The hairs on Brand’s skin burnt away as he was showered in a torrent of flame. His shield quickly turned to ash as he jumped into the air, sky-stepping to safety.
Marla stopped channeling her magic and formed small orbs of flame around herself. With a flick of a finger, she sent several whirling after her opponent not giving him a moment of respite. Seeing that the balls of flame tracked his movements, Brand was forced to dodge at the very last second or fall to the ring in a fiery blaze.
Marla crossed her hands forcing two of her fiery orbs to collide before Brand could dart away. The explosion of fire engulfed him, burning his back and losing him the concentration needed to sky-step.
Not missing her chance, Marla created a tendril of mana extending from her hand. She sent it at Brand right as he hit the ground wrapping around his leg in a blaze of blue flame. The screams that followed were gut-wrenching.
“Not again!” Brand shouted as he took the whip in his hands, breaking it before his palms were as burned as his left leg.
The flames around his leg sputtered out but still, he did not rise. Much of the skin had been cooked away leaving large patches of smoking meat.
“Not again!” he shouted to himself punching the ground in defiance.
“Brand you should just give-,” Marla was interrupted as Brand’s mana came to life circulating at speeds no one else could manage safely.
He dashed at Marla forcing his body forward at incredible speeds with force magic against his back.
Marla again released the spell that turned Brand's weapons to ash. A beautiful torrent of blue flame erupted from her body showering the room in heat. The explosion slammed into Brand scooping him off his feet and sending him into a wall before the flames ever had a chance to touch him.
“And that’s the match,” said a monk, not bothering to get off his seat.
Marla made it over to Brand before the class’s healer and offered a hand. Brand swatted it away in anger before realizing that Marla wasn’t to blame.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized while gritting his teeth from the pain. “It’s just that-”
“You don't have to explain,” she said, offering her hand again.
He took it allowing her to help him off the floor but immediately collapsed into her arms. A tear rolling down his cheek betrayed the pain he was in as his voice held in a silent scream as agony ran through his scorched limb with the rhythm of his heart.
By the time Brand made it to his seat, his face was drenched in tears and a look of rage. It didn't falter as his wounds were healed, burned skin immediately beginning to grow back as the healer placed a hand on him. The anger clung like a sickness only grew with each mounting loss turning into hatred aimed at his own weakness, at his peers’ strength, and at the pity he saw in every eye that wasn't mocking his failures.
“Where are you going?” Azmina said, grabbing his hand as he left the room.
“There’s no point in me staying!” he growled. “I know how to make a fucking fire shield. I know why I lost and why she won, why she will always win, why all of you will always win! So, I don't need another god’s damned lecture.”
Pulling his arm away, Brand left for the library hoping he could find something that would end the steady stream of losses he suffered over the last few months.
****
Tanya looked from the large crowd of students wishing she could follow Brand. As his losses mounted, he grew more distant from her and everyone else. Studying and training were the only things he let occupy his free time in the hopes of finding a viable way to compete.
From the very first day, it was clear that the standards of basic combat meant nothing in this new arena.
Being able to use magic freely completely changed the way a fight progressed. Where once you could charge in to meet your foe, now you would have to be wary of whatever spells were cast against you. No one knew this better than Brand. He'd not won a single match for that exact reason.
Without the necessary mana to empower the flimsiest of enchanted armor or weapons, Brand was forced to fight essentially naked. No matter how fast he charged his enemy there was just no way to dodge everything thrown at him. In most instances, he would be hit with a few simple spells usually breaking bones on impact. He would try to move as a blur but a simple spread of attacks blanketing the entire ring was enough to defeat him.
“I'll find him after I'm finished,” Tanya thought to herself as she stood center stage for her match.
Within a few more months, she would have the required victories to move onto greater mysteries, and when the time came Brand wouldn't be joining her.
When Tanya took her place in the arena, she wore no armor or weapons. Bringing a sword would have been a waste of time for her and anything capable of reaching her would tear what every protection a breastplate could offer.
Her opponent on the other hand wore a loose-fitting tunic with leather armor across his chest and limbs instead of metal as to not interfere with his magic. He held a staff in a trembling hand and a fist full of jewels in the other. His demeanor dripped with terror at knowing that he could not win. No one ever won against her. Sadly, quitting counted as ten losses, so no one dared to do so.
The fight began with the staff wielder throwing the jewels at Tanya. Two of the stones emitted a light so intense it pierced eyelids blinding the unprepared for several minutes. Tanya was amongst the unprepared, but she didn’t need her own eyes to see.
The last stone froze in place crackling with purple lightning. When it was fully charged, Tanya’s opponent thrust his staff at the stone sending it flying at her while surrounded by dark energy.
Before the blast could reach her, Tanya’s mana morphed into the silhouette of a lion. It was as if she stood in the stomach of the translucent beast leaving no openings for someone to attack. The dark spell that would have landed her in the healing ward bounced off her construct like a rubber ball hitting a stone.
