December 17, 2024
Eldralore Academy
Damn, if only this place had some ketchup. Henry sat in the dining room, shoveling forkfuls of eggs, sausage, and bread into his mouth. The Guild test book they’d found yesterday lay open next to his plate, carefully angled away from any potential splatter. He’d woken up right past 8, relishing the extra hours of sleep after the usual crack-of-dawn routine.
He took a swig of the Ureth cacao Isaac had scrounged up, grimacing at the bitter taste. Even dumping half the sugar bowl in hadn't helped much. Wasn’t Starbucks, but it got the job done.
It wasn’t exactly early anymore – he glanced at the clock, just after nine – but the morning routine felt slower today. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting soft streaks across the floor. Is this what retirement might feel like? It was definitely something he could get used to. Or at least, it was definitely something he could enjoy for today.
The event logs showed nothing unusual at first glance – just the standard parade of students passing through the hallway. “Looks normal enough, yeah?” Ryan asked.
“Yeah, yeah,” Henry agreed.
Ryan kept swiping through the files. Late night snack run, early riser heading to the library, then an anomaly at 0455: a single clip with no face attached, no person whatsoever present on the screen. Just a red square hovering over an empty hallway, flagged by the system as an infrared anomaly. Kinda like facial recognition software bugging out, as if trying to capture a ghost. Unless the Academy had suddenly developed a haunting, Henry could only think of two phenomenons that could produce anything like this.
Henry squinted at the feed, pinching the screen to zoom in. The clip was brief – just a handful of frames – as a patch of blue swept over the yellow heat signature of the sconce. Then, the yellow seemed to slide away, fading back to blue as it moved. Odd. The lighting was fixed, so why did the heat signature appear to shift? “Have we ruled out a glitch?”
“Yup. Checked it all already – cameras are runnin’ fine. Reckon we’ve got ourselves an intruder. Nobian, if I had to guess, ‘less somebody else figured how to go invisible.”
Henry hoped that wasn’t the answer, but it was the same theory he had. “Ah, for fuck’s sake…”
Ryan simply shrugged. “Figured it was just a matter of time ‘fore we ran into these sumbitches again.”
“Can we be sure?”
Ryan hesitated. “Well…”
“Morning,” Ron grumbled as he shuffled in from the kitchen, clutching a steaming mug of Ureth cacao. He took a long sip, eyes half-open. “What’s going on?”
“Possible intruder,” Henry said, nodding toward Ryan’s tablet.
Ron raised an eyebrow, moving closer to peer at the screen. “You deadass right now?”
“Afraid so,” Henry replied. “Flagged heat sig, no visual.”
“Fuckin’ Nobians,” Ron grunted, now fully awake.
Though they were all on the same page, Henry knew better than to jump the gun. They could at least get some more opinions first. “Yeah, most likely, but we’re not exactly sure yet. Mind getting Yen and Doc?”
Ron nodded. He returned a minute later with Isaac and Dr. Anderson trailing behind, both with serious looks.
“Something got past our security?” Dr. Anderson asked, leaning over Ryan’s chair.
Ryan shook his head. “Nah, not quite. Didn’t mess with the door, didn’t trip the alarm, nothin’. Only worry is this here anomaly.”
Henry rubbed his chin. It was tough to make a judgment based solely on the handful of anomalous frames. Maybe a comparison would make things clearer? He pulled up security footage from the Nobian intrusion back at the Duke’s estate.
He set his tablet beside Ryan’s, playing the two clips on a loop. “Can’t really quantify shit, but here. Duke’s estate versus now – detection looks about the same, yeah?” He pointed to the older clip. “Shimmer near the light here, like something tryna adjust temperatures quickly as it’s moving past.”
Henry then pointed to the more recent clip. “Same thing happened here, just a few hours ago.”
“Huh,” Ryan mused. “Ain’t that somethin’.”
“Thermal lag,” Isaac said.
