FS-novel Chapter 174: Fight Club
Chapter 174: Fight Club
The Transgracian Academy for the Magical Arts. Exhibition Hall. Grand Arcade. Central Thoroughfare. The Tent of Trials. Local Time: 2045 Hours.
Emma
I had to do several double-takes when the name ‘Articord’ was dropped in the same sentence as ‘battlemaster.’
Articord.
The Articord.
The same fox-kin professor who unflinchingly stood for hours and hours droning on and on about the wonders of Nexian primacy, only occasionally sprinkling in history between bouts of dogma and propaganda.
My head flicked back and forth, committing to these double-takes not only because of the absurdity of such a seemingly sedentary academic — and I used that word generously — leading a fight club of all things, but also because of a more… pertinent observation.
The person that walked onto the scene, pushing aside curtains and flanked by no one, was a completely different beast to the raging propagandist.
For starters, her deep green robes and suede overcoat were gone, and so too was that folded hat that she wore all the time outside of class.
Indeed, her tunic, vest, belt, and all manner of articles denoting her rank, station, and raging identity were simply absent here.
Instead, the person that emerged looked like they’d be more at home in the halls of an adventuring guild than the classrooms and lecture halls that had seemingly been their sole dominion.
The unrepentant functionality of her armor gave her a much more formidable aura than any of the gathered upper-yearsmen and battlemages-in-training here possessed.
Because replacing those articles of academia was an outfit I’d only imagined Chiska could pull off. Hardened scale-armor boots, leggings of a similar material that shimmered under the tent’s spotlights, a long hauberk — thanks, EVI — obscured partially by a flowy tabard decorated in the sigils and symbols of what I assumed to be her house, and finally a kettle hat — thanks x2, EVI — complete with holes for both of her foxy ears to poke through.
And while that latter design choice was rather suspect — giving fingerless glove vibes — the rest had genuine presence.
Moreover, that emerald staff she held carried a completely different aura in this setup.
It no longer looked like an accessory or a ceremonial symbol of power. Instead, it now looked like a proper weapon of war — a dedicated instrument of magical doom.
“Prince Thalmin of Havenbrock.” She acknowledged the prince with a cock of her head. “Your presence was foretold.”
“Professor… Articord.” Thalmin bowed, seemingly just as dazed as I was at the club’s unexpected choice of faculty overseer. “I—”
“—was expecting someone more like Chiska, yes?” Articord interjected, garnering an expected nod from the prince.
“Typical.” She rolled her eyes. That response alone elicited a curious exchange of coin from the gathered upper-yearsmen and a subsequent flurry of whispers which the EVI was quick to pick up on.
“I don’t know why I even bother wagering on the first years’ reactions to this anymore…”
A quick glance from Articord shut them up right away, as the terse fox was quick to gesture towards a nearby seat, offering a surprising degree of civil hospitality despite the otherwise tense scene.
Though before Thacea and I could join Thalmin’s side, our chairs were magically removed — literally poofing out of existence — sending the EVI for another loop as it logged yet another new spell.
“Are you here to partake, or to pay witness?” Articord questioned, her voice at least hinting at some degree of civility behind her usual haughty tendencies.
“Moral support.” I answered for us, garnering a side eye from the professor.
“Then those will be your seats.” She gestured towards one of the many spectator stands in the room.
With a shrug and a nod, we both made our way towards the bleachers, watching as Articord now placed her full attention on the mercenary prince.
“Do you understand why Chiska isn’t in charge of this discerning organization?”
“I have no issues ascertaining that particular aspect of this arrangement.” Thalmin answered with a confident swagger. “Professor Chiska is a specialist in the physical arts. Magical augmentation of physical capabilities, the martial arts, and the enhancement of physical acumen in the pursuit of strengthening this mortal vessel which houses our souls. Fight Club, by contrast, is founded on a set of fundamentally different principles.” He gestured to himself proudly, flexing his right arm and pulling back his tunic’s short sleeve, garnering a few bleghs of disgust from a particularly feeble looking third-year student. “What I am surprised about, is that there would be anyone amongst the faculty besides Professor Chiska who would be partial to the art of fighting.” Thalmin boldly declared, garnering the exasperated gazes of more than a handful of the gathered would-be battlemages. “Forgive me for my insolence, Professor Articord, but I never before heard of your history as a battlemage.”