Before the blinding light cleared, Tanya’s opponent seized what he hoped was an opportunity to win. He rushed in with an explosive spell tied to his staff. Before he was able to aim his attack, a second lion appeared, somehow groaning out of the first. Its mouth bit down on Tanya’s enemy breaking his arm in an instant.
“That's the match,” said the teacher, giving Tanya another easy victory.
****
"Is that it?" Brand asked glaring at an all too small pile of books stacked on one of the tables scattered about the library.
He was speaking to a monk that could have been a man, woman, short, tall, or a thousand other things he wasn't paying attention to. All Brand saw in his tunneled mind, all he wanted to find was a way to win, and the last hundred books and monks hadn't held the answer.
"There aren't many texts left on the elements that you haven't already read through. More advanced text would be too dangerous," the monk said.
"Defensive wards then."
"You've already studied the basics-"
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"Then give me something more advanced," Brand said as he took the volume at the top of the pile and sat down. "Necromancy and spatial magic after that."
"Necromancy is forbidden," the monk said but it sounded rehearsed like a lie told as many times as the truth.
"Sure it is," Brand said but let the issue go. Converting his mana to death magic would triple his power but three-time of what he had didn't mean much.
He got halfway through the first book then tossed it to the side. The volume was useless, just another method to conjure an effect too potent for him to cast.
The next book was on sharing magic, the fourth one he'd read that week. It could work, but he didn't have a fortune in beast cores to drain.
"I didn't ask for this," he said reading the title of the next book.
It was historical, the written past of Bjorn Ironsides, one of Ragnar's sons. It would do nothing for him but at least it wasn't more of the same, so he began to read and regretted it minutes later.
Bjorn Ironsides, one of Ragnar's sons, gained his nickname from his body being so abnormally tough that he couldn’t be burnt, slashed, or physically harmed in any way. His power seemed like glaring evidence of Ragnar’s godhood, but apparently, he died of an infected wound, a very mortal way to die.
Brand ground his teeth. Bjorn's power came from his focus, one known as structural reinforcement when used as an enchantment. The enchantment was used to increase the durability of anything. Its only limitation was that it couldn’t be cast on flesh.
If it was, the magic would run wild through mana channels causing excruciating pain. Only ones with the focus could make their skin like iron without the added pain.
Brand threw the book into a pile like it offended him. Bjorn was a man born with power and that somehow stung. Brand was the complete opposite and this time unlike in the Nulls, determination and grit wouldn't be enough.
“Hey, the book never did anything to you,” said a young monk sitting across from him that he could have sworn wasn't there before. Brand ignored him reaching for another book to read, rejected it, and threw it away. “Just going to ignore me, that's rude.”
Brand met the monk’s eyes. He was far too young to have any helpful information. Even if he wasn’t, no one here had been able to find him what he needed.
“What's your name?” Brand asked but then answered before the monk could speak. “Oh, your name is Sigurd. Well, what do you want Sigurd? That’s so interesting, but I don't fucking care so leave me alone.” He went right back to his book having ended the conversation on his own.
“Is there anything I can help you with?” the monk Brand decided was Sigurd asked in a happy tone.
Brand closed his book violently. “Did I not make myself fucking clear?”
“You did," the monk said. "But I have to at least try to help. Better than reading books on what you already know, right.”
Brand chuckled. “Ok, I'll bite. I have a tenth of the mana most cultivators have available and I’m fighting in the combat mysteries. What can I do to actually start winning?”
The young monk pulled on the small bit of stubble on his chin thinking on the quandary. “That’s a problem,” he agreed, then got right back to thinking about it.
Brand scoffed. “As I thought, you can't help me.”
“I can help you,” the monk countered. “I know exactly what you could use to dominate, but I can't give it to you for free.”
“Isn't that your job,” Brand said, anger returning to his voice. “You're a fucking monk of Prometheus. You're supposed to teach everyone whatever they want to learn.”
“I'm not actually a monk,” the not a monk corrected. “But I do work from within these walls. If you want information, you have to trade years of service. Let's say three decades' worth for what I’ve got.” Brand was about to tell the monk to go shove something somewhere unpleasant when he raised his hands. “Or, I could give you some advice instead.”
Brand felt trickery afoot, so he focused on his magic perception. As his awareness flowed over the monk pretender his eyes widened with surprise. The monk’s body, even his clothes, resembled Tanya’s lion constructs more than living flesh. It was as if thousands of enneagrammatic patterns were woven together becoming an approximation of life instead of the real thing.
The creature sitting across from him didn’t have blood but the mana that flowed within him and moved as such. Nothing about the man was real or not in the sense of being natural. His entire being was a conjuration, substance made through magic and an endless one like the night sky had been compressed into one being.
“You’re a fucking god,” Brand whispered, his voice flat and uncaring but confused most of all.
He didn't know how to feel about the revelation. Brand had more of an opinion about the weather than matters of the divine. At least an especially cold day forced him to wear a thicker coat.
In his eyes, gods were just stories. Them being true stories didn't change how little they mattered in the grand scheme of one’s life. This god as one of magic might be the only exception, but 30 years of service was far too high a price for whatever he offered.