That was the giveaway – cloaking magic seemed to have trouble masking heat signatures in real time. A person, limited by the reaction speed of their synapses, would never be able to fully account for temperature variations in a natural environment, nor adjust instantly. There’d always be a slight delay, this lag, where the heat from lights or fires got displaced for just a moment before the caster corrected it. No caster could be fast enough to avoid this – especially not when challenging the frame rates and precision of machinery.
Though Henry could agree with Isaac’s deduction, there was still more to the puzzle. “Their temp regulation can’t keep up. But why just… walk past?”
“Could be he’s simply scouting? Or testing our defenses, perhaps?” Dr. Anderson suggested.
“They didn’t linger at all,” Isaac pointed out. Henry could guess his thoughts even before he spoke. “Even if they don’t know about our cameras, they walked right past like they knew not to stick around. I’m guessing we’re dealing with one of that edgelord’s guys – what was his name, Carver? Carvus?”
“Yeah, Carvus. Carvus Alnect Virelius.” Henry couldn’t forget the name. The man was competent, and whatever covert unit he ran equally so. And that’s what bothered him the most.
By this world’s standards, the intruder was a ghost. No thief or mage could have pulled this off without leaving some kind of trace – at least, not if they had the ability to sense mana. But without that, the only reason they saw anything was because of the infrared cameras. Whoever it was had no idea they were being watched with tech that didn’t belong in this world.
A professional, no doubt. Still, there were too many questions. Sitting around guessing would simply be a waste of time.
Henry stood, finishing the food on his plate. “We’ll report this to Elwes first. Probably give her a radio as well to keep in touch. After that, I’m thinking we check in on Valtor. He’s got a class right before lunch – Advanced Spellcasting Tactics. Apparently, it’s held in the forest.”
“Number one suspect, huh?” Ron asked.
Henry simply shrugged. At least, that’s what his gut told him. “Yup. Don’t have anything concrete to go off of, but I gotta say, there’s just something to him. He just seems sketchy all around.”
Ryan raised his hand. “Seconded.”
“Alright. Grab a bite to eat. We’ll head to Elwes’ lab once she’s done with her 10 o’clock class. Imma go update Armstrong,” Henry said, pushing back from the table.
He stepped into the hall, returning to his room to open communications with the base. A brief crackle, then a solid connection.
“Armstrong Base, this is Alpha Actual. How copy? Over.”
The duty officer’s voice came through: “Alpha Actual, this is Armstrong. Read you loud and clear, over.”
“Possible snake infestation in Hogwarts.” Henry kept it brief, outlining what they’d encountered. “Advise elevated threat posture on your end, over.”
The duty officer responded, “Acknowledged, Alpha Actual. Standing by for additional traffic. Over.”
“Negative, Armstrong. Nothing follows. Alpha Actual, out.”
Henry clicked off the radio, returning to the dining room. Normally, using Hogwarts as a code for a magic academy would be poor OPSEC, but in a world where Earth culture didn’t exist in the slightest, it made perfect sense. And well, Nobians being snakes also made perfect sense.
Isaac looked up, setting his utensils to the side of his now-emptied plate. “We good?”
“Yup.”
With Henry’s confirmation, the others got up from the table, submerging their dishes in water before they collected their Holding Bags. Hopefully, they wouldn’t need to use anything inside, but a combat class in the forest warranted extra caution – even at the risk of exposure.
The Campus was near empty around this time – most of the kids probably slogging through their 8 AM lectures or still asleep. It lowkey reminded him of the good old days, enjoying the peace and quiet of the Vandenberg campus. Great thoughts, but all shattered by the threat of an invisible super assassin on the loose. If there were any solace, it’d probably be that the super assassin was most likely in class as well, maintaining their cover.
The bell in the distance rang as Henry reached the third floor. He led his team single file through the center of the hallway as students streamed out of their classes, waiting as the last of Elwes’ students left her lab.
He knocked on the door as he entered, Elwes turning in surprise. She glanced at Henry, then the rest of his team. “Captain Donnager, Dr. Anderson, and friends, I see. You’re not here to submit lab reports, I gather?”
