“Tyralt Myruvia!” blared the exam proctor. A pale, young boy nervously jolted forward to attention.

“Y-yes sir, reporting!”

“You may approach the arena.”

He looked up at the sky, mostly overcast, midday’s star gently shone upon his face. At least I won’t have to contend with the blazing light in my eyes. Tyralt bellowed a sigh and continued forward.

His complexion caught the light illustriously, illuminating his fair countenance. Jet black hair, flared back with purple iridescence, billowed defiantly in the winter’s wind, exposing his crescent ears. With great prejudice, the wind blew harder and rushed through his white cloak, revealing a wooden sword joined at his hip. For a Palexian of his age, he possessed a lean, athletic build, albeit, somewhat rundown and bruised. His golden eyes darted back-and-forth, surveying the stadium as he walked.

The stadium's seven great marble pillars surrounded him. Circling inwards, thousands of spectators bustled and watched with bated breath as he approached the center arena. Stone stairs encased the quartz arena in a septagram pattern, forming a seven-pointed star. The arena stood quiet.

“Place your hand onto the crystal registrar to begin the qualifying match.”, boomed the proctor’s voice.

Mouth dry from the electrified atmosphere, Tyralt gulped hard and trudged towards the crystal. In the midst of the stone court, loomed a massive clear crystal which softly glistened in the light. I aced the written part…this is a mere formality, they can’t preclude me if I win... As he placed his hand onto the cold quartz, its hue shimmered into the darkest purple, hardly any light escaped the stone–humming a low frequency. The excited crowd banter abruptly turned to questioning whispers, interspersed with a few jests. He lowered his head, bearing a pained expression.

“Move to your corner and wait for your opponent.”

Mentally slapping his cheeks, he shrugged off the jeers and steeled his resolve. He then headed to the farside of the arena and stood in one of outlying seven circles.

“Tomek Myruvia, step forth!”

All hope froze within Tyralt, time itself slowed. From the shaded hall emerged a hooded figure swathed in the same cloak as him. Upon entering the arena, he lowered his hood, his radiant blue eyes paid Tyralt no mind. Smooth silver hair draped a face sculpted of pale stone. His countenance showed no joy, despite being a boy of similar age to Tyralt–a tad younger actually. He too, like his older brother, possessed an athletic build, but vigorous. Before the proctor even advised him to place his hand onto the crystal, he reached forth.

The crystal violently shook as brilliant rays of sapphirine light scorched out. The once hushed crowd frenzied into wondrous amazement. A faint smile creaked across his face as his torrid eyes bore down upon his brother. I’d rather the blazing light in my eyes...

“Why are you here? You’re two years too young to enroll for Perillion.”

“Oh hello brother, what a funny happenstance, I suppose father willed it.”

“What do you mean?”

Like an apex predator playing with his quarry, he casually replied,

“I’m sure father told you the same, ‘If you succeed then I accept you. Fail then fade away.’”

“I would wager he planned this too. Oh yes, he also told me to spare no quarter and leave my mark.”

Ice welled up in his veins, this couldn’t get any worse. He knew his younger brother meant every word too. His “family”, a far-fetched one at that, never once showed love or any heartfelt emotion like in the many books he had read.

“Tomek take your place!”, a third time the proctor blared, annoyed at his blatant dismissals, this time halting their conversation. Turning his back to the bewildered Tyralt, he calmly made his way to his corner.

Face flustered red from yelling, the stout proctor stroke his gray beard, regaining his composure.

“Your performance in this match will decide your admittance into the grand academy. As Majis, we seek droit mastery over ethria, the purveyor of all Majik. Therefore, demonstrate such in a duel of Majiks. First to fall out the arena or be incapacitated will result in immediate dismissal from the academy.”

Catching his breath, he continued, “Now mind and restrain your strength. Lethality, while inevitable, is not welcomed today…only incapacitate. Ready yourselves!” He shot Tyralt a forlorn look. The giant crystal floated upwards.

Tyralt’s mind frantically raced as the proctor began the countdown.

“Three.”

I've never landed a hit on him…

“Two.”

Fade away huh, not like my existence mattered much.

“One.”

Grrr, close range is my best bet.

“Begin!”

Tomek waved his hand, blue flames flickered forth and coalesced into a towering wall of searing blue flame.

