The news hit Gnosis like a thunderclap.
And it was so, so absurd. Two faction leaders will be fighting over a student? A First-Year student? Why, though? Just why?
And up until a few days ago Michel would have agreed with that line of thinking. His free will aside, the arguably two most powerful mages in Gnosis fighting it out over him would have been just idiotic. If not for his apparent hidden ability. Which Michael had thought little of until recently.
Gnosis likes me. And helps me sometimes. And that’s… a grand thing. Right, Gnosis?
A shudder trembled around him, which Michael interpreted as an academy-wide shrug. He was getting better at reading this sort of thing. But still…
They’re going to fight.
And if it went anything like the fight with Narh, the fight might actually be to the biter end. He had Melissa help him scrounge up any historical data on this type of thing that they could find, helped along by her librarian contacts and the results weren’t particularly good.
In times past, high mages sometimes resolved their duels via magical fights. Certamen, some called it. Whether it was because of disputes regarding magical theory, influence over key decisions or just plain ego, mages fought. And sometimes it really did end in death. Or in one particular case, the loser was apparently reanimated and made to serve as a puppet for the victor.
Note to self. Don’t fuck with |Necromancers|.
Michael hopped it wouldn’t come to that, but the signs weren’t good. A week had almost gone by since his discussion with Regitris and in this time Michael had attended more Ascentionalist meetings that he had ever had prior to that. He was even allowed to skip classes. It seems his magical learning took a backseat to the deep-rooted fear that Regitris might lose. Almost all the Ascentionalists seemed to think this was about more than just Michael, that it was about influence or hidden scopes. Regitris did nothing to convince them otherwise, seeming to consider Michael’s secret something to guard.
Then again, who knows? It might really be about more than Michael.
The other factions were riled up too. The Artificers, Melissa told him, were hedging their bets. They have had a good working relation with Michael’s faction, but if the Martials won? Sure, it wouldn’t be good for business, but it would be even worse if they had cheered on the Ascentionalists before they lost.
The Naturalists were even worse. Micah told him that Ravena had been in a right pissed of state ever since she found out about the fight. She’s been mostly missing from their meetings, but when she attended, all she did was to snap at her mages and demand more information. Which none of them had. The lycan even told Michael that the |Deepwood Mage| had pulled him to the side and told him that if he knew anything about the upcoming fight or about Michael which he’d not told her, she would personally expel him from her faction.
Micah held true, but the lycan confessed he never wanted to be in that kind of situation again. Not that Michael could blame him.
And the Martials? They were celebrating. Bob refrained from participating in the debauchery and even Erea seemes disgusted. This wasn’t how warrior acted, drinking the mead before winning the fight. But apparently there was not one Martial that thought Kelunad stood even a slimmer of a chance to lose. So they were celebrating, cheering, welcoming their time in the sun. They saw the inevitable win as a success for their entire faction, not just their leader. Michael almost felt bad for them. They had no idea the kind of cleansing Kelunad had in store for them. He even started to like the battle-ready delinquents.
And the other factions? The professors and the student body at large? The balance of power was in flux and everybody knew it. Depending on what happened, a smooth transition of power would occur or absolute mayhem. Michael had seen more mages studying wards and defensive Spells than ever.
And that was how Saturday found him. The day of the fight. Walking towards the arena.
“Couldn’t they have just used the main hall?” Micah complained. “They did for the werewolf fight.”
“That was not by choice, I believe.”
“Yeah, but it held, right?”
“None of the fighters went all out that time, since there were students to be protected.” Melissa reminded them.
“Like you.” Erea grinned.
“Yeah, yeah. Fair. So where’re they fighting now?”
“Some kind of coliseum. Right, Melissa?”
“Kind of. Though that term is used to describe arena’s outside of Gnosis.”
“And what’s this one called.”
“The Arena.” Erea answered, for once being the one in the know. “I never thought I’d see it.”
“It’s that famous?” Michael asked.
“Among Martials.” She shrugged. “It’s where high mages go to sort out their problems, since it’s warded to the sky and back. It’s also where more destructive mages take their end-year exams, if the exams are fighting oriented.”
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“Uh-huh. And I’m guessing you’ve always wanted to fight there?”
“Yup.” She laughed. “Though I don’t think I’ll be getting a crowd.”
Which was true. All around him, students were marching in streams towards the arena just up ahead. And once he entered, Michael had to stop and stare, yet again marveled by the sheer magnificence of Gnosis. The Arena looked just like the roman colosseum, only larger still. Different sections of it had been split by walls of shimmering air, probably to keep fighting among the crowds at a minimum.
The top of it was open and Michael thought that was the real Gnosian sky he was seeing, not an illusion. Portal magic or something. Not like its Eearth counterpart, this arena was made of stone, but had nice chairs and even cushions. The center of it, where the fighting would take place was warded by an almost transparent field of magic, but one that made Michael’s hair stand on end. He saw, in the distance, the VIP seats as on could call them, a section dedicated to the faction heads and other high mages. It didn’t have wards separating it into pieces, since it was thought that the high mages there wouldn’t fight among themselves.
I hope.