“That is because we have yet to partake in our field trip.” The fox answered with an emotive lilt in her voice I hadn’t yet seen her express — slyness. “There are a great many things about my life that are as unexpected as my inclination to warfighting. For there were a great many lives I’ve led in my time as staffholder.” She eyed the emerald gem at the tip of her staff for a moment before continuing on without further elaboration. “I continue to marvel at your boldness, Prince Thalmin Havenbrock. Though perhaps today we shall see if this boldness comes from a place of strength or bluster.”
The pair met each others’ gazes with their own brand of intensity before Articord continued with a growing smile. “Tell me then… What exactly are the aims and principles of Fight Club?”
“On the surface?” Thalmin paused, eyeing all of the upper-yearsmen present. “Its stated aims are to aid students in the attainment of the appropriate prerequisites necessary for application into the various battlemage academies within the Crownlands. But beneath it? It is a society that celebrates magic in its most fundamental form. Fight Club is founded on the principles of magical might, the distillation of magical acumen for the purposes of a completely magical martial art. An art which allows even its least gifted to achieve victory at the notion of a thought, annihilating armies without the necessity to raise even a single finger.”
Articord smiled, then nodded, before bringing both of her hands into a slow but purposeful series of claps.
“The exact words of the text.” She proclaimed proudly before assuming a stiffer position, leaning forward towards Thalmin. “But do you understand it? Do you believe it?”
The prince never once flinched at Articord’s abrupt escalation, instead leaning back into a more comfortable position. “Point of social privilege.”
“Point granted.” Articord nodded, playing along.
“I wish to answer this… with a question of my own.” Thalmin quickly shifted his attention towards the crowd behind Articord, his eyes leveling on each and every one of them. “How many of you have actually partaken in battle?”
Three raised their hands.
“How many of you have seen combat without the comfort of a fort, battlement, or vehicle?” He drilled further, causing only two hands to remain.
“From within the ranks of your own men?”
One remained as the other sheepishly withdrew their hand.
“Pitted against mages of equivalent caliber, fighting not for aims of capture or territorial ambition, but specifically you and your family’s complete and utter annihilation?”
The last hand, held up by that feeble noble prior, dropped immediately.
This left Articord with a single raised brow as a foxiness I’d never known her to possess came to the forefront in increasing regularity.
“Your point of social privilege runs threadbare. Get to it.”
“I believe the matter to be self-evident, Professor Articord.” Thalmin responded firmly. “You question my resolve on Fight Club’s principles, my unwavering beliefs on the truths of its claims, when I appear to be the only peer within this room — barring yourself — to have actually experienced its awesome power in the fields of battle. The sights I’ve seen, the acts I’ve witnessed, and my own actions in battle, all lead me to the same horrifying conclusion the first mages of old had foretold eons ago — that armies, kingdoms, and even the gods themselves, all live and die by the will of magic.”
The professor paused, an unfamiliar expression forming behind her growing look of contemplation.
All throughout this, she maintained a single raised hand, holding back the growing wave of indignant rage bubbling not-so-subtly behind the stoic exteriors of the battlemages-in-training.
The resting look of stone-faced zealotry we’d all been accustomed to never once manifested here, though.
Instead, she seemed much, much more animated here. Especially as that quiet look of thoughtful consideration gave way into a playful grin.
“It is interesting that you bring up that latter category, Prince Thalmin… and so casually at that. If I were to play by the rules of your current argument, then perhaps…” The professor trailed off before ending up simply shaking her head. “No, no… that wouldn’t be fair of me.” She snickered. “Your attempts at addressing my doubts… are well-received. And indeed, I doubt any here dismiss the wealth of experience you possess. But experience alone can only get you so far, Prince Thalmin. Otherwise, every fifth-rate highborn worth their blood could be counted as a battlemage, no?”
