[NoR] - [09] - Line

As the pile of bodily residue ceased squelching, tentacles slowing their writhing, Kaos blithely wrenched the blade from his side to toss it aimlessly behind him. Iman drifted gently to the ground, leaning back briskly to avoid the knife, which flew through his mane of hair. As he watched a small clump of hair flitter away from him, the imp could not resist the opportunity for another taunt, his tone mocking as the voice echoed from behind his mask.

“Bitter much?”

A sudden assault came from his left, masses of dirt pluming as a giant Wurm propelled itself out of the soil and towards Iman. Kaos smiled as he turned, his pleasure growing more visible as he watched the creature land directly atop of his tormentor before tunneling below as rapidly as it had come. The elf’s smile morphed into marked curiosity as he turned to speak to Razel, who looked genuinely surprised at the occurrence.

“Nice shot, frost mage. But why does your Wurm look different?”

Razel’s blank expression perfectly met his tone.

“Because that wasn’t my Wurm.”

Kaos opened his mouth to speak, instead turning to face the curiously loud rumbling behind him. The trails of dust betrayed the creature speeding his way, while the emerging maw left no doubt as to the source. Glistening rows of teeth missed him by inches, instead sideswiping his dreads and hurtling towards the unprepared Razel. With no time to react, the creature engulfed him whole, disappearing back into the earthen floor and leaving behind a cavernous pit. Kaos’ eyes widened at the sight as Sudaj snuck out of the tunnel left by the massive beast. His arm dripped with blood as another wound casually stitched itself shut, a trail of red following his feet. Iman appeared beside the mage without warning, the sudden apparition startling Sudaj off his feet and back to the floor yet again. Kaos’s runes flared brightly as he called his energies, the remaining monolith thrumming as he drew power from deep within it. A crack of lightning tore into the dirt, a sign of Kaos challenging the great Wurm in defiance to come for him.

Iman’s grinning mask was joined by a stern helmed soldier, solidifying itself from the clouds of fog and dust that had been kicked about. A scale was held in its outstretched hand, awaiting orders from its master to forcibly balance the field. Sudaj slunk away, clambering to his feet and dusting himself off as the two of them watched his antics idly. The imp spoke blandly to his opponent, seemingly unimpressed by the goings-on.

“That was a decent shot, rookie. You aren’t as terrible as I had thought.”

Another faint rumbling grew from behind Iman, his pawn looking back before tapping him on the shoulder. Iman turned to look, grunted in affirmation, and then proceeded to calmly face the oncoming creature. Another eruption of dirt gave way to the beast, the segmented monster leaping high into the air in an attempt to swallow the two before it in a single motion much as it had the last. At the apex of the leap, fractures appeared at the seams of its mandibles, growing as the tears streaked down its body. The flesh split into five strips of what used to be a massive Wurm, now nothing but residual parts. Iman cocked his head in curiosity while Sudaj let out a cry of dismay. As the meat crashed wetly around them, Razel landed with forced grace between his fellow walkers, looking significantly worse for the wear. Large gashes across his chest slowly sealed themselves with frost, while his robe remained torn. Entrails hung from his clothes, and he was clearly not amused with the turn of events. He coldly addressed the masochist before him.

“Very well done, Sudaj. Except there’s only one problem with your little ‘scheme’.”

Sudaj frowned worriedly as he replied.

“W…what’s that?”

Razel forced a smile, lacking empathy and instead radiating the aura of a serial killer.

“Your Wurm wasn’t big enough to finish me off.”

I quickly learned to ignore the illusion of pain. Being a creature composed entirely of my own will, pain was nothing more than an autonomic response, and if honed, could be ignored entirely. My ‘body’ was only a manifestation of the Rime seated deep within my soul, and my injuries would heal abnormally fast so long as I maintained a connection to the energies of the lands around me. This became a necessity as I began to partake in duels of my own. As all inevitably do, I failed miserably on my first several attempts. More than once I found myself on the receiving end of things which would have utterly decimated anyone who was simply mortal, and I quickly realized that to let it affect me was to accept defeat.

The first duel wherein I stood victorious was, surprisingly, against Rokh. I don’t think he had expected me to stand back up after the flaming axe had embedded itself within my chest, and I KNOW he was not expecting to see it dissolve away as if it had never been there to begin with. After I nearly drained his life in its entirety, he proceeded to forfeit and afterward advised me of the value in secession.

“Admitting defeat is not a bad thing,” he had said. “Sometimes, it is necessary. Especially in Duels between Planeswalkers. Sometimes they get carried away, and the only way to ensure your own survival is to acknowledge their victory.”

This lesson would, quite literally, be pounded into me as I slowly learned the basics of magical combat. Spell after spell, monster after monster, I faced countless things and survived countless more. As my experience grew, so did my victories. Soon enough I was holding my own, and in no time at all I was respected, if not exactly liked.

