The Ra Regiment
Cadet 1111 observed the surroundings that encompassed my life. The facility was his home and his entire world. An empty world with walls that were tall, white and grey. Bland as it may have been it was all he knew. They fed him, clothed him, gave him tasks and allowed him to sleep after he was done. He would have thought it to be a good life if it weren't for the 'duels'. An activity he was mandated into doing every day, an activity in which they broke him. It was a feeble attempt to fix him.
He had used to be special, a 'fiend' that most cadets' feared. However, now he was merely a stone in the face of boulders. His home wasn't normal by any means. He didn't have parents instead he had instructors. He didn't have siblings instead he had rivals. This wasn't a house, this was a military unit. This was the Ra regiment. A military faction that raises children talented in light magic to neutralise the Adrea amongst other species. Their existence was based on the possibility of war. To the higher-ups they weren't kids, they were weapons. Useful and valuable but ultimately disposable.
Light magic was what caused his downfall in the regiment, he was beyond promising in all other aspects of training however, magic was something he just couldn't touch let alone master. He could circulate and manipulate regular mana however this was far weaker than the mana that was flavoured with the elements. Furthermore, due to the regiment's heavy focus on light magic in particular the uses of neutral magic taught were limited. They had tried to teach him for years but slowly but surely hope declined. It was decided that he was a lost cause.
They used to entice him with promises of rewards but now he was encouraged by the threat of punishments. Today was the same as the last, he was being punished under the guise of a duel. According to regular protocol, he should only have to spar against cadets of his year but he fought his superiors regularly. His opponent was cadet 556, a man much larger and taller than him. Cadet 556 was his senior by two years but his skills, strength and magical talent were all average. A combination that typically would require him to be efficient and precise however, against him that wasn't the case, he could be lax, he could feel powerful, and he could vent his frustrations in a one-sided beat down. He could feel supercilious.
Cadet 1111 stood at the entrance of a white hallway that smelled of fetid detergents and other cleaning products. He had adorned his monomachy uniform, which consisted of a white sleeveless shirt cropped at the midriff and a pair of white shorts. He held his head with dignity, and his muscles were relaxed, he had both daggers in hand and he was prepared to once again give it his all. While his defeat was near guaranteed, he had faced plenty of others far fiercer than Cadet 556 and oddly this apprehension provided ample comfort to motivate him. This was hope, a rather volatile emotion, it can drive a person to greatness but it can also drive them down the road of despair. Nevertheless, he headed onto the field for their bout.
The arenas were in polarity with the rest of the Ra Regiment's theme, whilst every other facet of the structure was stark white and unnaturally clean this room was garnished with dark greys and black. This was a measure taken to conceal stains caused by blood and any other fluid that escape the human weaponry. However, the grimness of it all didn't bother them. They welcomed it as a record of all that ensues in the room. While the hallway leading here smelt of detergents here the air had a putrid, rotten iron smell to it. Unpleasant as it was this was necessary, 'The battlefield will not smell or look pleasant either so you best get used to it' Instructor Augustine used to say.
His opponent Cadet 556 came walking in with a sword in hand, 'his 'randomly' allocated weapon I bet' ventured Cadet 1111. This put him at a rather unlikely disadvantage but there wasn't anything he could do but face it head-on. He tightened his grip around his daggers, while they may not have been his speciality he was well versed in it and he'd have to manage. 'It's my own fault that I have a specialisation after all we aren't supposed to have favourites.' concluded Cadet 1111. The burly nineteen-year-old came to a halt mere steps away from me and he spoke with jeering energy 'Why, oh why are you so painfully prideful Mister Anubis Eleven-Eleven? You're pitifully pathetic but you still refuse to apologise. Have you no shame?' Cadet 1111 remained silent, 'Was there any need to explain to a blind oaf?' he asked himself before promptly deciding that the answer was 'no'.