The crowd’s excitement climaxed, a few cheers managed to cut through the clamor.

“Advance level and no incantations?!”

“So young too!”

“He must be a genius!!!”

Hearing his fill, Tomek pointed at Tyralt.

“Mercy bereaves advantage, you’ll receive none from me.”

The inferno raced towards Tyralt, its intense heat choked the air. So much for not welcoming lethality, he really intends to kill me! His head frantically swiveled left to right, down and up, pressed for escape from the conflagrant prison. The flames drew closer and quickly surrounded him, sweat rapidly beat down his brow. Only a bit of the dull sky peeked through the blaze, Tyralt clicked his tongue.

“Well, not like there’s much of a choice now.”

Like two matches, he struck his heels on the ground and they began to glow a gentle green.

“This new slime catalyst better hold or else…”, he laughed nervously.

He jumped up and then stomped onto the ground, exploding upwards in a stream of viridescence. Coiling around his escape, the fiery torrent’s fangs bored down upon Tyralt; however, they failed to meet their mark.

With barely a second to spare, he evaded immolation. Albeit his white cloak, now singed black, smoldered in the wintery air as he descended.

“Well, well, well…the deficient dares defy?”, Tomek gave a devilish smile.

Dusting the embers off, Tyralt returned a similar smile.

“And here I thought, father's favorite, would bear more bite.”

Unamused by the spirited response, Tomek immediately blasted three insidious fireballs at Tyralt. Relying solely on survival instincts, he hastily dodged right. Unfortunately, one of the fireballs grazed his left leg. A vicious searing pain consumed him, he gritted his teeth and fought to maintain consciousness. Realizing if he didn’t act fast the flames would consume his leg. He ripped off one of his shoes and smeared the excess slime onto the burning pockets of flesh. Instant relief spread throughout his body, the wounds sizzled then smoked.

“Tch, unsightly.”

Two bigger fireballs rushed down Tyralt. Unable to freely move, he unsheathed his runic wooden blade and coated it in the viscous green resin. In the next moment, the fireballs impacted and swirled into a blazing tornado. A smoking boot along with various debris mushroomed out of the explosion. Thick teal smoke covered the fray in silence.

From the swirling dust cloud, several chunks of concrete jetted towards Tomek.

“!!!”

Tomek’s eyes burned azure, flames coursed out from his palms, creating a fiery barrier. Resuming a perfect defensive stance, he cracked a prideful grin behind the molten fortress. Unfortunately, he relaxed a bit too early.

“How th–!!”

Instead of incinerating on contact, the improvised concrete flechettes punctured his shield. Upon closer inspection they glistened a familiar slimy green as they darted towards him. Tomek hastily waved his offhand with a shimmering blue aura. He repulsed the would-be shrapnel, spare one sharp piece, deeply grazing his right cheek.

Leaving no time to recover, a barefooted Tyralt exploded out of the smoldering cloud, blade ready, he lunged towards Tomek. However, before he could land a decisive blow…

“ENOUGH!”, exclaimed Tomek.

He weaved his hands together, unleashing a massive shockwave. The overwhelming force knocked Tyralt backwards, halting his counterattack…or so it seemed. Just as the shockwave stopped, a smoking boot fell from the sky, landing conveniently next to Tomek.

“Bloom to fiery splendor, Incandescent Wonder!”, rasped Tyralt.

Immediately the slime on the boot burned hot white, unleashing a blinding flash. Ceasing the moment, Tyralt frantically dashed forth.

Eyes closed shut yet unperturbed, “Always tricks and no substance. Father was right, you lack power and the resolve to use it. Face the wrath of thunder and know electrifying despair. Thundering Bolt!”

A sickening bolt of blue plasma struck Tyralt square in his face, only a few inches before the final blow. The smell of burning flesh assailed him as he fell unconscious to the hard floor.

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The world dressed in pitch black, Tyralt bobbed and swayed to the rhythmic motion of a horse-drawn carriage.

THUD.

The carriage bounced callously against the road, rousing him from his slumber.

“Eh? Where am I?!”

Barely affording a glance, a listless voice answered him.

“Transit to the Master’s compound.”

