An Armed Mage Takes a Leap

Crackle, split, crackle, crackle

Around 30 meters ahead on the sidewalk that I was walking along, space split.

A “paper cut,” as these rifts in space-time were aptly named — “space-time dimensional wormholes” is the scientific name. They are cuts in the dimensional space that act as portals to another realm.

Although…it is a once-in-a-lifetime sight to see one actively appear near you, as captivating as stars in a clear sky.

Drip, drip, drip

The slight drizzle went on and on from clouds covering the sky and its stars, persisting in trying to wet everything despite knowing the sun would come out the next day.

Maybe I should take after it.

Drip, drip, drip

I have gone through a few paper cuts before, as they are an anomaly that has been occurring for around 120 years. Consequently, scientists have determined multiple things since their first appearance. I, mesmerized by the paper cut in front of me, recalled them.

“First: never waste time on trying to determine what beasts lie behind the gates. They can either be slight variations from the animals we know or completely unclassifiable creatures.”

All of us partakers have come to accept this, so I thought, ‘Whether I should even step through.’ After all, the output of the paper cut you originally see is not the same as the one that gets you out. The exit paper cut lies deeper within the realm, often guarded by beasts.

As I took in those two realities, I looked up again at the portal.

“Wait…what?”

It had gone from being quite large to being quite small…

Wait, never mind…

I thought as the portal became large again.

“Wait a minute!?”

I then recalled the third and final law: ‘the size of the paper cut determines both the difficulty and the maximum capacity for entry of entities for the realm on the other side.’

If it changes sizes, what does that entail?

But even stranger than that, the shape was off. Each and every paper cut is basically a perfect circle — it’s a given. However, the one in front of me…wasn’t a stable, circular paper cut; this one…was an upright, ever-changing oval.

It might seem like a small detail, but in the history of recorded gates, not a single paper cut has ever deviated from a stable, near-perfect circle.

The flickering size messed with my head. The shape made me tremble.

“Is this my chance!?”

A voice whispered, permeating my thoughts.

“Is this it: my uniqueness!?”

It screamed.

I pulled out my phone and searched ‘changing oval paper cuts.’

Most were irrelevant results about your fingers’ paper cuts. However, the first one on the paper cuts that I did see caught my eye — the top comment of an older fringe forum:

I bet that the shape determines the dimension that the paper cut entails a change in:

A sphere means that of the physical realm, like teleportation.

A square one, for example, could be that of time, or a fifth dimension we have yet to discover…

Time!? What does that mean?

I slowly inched forward, almost instinctively.

There is a famous theory in wormhole physics:

‘If a rift links to time, it can only go back to the first instance of its own kind. No further.’

“Could I possibly go back in time and…be different?”

I thought it so adamantly that I spoke it aloud.

As I gripped my pistol and muttered incantations, I was getting closer. I thought back to who I was.

***

I always wanted to be the best at something. Discover something new in mathematics, maybe create a revolutionary biochemical, or perhaps even discover a new branch of magic. But, in this day and age, there is nothing to uncover that hasn’t already been dissected to the core.

“I want to be the best!”

I shouted.

“Ugh, I’m tired,”

I shouted, admittedly less intensely.

Well, I did not really shout aloud; my thoughts did internally.

I slammed the table, immediately recoiling because that hurt. That was dumb. Only maniacs lash out physically.

Am I not a maniac?

“No, of course I’m not,”

I reflexively muttered.

“No one is insane to feel hopeless in a day and age where progress is being made faster than ever before,”

I convinced myself.

Relative to all possible aspects, I am most proficient in two: as a gunman and as a mage. As a mage, I was ranked Discens level; as a gunman, I was ranked Praelusor level. It’s a more formal way of saying I am in the third of the ten stages of mastery for magic and the second of the ten stages of mastery for weaponry.

I lay back in my chair, my eyes barely keeping themselves open from the hours of sitting and studying I was doing for my finals.

“This sucks!”

I yelled, promptly standing up and putting on my comfortable black hoodie and slides. I wriggled my arms around to properly snuggle into my clothes and left the building.

My mom was asleep by now, probably dead tired from her double shift as usual. We talk fairly often during the week, but this wasn’t one of those nights. It was a weekday, not a weekend.

***

I was by no means exceptional in the standards of where I stood now, yet maybe I could be exceptional outside these standards.

“What if, by stepping through this odd oval paper cut, I could differ from the rest?”

“What if…”

Inches away, I leaped.