One spell specifically has served me well up to this writing. After the failure of the second duplicate, I sought a method for removing specific memories from an unwilling mind. The golems of the foyer were accommodating as always, and after a course or two in basic memory manipulation I somehow found myself with permissions to access the Academy Library so as to research through their countless tomes for a spell that would suit my needs. Seemingly endless grimoires filled the shelves, each more ancient than the last. A nameless binding hid my prize, the entire book dedicated to a single spell. After following the appropriate procedures to request permission to take it back to my quarters, I returned to my frozen cave with new reading material. The helix on the cover tapered to a fine point, and the rituals within described a sadistic sacrament capable of being used in a hurry to much smaller effect, or with power enough, to completely decimate your enemy’s thoughts. Only in the last chapter did it include a way to utilize it for a temporary assault, almost as an afterthought to the terrible capability contained within. I’ll never forget the first time I held my arm aloft, watching as that wicked augur spiraled from my two fingertips to form the instrument of trepanation.

The air surrounding Razel began to thicken as the temperature dropped abruptly, while a dead hand punched through the ground in front of him to pull the rest of the zombified knight from its earthen grave. Crystals of ice sprouted from within the rotting corpse, expanding into a suit of full plate armor, while the black blade it drew out of the empty crypt shimmered with a fine layer of dew. A fierce snarl escaped its undead jaws, bared teeth emitting a plume of fog from behind the horned helm that had grown over its head. Kaos stepped up to the group, completing an awkward circle as a large bird with fancifully colored plumage swooped down to perch atop his shoulder. Iman and Kaos looked on in amusement as Razel stepped menacingly towards Sudaj. Razel raised his hand, pointing two fingers towards his quarry. Tendrils of crystalline cold twisted from their tips, fusing into a fierce icicle which was easily the length of his arm. Sudaj began to backpedal away, his feet quickly discovering a stone behind him and forsaking a semblance of balance. Razel disappeared, reappearing in the space immediately behind the mage. He dropped to his knees and slammed his frozen spike deep into Sudaj’s head as gravity brought him down upon it. Kaos, Iman, and their servants cringed as they observed Sudaj’s expressions, shifting from fear to joy to misery to a bland lull of the tongue. The frozen knight stepped beside them, all five faces cringing in unison at the gruesome display. When it was over, a violent jerk tore the drill from the victim’s skull, while the ice constituting the weapon melted to a puddle of simple water, dripping from Razel’s digits. Sudaj fell once more to the floor, except this time he seemed incapable or unwilling to get back up. Razel shook the droplets from his hand and addressed his companions.

“Sudaj yields.”

A shared look between them spurred the imp to reply.

“So we see.”

Without missing a beat, Kaos and his bird disappeared just as the blackened blade of the dead whipped through the air, cleaving Iman’s servant cleanly in two. The mask simply drooped, looking saddened and disappointed as the scales clattered loudly to his feet.

“Aw, come on! He never even got to do anything!”

Razel glared at him as the Knight stepped in for another swing. A loud screech echoed about them, and he turned to face the bird of fierce plumage now diving for his head. His Knight turned to look as well, the distraction granting Iman enough time to reach out and tap it lightly on the chest, causing a seam of light to shatter the undead. The residual energies funneled themselves through his mask, ignoring their creator and aiding their enemy instead. Distracted by the bird, Razel attempted to duck, succeeding only in gaining deep claw marks along his back. Bright feathers swooped back into the air above, escaping their reach as quickly as it had entered it. Razel stood to his full height once more, now visibly fatigued. The battle was drawing on, and he was beginning to show it. His breaths came in ragged sets as Iman stepped up to him, placing a hand on his arm as he spoke through the tiki grin.

“I think I’ll let you two duke this out. I’m going to see if I can’t get Sudaj back to...well, not ‘normal’, but whatever his standard is.”

One of the hardest lessons for me to learn was nothing involving ritual. No glyphs to memorize, no incantations to repeat. Rather, the lesson which took the most time to sink in was the visceral nature of the magic itself. I came to learn that spells relied significantly less on the manner of casting and much more on the intent behind it. The difficulty came in part from the first few lessons I took, each teaching me spells through repetition and study. Admittedly, as I look back now those lessons were designed to teach me to seek the desired intent, however unlearning those lessons would be an effort lifetimes in the making.

The Sadistic Sacrament was a perfect example of this. The book itself said nothing about how to cast the spell, instead focusing entirely on the results and the initial intent you would have. To paraphrase, you have to seek the quickest way into their mind, then force your way in and rend the thoughts from the still-thinking consciousness. Such a terrible thing could only be controlled through practice, and for this reason the spell was deemed as evil. What manner of man would willingly rape the mind of his peers over and over again, only to learn to do so more effectively? It is in this respect that the duels served me well. I did not have to seek a subject for my machinations; rather, they would willingly come to me. In the arena, there were no restrictions. Only ability. The initial assault was sloppy, but effective. My opponent was left just dazed enough that I could gain the upper hand. With time, I honed my skill and my drill until I was able to remove entire segments of their self wholesale. I can remember even now a duel against a sorcerer of the plains, his mind home to many reinforcements and ideas.

I rent them from his head and spat them upon his unconscious flesh.