"How long are you gonna charge that thing?" Konrad stared at the raging sky, turning darker with every second. He threw dozens of fireballs at it, but it didn't even make a dent.
He tried to attack Nimrod, too, but every spell veered off course before it could reach him.
Judging by the gusts of wind, he could also bend the air at his will.
And earth and lightning—it almost felt like cheating, making Konrad jealous.
His limited arsenal of light and fire was much less useful.
Especially when his twin had the perfect counter.
Everything in their duel happened on Nimrod's terms.
Konrad could only react and adapt, or make a fool of himself with ineffective strikes.
And he was also limited by his conscience.
To prevent collateral damage, he had to extinguish his flames, wasting precious mana.
Which was the whole point of shooting them off, to be fair—but his twin didn't care.
"Don't be in such a hurry," Nimrod scoffed, but concentration put a strain on his face, too.
Casting wind magic and feeding the storm at once at least made a dent in his ego.
"Might as well take it slow—once this lightning hits, you'll only make one-way a trip to hell."
"Wow, you understand humor?" Konrad shot back, adding, "Don't worry, if it's hell, then it's hell. Anywhere's better than near you."
But yeah, he figured Nimrod was right; that was why he worked so hard on yet another gambit.
He was betting everything on a single theory, but if that thunder was anything like he had expected—
All he needed was a decoy.
No, a lightning rod.
Okay, he wasn't shooting in the complete dark there.
Lily gave him some valuable tips yesterday.
She was a goddess among men, both her looks and her knowledge impressive.
They had no sexy time, but her lessons about magic weapons alone were almost as valuable as his new sword. As he burned his essence on useless attacks, he poured mana into the blade, too.
He was down to three hundred points—less than a third of his pool by his measurements.
The sword, though, swelled up to eight hundred by now, and it didn't show signs of breaking.
By nature, lightnings sought the highest opposite charge. Even if they were magical, and Nimrod aimed it at his mana signature, he only had to give it a more appealing target.
Once he had attuned to his new adamantite blade overnight, it had the same signature as him.
Except—more than twice the mana.
He'd even activate a focusing rune on it—no magic ink necessary—and let it leak some essence.
The perfect decoy. It was such a useful thing, he almost regretted letting it go.
No. Saying that he hurled it across the village square would've been more accurate.
It must've startled Nimrod, trying to jump into cover, even if it didn't land anywhere near him.
He put in his best effort to throw it as far away from everyone as possible, raising eyebrows all around. His twin sneered as soon as he had realized it wasn't an attack against his life.
"So you surrender?" he asked, pushing his chest out, but Konrad had to disappoint.
"Nah. You said I wasn't worthy of that thing—so I'm leveling the playing field," he lied. A second nature by now, if he managed to block out the audience around them.
But seeing how Nimrod was more afraid of his sword throw than the fireballs—
Turning this into a melee before the storm hit might've been the right idea.
Too bad, he only thought about it after disarming himself.
It was too late to change his mind.
His twin's spell almost brought back the night by then, the sky turning completely dark.
Konrad's hair stood on end from the static charges, then—everything crashed.
First, the flash blinded him—even though he had closed his eyes in advance.
Then the thunderclap. If he weren't prepared, his eardrums might've burst, too. He hoped that the audience was ready for what was coming, realizing only then that he was still fine.
The strike would echo far and wide, the impact leaving a smoking crater in the courtyard.
But his sword held.
Adamantite was no joke; even hitting a dozen yards away, that impact was a physical thing.
If it were him, not even a charred corpse would've remained. His twin was nuts—no common sense, or any care for innocent bystanders. The stench was overwhelming, too.
Ozone and scorched metal.
As the smoke cleared, a collective gasp rippled through the tribesmen.
It seemed they were fine—and blocking a shaman's lightning was the stuff of legends.
Nimrod's face, pale with shock, twisted into a snarl of pure rage.
"How did you survive that?!" he demanded, raising the scepter at him.
Did he even have any mana left after all that? Well, he had the void to feed from—
"The trick is—wait for it—not getting hit by that shit at all."
Konrad stretched his arms. It was more than for show—the strain of burning through all that essence was starting to get to him. Even if he had gotten used to it by now, the stress was—
Okay, well, it was a great motivator.
He walked towards the smoking sword, the blade covered in rainbow-color temper patterns.
It was still orange-hot when he reached it, so he decided against pulling it out.
Being near it was enough, anyway.
He could borrow its power—and cast a wide-range syphon for good measure, too. With a challenging glance at his twin—still in a silent rage—his pool recharged to its fullest.
"So, is that all you've got?" Konrad asked, ignoring the warm trickle from his nose.
He went too fast again, but oh well—he'd rest later.
"I'll wipe that insolent grin off your face, you cursed bastard," Nimrod screamed. His scepter glowed up again, and it'd better be a small-scale attack or Konrad would lose his shit.
"We're twins, you idiot," he noted as he braced himself. "If I'm a bastard, so are you."
He got no answer, not that he'd expect one.
Instead, a beam of green light shot out, but aimed at the ground between them.
He wouldn't make the same mistake as Nimrod before and brushed it off. The earth shook a moment later, and a huge boulder had risen from the charred battleground.
No, it was more—stubby legs and arms took shape, and a tiny head on the massive body.
Like a walking snowman, but it was all rocks and earth rolling around.
"A fucking golem?" Konrad's jaw dropped, scanning the audience to find Lily.
She was having the time of her life, and didn't look concerned at all.
Well, he didn't plan on hiding behind her cloak—hot or not, he had a sword, and he wanted it now. The leather on the hilt had gotten charred—and it was brand new—but it didn't burn him.
Nimrod let out a maniacal cackle.
"I'd like to see you fight that—the spirits themselves blessed me with this earth elemental."
"So it's not a golem," was all Konrad took away from his monologuing, raising the blade.
The beast—if it was even alive—was about thirty feet tall.
He was two inches shy of six.
Not a good match—but he raised his glowing blade anyway.