Blinking the shadows away, Tyralt found himself inside an ornate carriage decorated with purple cushions, trimmed with golden embroidery. The windows revealed a dark dusk settling below the forested horizon. A palexian man garbed in ruffled purple robes sat across from him, dispassionate and annoyed.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

Galamir? Why's one of father’s assistants here? As he began to ponder, a sharp pain greeted him, breaking his stupor. Just realizing he lacked half his vision, he reached towards his left eye. Bandages neatly coiled around his head, covering the source of the pain.

“Quite the injury, you'll be lucky if you keep the eye.”

Devoid of concern and care, Galamir relented.

“It piques curiosity, how one like you captures the attention of the Master. Sure you bear his lineage, but so does Tomek…curious indeed. Regardless, your last failure has ended that wonder. Now you w–”.

His golden eyes glazed over…

What's the point of listening? Just another admonishment from someone who doesn't care. This world cares not for me, so why should I? I was born into an uncaring world by uncaring people. Books lie, “happiness” only dotes on the lucky, I lack such boons. This world teases justice, yet frolics in folly. Here I stay discontent within my cell…

BOOM!!

An explosion reverberated throughout the dark forest, violently shaking the carriage. Confusion was met with stifling killing intent. The caravan guards’ muffled shouts quickly fell silent to the clang of cold steel. Only predatory footsteps stalked closer.

Galamir broke into a nervous sweat, his disinterested mood shifted to candid fear.

“I refuse to die for some invalid brat!”

Without hesitation, he casted a fierce gale, mercilessly ejecting the injured Tyralt from the carriage.

Huk! Tyralt crashed into a tree trunk, knocking the wind out of his lungs. Gasping for air, he could only observe the ongoing carnage in front of him. Blood streaked the air as five knights, cladded in ebony steel, ruthlessly cut down the armored escort. Their shadowy figures danced before the scattered torchlight.The stoutest swung his gigantic battle-ax, cleaving several soldiers in half, raining blood. Dashing by him, the nimblest, effortlessly weaved between the bulwark, cleanly severing their tendons with his red-hot claws, depriving them of their movement. From the rear, the quietest raised her staff and shot a salvo of levitating stone, gouging the debilitated to a pulp. Two flanking soldiers attacked the caster, but the lithest gracefully intercepted and sliced them to ribbons—her silvery strings seemed to play to the fray’s abhorrent cacophony. Finally, the fiercest of the death squad slowly withdrew a crooked blade from the impaled guard captain, locking eyes with Tyralt.

As his loyal escort sped away, determined to escape the slaughter, the knight in a gruff, feminine voice barked out orders to her compatriots.

“Astrid! Ignero! See to it.”

“Bear the weight of your folly–Crushing Judgement!”

Instantly the carriage flattened like a pancake, the wood splintered into kindling…

“Ignite and flame with ravenous contempt –Ignis Voracity!”

A fierce fireball struck the wreckage, incinerating it on contact. She gave a nod of approval, eyeing the burning wreckage.

“I hate cowardly bastards who foolishly run off and shirk their duty. Scum.”

She advanced forward, pointing her blade at the prone Tyralt.

“How about you boy, care to run away?”, she mused.

Finally regaining his composure, he jumped up and met her blade with his.

“Oh? A palexian wielding a pointy stick, now that’s rich. Not like proper steel would help anyway.”

“D-don’t be too surprised when I beat you.”

Cold sweat ran down his face, betraying his bluff.

“Oh really now? How’d you propose to do that, heard you’re quite bad at wielding majik.”

She laughed at his obvious bluff.

“Noted, I'm an absolute failure at all that, yet you'll still lose.”

A thick guffaw reverberated throughout the fray.

“You first ought to work on that poker face kid.” She then gave a devilish grin, “Will say most swine in this situation would just piss their pants and run.” She motioned to the valiant pile of ash that was Galamir. “Yet here you be, a stick crossed with bloodied steel…” Shrugging off some sort of feeling, her expression became slightly more serious, “Land a hit first and then I’ll entertain your delusion. Heck kid, I won’t even use majik.”

“Fine, but when I win you must guarantee my well-being.”

“Sure whatever kid.”

He cautiously dashed forward, knocking her blade aside–or so he thought. Afterimages of the gruff soldier, dissipated as he slashed forth.

“!!?”

“Gonna have to do better than that.”

Kuh!

