Chương 11: Chapter 12: Do Not Gaze Into the Abyss, for it Might Gaze Back

Jim startled awake with a gasp as someone knocked on his cabin door.

"Everything all right in there?" A female voice called from outside.

"I'm good!" Jim absent-mindedly replied before getting up from the cot he'd been laying in, checking that his coin pouch was gone, yes it was, and going to the window hatch to look at the calm lake outside.

"It's a nice day," he told himself briefly before his muscles spasmed out of sheer rage, and he smashed his head against the glass, breaking it. Half of the shards clattered to the floor of the cabin, while the other half dipped softly into the waters outside. The pain came a moment later as he felt the blood trickle down his forehead. He flicked his tongue to taste it. Blue as always.

"A ranged weapon!" he then suddenly shrieked.

"You dare shoot at me with a ranged weapon!" All the barely learned lessons on manners were forgotten.

"I will find you!" As were the lessons on keeping a steady tone of voice.

"I will kill you!" And those dictating bodily expressions.

"I will…" As were those of eloquence, and always having something to say.

"I will, you, ah, I'll…" Jim slowly sank to the floor, hands going up to cradle his wet face. It was only blood, not tears.

"What did I ever do to deserve this?" he eventually asked himself quietly.

"These endless visions of gruesome deaths. Everyone is my enemy. The headmaster, the gendarmerie, the academy, the gods." He sank further onto the rocking floor, bloody face resting against the cool wood, some splinters lodging themselves into his aristocratic nose.

"I never hurt anyone," he wept quietly, "important…" Jim began rocking back and forth on his stomach, hands covering his face as he started bleeding clear liquid from his eyes. This was how Lebowski found him an hour later, after Jim had ignored three of the calls to disembark.

"Holy hells, Jimmy Boy?" the fat loser whispered.

"Did you get attacked?"

"Yes," Jim whimpered from the corner where he'd secluded himself with his arms around his knees.

"There were 50 of them," he eventually admitted.

"And they had crossbows and trebuchets." Lebowski looked him up and down before looking at the broken round hole with a few bloody shards still sticking inside.

"And you made them jump through the window to escape?" he asked. Jim paused for a second before nodding.

"Yes. I've been practising my magic missile. They got very scared then and jumped off the ship." Lebowski whistled.

"Man, and I thought I was having it hard fighting off that hangover…" he muttered before coming to Jim and offering him a hand up.

"Come on, buddy," he said.

"We have to clear off the ship, and I have to bring you the academy's healer." Jim took the hand but shook his head frantically.

"No healer, no academy," he begged off.

"It's just a scratch," he said, putting up a brave front. Lebowski squinted at him, before looking through his robes and pulling out a small mirror, holding it up so Jim could see himself. The Savant looked at himself, or rather, the blood-caked face with no distinguishable features other than its roguishly handsome blue eyes.

"You should see the other guy," he said instead of engaging with the image, putting a hand on Lebowski's to put the mirror down.

"Let's go then, or else the ship will go back to Riche," he said, before pausing. Would it be that bad to return to Riche? Good food, sunny hills, clear skies. No bandits, no monsters, no headmasters.

"Yeah, you're right," Lebowski said with a sigh.

"Our parents will kill us if they get even a whiff of us returning to the docks." He looked his friend up and down.

"Although probably no one would recognise you," he finished, before taking Jim by the arm and leading him up the stairs and under the annoyed gazes of some sailors, down the ship. All the other students had already left, leaving behind the usual scene of the Sredinan docks. Merchants from all over the world with blue beards, green parrots and golden hooks on their hands. Aristocrats going to and from the capital to speak at the court, before enjoying their leisure in the countryside.

Sailors, dockworkers, other unimportant people. Lebowski dragged Jim alongside him through the crowds and onto the main streets, cutting recklessly through whatever alleyway he desired. Jim, catatonically followed behind him, whispering.

