An olympic-sized running track is about four-hundred meters in circumference. Running is an ancient human exercise, most definitely dating back to ever since God creating the first human. Cardio improves long-term health and breathing; it lets you live to a long age. Running, ironically, is terrible for weight loss and instead weight training and more importantly calorie deficit has more efficacy regarding fat burning.

Wheelchair racing follows the same concept.

Basically, the Senior Lead Instructor - an Arch-Dragoon - chases you from behind, and I have to keep pushing these wheels as fast as I can - zero breaks - or else he will catch me and beat the shit out of me. Truly, the exercise undergoing is an intensive exercise designed to free the soul from its body.

Oh fuck, oh fuck! He's getting close!

"Trainee! Go faster, Trainee!" The Arch-Dragoon laughs at me. "Don't let me catch you-u-u!"

He slams down his canteen into his throat, and at last gulp, chuck it at my poor wheelchair. Somehow, the bastard never slows down, and I wonder what kind of fucking speed does he train in anyway? He throws another canteen at me. Fuck! Faster! Get the fuck away from me!

My hand reaches into my thigh pocket. What do I have in there? Oh my god, did I pack it in the wrong compartment? Shit, shit! Aha! There's my wallet! I open my wallet and quickly withdraw a wad of money.

With said wad of money, I throw it at my chaser. "Fuck you, bitch!"

"What the fuck!" The wad lands square in his face. He doesn't slow down. "Fuck you lazy fuck; I dare you to slow down! I dare you!"

Holy crap, I didn't realize that it could get so much harder than that. He's getting faster, and the distance is closing! Shit, shit! The senior lead instructo-motherfucker finally catches up with me. Ew! Is that his saliva?! Ah! I can feel his nasty breath!

As his stalks my ear, he pulls a knife from the back of his pants and stabs through my wheelchair. What the fuck! The blade pricks at my back.

"Go faster! Faster! Go faster! Faster!" He stares at me, pupils diluted like an insane fuck.

Through all this agony, I spot a glimpse of the nerd catching his breath. The nerd's on his single knee, clearly brought beyond his limits, yet somehow finds all the energy to run away from me and my chaser. His eyes wide-open in shock, he pivots, but then his stomach instantly caves in.

Alas, poor nerd. The instructor magick-punched him somehow.

But he's fucking lucky! All he did was get punched. I'm trying to not get stabbed!

"Go faster! Faster! Go faster!" His blade puncture my wheelchair again! My poor, poor leather!

And then this chasing little fuck gets closer, and then finally catches up to my ass. So, when he gets close enough to pull me out of my wheel chair, does he kick me off the wheelchair? Does me throw the wheelchair itself aside? Does he even tackle me?

No! None of the above! He run ahead of me and then slaps me across the face.

"Why don't you take after Trainee Eris! Are you a slow bitch!"

The goth chick? Yeah, she's doing well because she has her two legs, and she's not even tired. Wait, holy shit she looks scary! All that sweat making her makeup rain like death, yikes!

"You snooze, you lose!" She sneers as she passes by.

Fuck.

Man, I'm tired.

I lay there slumped in defeat, my arms crossed over myself. Blood streamed from my back, sure, but the magicks of the world innately heal the wound; as if the air we breathe is some sort of primordial soup of good health. Do I even feel that much pain anymore? I'm pretty sure after all my escapades, my nerves have all been fried up. And, well, now that I think about it, why should I even feel anything? How could one person go through so many life experiences and still come out with a heart that is still capable of beating?

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Ah well. Whatever. I might as well just sleep. Or at least get some shut eye.

I lay down. Close my eyes to rest - good slumber and nap.

"Hey, you alright?" Like linen, some locks of sapphire hair drape over me.

My eyelids slide open. "Y-Yeah, nothing too terrible."

"Let's get up; no time to waste." Her little pink lips smile, and her silver eyes glisten.

I take to my elbow, and limpingly struggle to my wheelchair. "Wh-Who're you again?"

"You forgot?" The great mage helps me up. "It's Kate."

Huh. That lady. Except she's in our PE uniforms instead of the tattered dress she had. That lady recovered already? How the hell is she alive after her little suicide magick? No wonder the humans of this world are so crazy; they recover from injuries with haste.