Cold steel tore between his shoulder blades, silver blood trickled down from the fresh wound. Clearly she could've landed a fatal wound, but decided to only draw blood–she obviously was playing with him.

From his flank, her words relentlessly teased him, “Oh? Well look at that I'm still standing. A lotta talk and no bite ay?”

Bottled rage boiled through him. Death imminent, something inside began to twist and change. Like a wolf sensing his end, he gritted his teeth and locked eyes with the dark knight. He needed no words for a rebuke, unfathomable killing intent oozed from the depths of his very being.

She casted her smirk aside, “Lookin’ more serious now, good. Let's try that bite now.”

Again, afterimages danced toward him; however, this time he spotted a pattern.

CLANG! In an all-or-nothing maneuver, he managed to guess the vorpal cleave…although he could almost feel his head rolling on the ground, given the odds. The callous steel reverberated violently throughout the night's air, temporarily mollifying the beldam. The other assailants, now finished with their onslaught, gathered around and watched. Lightly chuckling, she broke the bind and dashed back to a safe distance. Catching his breath, Tyralt eyed his wooden blade–splintered and cracked, it barely held form, now utterly useless. Lucky me, I'm fighting a demon…

Her laughter subsided as she removed her helmet, haphazardly tossing it aside. She’s a gobos, huh? Surprisingly, despite her gruff mannerisms she was quite beautiful, like a rare cactus flower. Bundled silky black locs cascaded over her long pointed ears, complimenting her olive countenance. Never breaking contact, her fierce amber eyes bore into him.

“Color me impressed kid. I can count on one hand those who managed to parry that…”

Heh, I counted at least seven ways she could've killed me, I got lucky.

Shrugging, he wryly smirked, “What can I say, you're quite predictable.”

Suddenly she scowled then barked, “‘Predictable!?, I'll show you predictable!”

Striking a rather sensitive nerve, she instantaneously brandished two violet daggers, one in her offhand and one clenched between her teeth. From the corner of his eye, even her fellow knights exchanged worrying glances and gingerly stepped back after that remark. Like a creeping death, the air stifled and coagulated into inevitability.

Within a blink of an eye, she tore through him. He choked up blood as his neck gashed open. Sword shattered, he looked to his right arm and a sickly blade protruded from his forearm. His broken blade fell and wistfully clattered to the ground.

A warm sensation coursed through his veins–as a swift poison did its work. The world began to blur and darken. Death was here. Hardly seconds passed, Tyralt fell–life quickly fled from him. The crackling of cinders creaked and creeped throughout winter’s night. Tyralt laid flat on the cold earth, quickly succumbing to the toxin’s effect, his vision began to blur.

A low, maniacal chuckle crept from the woods which overlooked the ravaged scene—a familiar voice. Paired with pointed footsteps, the sickening sound grew louder and louder. A pale man dressed in shadows emerged, standing thin and tall. His black cloak swayed in the night breeze and embroidered in the center was a fuchsia septagram surrounded by seven smaller stars. That sigil belonged to the Seven Starred Court, who researched and regulated all Majik phenomena–they weren’t all bad, but every batch has a rotten few. He too had wild black hair that gleamed purple over crescent ears. However his face, alien to compassion, wore a vile smile, a far cry from Tyralt’s. Nearing closer, the firelight flickered off his round, dark spectacles, refusing to reveal what hid behind them.

Unamused, Belehra unabashedly cut in, “What’s so funny? This is your son, Fulcanus.” Displeased at the interruption, he adjusted his spectacles and met her gaze, “You say the obvious, but I see otherwise. Although quite surprised you let him get a hit on you, considering someone of your…” He paused a moment and then creaked a smile, “...talents.”

“I didn’t. He earned that strike with his own guts and cunning, but then again an aloof bastard wouldn’t see that anyway.”

The volatile atmosphere rapidly grew more tense as silence stood and refereed the two titans. Finally, an almost forgotten, third voice dared to enter the fray.

“..W-why?” Tyralt cough up a deluge of blood, his veins inflamed with pain. “Ooho~? You still live, perhaps I did miscalculate…very interesting.”

“ANSWER ME!!!.”

Each word spoken felt like hot coals burning him from the inside out, his vision flickered. Revolted at such lowly squabble, like looking at trash, he dropped his head to meet the fleeting light of Tyralt’s glare.