“Wish we were,” Henry shrugged. “We think there might be an intruder on campus. We picked up something unusual with our equipment – an anomaly. It’s a bit technical, but essentially, we can see heat with it, kinda like reptiles. We saw movement against a light – unnatural. Whatever it was didn’t leave a single trail.”
The Doc continued, “Our prevailing theory is Nobian cloaking magic. But… we don’t have confirmation.”
Elwes’ eyebrows rose as she moved toward the window. “That is equally concerning and intriguing. To see as reptiles do? It seems your wonders never cease.” She then sighed, “As it happens, I’ve seen disturbances of my own – strange fluctuations of magic in the wards, though nary a proper specter to be found.”
Henry nodded. Invisibility magic wasn’t an easy thing to keep up, according to what Sincair’s analysts had found. Bending light? Simple enough – for Nobian mages, at least. Regulating temperature and suppressing mana while casting all those spells at the same time? Not so much. “Well, that about lines up with what we’ve seen on our end. Could be related.”
“If it be cloaking, then whoever’s responsible surely has a deft hand,” Elwes said. “It is the kind of precision I might admire if I weren’t so concerned. To toy with my detection wards with such ease? That takes remarkable skill.”
“We’re heading to Valtor’s class after this, out in the forest. Advanced Spellcasting Tactics. You mentioned last time you were gonna investigate quietly?”
“Valtor ad Stron…” Elwes mused. “Yes, I have, but unfortunately, my inquiry has yielded little. His reputation for brilliance precedes him, though his actual reputation – oddly enough – remains nonexistent. Should he indeed be a spy, he’s frighteningly good at it. Though suspicious, we’ve not chanced upon any evidence against him. He likely won’t reveal much, but do take care.”
The Nobians were extremely competent, thwarted only by advantages in tech they never knew existed. In all other areas, Armstrong would have to treat them as equals. Getting HUMINT outta them? Yeah, never in a million years – unless they could manage to somehow catch one of them alive. Elwes was probably right, but hey, maybe they’d be able to find at least some sort of clue.
“Alright. We’ll keep in touch.” Henry nodded to Isaac. “Yen here will guide you through it.”
Isaac pulled out a ‘perc’ – no, not a 30, but an AN/PRC: a small, handheld radio. He handed it to Elwes, giving her the basic rundown on how to operate it.
She beheld it like an ancient wonder, barely even attempting to hide her excitement. If she could spend all week picking it apart, she probably would. “I’ve heard of the Baranthurians using small boxes to communicate. Could this be a similar device?”
“Yeah, pretty much,” Isaac said.
“I do hope to make use of it, though I daresay I also hope the need for such emergencies remains… theoretical.” She placed the device on her desk before turning to bid them farewell.
Henry led his team out of the lab, heading to the front entrance. They reached the wagon station just as Valtor’s convoy was about to leave. Each wagon had a driver controlling two dradaks and carried about six students crammed into the wooden frames. Valtor was already up front, climbing into his personal carriage. At the sound of a whistle, students piled in, with Alpha Team getting a wagon all to themselves.
It gave them some privacy, but enough to talk freely? Not quite; they couldn’t risk the driver eavesdropping. Aside from a few mundane observations, Henry found the team preoccupied with complaints. Sure, the carriage looked more ornate than an MRAP, but its suspension was sorely lacking. It felt like they were rolling over every stone and root between the academy and the forest. The driver up front didn’t seem particularly concerned with the comfort of his passengers either, whipping the dradaks as if the team wasn’t bouncing around in the back like unsecured cargo.
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In a reprieve for their asses, they finally arrived at their destination: the heart of the Eldralore Woods, smack dab in the middle of Armstrong Base and Eldralore, about 12 miles either way. The carriage lurched to a stop, mercifully ending the bone-jarring ride. Henry stepped out, scanning the clearing. Valtor had already disembarked, conjuring a stone platform without a gesture.
Students scrambled out of the wagons, forming a semicircle around the platform.
“We have guests today,” Valtor announced in raspy monotone. “They are but observers. Let not their presence distract you.”