"Riche? Riche. Riche? Riche. No headmasters, no academy, no monsters, no bandits… Riche, Riche, Riche, Riche…" He was so lost in his head that he didn't even notice it when Lebowski suddenly stopped.

"Uh, Jim?" the boy asked.

"Riche, Riche, Riche…" the boy in question whispered.

"Jim!" Lebowski shouted, shaking his friend violently by the shoulder.

"Is he alright?" A rough male voice asked, causing Jim to look up. A sense of vertigo hit him at the deja vu. A dark alleyway, three men at the front, two at the back. Well-coiffed hair, clean teeth, and clothes instead of rags. A better class of criminal. The man in the lead took a step back upon seeing Jim's blood-covered face before giving an awkward smile.

"Would be about time you showed off that magic that sent that army of 500 bandits scampering!" Lebowski urged loudly, his second chin giving a small wobble of fear. If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

"There's no need to do anything," Jim suddenly realised, looking up at the sky, which he could barely see through the grey and brown buildings surrounding them on both sides. He shakily raised a finger and pointed it at the leader of the troupe, whom he almost recognised from somewhere…

"The spectre of death hangs over this wretched fool!" he shrieked.

"Not a month to live, doomed to rot in the grave of the unnamed!" The leader of the bandits exchanged some uneasy looks with his two compatriots before raising his hands placatingly.

"Look, I think we have the wrong person-" he started, only to be cut off.

"Supernova, head explosion, crossbow bolt, swallowed mana, fell down stairs and lost his head!" Jim shouted. His emotionally unstable state suddenly led to him creating two magic missiles, one above each of his shoulders. They were, for a lack of a better term, more destructive than he usually knew how to make them. The two blue spheres spun with a low grinding noise that permeated through the suddenly quiet alleyway. The bandits backed off slowly, as if facing a dangerous wild animal.

"Perjury awaits the doomed prophet, but he shall drag down with him all those who stand in his way on his path to the grave!" Jim screamed and fired the magic missiles, which left their position with a loud bang. A red-clad figure suddenly jumped down from the sky and landed in front of the bandits, shielding them with a red bubble-like shield before turning around and knocking them unconscious with a red ray of light.

"You'll get in trouble if you kill them," the red-clad figure said calmly before firing a red beam in between Jim and Lebowski to also knock out the bandits behind them. Then she pulled down her hood, revealing the feminine, pale face that had already imprinted itself on Jim's mind all those… weeks ago?

"You two seem competent enough, and you can clearly see this city is going to the dogs," she said with a sniff, kicking one of the unconscious bandits at her feet with her leather boots. Jim thought he heard a sharp inhale of breath and a cough, but it must have been the wind.

"How about you join us for a little soiree? We're gathering some people of means, mages, merchants and aristocrats to have a frank discussion about the goings-on," Alice said as she walked up to Jim and Lebowski and extended them each a little slip of paper.

"I'm Alice, by the way," she finished cheekily, flipping her black hair with a mischievous look in her green eyes. A red glyph formed beneath her feet, and she was just about to jump off when Jim suddenly stepped forward and clasped her shoulder. Alice froze, and for a moment, a dark look flashed across her face. Jim ignored it as he tried to find the words. Ominous, cryptic, but specific, he needed to save her from the headmaster.

"Misfortune hangs above you and your compatriots," he thus started in a low voice.

"I'm sorry, wha-" Alice tried to say, but Jim interrupted her.

"Do you truly think that his eyes are not on you, the great evil in control of this corrupted city of darkness? You cannot escape his gaze, no matter how many churches you hide under," Jim continued. Alice paused and stared at him, looking down at the piece of paper that Jim hadn't opened yet. The piece of paper on which the location of the meeting was marked.

"He will come and he will destroy. You are simply gathering up everyone who wishes to rebel. Your escape plan? Seen through. Your goals? Annulled by your death," he finished, before tilting his head and stepping back.

"... What?" Lebowski asked, while Alice stared at Jim with an impenetrable look in her eyes. Eventually, she nodded, looked around, before crouching down and jumping off her still-present red glyph. Not before leaving him with the following words, though.

