then by all means rise up the ranks. However for as long as you remain under my command you obey my rules ... and now for some punishment. Cadets, continue training under the lead of Cadet Aetius. Cadet Brazille, with me." Nerael spoke with restrained anger and walked towards the med-bay.
-
Evanael paused slightly as Nerael said Michael was in deep trouble. Med bay eh? Oh right, they were probably going to keep a record of his DNA or whatever and bring him back to life if the sucker died. Evanael snickered and went back to the exercise. He kept an eye out for said punishment Michael was going to get. Make him jump Nerael... He thought with a ever widening grin.
-
Michael frowned as he heard what the instru... commander had to say. He arose and followed close behind. Perhaps he should try and control his talking abilities it always seemed these commanders didn’t like being out witted or given a new outlook his teachers had never liked it either. He smiled at the thought of a memory of when he was still in school. He had been arguing with the teacher about human culture and had defeated the teacher in every point he tried to make that the humans were actually heavens. He continued walking following with his hands tucked behind him and his head held high. Whatever was going to happen he was going to try and smile all the way through it? Just to piss his new commander off.
-
Schuyler moved to the front of the group, and continued to lead the cadets in their stretches and exercises. He knew well enough to not say a damn thing. Nereal was not one to mess with; he had far too little patience.
He also noticed how the new cadet tried to make it seem as though he was unbreakable. That would change soon enough. He knew what Nereal would have him do, if he was having his DNA copied that is. The image of Evanael jumping off the floating platform leaped to the forefront of his mind. It was something he would rather not experience for himself.
-
Within the medical bay Nerael ordered the medics to take Michael's DNA and give him a Soul Saviour simply out of protocol. He felt like something a little more fun that simply forcing the cadet to jump off a platform. Leaving Michael on the ST bed (in which he would feel the acute pain that followed a SS) as he barked an order to the medic, "Bring me the Gag."
Obediently a white-garbed medical worker brought Nerael a small pot which he unscrewed as he paced towards Michael. "You see Michael; we are actually familiar with your sort of person. You are not particularly unique or unusual - certainly not special, unless you prove yourself to be so - something which you are singularly failing to do at the moment. Given that yours is such a common affliction we have actually developed a cure. Open your mouth."
-
Michael frowned. "You may have beaten me for now... But I always find a way. It seems you... Think you are superior to all forms of life when in fact we are all equal. If we the Elysian’s were meant to rule. Then our empire would have never fallen. Proceed and do what ever foul treatments you have in store for me. But I never disobeyed your orders and before you do this I want you to give me a justification for what you are going to do to me. And if you have a good reason you may perform whatever you wish to me and I will accept it, but if you don’t.... well you will obviously do it anyway. But don’t pull that "you will obey by my rules crap because you never stated them I just got here." Michael stared at the commander with cold determination.
-
Schuyler wondered what was going to be happening to the loud mouth recruit. Last time Nereal took someone to the Med Bay, he ended up jumping off a platform. He wanted to see that again...this time from someone that he couldn’t say he particularly liked.
He continued to stretch and exercise the rest of the cadets. Nereal obviously had some sort of faith in him if he put him in charge.
-
"You should know the rules if you wish to serve, cadet. They are not obscure. Indeed, that you did not learn the tenets of our society in school makes me question your academic background." Nereal actually smiled as he tilted the pot slightly, spooning out a large glob of a highly viscous fluid, and letting it drop over the cadet's mouth.
"If your intent is to debate the semantics of faith and race, you are in the wrong profession. Of course, you lack the coherency of speech to make yourself effectively persuasive, and would likely succeed at nothing more than a repeat of this incident anywhere else. You will learn, cadet, but I don't expect you will live long elsewhere."
The fluid would quickly harden over the lips, chin, and cheeks: it was a glue of some sort, and its hold was extreme. Michael could struggle, certainly, but that would simply let the gooey inside of the glue into his mouth, and when it hardened there, it would be even less comfortable than this incident.
"Now. This will be removed in two days. You will fulfil your usual training obligations during this time. Additionally, you will rise one hour early every morning for further time with me. Return to your place, cadet."
-
Michael stared at the commander obviously really pissed off. He got up and walked back out to the parade ground and started doing the stretches everyone else was doing. For some reason this commander was a little stupid. Even though he had taken away his speech, Michael still had his telekinesis as did most Elysians. His wasn’t exactly the best but he could still get it done.
-
Schuyler couldn’t help but try and stifle a chuckle, and fail horribly as he saw the new cadet, with what appeared to be glue covering his mouth and chin. At least now he would be quiet. He would have much rather seen him jump off of something though. It would have been more entertaining.
If this was how he was now, still belligerent enough to have his mouth sealed, he wondered how he would be in a couple more days after he got the crap kicked out of him.
-
Nereal had taken away more than Michael's speech - he had taken away Michael's ability to eat and drink, for a full two days. If Michael could stay standing through both of those days, with his shortened sleep cycle and intensified training, he would most certainly be the toughest man in the known universe.
He finished guiding them through their exercises, and dismissed the recruits with a final statement.
"Tomorrow you will train with Hikael again, in aspis and phaelaes. I suggest you get all the rest you can."
-
Evanael listened to Nerael and then smiled to himself and backed off so he was by himself. He stretched his wings in every way possible and turned to go off to bed. He paused and then turned back and walked over to Nerael. "Excuse me Nerael..." He said, hoping dearly not to provoke the angel.
Quote:
"Kid, I saw what you did. You want to fly, and I understand that. But we're not made for that. There's nothing wrong with our bodies - but it is not for Plebeians to fly, that is for the Patricians." Nerael sighed, "Talk to me at the end of the day, and we'll see what we can do for you. For now get back to exercises."
"You said I could talk to you after this day was over?" he said, trying to keep himself from looking and sound hopeful. He was still young and even the jump from early that morning had faded from his mind. He was looking forward to the subtly hinted meeting with Roemael...
Quote:
Roemael looked at him softly, "Perfectly understandable. I am. And I'm going to say that you're not unattractive yourself. However this is not the time or the place for a discussion of nature." Roemael brushed away a strand of Evanael's hair, "But a discussion we will have."
... After this was over and that had kept him going all day.
-
Michael followed the rest of the group back to the barracks. He was still fuming over what Nereal had done. He went to an empty bunk and lay down. He had to get to sleep fast he had to get up an hour earlier than the rest of the class. So he laid his head down and was soon asleep.
-
Schuyler stood slowly, before walking briskly to the barracks. He showered quickly, towelled off and went to his bunk. It had been a long day, he wanted sleep, but most of all, he wanted to do something more than train. He wanted actual combat.
He wanted to see what he was made of.