Fall 2021 Inklings

Ezra’s feet don’t move for a moment. There are no windows this deep
underground for light to stream through, yet, Aves is glowing.
Aves clears his throat. “I’m feeling really good today. You look
capable, go pull some strings or something and get me the highest
level they got. I wanna put on a show.”
Without hesitation, Erza turns in his sneakers and scurries out of the
room.
…
Thousands of feet thunder in the grandstands. Voices cascade and mix
together as they shriek as loud as their throats allow. A charismatic
voice plows over everyone from the commentary booth.
“Hello and welcome to the Gladiator Goose Games! Today, we
have a special treat for you folks; all the way from Ill-Eagle City, an
Academy for Goose Combat and Defense alumnus: Aves the Fowl!”
The crowd erupts in a cacophony of roaring like Aves had just stepped
into hell with the wailing souls of the damned.
He bows deeply up at the people circling above him as they become
nothing but white noise. He squints, trying to see the gate opposite
him a few hundred yards away. What type of monster will they have
prepared now? he wonders.
“This lovely morning, he will be challenging...a...wait, you have to
be joking? You’re not? Oh shit, my mic. Sorry about that, today he
will be challenging a level 8 goose: Executioner Class. How the hell
did we get one of these? Oh no--” His sound cuts off as more people
begin to shout from the audience.
Static buzzes in Aves’s brain. Level 8? Images of his mentor’s scarred
face flash before him. The morning sun beats down. Sweat springs
from his forehead, dampening his brow within the burning metal
helmet.
He bounces from foot to foot, all too aware of the thousands of
eyeballs prying into him. Hoping to feign confidence, he lifts his axe
over his head and yells with all his might. His eyes squeeze shut,
praying that they couldn’t decipher the panic in his tone.
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