Bab 15: Pythian Games [part 4]
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[Chapter 14]
"Alright! Ladies and Gentlemen, those who have come afar to watch this spectacle unfold and those who were local I present to you all, The Pythian Games!" The announcer announced. He didn't have a mic or something but his voice was Booming across the Crisaean plains.
If he isn't using magic then Icarus would eat his hand....
Great cheer resounded from the audience. Icarus wanted to block his ears with his hands but refrained.
"The first even that'll open this Pythian Games will be.....The foot race!" The Crisaean plains went crazy.
Icarus felt a trepidation curl in his ribcage like a rattlesnake.
'Fuck' Icarus can only curse. Foot race? Icarus never did that! But....it won't be hard right?
...
.....
Right?!
It's just running so he needs to complicate things. It doesn't matter that he doesn't look graceful while running, what matters is winning.
But....
When Icarus looked at his fellow competitors he felt shivers all over his body. The reason? They're fit like the biggest modern bodybuilder fit. And... He's just a lanky dude. No muscles, no nothing, just all skin and bones. All fragile and brittle like one shove can break him.
Yes, he may be exaggerating things but that's how he sees himself.
'Well...' Icarus gained a devious smile as he set his foot on the starting line.
Blueish green lines starting glowing under his clothes like a zebra, but... with blue lines.
'Unfortunately they don't have magic.'
Icarus along with the other competitors bent and got in a classic runner stance.
As he was bending Icarus quickly reinforced himself with runes that focused on Speed and defence. The speed runes glowed and sunk into his sandals and legs while his defence runes inscribed and etched themselves on his clothes.
Was he cheating? Absolutely. Did he care? Nope~
Icarus lowered the centre of his body and leaned forward more.
The announcer beside them walked around them and, "Gooo!" With that shout sprinters took off, kicking a cloud of dust while doing so.
Icarus waited a second, waited until his body heated, bristled like a tea pot then....
Then....
He took off.
Looking back, it's quite funny that Icarus was worried about nothing because when he took off, it was like he was flying. The air cracked, tearing apart while resisting his force.
Icarus took one step and he never took another again. If you know what it feels like travelling in a car and travelling 160 Km/h on a highway then Icarus was like that.
Air stung his eyes, making them watery. Distantly, Icarus was grateful that he chose to protect himself with defence runes because otherwise...
People didn't know what happened because one second they were cheering on the number one lead then the very next second something passed before their eyes.
'Fast!' Many people thought so.
The air distorted, Icarus didn't see anything other than the finish line. Even he himself didn't know what's going on. One second he was running— it's debatable if he was running. More like flung himself away— then the next he was already at the finish line with his legs hurting like he was dancing all night.
When Icarus brake at the finish line, he kicked up a huge cloud of dust and skirted about 15 metres away. He almost fell on his face more than twice but luckily he used air magic to buffer his speed. His speed got absorbed by his magic but he did not get scattered as the air magic and the natural air cut him up.
When Icarus Icarus was revealed to the world, his clothes were in a mess, his hair was in disarray and one of the straps of his sandals were torn off.
Silence took over, over the Crimean plains then commotion ensued. The heavens shook under the loud noise happening over the city.
'Fuck me if you see me doing this again.' Icarus swore. That was dangerous. Dangerous than the word Dangerous. Because if his 'landing' strategy was off even a little bit then people would've to pick his pieces all over the place.
Icarus took a deep breath and tried to calm himself by twirling his long hair only to realise that he was shaking.
Icarus laughed detachedly. 'F-F-Fuck! T-that was scary.'
Scary than death alright.
Distantly Icarus heard the Announcer claim him as the winner of the first round of the athletic aspect of the Pythian Games.
One of the competitors came to him.
"Krylin." The guy introduced himself as he stuck his hand out.
"Icarus." Icarus greeted in return and clasped his hand with the other guy's.
"You were so fast there, are you sure Hermis didn't bless you?" The guy —Krylin— jokes.
"If I didn't know then I do now." Icarus responded in kind.
Krylin laughs obnoxiously and grabbed his arm in a 'glove handshake'
Icarus felt like the veins around his arm were busting out. Krylin's grip is THAT strong.
Icarus sweat dropped.
"You're a funny guy. You're wasting your talents here, I suggest you be a court jester." Icarus commented.
Krylin 'patted' Icarus shoulder blades. He is putting emphasis on 'patting' because Icarus feels like this guy wants to kill him with how much force he is exerting.
"I'll see you in the next rounds. Don't slack on me, Icarus!" Krylin waved at him and strutted off.
Icarus messaged his shoulder blades and legs as he sighed.
'Im slightly regretting participating.'
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"And... We're back! This round is going to feature Poets and Storytellers! Come on stage." The nameless Announcer that Icarus never cared to remember his name—Not that he paid him any attention in the first place— announced again.
"Now for those who had forgotten, I'll introduce our participants again. From our left we got our boy wonder, the first person to snatch the crown under everyone's eyes, Our promising Candidate, Icarus Of Athens!"
The Crisaean plains shook with cheer again. Icarus can see that they're currently favouring him but it's not like it is not going to change if someone won this round.
Icarus shrugged and tuned out what the announcer was going to say next.
....
Five minutes later, the Announcer cried again.
"Let's start with poetry."
Icarus watched as people stepped backwards when they heard that they're starting with poetry. Some people are obviously left.... They're... Icarus counted 10. Another one of those people is... Krylin.
That guy even had the nerve to wave at him excitedly.
Icarus rolled his eyes and nodded at him. No need to be a jerk.
"Now you, my dear participants, are going to compose a poem about the...[Moon]. This will be the title of your poems, now... START!"
Icarus didn't rush to anything, instead he stood still and pondered. 'Moon, huh.' a homage to their patron God's sister. Because of course it'll be about her, many people don't stop bitching about how the Moon —Artemis— is beautiful and whatnot.
A poem about the Moon. Icarus' face twitched in aggravation, 'This..will be tough.'
No, it's not that coming with a poem about the Moon is hard, it's that the poem must not paint Artemis and Selene in a bad way because if it did...well no use talking about it.
Let's see, let's see.
Icarus played with his chin as he contemplated this roadblock.
Unconsciously Icarus took out his painting brush and twirled it in his hands.
Since the Crisaean plain is low to the ground and its bleachers are almost close to the stage, Icarus saw one audience member holding a glass of wine. When Icarus saw that an idea was starting to shape in his head.
He stook big stripes towards the audience and grabbed the glass of wine from the man, leaving him dumbfounded.
Icarus soaked his paintbrush in the glass of wine.
Icarus doesn't know that much offensive magic but there's one thing that he knows very much— Inventing.
Icarus is a son of Daedalus, innovation is the blood in his veins and even then he helped his father design some interesting things that are currently helping Greece right now.
So it isn't a surprise that Icarus changed his normal paintbrush Into a magic tool— a [Mystic Code]
It's a supporting item that doesn't do much outside helping him with painting.
So it wasn't much to rebuild it.
Icarus took the brush out of the wine and wrote in the air before him.
Long strips and short strips.
Icarus can hear the crowd gasping around him.
Wind blew his long air and chiton, making him look like a God descended from the heavens.
Standing there in the midst of the people admiring him, Icarus' expression didn't even change.
Calm and quiet confidence evident in the way he holds himself.
Icarus finished with his poem. Right there, written on the air.
Icarus knows that not a lot of people know how to read so he reads it to them.
A calm voice with indifferent undertone resounded around the Crimean plains.
"....."
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