I'm, I'm wondering. Just how? "Hey Kate, why'd you join the military?"

"They killed my father and set my hometown aflame. It doesn't even exist on the map."

"Oh." Ouch. "I'm sorry."

"I hate them. And I hope you will save us all."

The sapphire lady stared into dead beyond, still wheeling me along. Flowers of gardens wilting and embering away; lumber and rocks smoldering and collapsing. Silhouettes painting the urban roads; pestilence festering and splitting humanity apart. Hordes from the east hammering against the west; kings falling and drafts calling for duty.

"Finally, I'm alone with you."

The olympic track fades away; reality shatters and the ground spirits away. Where, where is my feet supposed to stand! My heart sinks at the imperceivable abyss below, around, and above. My legs tremble as I turn myself around and look back toward the horizon. There! A black shadow of a soldier stands there, holding out an automatic rifle.

The shadow echoes, "Fight for your loved ones"

He disappears, and then once more I stand atop in most chilly and frozen-over environment. My head spins as the sun shines above the little treetops, and there I saw the clouds hovering still around the elevated earth below. I breathe the thin air - as expected of a high elevation. My two feet, not a wheelchair, stands upon a mountaintop; looking across the range, the peaks swirl around as if carved from the ground by the One who hates this abominable planet. As far as the eye can see, the horizon sky whistles across like a golden desert.

Off down into the forest, I spot two figures breaking the skyline - two wisemen, one bald, and one with a silver-slit eye. As per usual, they speak their indecipherable language. They must be talking about turning heroes into child soldiers.

Kate points at them. "They are the enemy."

"Honestly." I fucking hate them, too. "You didn't have to tell me that."

"Good. I want you to kill them."

Well, I do too, but-! "Aren't you going a bit too fast? There are steps you take before you convince someone to murder!"

"They brought you here, right? Against your will? You're not the first one, not even the last. I'm not one of their victims, either, but I'm the descendant of one. Everyone in this godforsaken world are descendants of this long-running pawn-game. They know it, but they don't know that I know it. I'm just here to bring all of you back home, and if you work with me, I can make that happen. That's a promise."

A very lucrative, but still. . . "What do you gain out of this?"

"I want to see the other side. What home is." Her sapphire locks flutter in the breeze; snowflakes sprinkling it in chilling frost.

"That's a lie."

Her eyes widen. "No, you misunderstand. How many times have I been told the world of Roma or the United States or even perhaps the Middle Kingdom? Far too many, and I'm damned well interested. I'm not content with lands of this world. I want to go over to your world, where magick doesn't exist. I want to see a world of perfect, natural design - untampered by the madness of magick. The people in your world, I've heard they call it witchcraft, and I'm very well inclined to agree with this sentiment. By nature and design, this world is evil."

"Wait, wait. Wait!" A self-hating magician? "How could you hate magicks, if you were born in it. Is that not the appeal of fantasy?"

The world turns apart once more; the mountainous winds then fill with the terror of badlands. The golden sky turns into that of a magma firmament, boiling and swirling apart. Upon the horrid soil, one expects to see a beautiful plane of red rock, yet there remains a sea of fallen bodies. If one could step anywhere, he had to take extreme care to reach the spots where a corpse had not lain.

Her silver eyes fight with anger. "Witness the depravity of our arcane extent."

"Is that it?" Just dead people? Really? "It's not that different back at home. Our nations thrive upon the foundations of spilled blood, for a country to exist and prosper, the external tribes must subjugated and absorbed into the greater victor. Roma did this. The United States does this. Even the Middle Kingdom, too. Bloodshed is just a part of human nature, or more accurately, the cycle of life of death is completely innate to the animal kingdom. And there's nothing wrong about it, either; we have to eat to survive."

"But can they do the same with your magickless world?"

"Yes. They're called nuclear bombs."

She bites her pink lip. "Forget it. I guess you don't want to go home."

"Oh wait, wait, wait! I completely agree with everything you've said thus far!" I grab at her elbow. "Let's kill that fucker together!"

And so, we declare war on magick itself.