He lunged forwards immediately making up the distance between them and plunging a dagger into Cadet 556's side before side-stepping away. The man had not flinched in the slightest at the materialisation of a new orifice, now trickling red onto the darkened grey floor. He had expected as much, it would have been rather humorous if he had a volatile reaction to such a small wound. Cadet 556's face showed no signs of pain but for a brief moment, he had allowed an expression of pure ire to take his face. He then stood there readied his blade and dared Cadet 1111 to come at him once again.
He saw no reason to refuse such a hospitable invitation hence he approached him once again expecting opposition. Cadet 556's sword swayed and came for his arm but it was a moment too late, Cadet 1111 recognised the incoming intercession and met his blade with both of his own. Despite his disadvantageous weapon he managed to repel Cadet 556 with strenuous might. 'I'm still physically superior.' He internally noted.
The man stumbled backwards in response to Cadet 1111's forceful rebuttal. He spluttered his disappointed frustration openly 'Bloody devil retained his strength'.
Cadet 1111 gave him no time to compose himself, he continued his assault by nicking at the man's waist and burying my weapon in the previously opened wound. His grumbled grunts were audible 'and satisfactory' thought Cadet 1111. Before he could dig deeper into him a flash of light blinded him leaving me mazed. 'Cursed light mag-' his thought was cut off by Cadet 556 who mounted him.
He could feel the warmth of his blood as Cadet 556 flattened him onto the ground. He grappled his hair and beat his head against the ground till his breathing was heavy. His face was a pomace of the intended result and inhalation alone was painful, he felt his teeth sloshing in his mouth in a blend of blood and spew. His head rested on a small puddle of his blood, retch and ripped hair. Then Cadet 556 lay atop him panting, waiting for his air to catch up to him. Despite everything Cadet 1111 was cognisant. He was aware of everything from the sweat that dripped down Cadet 556's arm onto him to the maniacal guffawing that came while he ripped Cadet 1111's uniform off his frame. 'Don't blame me you deserve this, you pathetic bastard!' He wheezed. After which Cadet 1111 shuddered Cadet 556's warm sweaty skin met his bare body. He dared not yell fearful of granting Cadet 556 the satisfaction of his shrills. Too tired to resist Cadet 1111 tarried as Cadet 556 abused his flesh. Finally, once his rage was satiated he drew up a finger imbued with light mana and traced the phrase " 556' ". Vague enough for him to reason his way out with the instructors but clear enough to cause clear understanding.
He'll be free of repercussions too because it's me. They've only allowed this to go this far because it's me! They won't heal me properly either. I'll forever be his…Cadet 1111 thought spitefully as Cadet 556 left whilst he was being carried off by the paramedics. His wounds were repairable and the pain was tolerable too but my pride was stricken and his pique bottomless.
The 'Repair-shop' was less busy than usual with only a few cadets being treated for various injuries all of which were considerably less than my own. Cadet 556, was likely to come here too after briefing the instructors about the 'duel' and how it went, the thought alone repulsed me.
Doctor Apolline was the doctor who attended Cadet 1111, she was a fair blonde lady that was kind with "a pretty smile" or so the rumours went. In reality, she often wore a face of disgust and abhorrence. She slapped the muddy clay salve across the boy's face and used her mastery of earthen magic to lazily mend the gashes and openings on my face. The process had always fascinated him, the clay salve slowly fills in the gaps in the skin and contains all the blood within the body. After the skin regrows the clay salve underneath starts dissolving and is cleared out by the body. Variations of the technique secured his teeth to his gums. It was a miraculous process that he'd have enjoyed more if it were not for the medics' hatred for him while their reasoning was comprehensible it didn't make Cadet 111 feel any less irritated by it.
Once his face had regained a semblance of his former image Doctor Appoline escorted him out with an exasperated 'What more do you want from me!'. 'A removal of the branding' his mind retorted but he outwardly communicated 'Nothing else'.
Cadet 1111 hastened out of the Repair-shop to the shower room to clean himself up and get a replacement uniform. He didn't wish to be late for dinner.