He tilted his head towards Henry, pausing as the students took a glance. Valtor continued, “Today’s lesson is simple: a continuation of our work on advanced combat magic – specifically, the coordination of roles. The only difference is that today, you will not be practicing against training golems; you will face real targets. This is not for the reckless or the weak. You are not here to play with power. No… you are here to master it. Precision, discipline – these are what separate those who wield magic from those who are ruled by it. You shall develop control – cold, deliberate control.”
The professor lowered his platform, the raised earth fading away into the ground as if there had never been any shift in terrain. He turned away from the students and faced the forest. “Our objective lies within the forest. Come.”
Valtor led the class deeper into the forest, students chatting amongst themselves, boasting about how they’d show off, or about how nervous they were. Did they even listen to the guy’s ever-so-slightly menacing monologue? Shit, the way the guy talked was suspicious enough. That aside, Henry’s number one suspect had yet to reveal any indication of his true loyalties. So far, Elwes was right.
The students remained blissfully oblivious, continuing their banter and conversations until they reached their destination. The clearing they arrived at had all the typical signs of a hobgoblin village according to their hobgoblin dossier. Crude hovels dotted the landscape, cobbled together from wood and hides. Dilapidated wooden walls surrounded said village – hopefully an indication of hobgoblin engineering ineptitude instead of a remnant of a real village long desecrated. But the worst sign of them all? The fucking smell – a horrid stench of unwashed bodies, waste, and rotting meat.
Valtor paused barely a few hundred meters outside of the village’s perimeter to address the students again. “Before we begin, there’s something you must understand – even these hobgoblins have their place. Vermin, yes, but still integral to the environment. I’m sure you’ve learned in your other classes of ecological conservation.”
Henry tried to pull something from Valtor’s words, but nothing stood out. Everything sounded frustratingly logical. Ecological conservation? Realistic, mirroring what he’d learned in school about food chains. The actual lesson plan? No joy either. Instinct told him to keep an eye on the professor, but instinct wasn’t evidence. All he had was the hope that something would pop up.
Valtor continued, “Your task shall be to unleash your might upon these hovels. But mark this well – when our quarry flees, you shan’t give chase. Any questions so far?”
A girl with embroidered blonde hair raised her hand. “Professor, I have not – erm, many of us have come without arms.”
Valtor sneered, seeming to weigh her worth for even asking. “Ah, yes. I see some of you are just now realizing what was plainly stated in the previous lecture. You were not instructed to bring arms today – this is deliberate.”
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as if frustrated, before looking back up. His tone held just enough venom to remind them of their place. “You will engage the hobgoblins without your precious tools. Had you paid heed, you would know that true power lies not in the weapon you carry, but in how you wield that which already resides within you.”
He paused again – not out of hesitation, but as though he found the class’ discomfort a minor amusement. “But of course,” he said, almost savoring the words, “I suspect you’re far more concerned with how you will manage such a feat. Allow me to demonstrate.”
Not even a second after Valtor raised his hand, particles of dirt and rock burst forth from the ground, coalescing into humanoid shapes like the Sandman reconstituting himself. A squad of 4 golems took form – a bonafide adventuring party. The one at the helm of the formation was a tank, complete with a conjured stone sword and shield. Behind it stood a lithe skirmisher brandishing compacted stone daggers, a mage with an earthen staff, and a cleric wrapped in robes so fine that the detail could probably rival the Veiled Virgin.
The ground beneath them trembled, rising as a platform that allowed them to oversee the coming battle. Valtor’s next gesture was so subtle it might have been a muscle spasm, yet it unleashed complete pandemonium. The tank catapulted forward, pulverizing the hobgoblins’ excuse for a perimeter wall. The poor bastards near the impact zone were completely blindsided, thrown back by the sheer force of the golem’s ramming maneuver. The shoddy wood collapsed in on itself, leaving a glaring opening into the village.
The tank pushed forward, crushing a hobgoblin’s head underneath its foot while cleaving another in two. The dazed monsters returned fire, arrows looking no better than toothpicks as they cracked against the golem’s heavy shield in a futile display of resistance. The golem dashed forward, cleaning up the remnants of the perimeter’s defenders by smashing their skulls in with its heavy shield before falling back.