"I'll find you later. I think we have some things to discuss." -/- Lebowski and Jim left the potential crime scene quickly after that discussion, not wanting to stick around the unconscious bodies. They headed straight to the dorms, where, after an exchange of confused looks, they parted ways. Jim went to his dorm room, not feeling like going to the bank to resolve the mess of his missing coin purse. He lay in his bed staring at the ceiling for several hours. Had his warning worked?

He didn't think he was brave enough to attend the meeting, no matter where it ended up being. He pulled the slip of paper he'd been given from his pocket and held it up against the light from the setting sun streaming through the window, assisted by the fire glyphs hovering over the city. He flicked his fingers with the slip of paper in between, watching dispassionately as it disappeared in a small burst of flame. The visions of his death. He wanted them to stop.

If that meant doing what he'd done the first time around, and then simply fleeing-, eh, courageously taking time off school before they sent him to that blasted village, then so be it. The only thing he would change was that he would take an elective and excel even more in Combat Magic 1. Divination would light the path if anyone stole from him ever again, and if someone did, he wanted to be ready to cause them a similar amount of pain that they'd cause him with the theft.

He was sick of these idiots running around, and if he needed to invest himself more heavily into having the power to defend himself, then so be it. -/- Unfortunately, things didn't always end up going to plan. A day after the start of the year exam, Jim stood with Lebowski looking at the results plastered all over the board in front of the academy gates. His friend, if you could call him as such, patted him on the back.

"The legendary stupid brothers strike again, eh?" Lebowski said playfully with a hint of sadness in his voice. Jim had finished somewhere in the middle of the pack. Below average. Not well enough to get an elective spot. His practicals had improved once again, but for some reason, his theoreticals had tanked even further. He'd barely finished with 36/100 points this time. This meant no divination.

"This world is dangerous," Jim muttered harshly.

"Too dangerous for complacency."

"Well, you got that magic missile down quite well," Lebowski replied with a somewhat jealous huff. Jim shook his head.

"Faced against the powers that be, a mere magic missile no longer suffices."

"What does that mean?" His friend asked. Jim closed his eyes and sighed.

"I need to progress. Matters have been taken out of my hands. The completion of the curricula no longer fits my needs. In this wretched world, strength is the only thing that can protect us against deprivation." He opened his eyes, steely resolve visible within.

"It is time for something I have never wanted to do…"

"No…" Lebowski muttered with wide eyes.

"Yes…" Jim answered sadly.

"Don't do this! You'll lose yourself," Lebowski shouted, then finished with a whisper, grasping at Jim's arm desperately. The taller boy gently laid a hand on his friend's arm and unclenched the fingers one by one. He serenely looked him in the eyes.

"This is where our paths must inevitably diverge, old friend. The place I will go is not one you should follow if your resolve is not strong enough."

"But that place," Lebowski whispered.

"Nobody who's gone there has come back quite the same. They all became mere shadows of themselves."

"Is it better to die authentically, or to live falsely?" Jim asked philosophically, before he turned around dramatically, his black cloak whipping in the air as he did so.

"So, it's come to this," Lebowski whispered, teary-eyed.

"It has," Jim said, trying not to choke up.

"Don't try to stop me! My resolve isn't strong enough to hold up to your pleas," he begged.

"May the gods be with you," Lebowski said quietly, his arms hanging limply at his sides.

"May I find the strength to face whatever demons stand in my way," Jim replied, and put his right leg in front of his left. Then the other, before he knew it, he was walking, jogging, running to his destination. Crystal-like tears spilled from his eyes and down his cheeks, glittering in the sunlight. It was time for the one thing Jim had tried to avoid for his entire life. He'd been born too superior to need it, but the world had fully rebelled against his inherent supremacy, seeking to drag him down at every turn.

The large stone library of the academy loomed in front of him. A place of darkness and despair. But sometimes, to survive the horror, you had to become the horror.