Still, it was interesting to see the monks were right in their assumptions. They’d said gods were living magical constructs like Tanya’s lions, 1000 times more complex and powerful beyond measure from what Brand’s perception could tell.
The god breathed in through his teeth and gave a sigh. “What gave me away?”
“Not telling,” Brand said keeping himself as stoic as possible, the face he used when no other seemed to fit.
“Not telling?” the god said incredulously. “And after you've dishonored me so many times. Your face-to-face with a god. Aren't you a little afraid that I might smite you for your insolence?”
Brand smiled. “Prometheus, you’re not a very smighty God.”
“Right you are,” Prometheus snorted, slapping his knee. He offered a handshake that Brand readily accepted. "Well, I'm Prometheus, bringer of fire, the giver of knowledge, and the local deity within these walls.”
A monk walking by overheard Prometheus's claims. Looking over at him, the man gasped. “My Lord. My God. My, my,” he sputtered before collapsing from the excitement.
Prometheus pointed to the monk's unconscious form. “See, that's the reaction I get when I let myself be known.” The god massaged his beard looking like a man trying to see something just out of sight. “But I'm not getting any kind of reaction from you. In fact?” He leaned in uncomfortably close to Brand. “I don't sense any faith from you at all.”
“What faith?” Brand asked.
“Nothing important,” the god assured. “So, about that deal. I know you don’t want to spend 30 years in this place as nice as it is so I'll give you some advice.” Brand raised an eyebrow but let the god continue. “A great deal of mana is wasted using spells quickly and fundamentally separate from the body. Find a better way to cast spells. I guess I could've just said that last part.”
“Really, cast better,” Brand said, massaging the bridge of his nose to hide a scowl. “Can you just tell me what I need to do or just give me, I don't know, the power of fire or something. That’s your whole thing, right?”
“I teach, not give. Either way, If I gave you the power of fire, if that was even possible which I’m not saying it isn’t, the price will always be years of service.”
“That seems a bit harsh,” Brand relented. “Did the first men you gave fire have to spend years working for you?”
“Those were different times,” the god said nostalgically. “I had just made humanity and was feeling more generous.” A look of confusion painted Brand’s face. “Was it something I said?” Prometheus asked.
“You didn't create humanity!” Brand blurted out.
"Yes, I did," the god said defensively.
“No, you didn't,” Brand insisted. “The old gods made us before they all died. And how can you claim to have made humanity when you only showed up a few hundred years ago?"
“I'm older than all your old gods,” Prometheus boasted. “I’ve been around for millennia. I was just indisposed until recently because of the Olympians.”
“And they are?” Brand asked.
“Long dead,” Prometheus said, growing a bit more defensive.
“Then make me a human,” Brand said.
“What?” Prometheus inquired, too confused to be insulted.
“What I mean is, if you made humanity then make me a human right here right now.”
Prometheus chuckled. “Are you seriously asking me to prove my godhood to you, a mortal? That's not how this works.”
“I don't see it that way,” Brand said.
Prometheus's voice grew deeper and only a bit louder but somehow vibrated the walls of the library. “If that's the case, then I don't need to make you a human because no matter what I do you'll never believe me, not really, not in your heart.”
Brand pretended to be undeterred by the god's powerful voice that was causing his bones to rattle even though it stayed relatively low and continued as if nothing was wrong. “Or, you're not going to make me one because you can't.”
The god was now starting to sound outraged, like a potion seller that was accused of selling piss. “Here's the thing you faithless little brat, every other god says they created humanity or some other race. Seeing how none of your old gods are here to dispute the claim then yes I did create humanity.”
“So, are you lying or the old gods?" Brand said, looking skeptical.
“Yes,” Prometheus said, like what he'd was an answer.
“Fine,” Brand said. He wouldn't get more but he still needed what he needed. "But can you at least give me some real help?"
“Like I said, cast your spells better. Be more efficient.”
A few seconds past and Brand gave a hateful glare. “You think I haven't thought of that!” His voice rose as anger and remembered pain crept over his overly calm demeanor. “You think I spend most of the year breaking bones and shedding blood without trying that!”
“Well,” Prometheus said, dragging out the word before his excitement deflated and he shrugged. “I can’t say, not without you paying the price. It wouldn't be fair to every other deal for power I’ve made. Just get back to the basics. There are half a dozen ways to help. You just need to find one of them. Granted, none will be pleasant, but you already know that.”
“Shit!” Brand said. “You can't mean.”
“I can.”
“There has to be a better way.”
“There is, and it will cost you thirty years. Or, you can just quit the combat mysteries, but you won’t will you.” Brand didn't respond, frozen by a solution he already thought of but was avoiding. “One way or another, my job is done, and I have other students that need advice. Just remember that my offer is painless, unlike runic tattoos.”
Prometheus vanished creating a popping sound as he did. Brand hardly notices. He was busy staring at his hands, imagining the warding schema he’d need.