Guardians: Amelioration

Servitude

It was an atrocious time. But of course, others would tell you how splendid it was. Despite the inevitable slavery, torture and destruction of earth, I suppose others would tell you it was perfectly fine. Others such as my current teacher, Valentine Wothword, or a stereotypical aelian. Meaning aggravating, obnoxious and snobbish.

"Today we celebrate the rule of Alagor. Our master. Our Ruler. Our King." Mr. Wothword said, his overlapping stomach spilling out from his clothes. Multiple students applauded as they were from Aelia, and others based upon pure fear. I however, being the ignorant buggard I am decided to keep my hand down.

"Today we shall learn about ferants. This is a mandatory topic issued by Alagor himself. Now, all of you possess ferants-well, almost all of you." Mr. Wothword said as he smirked in my direction. Snickers emitted from the other classmates, I sat firmly, and continued to study.

"You seem engrossed in that book there Mr. Berit. Rather than focusing on that, learn about these worthwhile students, who have ferants unlike yourself." Mr. Wothword barked. I simply closed the book and breathed deeply.

"Now ferants come in many shapes and sizes, so for those of you who have undiscovered ferants, everyone shall be tested. Line up and we shall see." We lined up in the of course classical single-file line. Each student was tested individually, and some had quite some nice abilities-er-ferants. I edged away from the line and was soon directly next to my desk. Thus began the analyzation of students. Nigel Hiponchat who was an absolute twit but aloofly so, happened to have terrakinesis. The earth rumbled beneath him -hopefully not due to his weight- and a sink hole appeared swallowing the front desk. Rather than be furious with him as most teachers who understand that there students have superpowers, and say; Jimmy I told you not to open up a gaping hole in the center of the classroom! Detention! Mr. Wothword believed that this was superb, so I suppose if I attempted to murder him, that would be perfectly fine as well.

Well that took a rather dark turn. However, in this day and age, darkness reigns. Let me clarify, I seem to be getting ahead of myself, which is typical apparently. My name is Harold Berit. Yes, horrible name but nonetheless, I was very young and in the same orphanage as Quin and Taras. You may recall me squealing: "I WANT ICE CWEAM"

Definitely not one of my finest moments.

Moving onward, I am currently thirteen. It has been quite some time since the supposed death of the twins. A small amount of us believed they escaped, well at least Tyra Redwood, a very important heroine. It is unknown how they actually "died" it was simply "They're dead" without proper evidence. But of course if created your own theories, you would instantly be executed or tortured based upon the severity. Let's return to school shall we?

As I plopped down in my chair scowling, we continued to skim over the many students with ferants. Of course, until I was called.

"Ah...Mr. Berit, show us that hidden, exquisite skill you possess." Mr. Wothword belched. Getting up from my comfortable stiff, wooden seat and leaving my precious book behind I stood facing the crowd of lovely faces. As the rest of the class knew quite well, I didn't possess any ferants. I stood in the front, tapping my foot. Evidently there was absolutely nothing for me to do, so I stood there, basking in my nerdliness.

"I know his power! The power of silence!" Someone snorted. The class erupted into laughter, I stood silently and nodded. Mr. Wothword furrowed his brow and soon became furious once his rather slow Aelian brain could process that I was intentionally not doing anything.

"Not gonna try eh? We'll see your power. Nobody will go home until we figure out his ferant!" Mr. Wothword barked, the smiles on the students faltered aside from one who continued to wheeze with laughter.

"B—but, his power is silence! Haha!"

Silence.

And his smile faltered as well once it dawned on him that he was serious. Thus began my very first experience as a lab rat. Objects were tossed at me, creatures were brought in, they even attempted to have me hug a wytsnock for whatever semi-"logical" reason. Finally Mr. Wothword snapped and tossed his metal keychain at me. As it was inches away from my face it suddenly stopped. The metal frothed and slathered around mid-air as though it were a gelatinous substance. It clattered to the floor as though it were a solid, yet proceeded to burn through it like an acidic substance.

"Magnetism. Pathetic. What're you gonna do boy? Create some necklaces? Useless! Get me a watch magnet boy!" Mr. Wothword taunted. Other students laughed, a few in the back looked at me as though they were genuinely sorry and disgusted with my treatment. I clenched my fist and turned to sit down and continue reading however Mr. Wothword grabbed my wrist. Tossing me across the room he sneered.

"You're not going anywhere. We'll whip some ferants into you otherwise you'll end up like your dead acquaintances. Dead at the hands of Alagor."

"Is there evidence to support that claim?" I retorted furiously. There was a collective gasp.

"Listen you rotten twerp. They were killed. Useless, mindless fools they were, thinking they could oppose Alagor. Yet their deaths began this! Thank Alagor!" Mr. Wothword said bending his elbow as he extended it in the air. The students followed shouting: Salute Alagor! Ave Alagor! Salute Alagor!

My temper happened to overtake me. To put it simply, apparently Mr. Wothword had quite a bit of metal on and inside of himself.

Tendrils, upon coins, upon jewelry flooded from his body, sloshing together as though it were being smelted. The objects retained a physical form, a metallic spear, and impaled Mr. Wothword. Yet again, the eerie silence. The spear was consumed by Mr. Wothword's stomach, and a blue liquid dribbled down his chin. He sucked it back up, which of course wasn't revolting at all, and looked at me a steely glare.

"Oh-ho. Mr. Berit, interested to see how you'll squirm out of this one!"