The hobgoblins, in their infinite wisdom, turned their attention to the rear golems – right as the tank materialized in their path, a stone middle finger to their tactical ‘acumen’. What might have worked against uncoordinated beasts simply failed as checkers to Valtor’s chess.
Meanwhile, the skirmisher darted forward. It slipped between the trees like a ninja, quickly closing in on the unsuspecting hobgoblins trying to get a good shot on the golems in the rear. One of the enemy archers, still focused on the tank’s position, crumpled as the skirmisher’s daggers sliced through it. Before the corpse could hit the dirt, the golem had vanished, leaving nothing but death and terror in its wake.
The skirmisher’s trajectory suddenly veered, avoiding a patch of ground moments before a concealed hobgoblin burst from a hidden tunnel system. The ambusher hesitated, surprised. The skirmisher didn’t. The hobgoblin’s moment of triumph lasted precisely as long as it took the golem to slam a stone shard into its face, sending the unfortunate soul back into its own trap, brain reduced to mush.
It was only then that Henry realized the suspicious quality of the golems’ movements. No golem could move like that unless being controlled, and Valtor’s focused look reinforced that idea. If the golems were being actively imprinted with these combat skills, then it begged the question: where the hell did Valtor pick them up? There were only a few establishments or environments in any world that could produce a master of all trades, proficient in all ways of killing. Perhaps there was more to his background after all.
Valtor’s hand twitched again. The mage golem stepped forward, flanked by the tank and cleric. They moved as one unit towards the hobgoblin stronghold in the center of the village. The tank led the charge, its shield a veritable wall of ‘fuck you’ to anything in its path. Behind this mobile fortress, the mage golem – or rather, Valtor – unleashed hell.
Casting for the golem, he summoned lightning from the mage’s staff to smite the hobgoblin front line, reducing it to a twitching, smoldering mess. Those lucky enough to survive found themselves caught in a slew of mud, their movements reduced to a geriatric crawl.
In a last-ditch effort born of either desperation or suicidal idiocy, the hobgoblin archers attempted a flank and loosed a volley. The cleric golem’s response was as expected – a shimmering barrier materialized, arrows bouncing harmlessly off of it while the skirmisher skewered the sorry bastards.
The mage golem, apparently not one for breathers, kept up its arcane onslaught. Waves of fire, ice, and stone alternated in a dizzying display of elemental mastery. Even the term ‘obliteration’ seemed quaintly inadequate.
As far as Henry could tell, the professor was the real deal. Rumors on campus put him up there with Kelmithus - Tier 9. While Valtor didn't have any crazy artillery spells enhanced by modern science, being able to multitask that well with high-tier spells and sophisticated melee combat was proof enough of his strength.
Dozens of the monsters lay dead – devastation worthy of compelling the chieftain out of its tent. Easily twice the size of its kin, it brandished a crackling maul that sparked with crude magic. Its arrival galvanized the remaining forces, who rallied around their leader with renewed vigor and formed a secondary defensive line. The golems stopped, giving the hobgoblins space as they formed their own line.
Valtor finally stirred, addressing the wide-eyed students. “And that,” he announced, “is how one commands the flow of battle.” He swept a hand toward the hobgoblins, now a compact, defensible unit instead of the scattered rabble they’d been minutes before. “I’ve left you a challenge more… palatable. Now, let us see what you’ve learned. The field is yours.”
As the platform sank, Henry soaked in the students’ faces. He didn’t need to be a psyker to read such an open book. Confusion melted into realization, then solidified into determination – or in some cases, pure, unadulterated panic. The gap between Valtor’s nonchalant mastery and the students’ deer-in-wandlights vulnerability probably seemed insurmountable to some of the kids.
Henry realized that the professor had given the students all they needed. Sure, they could go ahead and try to summon their own golems and puppeteer them, but the answer was much more simple. At the end of the day, the golems were simply conjured rock. Similarly, all the kids needed to do was create some stone equipment for themselves.
