The dust kicked up by the previous match seemed to hang in the air, tasting of sweat and tension. On the other side of the circle, Team Vorgen looked every bit the polished, upper-year squad they were. Vorgen himself, a noble's son with a cruel twist to his mouth, swung two spiked maces in lazy, confident circles. Beside him, a broad-shouldered boy stood behind a massive tower shield, a war hammer gripped in his other hand. A girl with hair like green moss had a flower tucked behind her ear and a calm hand on her sheathed sword. Flanking them were a smirking girl with a handful of practice needles and a boy with spiky white hair, whose unnerving smile was directed solely at Kael.
Instructor Garrick's "Begin!" was less a word and more a detonation.
The battlefield fractured into a series of simultaneous, escalating duels.
The white-haired boy was a blur, closing the distance with Kael in a heartbeat. With a wet, tearing sound, two sharpened bone lances erupted from his palms. He thrust the first in a vicious stab. Kael didn't dodge so much as he flowed, his body turning so the lance grazed his tunic. As the second lance came down, Kael's foot snapped up, kicking the weapon high. He didn't watch it; he was already moving, throwing a wooden knife that forced the boy to give ground. Kael snatched the falling lance from the air—and it disintegrated on contact, the bone splintering into dust that was absorbed into his skin. Absorption.
A manic grin split the bone-weaver's face. "So it's true," he hissed, new, serrated blades sprouting from his knuckles. "This will be fun!" He launched into a frenzied assault, a storm of stabs and slashes meant to overwhelm. Kael became a phantom, weaving through the attacks, using the absorbed knowledge to predict the angles, letting the frenzy waste the boy's energy.
Seeing the chaos, Wren spotted the green-haired girl and saw an opening. He darted in, low and fast. But her calm was a trap. She didn't even turn, simply backflipped away, her free hand scattering a carpet of seeds between them. Her sword whispered from its sheath. Wren skidded to a halt, eyeing the seeds with deep suspicion. He took one testing step, and the earth erupted. A thick, thorny vine shot up, coiling around his leg like a snake, thorns biting deep into the leather. He cursed, not in pain but frustration, and sawed at it with his dagger until he could leap back.
Breathing heavily, he reassessed. Fine. If I can't go through, I go around. He slapped his chest, hands glowing orange. "Hasten!" Energy surged through him. He became a streaking outline, zipping along the edge of the seed field. She threw more seeds to cut him off, but he was a ghost, suddenly behind her, a short blade now in hand. She was ready. Instead of turning, she tossed a pouch into the air, seeds raining down around them like lethal hail. Wren's eyes darted, tracking the falling pellets. A vine snaked around his weapon arm. She spun, her sword slicing toward his exposed side. He parried, the impact jarring him, his feet now tangled by another plant. He was pinned. Gritting his teeth, he tapped his shoulder, the glow flaring. "Strengthen!" With a grunt of effort, he tore his arm free, splintering the vine, and pressed forward, his enhanced strength finally driving her back into a desperate defense.
Raven never got a chance to formulate a plan. The needle-girl was on him, her weapons a blur. Ten practice needles, guided by invisible strings, became a stinging hailstorm. He deflected three, twisted from two, but a sixth stung his shoulder, a seventh his thigh. He grit his teeth, a faint gold light sealing the minor wounds—a combat trickle of his Healing. But he was purely reactive, his spear a whirlwind of defense. He was being methodically worn down, and her smirk never wavered.
I moved to help, but a shadow fell over me. The shield-bearer. He wasn't a static defender; he was an advancing fortress. He took a heavy step and swung his war hammer in a shattering arc. I dove, the shockwave of the miss vibrating through the ground. I rolled to my feet, my hand instinctively finding the training longsword at my hip. But as I drew it, I poured my will into the steel. Fire roared to life along the blade, transforming it into a shimmering weapon of pure heat. I was a swordsman, and this was my element.
I swung the fire-wreathed sword. He didn't dodge. He raised his shield. My blade clashed against it, and the fire splashed and scattered, the air shimmering around the steel—a visible Barrier negating the impact. He grinned from behind his defense and lunged, using the shield as a battering ram. The hit was colossal, throwing me back and knocking the wind from my lungs.
This was Lira's cue. She shot past me with a feral cry, her hands already transforming into powerful, clawed gauntlets. "He's mine!" she snarled. She didn't try to overpower the shield. She was a whirlwind, using her agility to flank him, to harry him. She darted left, then right, her claws scraping against the shimmering barrier. The shield-bearer was forced to pivot constantly, his hammer swings becoming slower, more predictable. It was a battle of attrition, his immovable defense against her relentless speed.
And through it all, Vorgen watched. He didn't rush. His eyes, cold and analytical, tracked every flare of magic, every buff, every counter. He was a predator studying his prey's instincts.
When he finally moved, it was with a berserker's sudden, terrifying focus. He ignored the other fights and came straight for me, maces whirling. I met his charge, my fire sword clashing against his spiked steel. The impact was solid, but then a jarring vibration traveled back up my arm. A wave of concussive force, a mirror of my own strike, slammed into my chest. Attack Reflection. I gasped, stumbling backward, my own power used against me.
He pressed, his movements growing wilder, more ferocious. Each block I made with my blazing sword sent a jolt of pain back through me. I was being beaten down by my own strength.
"Adam, disengage!" Raven yelled, taking a stinging needle-hit to his forearm to break away from his own opponent. "Lira, switch!"
Lira understood. With a final, powerful scrape of her claws against the shield-bearer's barrier—a distraction—she broke off and lunged at Vorgen from the side. He was ready, swinging a mace to meet her. But she didn't strike. She used her momentum to slide under his swing, forcing him to turn his back to me for a critical moment.
Kael's voice, cold and analytical, cut through the din. He had finally ended his fight, the bone-weaver slumped on the ground. "He reflects direct force, not the environment! Don't hit him, change the ground he stands on!"
The strategy clicked into place. I stopped channeling fire into my sword. Instead, I dropped to a knee and slammed my palm into the earth, pouring raw heat into the ground directly beneath Vorgen's feet. The stone tiles glowed red-hot. He roared in surprise and pain, forced to leap back—he couldn't reflect the searing stone.
Seeing his leader falter, the shield-bearer tried to intervene, but Wren was suddenly there, having finally disarmed the druid. He pointed a glowing hand. "Weaken!" A pulse of grey energy hit Vorgen. His berserker speed faltered, his maces suddenly looking impossibly heavy.
In that moment of vulnerability, Raven acted. He didn't thrust. He swung the butt of his spear in a wide arc, kicking up a cloud of dust and debris into Vorgen's face. Blinded and disoriented, Vorgen swung wildly at the air.
Lira didn't need another opening. She pounced on him from behind, not with her claws, but with her full, bestial strength, wrapping him in a crushing bear hug. His reflection ability was useless against pure, unwavering restraint.
Raven's spear-point came to rest gently on Vorgen's chest.
The fight was over.
Vorgen's shoulders slumped. Around him, his teammates slowly lowered their weapons.
"Match!" Instructor Garrick's voice boomed. "Team Adam is victorious!"
The applause this time felt different. It wasn't just for a win; it was for a battle well-fought, a puzzle solved under pressure. We stood together, panting, bruised.