Water emerged from underneath Razorbeaks’ taloned feet as they glowed green, another martial art, and he surged backwards. The wave contoured to the slight curve of the arena in an effort to get distance, but I ran to keep up with him, fully ready to tackle his body the moment he stopped. I could see him starting to panic at the thought of losing.

Behind him, I could see members of his crew start to pour through the doorways. Not many, around twenty or thirty at a glance, though each of them were armed with firearms or crossbows. Before I could prepare myself for fighting multiple enemies, the ethereal blue fire that had shaken the arena flared outwards.

I didn’t know if it was because I was next to the captain, but the fire didn’t come close to us. It lashed out against the benches in a seemingly random pattern. Some pirates were scorched, leaving behind smoldering corpses, while others were given ample time to flee. As quickly as they came, the threat of fighting the whole crew was gone and the flames returned to the arena sands.

With my full attention returned to Razorbeak, I was able to continue my assault. The Avian continued to flail backwards, held aloft only by the water-based martial art keeping him in motion. I swung my club with brutal, near reckless efficiency. With no shield of his own, he had to block with his blunderbuss and sword. Somewhere, off in the distance, I heard someone call my name but I couldn’t give up this advantage.

"Who the fuck are you?" Razorbeak screeched. I didn't answer.

The runes floating across the leadcutter had been turned bright orange by the strikes of my flaming sword. They looked like they were almost ready to ignite the blade as sparks erupted every few seconds. That was dashed as Razorbeak’s need to parry changed his tactics. With every strike, the bright orange runes got duller and duller as they lost the fire magic they were mimicking.

What he had not noticed yet was the cracks in his blade.

"How are you this strong?" he yelled, panic lacing his voice. "What did the Dungeon Master do to you!?"

My stone club was enchanted with a powerful magical effect that caused it to corrode any metal that it touched. My Hilt of Holding had to be specially treated so that it wasn’t affected, but it made attacking enemies who relied on advanced weapons and armor much easier. I didn’t even have to strike very hard; a gentle, lingering touch was enough, given time.

Right now, though, time was of the essence. I continued pushing him back until the waves beneath Razorbeak’s feet disappeared and he stumbled. There were times when he attempted to shoot me or dodge, but there wasn’t enough room between the arena’s benches for someone his size to easily maneuver. I was better off in the confined space, and dodging between the floor to the stone benches was much easier.

The blunderbuss shot over my shoulder, towards the ground, and into the air but never quite where I was. If Avians could sweat, I was sure Razorbeak would be soaked; his eyes were wild with fear. The sword lit up with the glow of martial arts, and I took my club in both hands and swung as I heard my name again.

"I won't be subjugated by the likes of you! I'm Raitheus Razorbeak! I'm-"

Razorbeak’s leadcutter lost the glow of his special ability and its enchantments as my stone club tore through it, sending the top half of the blade flying off into the seats. My weapon connected with his chest, knocking the wind out of him and causing him to finally fall to his feet. Razorbeak hit the ground with a loud crash, bouncing once before settling. Aiming his gun at me, it glowed green.

"You-you can't do this to me! The DoD can't-"

It was a move out of panic and desperation, and I swung my club again. The blunderbuss shattered and exploded, causing me to cover my eyes from the heat and light erupting from it, but I didn’t get thrown back. Some of the more powerful martial arts would backlash against the user if they weren’t executed properly. I looked down at Razorbeak, knocked out from his own attack, and scoffed.

“Subject subjugated,” I said as I lifted up the club one more time and brought it down on Razorbeak’s skull.

His body immediately vanished as the dungeon’s magic swallowed him up. In his place was a blunderbuss and a tricorn hat, both of which I glared at for a moment before picking them up and sliding them into my Dimensional Pocket. While I wasn’t going to be using them, they could be useful for those who plan on studying the Dungeon Master’s dungeons and the items they produce.

“Badger!”

I was startled as Cojisto’s voice finally reached me. A quick survey of the area showed that all of Razorbeak’s crew were gone, both the living and the dead. I half expected the Dungeon Master or Himia to show up, but neither did. Not even a door to leave the dungeon. Looking back down towards the arena, I saw Cojisto standing near Ferrisdae’s prone body while Moose shone with the power of divine magic.

The ethereal flames from Swiftfeather had blackened the sands and cooked the chicken. I leapt down the seats, putting the Hilt of Holding back into my Dimensional Pocket before jumping the twelve foot wall into the arena. The sand was still incredibly hot, causing me to start sweating almost immediately, but I ignored it.

As I got closer, more details were revealed to me. Cojisto’s legs were burnt to hell, and his fists were covered in blood. Moose wasn’t nearly as injured, though I could see several cuts in his coarse fur. As he continued to cast his healing magics, however, I noticed that he was trembling. For a mage that could only mean one thing: he was almost completely tapped out of magic.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Ferrisdae looked fine on the outside. Her clothes were burnt tatters, her hair had come loose from the crown braid, and she was unconscious, but she appeared uninjured. Her skin was unblemished aside from where blood had quickly dried due to how hot things were.

“Cojisto, take her out of the sands and up the wall. Moose, stop, you’re going to knock yourself out.”

Without hesitation, Cojisto scooped up my junior and started running towards a set of stairs leading out of the arena. Moose finally stopped glowing, croaked something at me that I couldn’t understand, and shuffled after his Human friend. Once I realized that Moose wasn’t going to pick up the pace, I ran past him to keep up with Cojisto.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Swiftfeather showed up,” Cojisto explained quickly. “He was flying all magically, started gloating, so I started firing bolts at him. He had some kind of protection spell up, so none of them hit. He cast a spell that shifted the sands and, I’m assuming, messed up Ferrisdae’s ritual because she emerged from the wing shortly after.”