A well-built ginger guy up front – probably some noble’s kid – arrived at the same conclusion and jumpstarted the action. A sword materialized at his side, followed by a shield and armor.
And just like that, the floodgates burst. Weapons and armor popped into existence, copying the lead of the ginger. Then there were the wannabe puppet masters, hoping to show their prowess by summoning golems of their own, only to fail miserably at it. Meekly, they simply followed the tried and true method practiced by the other students.
Wielding their new equipment, the students hit the field. The redhead led the charge, going straight for the hobgoblin chieftain. But… what was he doing? He didn’t conjure a shield for himself. Did he intend to tank the arrows with his stone armor or deflect it with his sword?
He did neither. Instead, a wall of earth rose to meet the incoming volley, intercepting it. He then launched said wall at the enemy – a literal ton of dirt and rock crashing onto the hobgoblin ranks. He sliced through a pair of hobgoblins, bringing his sword down upon the chieftain, which blocked it with its warhammer. The kid swiveled, taking advantage of the recoil to slash right and score a hit, only to receive an uppercut that sent him flying back.
He’d clearly spent more time in the training yard than the banquet hall. The kid got up immediately after hitting the ground, covered by a rain of stone projectiles and spells that pinned the chieftain back. A couple seconds with a healer and he was already back in the fight.
Despite the chaos of the battlefield and Henry’s expectations, the class actually seemed to be coordinated, giving callouts. There were also a few squads that stood out from the rest, probably already familiar with working together from real adventuring. Of course, there were also a few who seemed to just be winging it.
One kid had conjured a massive stone shield, using it as both defense and offense. He’d rush forward, slam into a group of hobgoblins, then let his classmates pick off the disoriented monsters. And then there were the pure mages, relying little on conjured equipment and instead on conjurations themselves – good ol’ fashioned ‘make icicles and throw them at the enemy.’
While the weaker students focused on whittling down the hobgoblin count, the ginger continued his duel with the chieftain. The brutish hobgoblin caught the student again, with a backhand this time. Again, he rose up, patiently waiting several seconds for healing magic to kick in before diving back into the fray.
The clash dragged on, less an epic saga and more a grueling spreadsheet of attrition. The ginger noble, initial bravado notwithstanding, found himself in a deadlock with the chieftain. Each exchange left both parties resembling particularly animated punching bags, neither quite managing to tip the scales.
However, the student had something the chieftain did not: numbers. As redhead’s classmates whittled down the hobgoblin ranks, the tide began to shift. The chieftain, for all its brute strength and bargain-bin magic, couldn’t quite match the constant barrage as more and more students focused their attacks. It was death by a thousand cuts – or rather, death by a few dozen well-placed spells and the occasional lucky sword swing.
The ginger noble, while far from fresh, had the luxury of periodic tune-ups from his classmates. The chieftain, meanwhile, collected injuries like some grotesque badge of honor. A frost bolt here, a stone projectile there – it didn’t take a genius to see that the hobgoblin was completely cooked.
Eventually, the laws of probability caught up with the monstrous commander. Its swings began to resemble a drunk trying to swat flies, its blocks about as effective as using a sieve as an umbrella. The noble, seizing an opening created by a fireball, finally landed a solid blow.
The hobgoblin leader staggered, its grip on the maul loosening like a politician’s grasp on ethics. Smelling blood, singed hair, and the ever-pervasive stench of shit, the students pounced. A volley of spells that could probably do some serious damage to a Humvee forced the chieftain to its knees, and the noble delivered the coup de grâce with all the finesse of a particularly enthusiastic lumberjack.
With that, the chieftain’s head fell to the ground, blood oozing onto the forest floor. As their leader toppled with all the grace of a felled oak, the remaining hobgoblins decided that discretion was indeed the better part of valor. Those still standing beat a hasty retreat, making a mad dash for the woods.
The ginger noble, despite delivering the final blow, looked about as triumphant as a marathon runner crossing the finished line on shaky legs. He leaned on his conjured sword like it was the only thing between him and an intimate encounter with gravity, not daring to conjure a seat for himself while all the ladies were watching.
