How utterly asinine.
Perhaps he shouldn’t be saying this as someone whose entire race consisted of warmongering alcoholics, but nevertheless, Arata couldn’t give much of a shit at all. The Headmaster of this Academy, Livia Fiore, made little to no impressions upon the oni. Her familiar, the skeletal death god, was a little more interesting, but even then, the oni couldn’t be bothered to give much of a fuck at all. Same could go with pretty much every one of these fresh-faced individuals that attended this meeting. Was this what he asked for? No, Arata had come to Montagne Academy because that midget representative made some promises about ‘seeing the most promising mages that this era had to offer’, but as it was…
Where’s the promising mages? All he saw were an uninteresting menagerie of inadequate students. They all looked to be in their late adolescence, but if that’s the case…why did they feel so weak? Why couldn’t he feel a single heartpulse of trepidation from them? Back in the past, these students should have already had their fair share of combat, brought up in ancient households and trained to battle youkai as soon as they could speak. Now? It was just so…
A flicker of green interrupted Arata’s internal griping, and his hand shot outwards, grasping the shred of paper and crushing it. A spring mist escaped from his fingers in that same moment, the spirit that had originally held the paper disappearing in an instant.
Boring little yousei. So that was what the Headmaster did.
He looked at the map in his hand, highlighting a tower-shaped structure, and sighed. The world changed too much in just a year’s worth of memories. It had grown bigger, and it had grown softer. And now, as a relic of the past, all Arata could do was grumble and mumble about everything, like the old man he was. As the students dispersed, the oni took in a deep breath.
Then, he jumped, the pavement cracking beneath his sandaled feet as he flew straight up. In the parabola of his thirty meter ascension, Arata caught a glimpse of the Tower in the distance, and landed, causing spider web cracks to burst in his landing zone. Dust rose and fragments of stone flew upwards, but without pause, he leapt forwards once more, this time leaping through the air as he bounded towards the Tower.
He could hear cries of surprise, amazement, or just annoyance as he rapidly encroached upon the tall structure, but Arata ignored them. Unless they started to actually attack him, they were beneath his notice. He grit his teeth, accelerated, and literally smacked into the side of the stone tower, his toes slamming into the stone. Using that as a foothold, Arata began to run up the side of the tower, continually rising, continually causing small holes to appear in the side of the otherwise immaculate tower.
Frustration building up more and more at the utter lack of any real conflict, the oni finally reached the top of the tower and sank his feet into the stone roof, lifting himself into the blue sky. He somersaulted, flipped, twisted, and roared, canines extending as his white cloak fluttered like mad.
And, when he landed once more, Arata finally calmed down.
Sitting at the edge of the tower’s roof, the oni looked upon Montagne Academy.
The world was peaceful, but at least it was beautiful.
“Fuck, I need a drink.”