Cojisto paused briefly as he ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and set Ferrisdae on the closest stone bench. I followed him and looked her over. “Keep going,” I ordered as I checked her pulse. She was breathing and her heart was still beating, but her olive skin was becoming pale.

“Right. So the flames, she cast that,” he informed me. I shot him a curious glance, but he just shrugged. “After the ritual was stopped he did some more gloating, some of that ‘you can never hope to stop the captain’ or something and then he looked up and saw you absolutely manhandling his boss. I mean, you had the guy on the ropes from-“

“Cojisto.”

“Right, sorry, you already know because you were there,” he said apologetically. “Swiftfeather started casting a spell at you. Or, at Razorbeak. I’m not sure who it was meant for because I have no idea what he was casting. But Ferrisdae took particular offense to that and launched into this massive spell. I mean, even I could see the power she was putting into this cast and I’m barely magical, right? So-”

“She lit the arena on fire?” I asked, looking over the sands. The big picture was starting to form in my mind.

“Yeah, summoned all that strange fire. A giant hand made of the stuff reached up to grab Swiftfeather, attempting to pull him down, and the bird guy started unloading on Ferrisdae,” Cojisto continued. “I mean, Magic Missiles, ray beams, a spinning cutter move I’ve never seen before, Swiftfeather did not-“

“What about Ferrisdae, Cojisto?” I growled. An act like that ethereal fire should have been beyond someone of Ferrisdae’s capabilities. The picture was starting to become more clear, however, as my thoughts continued racing.

“I blocked a lot for her, but not all of it as you can see from her clothes,” he answered. “But after Swiftfeather disappeared, the flames followed shortly after and Ferrisdae collapsed. I got her to Moose and he healed her, but she’s not waking up. Is it magic drain?”

Magic drain was a condition that could be deadly if not handled right. It was literally the absence of a part of a spellcaster’s body and soul that kept their being together. To know your limit and never surpass it was one of the first things a mage learned no matter how they cast spells in the first place.

I resisted the urge to snap at Cojisto. “Of course it’s magic drain,” I said, even though I wanted to yell. If he had just said that instead of explaining everything, then I could have done something about it. I started reaching into my Dimensional Pocket.

Cojisto breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay, good,” he said. “I already fed her two potions, but she hasn’t woken up yet. I knew you’d have more on you.”

His words made me pause, my hand stuck deep inside the extradimensional space. “You gave her two potions?” I asked. That was important, and I was glad he said something. Normally a potion or two would shock a mage out of magic drain, but as with all potions it was important not to feed them too much lest they become even worse due to potion sickness.

Even consuming too many healing potions would have an adverse effect. The energies in their body became too volatile if an outside source imposed itself too much. Two potions were for an emergency, and anyone who needed three was already on the brink.

“Well, yeah,” Cojisto said with a confused look. “I carry them just in case a mage in a party we join falls into this very scenario. Though, I guess we need some for Moose now.”

“Were they cheap potions?” I asked. “Like ones that are just enough to give a mage a short kick?”

Now Cojisto scoffed at me as if I had insulted him or, more likely, Moose. “Of course not!” he protested. “What do you take me for? We’re team players, and that means we help our team. Only the best, or at least second or third best, that gold can buy. I would never give Ferry cheap potions.”

Retrieving a viscous pink potion from my Dimensional Pocket, I decided to risk the potential sickness. I uncorked the vial, lifted her head and shoulders from the bench, and fed it to her. Gently, I set her back down and watched her carefully for any sign of change, and cursed under my breath when it looked like it had no effect.

Slowly, I started pacing. My body was full of barely contained nervous energy as I kept my head down and thought things through. I heard Moose clop up the stairs, but paid him no mind. My thoughts were coming and going too fast and I could not afford the distraction.

“Badger?” Cojisto asked, distracting me. “What’s your thought process? Talk to us. How can we help?”

“Damn it, Cojisto!” I yelled. “Just let me think!”

Moose croaked, and Cojisto nodded vigorously. “Moose says thinking out loud helps.”

I glared at the two of them before sighing. It certainly couldn’t hurt. “Magic drain is what happens when a spellcaster with their own inner source of magic drains it either too fast or too much,” I said out loud. “This whole time, Ferrisdae has been keeping to minor acts of magic. Sensing the flow of magic, identifying items, and pushing magic into the ritual.”

“Could the ritual have done it?” Cojisto asked.

“Not likely,” I replied. “But it would have drained her a fair bit. I’m not sure if Swiftfeather drained her more than she thought when she was wresting control of the dungeon’s size away from him, but she should have known just how much magic… she…” My voice trailed off as realization struck me.

Moose was the first of the two to speak while I was trying to figure out how plausible my new theory was. Cojisto snapped his finger and pointed at his companion before looking at me. “Moose said she wouldn’t know how much magic she had left,” he translated. “Ferrisdae hadn’t been casting spells. She’s been ignoring her wellspring and couldn’t gauge how much power was in there, but she burst through that wall in order to save you from Swiftfeather’s assault.”

I felt the blood drain out of my face as Moose’s explanation was essentially the same as mine, and I stopped pacing. “She drew too much from her wellspring in order to protect me,” I whispered breathlessly as I looked at the barely breathing Elf who laid still on the bench.

She did it for me.