The gaggle of upper-yearsmen behind the professor laughed, giving me strong locker room bully vibes, but with the added understanding that behind each grin was a magical arsenal waiting to be unleashed.
“I do not deny your convictions. Nor do I doubt your commitment to the principles of Fight Club. What I would like to correct is something that many fall prey to — the conflation of wartime experience with the quality and make of a battlemage. Or as is often referred to, the Swordsman’s Fallacy.” The fox-kin professor gestured towards the fourth-year Efwin, who emerged into the limelight with a prideful smile.
“There once was a swordsman who dreamed himself a King.” Efwin began with a bombastic flair. “He lived, as did his kind, in a realm where mana was scarce and its use extremely limited. Yet from that he managed to forge a kingdom from the faith of his people, the wealth of his coffers, the wit of his advisors, and the steel of his comrades-in-arms. They grew strong, sharpening their swords, stockpiling arrows, and enchanting all within their means. But when the time did come for conflict, when this swordsman-turned-king faced an enemy numbering in the digits of a single hand… he found his preparations were all for naught. For a rival kingdom chose a different path. A path of personal excellence, of introspective study, honing the art of war not from the mud and dirt of battle through needless and misguided asceticism, but from perfecting the most sacred art of esteemed sapiency. Because while the swordsman knew only of sharpened swords and the horrors of battle, he could have never imagined war as it would be when fought through the manifestation of unbridled will and imagination alone.”
“This isn’t an attempt to disparage your experiences on the battlefield, Prince Thalmin.” Articord followed up with that uncharacteristic bright smile. “But it is an attempt to remind you that these experiences are supplementary, not foundational. If one were to rely solely on one’s experiences in the field of battle, then one would be trapped in the thinking of any number of fifth-rate noble-turned-mercenary. You’d be an excellent fighter, a great knight, perhaps even a hero of legend capable of turning the tide of battle. Indeed, any competent mage can accomplish this. But that doesn’t make them a battlemage. Because there exists a fundamental point of divergence in these two schools of thought.” Articord paused, standing up to straighten her armor. “Mercenaries, fighters, soldiers, knights — they all have one thing in common. They all think tactically. Battlemages, on the other hand, think in terms of grand strategy and personal tactics. Not only in terms of command, but in how their powers are capable of shaping the battlefield itself. This is what Fight Club ultimately leads to — domination of the battlefield, and one’s personal battlespace.”
With a dramatic pause, she offered the sitting Thalmin a hand. “You walk a similar path many a middling adjacency have done before you. I do not see why this junction would bear fruit of different character. The question now is, do you wish to learn more?”
Thalmin accepted with little hesitation, gripping the professor’s hand—
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 400% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
—and prompting the whole room to go pitch black.
The WAID revealed something interesting about this development.
It was almost akin to a sight-seer’s pattern of mana manipulation.
This hypothesis was soon proven to be true as Articord would soon explain.
“We start with the basics. Then, we conclude with your trial.” She announced as she began gesturing at…
Nothing.
The room remained pitch black.
It was only because of the WAID that I managed to barely glimpse what I could only describe as the barest of rough outlines to what was being shown.
The professor had quite literally manifested a sort of sensory-isolation chamber, created with the intent to isolate, visualize, and provide all of the mana-sighted among us a backdrop solely for manasight.
“I believe Vanavan has long since lectured your ears off on the principles of the 29 manatypes, yes?” Articord questioned jokingly, garnering the snickers of all the upper-yearsmen present, and a sly look from Thalmin.
“There would be grounds for a Goldthorn investigation into a case of mimic identity theft the moment he stops doing so, Professor.” The prince responded, garnering an amused huff from the fox-kin professor.
“While drenched in semantics and drowning in drudgery, his classes are vital to establishing the fundamentals required of mage warfare. Tell me, have you ever been lectured on the categorization of manatypes?”
“The natural and the latent?” Thalmin questioned.
“Ahh. So that’s the school of thought in Havenbrock?”
“Yes.” Thalmin nodded.
“So the trend continues.” Articord pondered aloud. “I find the use of that latter term — latent — to be particularly common in realms scarce in mana.”
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This naturally garnered a side eye from Thalmin.
