Sensation

I was never one for fantasy novels. Nor was I one for comics. That said, considering how suffused with those cartoons Japan was at the time, I was inevitably exposed to at least some of it. Not that it helped much. I am quite certain that nothing I was exposed to could have provided any sort of landmark reference to what I ended up experiencing. 

Sometimes I wonder how things have changed since I departed that life. Not that I would have departed it - had I a choice. But sometimes I can’t help but wonder.

I had always considered “magic” as something more than likely based on “feeling”. Something more akin to artistic pursuits as opposed to mathematics. Personally, I would have imagined something a lot more emotional would have suited Being X’s own biases - but who am I to question the veracity of a self-proclaimed, ego-ridden “deity” such as that?

Formulae, fallow found. Controlled calculation, confines considered correctly: by mage made material, mathematics manifested magic.

Of course. All set to the tune of the years before a world waged war.

That was what it said, after all. My problem was that I lived in a world of science, without significant difficulty, having been ignorant of war. And through a world of magic, a precarious life filled with struggle, and submerged in continuing conflict, it intended to expound upon the virtues of worshiping it, giving thanks to it, praying to it, crying “glory to god in the highest.”

Is there not a contradiction here? If so, I apologize. If I contradict myself, then I contradict myself. I am large, I contain multitudes -

But it wasn’t actually me doing the contradicting was it? No, Being X chose this world for me to wade through. It chose or made the world where magic was controlled by science and math. It allowed me to keep my memories - which included it, the reason for my suffering. As for the war - if only it had properly realized that I wasn’t the only one who thought that war was one of the reasons that God could not exist.

After all. War is likened to be worse than hell. A place where innocents are put to the sword. Virtuous and sinful alike - all sacrificed in the name of converting a single person. It called itself god, it read my thoughts. Certainly it should have realized that it was simply worsening the problem as opposed to fixing it.

… Mayhap I have become just as obsessed with it as it is with me. Unfortunately, the opposite of love is not hate - it is apathy. Perhaps the greatest wound I could inflict upon it would be to live this life without thinking of it. Unfortunately, I am human and I am willing to admit my flaws. Hatred is not as easy to put aside as any can claim.

But perhaps I should try. Just for a moment.

… 

Calculation. 

I know the formulae more than I know myself. More than muscle memory, more than instinct. My calculations are a part of me. An extension of myself. More than even the swordmaster and their blade.

I am my calculation.

Potential energy stored in a round. Kinetic energy primed to guide. Molecular atomics to fortify my body. Frozen light to protect me. Artificial connections to sharpen my thoughts. Vectors to guide flight. Gravity to protect me from momentum. Mass-photon conversion to penetrate barriers. Vibrating atoms to create a blade.

Beyond mere magic, an understanding of physics is the combat mage’s sharpest sword. Unfaltering logic, the strongest shield. A battle between mages inevitably comes down to whose understanding is greater, whose logic is more unshakeable. Granted, some mages have more magical energy, and some have less. That said -

A fatal wound is still a fatal wound.

…

But even this begs the question: wouldn’t it be more efficient to simply…

Not fight?

…

War… 

War is a waste of human and economic resources. It is an affront to rational thought. Every shot fired could have been put towards a building. Every life lost could have been dedicated toward the sciences. Every bomb dropped could have been focused on infrastructure development. Every night spent on the frontline could have been spent learning. Every yen spent. Every drop of blood spilled. Every tear shed, every wrathful roar, every hopeless declaration that all is lost -

Every yen paid toward agricultural development. Every drop of blood given to someone in need. Every tear shed for lives saved, every wrathful roar laid away in deference to joyful laughter, every hopeless declaration turned on its head: there is still hope for the morrow.

…

I called them my meat shields. And yet, time and time again, I throw myself into harm’s way for their sake: When I am not sure they will succeed, I stand in defense of them. I take action in order to earn accolades - but when I am confident in their victory, I leave their victory to them.

I declare them war-mongers - but who in their right mind would love war? They’re just people. They’re only human. Who wouldn’t give their all for a cause they believed in? They just want to protect their families. They just recognize me as the best way to achieve that.

Even my adjutant - I gave her a way to escape the frontlines. An officer’s course. And yet - somehow - she reappeared to me. In support of me. In loyalty to me. In defense of the future that I sought - the hope to live a life free from war.

I told her once.

It’s good that war is so miserable. The fewer people who like it, the better.

She was a draftee. On the frontlines because some algorithm decided that she was intended to spend her life in defense of her country. What joy is there to be found in that? 

And yet she came back to my side.

…

I was an orphan in this world. The orphanage I lived in was poor. There were days when I didn't have anything to eat. When the magical aptitude test came, and I was revealed to have something "significant" - I knew what Being X intended for me. I knew my fate. Even if I defied it, it would have found some way to throw me back into it. So I volunteered - hoping to eventually find a desk job. But, for everything that has happened since, I was right about that thing never giving me an escape.

I am good at what I do. Not because I love the battlefield. But because I am desperate to get away from it. I mean to survive it, at every cost - I will not die. Not like this. Not until I have lived the peaceful life I was supposed to have before it was stolen away from me by someone enraged by me firing them.

I don’t regret that decision. Missing a few days of work was one thing, but it was more than just a few days. More than that, there were countless errors in the work he managed to do - more often late than on time. He had every opportunity to make good on our faith in hiring him. 

But time and time again, he did not satisfy. If there was any hint of improvement, I would have noticed. I wasn’t gifted. I fought for the grades I got, and struggled my way to the position I had. I knew every fix he should have made - every fix he didn’t make.

If he had come to me, asking for advice for a job that might have suited him more, I may have even tried to help. Begrudgingly, granted, but I could have managed that much.

But he didn't.

He chose violence.

…

White Silver. Mad Dog. Devil of the Rhine.

Rusted Silver.

How far have I fallen?

Is it even possible for me to rise once more?

What formula leads to the end of the war? What flight pattern must I take to reach my destination? What formation will see all of us safely home? What trajectory will lead to the nightmare’s end? What sight adjustments must I make to see the answer? What target must I intercept for the peace talks to finally commence? 

A simple formula can protect its caster. Strengthen the body. Sharpen the mind. Guide a shot.

What calculation must I make to end the sensation of war?

…

When at last death reached me, finding purchase in its grasp -

When my vice commander hesitated in his shot for wanting to avoid hitting me -

When physics defied itself in seeking my end -

When my logic was torn from me for self-sacrifice and exhaustion -

…

When every calculation I made resulted in my end -

My wing did not hesitate to shoot through me -

To save me through harming me.

And with an excruciating sensation -

Death fell.

I rose.

…

And yet.

The war rages on.

Damn you, Being X.