The victorious students, sweat-drenched and stone-dusted, didn’t pursue. And all the better for it. In heeding Valtor’s lesson, they managed to avoid running into a pair of creatures that emerged from the woods. Curiously, they ignored the hobgoblins, making a beeline instead toward the wrecked village and the victorious students within.
Henry barely noticed it from a distance, but the pitch black of their scales damn near blended in with the shadows under the canopy. The beasts slunk forward, titans of muscle and scale, monstrosities of death and claw – Vorikhas. Each stood taller than the burliest student, and even the golems Valtor had created earlier. Aligning with the dossier created by Kelmithus, the monsters’ hides seemed to devour the light, enough to contend with vantablack and literal black holes. It gave them an uncanny, almost shadowy presence even in broad daylight.
One student – a girl who’d shown promise with earth magic during the battle – attempted to raise a barrier as she scrambled away. Her spell dissipated mere inches from the nearest Vorikha, its scales drinking in the magic like a sponge. Another student launched a fireball, only for the flames to sputter and die like an amateur’s firebolt against the creature’s hide. A lanky student, still high on victory and oblivious to the new threat, found himself mere feet from becoming an impromptu chew toy for one of the Vorikhas.
It tensed its muscles, ready to pounce. Henry grabbed his Holding Bag, reaching in, but the Vorikhas were faster. And apparently, Valtor was fastest.
Valtor didn’t so much as move an inch. Not even a flick of his wrist, and the earth became a conveyor belt of stone and soil. The hapless student yelped as he slid backward, narrowly avoiding a set of jaws that would’ve used his head as a grape. He rubbed his neck in pain. The whiplash didn’t look fun, but it was definitely preferable to the alternative.
Valtor walked forward with a slight look of annoyance, seeming to take responsibility in handling things. Henry kept his grip on his weapon, but held off from pulling it out of the bag. A quick glance to the sides revealed that the rest of his team thought the same way – ready to arm themselves and just waiting for the go-ahead.
The beast, enraged at losing its prey, reared back. The roar that followed wasn’t just any random bestial cry – it was magic made manifest. Trees splintered and the earth itself buckled under the onslaught. Students ran back, their own protective spells crumbling under the primal force.
As soon as the Vorikhas made their move, Valtor made his. The air around the Vorikhas tightened, and suddenly their roars were cut off, trapped in bubbles of silence. Though resistant to magic itself, what could they do when the magic was instead used to part the air around them? How could they tank hits when there were no spells to absorb? In the same instant, the ground beneath their feet collapsed, burying them up to their necks.
With the beasts immobilized and their primary weapon neutralized, Valtor produced a dagger from his cloak. Holding his breath, he approached the first Vorikha and planted the dagger firmly in its eye socket, ravaging the brain in the process. The beast slumped silently, the other beginning to panic as Valtor’s blade neared, only for its erratic head movements to cease once the professor finished his work. The beasts simply sat there, their fearsome presence reduced to nothing more than very large, very dead obstacles.
Well, it looked like Henry didn’t need to expose his weapon. He loosened his grip, relaxing as Valtor returned.
“And that,” Valtor said, as if delivering a lecture on weather patterns, “is what becomes of a foe when you strip it of its strengths and exploit its weaknesses.”
“This… was not part of today’s lesson, but you’ve learned something vital nevertheless. Unforeseen threats may strike at any time, unbidden. The difference between life and death is simple: adaptation.” He held the gore-covered dagger aloft. Frost swept across the blade in an instant, encasing the viscera in a thin sheet of ice. Flames then engulfed the dagger, vaporizing the ice. With a simple flick to remove any lingering debris, he sheathed the blade.
Valtor gestured toward the path back to the wagons. “That will suffice for today. Gather yourselves, and return to the wagons. We depart at once.”
As the students headed back, the professor used earth magic to drag the corpses of the Vorikhas along. Though Valtor hardly revealed anything of note aside from his very particular set of skills, one thing stood out to Henry: what the hell were Vorikhas doing this close to Armstrong, miles away from their natural habitat in the mountains? And why the hell did they not attack the hobgoblins?