Israfel actually enjoyed Dr. Blood's class. He knew why. His dick was still warm and wet with her.
He did pay attention when Emery—as the [Fifth Hel Circle] demon insisted being called in class, gave rules of entering a Quantum Hel Sphere. One of the toughest realms a bitch could send you too.
Dr. Emery Blood was now saying, "First invented by Philovana Rostova, a Pimento witch of the outlands centuries ago for her cheating husband, the Quantum Hel Sphere is an atomic size miniverse solely created for the purpose of optimum torment. Philovana wanted to imprison her philandering husband with her, and innocently conjured up a cage that would him, and only he.
But in those days," Dr. Blood sighed, "there were not many witches to heed and enquire from. Practitioners of the arts were hidden from the known doctóre." He uttered the Valhallan inscribe for doctrine—obviously expecting his students to be proficient in some measure of the ancient language. After all, major sorcery of the Druids had been written in the drunken swirls of the Drowned god.
Howbeit, this was not his syllabus, and he continued on with the tale of this angered witch wife.
"Philovana didn't expect for things to turn out the way it did. Her prison was manufactured at her spellcasting, quite alright. But her husband had to shrink down to... should I say the molecular standards of this mystical dungeon. This would be the first ever disposition of a Quantum reality, known to written history that is.
The real problem came when Philovana's husband didn't stop shrinking. Eventually, he was so little he passed for gas—"
POO! A boy in class made a farting sound, and the others roared in laughter.
"Thank you for that vociferous aid, Master Albion," Dr. Blood chastised the nonchalant pupil in sarcasm and held up his hand to halt the sniggers, "some say Philovana just about breathed her husband in. Either way, few years later at her death to a river curse, chunks of a mangled man were found awkwardly shrivelled in a honey jar, some parts of the corpse larger than others.
It was from the somewhat intact and life-size head sticking out the jar's bottom that the folk finders knew that was Philovana's Lord. At her passing, the magic had quickly crumbled around the Quantum space, but with no certain spell of restoration, the Sphere had ended up crashing in on itself, near liquefying the poor man in the process."
"Oh, boohoo! Poor Rostova," another girl made a sad face, but she was being cute.
Dr. Blood saw through it and let his beloved First Years snort it out again. The chuckles died, and with the ringing bells, his class ended quickly. In the last minutes of teaching, he told them to comb through his recommended texts on [Quantum Space Augmentation], and that in the next class they'd be practicing with eels.
Eels were perfect for minute realms creation; they were too sleek to break apart when shrunk or grown again.
Rafel made his way apart from the rush crowd down the flat lime corridors. He hurried out the Citadel's cloud-stroking tower, veering off to the flight field in the distance. It was not too far away, and he came across others whose next class was the same as his. They moved in groups to the vast, flat savanna of white.
The flight field was for dragons—obviously.
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But it was only used by pupils Third Year upward, who actually took flight classes. However, since Israfel's next class was Land Navigation, their warcraft-ish tutor had prepared the flight field for use; it was close to the pine forest fringing the Southside beach. The island was left wild this side of campus.
Far from the dormitories and halls, the flight field lay in sprawling silver—in case any landing dragon decided to suddenly pour fire.
We will be casing the forest from the north, east and west entry points. As the south is to the sea, we will skirt not there. ALL COMPANIES AT EASE! LET ME SEE YOUR FUCKING STANCE!" Tanaka told them in authoritative voice. She was probably the only Tutor in the academy that could cuss in front of students. The lines stoutly spread out their legs as she ordered them to begin the hike.
First Company took the north entry from the flight field into pine forest. Second Company, the east. And Third Company entered the woods at the west point. All companies had a squadron leader, a [Novice rank] Healer, and telepath. The latter to aid communication between squads. Rafel was in the third company.
Their trek was due west, and he was only just discovering his squadron had a whole lot of fucking Griffins. Not enough of those in red, or black jackets. Luckily, Aya too fell in his company. They speedily found each other and walked side by side, listening in on the conversation going on ahead.
"If we're just casing this place, why do we need a fucking healer?" A long-haired boy of Griffin Arc nudged his bro—surprisingly a Raven.
His friend in a crow tunic and mock shades nudged him right back. "In case you fall in a ditch, asshole. Why else. Haha!" He laughed. The Raven boy had green tattoos running up the visible trail of his arms. Rafel from behind could see they were fake; the lad's blood shone in the ink.
One could tell a lot from the blood. The fake tats were probably because the Headmistress had a strict 'no-can-do' policy against liberal inking, except it was natural, as in the cases of Gorgons and mermaids.
She had a good reason for it: witches needed as much clear skin as possible.
Summoning demanded it. At least if you didn't want to be ignored by gods with traditional minds.
They had reached a fork among a cleft of tall woodbines, and the boys in front stopped talking. It was clear the appointed squadron leader—a grey vampiress—was confused because she halted the company in their tracks. Aya nearly bumped into the tattooed [Raven Arc] boy. Rafel pulled her back.
"Where the hell do we go?" Someone ranted from the back of the line.
"Uh?" The squadron leader scratched her head. "If we take the left," she peered down at her map, "we might make headway with the beach, and right—"
"Yeah. I'm pretty sure that takes us back to where we started." Another girl haughtily volunteered.
"Well then can't we just call it quits!" The Griffin bro said, only it sounded more like a moan. "The other companies are probably already back and—"
The sky suddenly darkened with a huge, passing cloud. An abrupt chilling wind blew dried leaves across the forest floor, rustling them up to Rafel's hard pant. The canopy of whistling pines seemed to yawn together and form a web pattern. And the cloud which had pulled over the evening sun, it was in the shape. . .the shape of wings.
"Hello, friends," a sweet voice called so softly from behind, "I am Aelaria Törmund. Lady of the woods and Mistress of Summer. Welcome to my forest."
The Third Company turned as one, all of them.
Everything about the creature they turned to see was white—including her eyes.
"Uh-oh!" The inked lad chimed.