“That is no fault of your own, of course. I myself have lived many a life in such realms. It is… enlightening, to say the least, how many manage to advance in spite of such deficiencies.” The professor trailed off once more before simply shrugging off her strange asides. “But I digress, yes, you are correct in the broad strokes of categorization. However, I would be remiss if I did not rectify your use of those rather archaic terms. You see, the proper names for this dual categorization are theTangibles and Intangibles.”
Thalmin’s eyes narrowed but he subsequently nodded all the same.
“Tangibles replacing natural, intangibles replacing latent. Makes sense.” He shrugged.
“It does, especially from a scholar’s perspective.” Articord nodded in acknowledgement. “Fire, Air, Water, Earth, Lightning and the various metalloids, all are tangible manatypes. And as in the case of many adjacencies, all are considered ‘natural,’ so to speak.”
The WAID noted a constant fluctuation of the ‘mana currents’ in front of us, visualizing distinct ‘waves’ of mana, each representing a distinct manatype that the WAID — with much credit to both Thacea and Thalmin’s tireless efforts — had been able to isolate and identify over its weeks-long calibration efforts.
“Meanwhile, the intangibles are often the manatypes more… challenging to master and weaponize. From the Essence of Space in the creation of portals, to the Essence of Will in the manipulation of the mind, to those manatypes muddled in their existence, fundamentally tied to the forces of life and a matter best left to Professor Belnor to explain, these are ‘latent’ to your scholars for a reason.”
“They exist less as obvious extensions of the physical world, and require the sapient mind to shape and manipulate.” Thalmin surmised. “Given the concentrations required for spellcasting, they are often ‘latent,’ requiring careful concentration and distillation before use.”
The pair stared at each other for a moment, Thalmin attempting to gauge where Articord was going with this.
“To become a battlemage is to understand the limits of one’s own affinities. Not every mage can master the art of each and every elemental manatype. Moreover, not every mage is born with an inherent prime affinity to an elemental mana type that is functionally useful for war. This, again, is not a detraction. In fact, many mages with natural affinities towards the natural or healing arts manage to become battlemages in their own right, specializing and innovating on their life-giving gifts in the creation of horrors forged explicitly for the battlefield. I only mention this because many simply do not have the tenacity to follow through and innovate on their prime, or even secondary affinities. Not when there is a nigh infinite wealth of paths for them to follow outside of the grim reality of warfare. It is with that in mind that I must ask, Prince Thalmin. What is your prime affinity?”
“Fire.” Thalmin responded simply. “And lightning.”
Articord narrowed her eyes at this.
“A dual affinity?” She questioned.
“I am told I can come close to matching both, yes.” He proclaimed with a cocky grin.
“Well then, we shall see… Despite prime affinities admittedly being only a small part of one’s magical journey, it remains relevant in what I seek to accomplish in this guild—” She gestured to all the upper-yearsmen present. “—to hone that elemental craft, and to ensure passage into the esteemed battlemage academies of the Crownlands when the time comes. You will be surprised how far one can take an elemental manatype such as fire, Prince Thalmin.”
“I can imagine.” Thalmin nodded, just as Articord quickly morphed the inky darkness into a far more vibrant holographic experience.
The whole scene reminded me of the magical RTS game from the month prior, though this went beyond the clearly gamified version of war that the elven twins were masters in.
No, this actually looked photorealistic. From the hills and valleys, to the great plains that dominated the middle of this room, the whole scene looked like one of those hyper-realistic wargame sessions. With a clear fantastical bent to it, if the gathering armies had anything to say about it.
Formations of footmen with pikes and spears made the brunt of the force, with mounted cavalry, self-propelled wagons, and a whole host of magical beasts of burden scattered throughout. We watched as the respectably sized army marched onwards, each regiment geared up with enchanted armor and equipment, ready for some sort of a medieval skirmish.
At least that’s what I assumed until something, or rather someone, arrived to tip the scales.
It was a single figure, floating and soaring high above the gathered mass of about ten or so thousand men at arms scrambling to prepare for this unexpected interloper.