“Your pathetic performance with Tomek demonstrated that you’ve reached your peak and would amount to nothing. However, I anticipated this and intended to use this unfortunate incident to facilitate the removal of certain socio-political obstacles… At least your existence, or should I say the soon lack thereof, will serve as a semblance of success.”

Tyralt’s blood boiled, not from the poison, but with an abyssal rage. He wanted to yell, but at this stage he had lost all motor control…death was here. Years of torture, abuse, and neglect all flashed before his closing eyes.

Worthless, if I had to describe my life within a single breath. Never once did I get a chance to do anything I wanted. Lived and suffered for others' approval... He’s right, what a waste. Why even exist if all paths lead to failure? Next time, I’ll cut out my own path and flatten anyone who tries to stop me. Yeah I guess that sounds noble for my last thoughts, but best intentions and reality never like to line up do they? I’ll guess we’ll see what happens.

Total darkness fell.

----------------------------------------

Belehra’s stare softened as Tyralt fell still, only his black hair defiantly billowed about as the cold wind howled. After a pensive moment, Fulcanus wryly smiled and sharply nudged Tyralt’s lifeless corpse with his foot.

“First time I’ve ever seen him glare at me like that. Compared to his brother, he has always been so servile and weak…”

As his words gnawed forth, killing intent flared and threatened to manifest, “Watch your mouth or I’ll remove your jaw next, regardless of contract. Now pay up.”

“Oho? That’d be an interesting exercise, perhaps another time.” He turned towards her and tossed a small blue suede bag. Without breaking eye contact with him, she caught the bag and rattled it to satisfaction.

“We’re good here.” She nonchalantly tossed the bag to one of her associates. “Now, how do you want us to clean this up?” She motioned to all the dead guards and stopped on Tyralt’s body.

With a final smirk, “I relinquish onto you full discretion on that matter. Toss them in fire, mutilate, or whatever seems fit.” Paying one more look to Tyralt then to her, he then pulled out a contract of black parchment bestrewn with countless runes. “I’ll take my leave, Deali Sempris.” The contract combust into black flame and smoke and he then vanished without a trace.

“Scum.”

With an aspirated sigh, “Alright let’s get those bodies on the fire, I’d rather not let the wildlife desecrate them. Remember to leave enough evidence for them to place the blame on the other bastard.” Frowning, she knelt down to collect Tyralt’s corpse. She tenderly brushed his hair to the side. After mumbling something, she wrapped her arms around him and began to stand up—ba-dum…

“AA-ACK!”, a mouthful of silver blood erupted onto Belehra’s bewildered face, causing her to momentarily close her eyes. Upon opening them, she was met with one of her own poison blades to her neck, still protruding from Tyralt’s right arm, which he already wrapped around the nape of her neck. If it wasn’t for all the blood and the impaled dagger, an outsider would say the scene looked somewhat romantic.

Her bloodsoaked eyes locked with his triumphant golden gaze, “HAAA?! How are you even alive?! You died bastard!”

A masterful assassin of her caliber doesn’t make mistakes like this—yet he lived! A victorious smile skipped across his face, “Did you forget our wager? I told you I would win.”

“Fucking brat. I don’t know how you did it, but you did die.”

“Yet here I be. Now let’s make our wager official, Deali Concordis?”, he pressed the razor sharp blade closer.

“BOSS!”

Her four black knights rushed to her aid, but before they could intercept she shot them a vicious glare. Without any words exchanged they understood and backed down, remaining alert.

“So either I abide by our deal or you take me down with you? You know these don’t work with coercion.” She roared with laughter, but not too much because of the blade neatly pressed against her throat.

“Honestly kid, I would’ve honored it anyway. Besides I like your tenacity and well…I’ll guess you’ll find out.”

Her fierce gruffness shifted to something else, sending a chill down Tyralt’s spine.

“I swear to oversee your well-being within my pack, Deali Concordis, kid—”

Pack? Gobos do have their own way of speaking I guess... Unable to ponder much longer, his vision began to dim as darkness enveloped him.

“Deali Concordis…”

However, this darkness felt warm and welcoming as the pact majik’s golden runes gently inscribed themselves onto their hearts. Well let’s see where this path takes us…no I’ll be sure to make my own this time. Smirking at the future, he closed his eyes.