Wake up came at 0600 hundred on the Crasher as Sgt. Sirsir kicked Akamori’s bunk and his loud voice boomed in the mage bay. “Rise and shine, mages. It’s another bright new day in the corps! Godsdamned, I love being a mage.” But since there was no star to centralize the Crasher’s time around, the term day took on the figurative sense. Akamori groaned, trying to tug his blanket over his head for a moment as consciousness settled in and took root.
He sighed when he was both too awake to get anymore rest, and aware of the fact that Sirsir was specifically watching his bunk. He threw the blanket off and sat up, rubbing his long crimson hair and brushing it from his face. The black roots were going to take getting used to thanks to his infusion of void magic. Even his eyes were darker, according to Amara.
He glanced over and saw Amara sitting up in her own rack, along with Yasiin and Sala. Since there were so few mages, and so many empty beds in the bay, everyone had taken to using the empty beds as horizontal lockers. Armor, weapons, and few personal effects lay spread out around each mage. Tethered down by void magic, generating enough gravity to offset sudden changes in the ship, to prevent everyone's gear being hurtled by weapon impacts or collisions.
Kicking his feet off the bed, Akamori bent down to tie his boots up as he cleared the cobwebs of sleep from his mind. Lately, his dreams had taken on ethereal battles by gods from long ago, ever since he touched Xanofex’s mind. They were more like nightmarish memories. A spreading, creeping darkness that felt cold, like death spread across the galaxy. It unsettled him, the way the shadows always seemed to watch him. Maybe he was just growing uncomfortable because of how much time they’d spent in the shadows traversing from Hoshun to Xanofex and now to the Forge. He rubbed his arms after his skin sprouted goosebumps. Amara gave him a welcoming smile as she rose and stretched out like a cat. Her eye glowed with air magic this morning, and the air energy in his own body pulsed in response.
As the junior enlisted mages made their way to the mess hall, the Brotherhood marines were just finishing up, giving them conspiratorial glances before emptying their trays and hustling out. Akamori paused, causing the rest to bump into his back. He turned back to Yasiin. “What was that all about? They just dumped their trays out and bailed out as we came in like we were plague ridden.”
Yasiin frowned. “Try not to take it personally. The Brotherhood’s all very distrusting of magic and mages. To add to the divisiveness, Lt. Rayshe has chased them out of the mess hall on multiple occasions. He says their kind have no business mixing with our own. He’s even emptied the mess hall of their officers for Sala.”
The primal nodded, his expression bordering a focused glare. “And I’m just a primal.”
The last comment made him flinch. Talk about being beaten down and conditioned. There was a lot of that going around here. It was enough to make him grit his teeth. Akamori turned to Yasiin for clarification.
“He means he’s little more than a glorified war slave. The Brotherhood feel like they are less than Sala, despite their accomplishments and sacrifices.” Yasiin frowned.
“How has this Federation not collapsed yet? You’re all a bunch of assholes to each other,” Akamori said. He couldn’t hide his disgusted scowl and shook his head as he made his way in to scoop portions of food onto a tray. The squad sat down and set about their meals. It wasn’t breaking records for taste, that was certain. Yet, the chow was growing on him in its own way. Sirsir gave them time to get a long meal because he wanted them fueled and ready.
“It ain’t perfect,” the sergeant admitted. He chewed his food thoughtfully. “But I’ve seen what letting the Sauridius run around without someone to check their sorry asses will do to the sector.”
System Info: Welcome to the Arena. Home of competitive spell warfare in a controlled environment. Arena battling is one of the oldest magic traditions around. It’s also one of the most dangerous. Don’t screw it up too badly!
Akamori sourly closed the system missive with a dismissive wave. Curiously, he opened his personal information.
Today was mage combative training. Akamori and Sala would be sparring. A full on magic fight, no holds barred. The squad ate quietly, and Akamori noticed Sala didn’t look up from his tray. Yasiin looked out for the Primal. He figured it was probably that same sort of connection he shared with Amara. Once they finished their meals and set their trays down on the reclamation racks, they proceeded to the bay where the Arena was.
The Arena earned its nickname because it was an especially shielded cage that prevented spells from escaping. Akamori didn’t need divine sight to see the spiraling translucent golden runes slowly swimming around the shield. He saw the Sgt. standing near a small golden rod with a blue gemstone that pulsed the runes out. He gestured for Sala and Akamori to step into the five by five meter arena when they were ready.
The space they were using was one of the older bays of the Crasher, repurposed for mage training. Silver deck plating that was marked off with scuffed and chipping yellow and black lines. The ceiling above the arena sported uniform, rectangular fluorescent lights. The air inside the arena smelled of burned ozone and magical residue. They fired a large amount of spells off in here, Akamori thought to himself.
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Akamori donned his armor and drew his sword. Sala stayed out of his armor, instead activating his stone skin and golden aura spell. Based on his basic knowledge of casting, that meant Sala was committing a portion of his available aetherpool to maintaining the spell effects. That meant an overall reduction in his available energy to cast.
The warrior slave ahead of him rolled his head on a massive neck, pebbles, and dust sprinkling down as the stone skin cracked and ground with the movement. He was twice Akamori’s size, just as if not faster, and twice as strong. But all that size and strength would come at a cost to his agility. No way he was that huge and turning on a dime, or dancing on a toe. That meant, while powerful, his attacks would be predictable.
