waking up with a headache

Polzin-Wakahisa

Got up off the bed, feeling groggy and puke-y—a bottle of vodka before sleeping does that to you. I went to my closet, took some clothes (all the same, really: several pairs of shorts, several pairs of boxer-briefs and several t-shirts, printed or otherwise) and laid—threw—them on the bed, a jumble of pillows and a blanket. I glanced at the analog clock that hung above the doorway. It was either 5:42 or 5:43, only a small difference between the two.

I went to the window and pulled open the shutters, letting in the wispy light of the setting Sun, not that I noticed the difference though. It was 5:43pm. And here I thought, I'd gotten up early... but then again, a bottle of vodka before sleeping can do that to you and the fact that I have super night-vision. I got undressed, placed—threw—them on the laundry basket and wore the clean ones on the bed. Runes of light flickered from under the carpet, working their magicks to hold my feet in place.

Hanging on a hook beside the window were packets of chocolate malt. I ripped one open and poured the delicious dust all over a small plate that I keep on the bedside drawer. I flattened the pile and turned on an electric fan to harden the malt powder into more chewable chunks. After a few minutes, the once-fine dust had now melded into something more resembling a lump of rock—a lump of rock that tasted of chocolate.

I had just slipped on my trusty pair of hatched flip-flops when the alarm went on: a low keening invaded my ears and my eyes were assaulted by color-inverted, Pollock-like imagery, indicating code Ragnarok. I ran to the drawer and took out a pair of unassuming glasses and wore them, I almost forgot to wear them. The colors were right again and I got out of my room, but not before finishing chocolate malt-rock breakfast, running towards the bridge. The hallways were empty (not surprising, considering the time) with runes, cleverly hidden, lining the floor at the middle and branching off into all directions and a line of small diamonds hovering close to the ceiling, giving off light as they swiveled in place. It was oddly quiet, everyone was on the bridge, most possibly.

The pathway to the bridge was basically a steel catwalk suspended from the ship's belly and flanked by what I saw as some transparent, glass-like substance. Below me, through the gaps of the grey clouds, large chasms crisscrossed with low, green mountains and thin, grey roads, and somewhere in the middle of all this, was a small village. If I remember correctly, we were flying up above the town of Santiago, a town that was younger than me.

The bridge was colored bone-white, a row of three terminals and three seats on each side, a platform on the middle that left a third of the floor, unoccupied for an observation deck, presenting a view of the jungle hills and ravines, protected by the same material that led to there and on the ceiling, a chandelier hung, supported by a set of runes and chains. When I got in, I saw that the seats were filled with people focused intently on their screens and on the platform were three more people, standing, staring at the observation deck, where the sky was a vivid purple. I felt that three more were missing, but on a hunch, I knew why—they were sparring most likely in the hangar.

"What's happening?" I asked as I stepped on the low staircase connecting the platform with the floor. "Or did someone press the wrong button?" It wouldn't be the first time someone did.

Gilbert looked at me, gave me a brief once-over, before hand-combing his blonde hair back and nodding. He was wearing the NIDHOGG uniform: black coat, black pants, black shoes—he always wears the NIDHOGG uniform. "We detected a huge spike in atmospheric mana," he said with his German accent, a real accent, not von vere he goes speekingk like zis. "Very fucking huge. Most probably magic somewhere in the Sixth-Tier." Shit. Only means one thing: dragons, or that the Archmage has awoken and he teleported nearby ( the chances of that happening are zero).

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

"So," Octavia started, looking at me, "that's where you and the others come in, Shura." She always adopted this stern, authoritative poise when an emergency came—makes it more endearing when she smiles, though, but weird because she's only eighteen and she looks more responsible than me—and I'm twenty-one!—though the black dress she had on made her look older, but I'll just keep that to myself.

"After we've confirmed your drop, we'll start a jump to lure most of the scales after us, you and the others attempt a Quies, find some survivors and you'll be good for extraction in about five hours afterwards. Got it?" I nodded to show that I did. It was the same drill: we go down, they lure lizards away, we calm world, we look for people and we go home. We've never found any survivors. Octavia just says that to be optimistic.

Just on the ledge overlooking the observation deck, Balduino stood, also wearing the NIDHOGG uniform. On the floor, where he stood, runes shimmered with activity as if they were transparent wires with electricity running through them. Balduino waved his arms around like a conductor would to an invisible orchestra, and everywhere his hands stopped for a moment, an afterimage of his hand would waver for a moment, before bursting into faint mana.

I gave the three of them a salute and turned around and walked back where I came from, except I passed by my room and made my way to the other end the hallway, leading to a short stairway to the hangar. The hangar-space was large, reaching to about a height of four-and-a-half meters and wide enough to fit seven SUV's.  Now that I think about it, how large is the ship, exactly?

Within a large square painted at the center of the room, two shadows fought, dancing with swift and graceful movements, dizzying lights came out from what seemed like their limbs as they whipped and threw them about, and outside the square, a larger figure stood, arms crossed and looking at them with the gaze of a falcon perched and examining its prey.

I approached them, careful not to make a sound as it seemed as they hadn't noticed me yet. When I was just a few feet away, I shouted, my voice echoing throughout the hangar and immediately, they took a combat stance, facing me. "You guys, ready?" I asked with a grin. They were all wearing the NIDHOGG field uniform: black, combat suits emblazoned on the shoulder was a spray-can rendering of Yggdrasil and the eponymous dragon underneath it.

"You're an asshole, Shura." Horus stood down first. He was skinny for his age, but quick and good with explosives and alchemy, though this days those two are almost one and the same. "I almost got Mary, yanno?" He scratched his bald head.

I looked at Mary, her face suggesting otherwise and 'not even close'. She was the resident sniper and hand-to-hand combat expert. She brushed dark locks behind her hair and relaxed. "I'm ready, sir." She was very rigid. I think I've never heard her say my name before.

"You ready, Carson?" I looked at him and he nodded. He was a bear of a boy—barely in his teens, but almost as tall as me, and I'm really tall, and never speaks excessively and a great magician, too. "Okay, let's get started."

I gathered most of my mana on the tips of my fingers, and when they glowed an eerie purple, and with them, I stroked a large diagonal line in the air in front of me, creating a large enough tear in the fabric of space and time for us to pass through—instant teleportation.

And we stepped inside.

***