Due to tardy timing, there were only a couple of cadets who were taking a shower. Luckily they had all but missed the branding that he wore due to their own talks. Underneath the shower head, he stood silently, letting the water slide down his body. His entire body ached and his head had spots devoid of hair. This didn't bother him but the helplessness he had felt infuriated him.
After his rinse, he headed to the dining hall which was lively, jovial and loud. 'Truly a complete disregard for Director Arte's vision.' There wasn't any sense of discipline, despite instructor Augustine's departure this was something that remained stagnant. Even Cadet 1111's corner has remained untouched despite the passing of 5 years, nobody else wished to seat there due to a superstition about the haunting of a ghost. Additionally, nobody could go with the intent of brawling either due to the strict restrictions on fighting being exclusive to duels. The meal consisted of a boiled strenkle accompanied by a salad and a drink of milk. It was fulling and adequate.
Following dinner, Cadet 1111 had about half an hour until Lights-out, so he went back to his bunk to wait it out. He leaned against the cold tiled wall and cursed the adrea for all the day's rue. 'If adrea didn't employ the darkness I could have been properly instructed in the use of- His thoughts were cut off by an older cadet who stood in front of him. Her hair was cut the same as every other cadet and she wore the same uniform as well. Despite her being of the opposite sex, here she was just another trainee soldier. 'Cadet 976', read her tag. She hadn't started conversion so he begrudgingly spoke first 'To what do I owe the pleasure, Nine-Seven-Six?'
She had utterly failed to pick up the sarcasm that oozed out of my question and she was oddly civil in her reply 'Well, Eleven-Eleven, I was wondering if you'd like to become my subordinate and learn from me. Honestly, you're pathetic, the person I revered is gone…Instead, we have you.' She ended sympathetically though it was unclear if it was meant for him or herself. Still, there was a sincerity about her absurd offer.
His blood rose to his face half in embarrassment and half in rage but he suppressed it and responded coolly 'I doubt you could help me, even the instructors failed. Your talents will be wasted on me Nine-Seven-Six thus it'd be better if you picked a different apprentice. One that would elevate your status rather than drag it down.' He acted atypically and let her down gently.
Cadet 1111 felt she was even odder due to her response. Rather than being annoyed she thanked him before scouting out other cadets he had deemed to be hassles with doubtful potential. He found myself secretly wishing her well before I headed to bed prior before Lights-out.
He couldn't be bothered about the schedules that night, too much had happened. What Cadet 556 did was not normal. It was sickening to think about. He had been helpless as a mouse when he ripped into him. He could hear the maniac's incensed laughter. Sleep was usually a blissful time for him, but that night it wouldn't easily come to him. He had been up for hours after Lights-out not because he wished to rebel, nor was it due to his bed being uncomfortable on the contrary it provided the most comfort he ever felt. Rather it was because he was being haunted by a single moment of frailty. Eventually, however, he did find the solitude of sleep after he had exhausted his wits wholly. Within his dreamscape a dark void consumed him, taking away all the brunt that had been inflicted allowing him to feel peace at last.
Sadly the feeling didn't last long he was snatched free from the gentle maternalistic dark by a large man that had a tang of inebriation. There wasn't a single light operating during Lights-out thus the man's features were a mystery and his silhouette was all that Cadet 1111 was privy to. He sat on his abdomen as he held Cadet 1111's head and thrust a musty rag towards the lower portion of his face with mixed accuracy. Recollections of the interaction with Cadet 556 came and Cadet 1111 hurled his arms towards the figure awakening madness within the man. Flames grazed the bedding and he caught glimpse of the man's face, Instructor Burt Huffman. A man well past his prime with greying hair and a wrinkled face. The smoke did his bidding and clouded Cadet 1111's face causing him to hack. He attempted to wave the smoke away but it had little to no effect. Instructor Huffman pummelled the rag into his open mouth during his shock and confusion and he felt his eyelids faltering. The events of the previous evening could never happen again, he was determined to prevent it so he screamed and kicked caring not for his image. A piffling and fruitless effort for his voice failed to fully depart with a hand grasped around his neck. He was forcefully exiled into the land of sleep for the first time that night.