I noted a distinct lack in any anti-air assets, and I wasn’t going to be generous enough to count the archers attempting to train their bows on the floating mage as SHORAD-rated.
It took a moment, but I was quick to connect the dots between this scene and Articord’s little anecdote from earlier.
What happened next more or less cemented that realization.
FFWWW-WOO-SHHH-BOOOOOMMMMMM!
Ripples in the air preceded an incoming explosion whose sound was accurately depicted as delayed from the moment several intense points of light dotted the battlefield.
They were powerful, though nothing to write home about. But to a medieval army with what were probably a few enchanted weapons incapable of engaging an enemy at range? It was devastating.
The army that’d spent the better part of a few minutes of this sight-seer prepping, gearing up, and marching for war was utterly obliterated.
But if it were limited to just that, I wouldn’t have gotten too emotionally invested in it. Articord was just good at pushing those buttons, after all. And I’d gotten used to her ragebaiting over the weeks.
No, what really pushed me to annoyance were the polite claps of her battlemages-in-training. Not hoots and hollers as was expected from the typical sports challenges or trials. Not even a whistle, but a series of unapologetic claps at a completely one-sided massacre.
…
My eyes narrowed on that floating asshole, his robes billowing in the air, as I just about pictured a hundred different targeting reticles superimposed across a thousand different high-precision, heavy ordnance delivery systems aiming for his silhouette.
That’s what I wanted to see from this.
And to my surprise—
FWOOOOSH!
—that’s what nearly happened.
Because instead of the satisfying end of the mage coming from the tip of an StAM-262 — or better yet a Reaver — it instead came at the completely unprompted arrival of another mage.
In fact, his death came as both abruptly bloody but completely underwhelming.
It was more comparable to a bug being squished, which, when accompanied by Articord stepping in to physically censor the man’s bloody end, came across more like a PSA or newsreel than anything.
“Scenes like these are what we aim to achieve, and avoid, in Fight Club.”
Her words didn’t really help with that vibe either.
“While our presence over the battlefield holds an indescribable strategic weight, we must never forget that we aren’t the only battlemages in existence.” She pointed to the interloper in question with a swoosh of her staff. “Awareness is only part of the battle, however. The enemy armies are another. But the rest? Well… that’s where we get our namesake from.” She smiled proudly. “Because in Fight Club, we don’t merely learn to hone our skills in preparation for a battlemage academy. We actively prepare for peer encounters through pure magical fights. Though I will say, the sorts of fights you’ll encounter when you do meet a peer battlemage, will be unlike anything you’ve experienced thus far. Even in your battles against fellow nobles in your realm, Prince Thalmin.”
“That’s why I’m here, Professor.” Thalmin announced firmly. “Which leads me to a pertinent question.” He continued, crossing his arms in the process. “Can we begin the trial to finalize this whole formality?”
The fully armored Efwin lurched forward as if to rebuke Thalmin’s forwardness.
Articord, however, seemed none too bothered by either party’s brazenness, choosing instead to stand between the two. She slammed her staff onto the ground once again, ending the impromptu sight-seer in the process.
“A man of action through and through…” She nodded with closed eyes. “Let’s get right to it then.”
Another slam of her staff somehow teleported both her and Thalmin into the middle of the fighting ring. A stage, which at first was just about the size of a boxing ring, now expanding — in typical Nexian fashion — to the size of a soccer field.
One end of the field suddenly sported a new arrival, as the EVI was quick to zoom in to what was clearly—
“A mannequin?” Thalmin questioned, narrowing his gaze from his end of the field to the other.
“A tool to gauge your magical potential.” Articord began. “A… golem of sorts gifted to me by a friend whose civilization is remembered only between myself and The Library.” The professor continued cryptically before just as suspiciously moved on from that topic without expounding on it. “This ‘mannequin’ in question is a legendary battle golem. Modified, of course, with the express purpose of assessing your offensive power. It won’t attack, nor will it harm you. It will merely approach you and attempt to dodge your attacks, perhaps even defending against the intangible magical attacks should you choose to employ those. I have modified it to reflect your first-year standing. Shouldn’t pose too much difficulty for a battle-hardened mage such as yourself now, should it?” She teased, before nodding at the golem in question. “The rules are simple. Destroy the golem before it touches you.”
