Snap: The Overpowered Outcast
The wind up here is a bastard. A cold, thirty-thousand-foot bastard that bites through the silk robes they stuffed him in. Yacumechi Taxaka stands in the center of the floating arena. A speck of dirt on polished marble. Fifty thousand pairs of eyes drilling into him from levitating stands.
He hates the silence most of all.
[Yeah. Just stare. Get a good look at the freak. I know what you're all waiting for.]
The Monolith of Truth looms before him. Ten meters of crystalline bullshit. It's supposed to glow. Blue for average. Gold for elite. White for a God-Child, if the old legends are true.
His father, the great General Taxaka, sits in the Royal Box. Won't even look at him. Rigid jaw. Chest covered in medals. Waiting for the moment he can finally justify the disappointment.
A High Examiner steps forward. Scroll in hand. Voice booming across the arena.
"Yacumechi Taxaka. House Taxaka. You will place your palm upon the Monolith."
Yacumechi doesn't move.
Sweat rolls down the Examiner's temple. "Boy. Now."
"Or what?" Small voice. A ten-year-old's voice. But it cuts through the wind like a blade. "You gonna send me back to the compound early? Skip the part where you all pretend to be shocked?"
Gasps. A few nobles snicker.
The Emperor, withered bastard in a gilded chair, leans forward. Just a fraction. Yacumechi sees it.
"Place your hand on the pillar. Final warning."
[Final warning. Right. Like they'd kill me. The General's "failed" heir? They need the show. They need to see the zero.]
Yacumechi spits on the marble. Walks forward.
He doesn't place his palm on the pillar.
He punches it.
The sound isn't a crack. It's a void. A split second where the world forgets how to make noise.
Then the Monolith explodes.
Not shattered. Not cracked. Exploded. Shockwave of raw force rips outward. Front row of noble mages, the ones who paid for the best seats, fly back like rag dolls. One hits a marble column with a wet, pulpy smack that echoes. White robe turning red.
Ground fractures beneath his feet. Black cracks spiderweb fifty meters in every direction. The floating arena lurches. Drops three feet before the stabilizing runes scream to catch it.
Yacumechi stands at the epicenter. Fist still extended. No dust. No scratches.
He lowers his arm. Watches crystal shards rain down on screaming crowds.
Turns to the Royal Box. His father is standing now. Pale. Mouth open.
The Emperor grips his throne. Wood splintering under his fingers.
"So." Yacumechi's voice cuts through the stunned silence. "Did we get a reading, or what?"
A junior mage at a backup console looks up. Face the color of curdled milk. Voice cracking. "I-I-it… the scale doesn't… it doesn't have a… a fucking number for this."
Yacumechi smiles. Not a kid's smile. A scar pulled tight.
[Yeah. Now we're talking.]
Zojo_AEO_X · Fantasy
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