And just above it were the seats reserved for Michael and his friends. Special seats for the fulcrum of this fight. How he hated that concept. Still, it did allow him a good view at least.
“I guess the Martials are out in force, huh?” Micah asked.
That seemed to be an accurate guess, seeing as how the section to the left of them was filled with a mass of armor wearing mages, waving flags and banners and screaming at the top of their lungs.
“The Bloodlinked too.” Melissa noted. “I know a rough estimate of their numbers at it seems that they’ve come here in full. Any idea why they’re seating right next to the Martials?” she pointedly asked Erea.
The elf genuinely shrugged, but Bob ventured an answer.
“Rumor has it that the Bloodlinked have already allied themselves with the Martials. A win would solidify this alliance, but they have already chosen a side. None except the high mages know for sure, of course, but this seems to give credence to that notion.”
Great.
“Martials and Bloodlinked on one side, Ascentionalists on the other. Literally.” Michael muttered. “Micah, Melissa? I see your factions stand on the opposite side of us. By themselves too. They staying out of this?”
“The Artificers do.” Melissa nodded. “They favor the Ascentionalists, of course, but not enough to pick a side.”
“Right. And the Naturalists?”
“Uhm… I don’t think Ravena’s in any state of mind to make any decisions right now. All I’ve heard is that she tried to stop this. Went to speak to both of them. But she was back she was screaming how she wanted to kill them both and… well, I’ve learned some new curse words.”
Michael groaned.
Two factions on one side, one on the other. A faction would refrain from any conflict, while another would at most run interference. This didn’t sound good for the Ascentionalists. Powerful or not… Michael read his history. This was how some factions were wiped out. Disbanded, if they were lucky.
He didn’t think Kelunad would order an attack if he lost, the orc was honorable if nothing else. But if he won? Would he order a ‘cleanse’ of the entire academy as well? He could never intuit what his mentor thought and he still couldn’t do it now.
I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all.
But time seems to have run out of Michael and everyone else.
Out of a seemingly empty portion of the arena, a mage floated upwards. At least, he thought it was a mage, since the shadowy, half-translucent robe could only mean one of the mystery fucks got elected to act as the commentator. Or just took that job for themselves.
“Greetings, mages.” A feminine voice called out.
A familiar one.
Second Specter.
Michael traded a look with Melissa, but the girl only looked spooked. She had told him before that her other faction had been eerily quiet about the upcoming fight. Her best guess was that the fight was important enough to make every one of them out for themselves.
They stood in the stands together. Mostly. Probably. But that was all.
“I will offer no introductions for myself, for I am not the subject of the hour. Instead, I will speak of this fight. It has been a tradition dating back almost to the founding of Gnosis for mages to solve their disputes by combat, when other means failed them or they simply decided to. This happens now as well. For the sake of a student and… perhaps something more.” She said, tone playful. “Alas, what else may be will only be sought by those that dabble in such matters. For the rest, I announce only the contenders. Enter, combatants!”
The crowd went wild on all sides and Michael saw two figures enter the arena on opposite sides. It seemed that the magic in the room was applied for the benefit of the viewers as well, since even though the two were at a great distance, Michael could see them as if they were standing not even twenty feet away.
Kelunad was bare chested and dressed as always. His sword hung on his back and he looked calm. Faintly smiling.
Regitris, however, looked as if he had broken into the Gnosian armory. He wore a robe that flickered like metal. A continuously moving wave of liquid something swam over and around him. His staff was metal and crystal and light and it hurt the eye to look at. He wore a circlet and his hands were bedecked in bracelets and rings. An amulet even hung low on his chest, thought it wasn’t the same Michael knew.
“It seems the combatants are… prepared. Have any of you any more words?”
“No.” Kelunad spoke.
“None.” Regitris said.
“Fuck that!” a voice shouted.
Michael looked for the voice of the sound and found Ravena. The magics that enhanced the combatants worked on any other note-worthy source, apparently, because it enhanced her as well.
“Why the fuck are you doing this? Why? Because of a stupid, kid? Because of your big manly ego’s? You expect me to believe that? What aren’t you two telling me?”
Everyone was looking at the Naturalists leader as he slowly, but surely, lost her restraint.
“You always do this! First you and now you! You- you decide something is important and then you leave me behind! Well, fuck that! I’m coming there and I’ll kick both your- What? No! I am your faction leader and- No! |Forestfloor Impalement|”
The mage managed to get her faction high mages, who had tried to restrain her, to let go. Or simply impaled them through the arms and legs. She then jumped, higher and farther than Michael had ever seen anyone jump, aiming to land in the arena, right between the two.
She failed.
Right when she was supposed to pass through the ward, she screamed some incoherent word and a burst of magic shot out of her, blasting the wall of magic apart. Which didn’t even sparkle. Ravena’s momentum carried her into it and… well. The magical recoil slammed her back into her seat.
“I would like to remind others that the wards around The Arena were designed to stop even |Archmages|. Thank you. Now, without anything to add, let the fight commence. Three, two, one… Fight!”
The last thing he saw before he was blinded and deafened and the first thing that happened was that Regitris raised his hand and pointed.