“That’s it?” Thalmin reiterated.
“That’s it.” Articord reaffirmed.
“Alright.” He shrugged. “When do I—”
“Your time starts now.” Articord interjected, poofing away and appearing quite literally next to me on the bleachers; the EVI’s proximity sensors screamed within my helmet.
“So… your peer seems to be quite the hot-headed one. What say you to his chances of victory?” Articord questioned. Actually attempting to hold a conversation that wasn’t just one-sided bouts of vicious zealotry.
I… didn’t know how to respond, but at least Thacea did.
“I have complete and unwavering confidence in Prince Thalmin Havenbrock’s magical fighting capabilities, Professor Articord.” She spoke politely, garnering a snicker from the fox-kin as she leaned in closer to get a better view.
The fight — if you could even call it that — genuinely sent a pang of concern up my spine.
And I didn’t know why.
It wasn’t like this was our first rodeo. Nor was this anywhere near as disastrously dangerous as the fight with Ignalius.
This was literally just an overengineered power-scaling test.
Still… there was something about that mannequin, that ball-jointed blank-faced wooden doll that looked more at home as an artist’s toy, that just didn’t sit right with me.
Regardless, it was clear Thalmin didn’t quite share my sentiments. He snapped his neck from side to side, cracking his joints from shoulder to fingers, before reflexively moving to his sword only to stop halfway.
Pure magical fight.
Right.
With that said, even without the aid of Emberstride, his attacks came without warning or mercy.
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 400% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
ALERT: EXTERNAL TEMPERATURES EXCEEDING SAFE LEVELS! 827… 982… 1227 DEGREES CELSIUS
The ‘field’ was immediately set ablaze.
A line of fire stretched from the tip of Thalmin’s hands towards the thinly-lacquered wooden body of the mannequin.
This attack held for an uncomfortably long time, the seconds counting up and up… with seemingly no effect on the approaching silhouette, its body not even singed by the attacks.
Then—
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 570% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
—came several brilliant flashes of light.
As bolt—
KRRRRAAACK-BOOOOM!
—after bolt—
KRRRRAAACK-BOOOOM!
—after bolt—
KRRRRAAACK-BOOOOM!
—assaulted the approaching figure.
…
Yet never once did it falter, not even as the ground beneath its feet was otherwise obliterated by the strikes.
The prince started to breathe harder now, as he was quick to call on something I’d seen from the stunt with Ignalius. A fact helped by the upturned dirt and rock he’d kicked up from those lightning strikes.
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 500% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
Close to a thousand projectiles, from rocks, to pebbles, and even a boulder, rose up around the field. All hovered in place as Thalmin tried his best to point the sharpest end of each object towards the offending target.
Following which—
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 570% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
—he let loose the maelstrom.
CRASH!
KA-THWOOOMMM
CRRRKK!
THWOSUGHHHH…
A cloud of dust and debris stood where the mannequin was last seen.
Though a quick cursory scan was enough to clue me into the disappointing news.
Clop.
Clop.
Clop.
It was still slowly approaching.
But even that was about to change.
Because almost immediately after my sensors had locked onto it through the thick billowing dust cloud… it just as quickly vanished, vaulting upwards high above the field… and barreling straight for Thalmin.
The prince quickly dodged just as the surprisingly dextrous wooden creature slammed its fist down onto the floor—
BONK!
—not even denting it.
I turned to Articord, who shrugged in my direction. “I did say this was going to be harmless.”
The pace, however, hastened up this time around as the mannequin was quick to make its pursuit known, dashing, ducking, and weaving, as Thalmin’s attacks and counters were becoming increasingly frantic.
Each slash of fire—
FWOOOSH!
—and every bolt of lightning—
BZZZZT-CRACK!
—were all effortlessly dodged or completely tanked by the beast, who was just about to side-rush the prince into one of the edges of the field.
However, before he could do so, the prince managed to pull something rare from his magical repertoire.
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 350% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
VWOOOSH
He’d frozen both of the mannequin’s legs onto the field.