Akamori was not without his own power, now that he’d consumed the void magic from the wellspring on Xanofex’s mind. It was possible for him to harness second level spells now. His experience in the void had also altered him on a fundamental level. He put more thought into his future actions. His father would call that long game thinking.
Sala may have had him beat for mass and power, Akamori knew he could move twice, if not three times, as fast if required. He could also fly now using either void or air magic. He knew that the two’s power sets were polar opposite. That meant they would settle this in a few very decisive shots. But could he break Sala’s defense? Somehow, he thought he’d need his sharper intellect to think around the brute’s raw power.
“Hey uh, Sala… hope we have a good fight, eh?”
The brute simply nodded and huffed. Gouts of light energy puffed from his nostrils.
The Sgt. had them assume an opposite corner before beginning. He spent two of his own aetherpool to manifest his air sheathe on his sword. He watched two dots in his bar of 17 in the corner of his HUD go opaque, meaning they’d been spent but not entirely consumed since it was a held spell. He didn’t enjoy limiting his own pool, but it was less of a sunk cost than Sala’s two spells. He had a feeling he was going to need any little edge he could get against those defenses. A second look at Sala and he figured he’d try the same trick with void energy, too. Two more Aetherpool points used.
Aetherpool Total: 17
Aetherpool Available: 13
Akamori lifted his blade to his mouth and whispered a silent prayer of air and darkness to his blade. The silver air magic and the violet dark magic swam along the blade. The sword thrummed with power. It was as ready as he could make it. Sala simply remained still, his combination of spells doing all the prep work for the war slave as needed.
Sirsir lifted his hand. Ready. Then dropped it. Go!
Sala charged, his feet thundering against the gunmetal grey deck plating. He pumped his massive arms for extra momentum as he rushed in on Akamori like a runaway rock in a landslide. Akamori wasn’t sure how, but a fist as big as a tire rushed in at him. Sala had somehow increased his mass. A soft gust of air nudged Akamori’s armor out of the way evasively, and the red-haired air mage spun on the current gracefully around Sala.
Sala responded with a broad back handed sweep. Akamori ducked under the blow. He could feel his hair teasing along the war slave's arm as he flowed under the strike. Sala threw another jab that slammed into the deck plate. Akamori hopped back to dodge the strike, small bits of stone breaking off of Sala’s fist and ricocheting off Akamori’s armor.
The deck plating dented downward, and Akamori gulped. He felt the stinging bite of the pebbles pinging off the armor’s skin. Landing on top of the stone arm, Akamori raced up it and delivered a kick into Sala’s face. Even with the mythril steel of the armor, he could feel the refusal to give of Sala’s stone skin. It sent throbbing, dull pain radiating outward from his foot that threatened to creep up his shin. Landing on his good leg behind Sala, he spun to face the stone skinned primal as it whirled about on him.
Small beady yellow eyes glared down at him as the stone's lips pulled back in a scowl. Akamori got the distinct impression he was in danger. Sala took a fresh approach now, hurling several golden spell bolts at him. Akamori responded by using just enough air magic to vault into the air and twist himself over and around the attacks. One of them glided just a little too close to his body and heated the armor a few shades as the golden missiles crashed into the containment shield. The shield discolored but then stabilized, drawing on more energy from the Sgt.
HP Total: 35
Current HP: 31
His HP gauge flashed in complaint. The double damage against the opposite aspect just now sinking in. He’d initially discounted that bolt spell salvo. But it was hard to argue the results. 4 damage for 1 aetherpoint?
It was time to go on the offensive. He just hoped this would work. He used his air magic to propel himself upwards, then used his shadow magic to propel himself forwards. Violet energy billowed out of his armored thruster vents as he surged forward. He ducked around another of Sala’s attacks and brought his blade down onto Sala’s body. The blade, bathed in the dark energy, slammed into Sala’s Radiant Auara and Stoneskin defenses. The two combined blunted his spell damage, almost negating it completely, but the sword still bit down.
Sala’s Hp dipped from 35 to 25. Tit for tat. Sala howled in pain as Akamori wrenched the blade free, using air magic to push his arms, and then rapidly chopped at the Primal. A flash of blinding golden light appeared in his face, and Akamori juked to avoid another golden missile attack. Only to be greeted by another massive fist that caught him square in the torso and sent him hurtling to the shield wall.
HP Total: 35
Current HP: 25
The shields' runes flashed as the color sagged from radiant gold to a muted white before returning. Akamori’s armor lit up its damage indicator near the chest to reflect the damage in the heads up display. The wounds in the stone skin were already healing. Akamori could see as much through the spots in his vision, and he swayed drunkenly.
Outside the shield, it looked like Yasiin, Amara, Lt. Rayshe, and a few of the Brotherhood had gathered to watch. Rayshe tolerated their presence for the sake of watching the fight. The one sign of solidarity they got. Though Akamori thought it was more just because Rayshe hated the thought of having a backwoods air nomad on his ship and relished the fight.
Akamori peeled himself up off the floor and would have wiped his face, but his helmet prevented that. He struggled to his feet, fighting the sway and maintaining his stability. His face plate peeled apart, folding itself up into smaller pieces neatly at the top and sides of his helmet. Blood trickled from his nose, and something animal-like in Sala flashed in the war slave's eyes. Akamori noticed the sudden shift in body posture in Sirsir and Yasiin. Concern etched their features. He lacked a hard enough hitting spell to punch through the primal's defenses, and Sala knew it. The war slave closed in to continue Akamori's lesson in pain.
To be continued...