And not only that—
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 390% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
CRRRKKKK!
He’d managed to sink part of its feet into the floor as well, holding it in place with a few inches of stone.
It was at that point, with the mannequin struggling to get free, that something clicked behind the prince’s eyes, as he leaped back about a half field away, and steadied both hands in front of him.
CCRRRRRKRKKKKKKK!!!
Several pieces of rock came flying towards the prince, remaining ten or so meters away from him.
Then something completely unexpected followed.
FWWOWOOOSHHHHH!
Flames, concentrated, more akin to beams of fire at this point, were focused around each fist-sized cluster of rocks.
This continued for seconds as the rocks glowed a bright, luminous yellow, eventually turning viscous, dripping into a mass of molten hot lava.
The second this happened, the prince moved to attack without hesitation.
With another burst of mana radiation, the balls of lava were sent flying to the mannequin, dripping every meter of the way and eventually—
CRASSHHHH-SHHHHH-SIZZZZZLEEEEEEE
—making contact with the bleachers behind their intended target.
The creature in question having just managed to dodge the attacks, pulling its feet out and leaping just in time for one of the balls to slightly singe its flank.
Thalmin, now breathing heavier breaths from the effort, stared down the being that attempted to match his moves.
A second passed, then another, as he eyed the creature and then the cracked earth beneath the field.
Something else lit up behind those lupine eyes of his as he turned towards the bleachers with an excited grin.
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 700% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
He focused his flames within those cracks in the field, causing everyone watching to perform several double-takes, even causing the mannequin itself to cock its head in confusion.
Then, upon realizing it was in no immediate harm, it began to lunge at the prince yet again.
It was at this point that I began to get a vague idea of Thalmin’s plans as he began running, darting, ducking, and weaving through the upturned floor and patches of debris, all in a seemingly vain cat-and-mouse chase. The EVI noted an increasing heat growing beneath the raised field, at least in a small section of its most damaged point.
My eyes narrowed as I gritted my teeth, watching as the minutes ticked on and the temperatures beneath the field reached a critical turning point.
ALERT: SUBSURFACE TEMPERATURES MEASURING AT 1243 DEGREES CELSIUS
I didn’t have to wait long for Thalmin’s plans to reach fruition, as he now stood nervously atop of a field that spelled a fiery demise.
The mannequin didn’t seem to care, though.
Nor did half of the battlemage students.
Though those that did, including the increasingly excited Articord, awaited the end to the prince’s gambit.
With a single breath, he egged the mannequin on as it charged, faster and faster, arriving and then passing the point of no return. At which point—
CRRRRKKKKK!
—the ground beneath it split.
Time slowed to a crawl as Thalmin leaped up high to avoid the cataclysmic hellish trap he’d prepared for this being.
Whilst the mannequin, having quite literally fallen for Thalmin’s trap, now struggled desperately to cling onto one of the overturned sections of crust lazily floating atop the lava pit.
It was all in vain, of course.
The damage at play… was beyond brutal.
So eventually, after some frantic attempts to right itself on the rapidly melting ground, it relented.
But not before its formerly fingerless hands morphed into a fully jointed analogue of a five-fingered elven one. All seemingly in order to form a thumbs-up just as it disappeared beneath the red-hot mass of molten rock.
The whole room paused.
No one dared say anything, though one of the second-years was quick to usher Thalmin down for a quick look-over using a bag of magical medical tools.
It was Articord who broke this silence, snapping her fingers and somehow popping the mannequin into existence with another bright flash of light.
The creature, now standing next to Thacea, brought both of its solid and now unjointed hands together, clopping up a round of applause that was soon followed up by Articord herself, the meek upper-yearsman, the rock-crab receptionist, and eventually the entire crowd.
It was only Efwin who refused, standing by in seeming defiance of the scene.
“Creative. Very creative.” Articord announced. “In lieu of any expertise in the intangible elements, barring some telekinetics, you pushed your intermediate command of the tangible mana types to the best of your abilities. I commend you on your successes, Prince Thalmin. And, might I add, I congratulate you on your successful entry into Fight Club.”