They say every red-blooded teenage magician loves a good fight, but if you're worried about my odds squaring off three-against-one, don't be. Even if I was overestimating my abilities, the dueling arena in the retro-fitted basketball court is equipped with magic dampeners for safety. They even come equipped with an auto-heal function, though I can tell one of the sigils for the pillar on the southeast corner of the dueling square is cracked. It isn't pulling enough mana from the magic crystal in its core.

Even still, this match will be a cake walk. And the hundred or so students in the bleachers are gonna blow a gasket at the upset.

"You're gonna cry when this is finished and I've broken you!" Derek shouts from across the arena.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

Derek leads this team of stooges. He's fair -skinned, arrogant and a misogynist prick; but he's pretty and rich, so of course he has a fan club of goo-goo eyed girls, and a pair of brainless henchmen to do his bidding. In the past two years of this magic high-school, he has been the inspiration for nearly every one of my homicidal ideations. "Why're you so quiet now? After all that fuss calling us out for a three-on-one-- and an official duel of all the insane things. Cat got your tongue, Cookie? Are you scared, Cookie?"

I think of three or four witty retorts, but swallow them. I hate that nickname. My name is Coqui. My friends call me Key. But Cookie always gets my blood going. Talking now would mean losing focus. My silence is the most likely thing to throw my opponent off guard. The right word at the right moment can be powerful. Even more so for an sympathetic magician of paths like me.

"All of you know the rules," says Mr. Funez from the sidelines. He's the referee and leader of the dueling branch of our school's foci. His brow is creased with concern and he adjusts his tie. Then he looks over to the judges table where his secret crush, Miss G, is smiling back at him with innocent giddiness. She was invited as a judge today. Her first time seeing a dueling club official match. Doesn't know how unusual the scenario is.

Most of the people in the bleachers around us know. They're either duelists or enthusiasts. They know I've only ever been part of the club in name, if they knew at all. It's not unheard of for kids to register as duelists just to get free or discount tickets to the intermural official dueling matches. As far as anyone else knows (except for my closest friends), that's all I've ever been. If they know me at all, they think of me as the low-maj empath. A support-class magician. A non-starter. A bench-warmer. Now they're all holding their breath. No one's had the nads to challenge Derek or call him out on his bullying except the Top Five. No one else is strong enough, or so the numbers say. And for me, a nobody, to call out three of the top ten duelists for a 3v1 match is insane. A train wreck no one can help but watch happen with wide eyes and open mouths.

"The duelists will wait until my mark," Mr. Funez continues. "Then, use the skills at their disposal to disable their opponent. Combat abilities, spells and magic above the first level are forbidden. Any ability used with the intention of circumventing safeguards to cause lasting harm are expressly forbidden and grounds for disqualification. Are you ready?"

"You made a mistake, Chocolate Chip Cookie. What were you thinking?" Derek keeps taunting, but I've already reached my zen. I'm holding my magic like a coiled spring. "You think an empath has any place in a dungeon? Let alone a dueling arena? You are just a waste of--"

He's still prattling but I'm not listening. I'm waiting for the mark.

3... 2... 1... "Begin."

Derek's still in the middle of a sentence when I spring forward, driving my weak reserves of mana into a negligible body enhancement. But I'm fast. My muscles have been forged and tempered in the crucible of daily HIT and weight training and rolling on the mat. The enhancement just gives me a slight edge. And a shit-ton of cornering potential.

It takes me four strides and one-and-a-half seconds to close the distance with William, the henchmen on the right. I sign a somatic rune with my right hand and pull my arm back as if I'm going to launch a spell at him point black range. His eyes widen and he takes a step back, readying a spell. He's not my real target, but Kimpy on the far left doesn't know that.

Kimpy is stocky but muscular. His specialization is defense, body enhancement, and earth based magic. I've watched him during team bouts. He doesn't let me down. In the space left between me and William, he calls forth a mud wall. It's built to repel spells and would be a great counter against a level one force ball or any of a number of cantrips about to crash into William's face.

Except, like I said, William isn't my target, and I can corner like a boss.

My weight shifts and my foot comes down hard on the floor. I redirect my momentum. The arcane tarmacadem-crumb (the material the court is made of) cracks as I pivot left and launch my spell at Kimpy.

"Your eyes!" I hiss. The whispered sound is louder than a shout in Kimpy's ears, but barely audible to anyone else unless I choose. The moment he hears it, he has no choice but ( for a split second) to think of his eyes and wonder if anything is wrong with them. This question is the opening my magic latches onto, connecting with his optic nerves, his mind, my will-- and when I flick my wrist, I throw the perception at William to similar effect. "Are now your eyes!"

My will clamps down on the spell like a vice, completing the binding, and throwing it in a loop.

Then, I pivot again, so I'm sprinting full speed at Derek.

To his credit, while the arrogant jerk was just as surprised as everyone else in the room at the swiftness of my assault, he recovers quickly. He is not on the top ten duelist list of our school without reason. Derek swiftly puts his verbal shenanigans aside and conjures a bolt of force, then sends it my way. If he'd been a split second faster, such as if he hadn't been mouthing off and underestimating me, he would have caught me square. Unfortunately for him, that wasn't the case.

The bolt of force zips toward me like a spear of rainbow light.

To most people, force bolts are invisible except for the slight ripple of displaced air they leave in their wake. It makes them a staple in duels as they are difficult to dodge. Many duels are spent by magicians alternating between erecting magical barriers and launching force bolts. I, on the other hand, can see magic. It is perhaps one of the only practical gifts for which I am recognized by my teachers.

Even though I can see it, I'm too close to dodge cleanly. Derek's attack is charged with quite a substantial bit of mana and my momentum has carried me to just short of one stride from closing the distance.

In a split second, I duck left and swat the bolt away with the back of my hand, redirecting its momentum just enough to where it doesn't hit me head-on. It lands behind me with a loud thud. A sound that punctuates the sound of my fist crunching into Derek's nose.

Blood spurts from his nose like a crushed cherry and he stumbles back onto his ass. The collective gasp of the crowd is like the calm before the storm. Then, applause. Cheers. Whoops and hollers. The secret unclaimed hope of every wronged or bullied individual, the frustrated hatred and anger at high-school injustices both real and perceived... The gymnasium roars in release of a tension that comes from witnessing the reversal of this tragedy, instead finding catharsis.

"What the hell's going on? I don't understand!" William wobbles where he stands, to my right. His hands outstretched, his balance is awful, like someone suffering a severe bout of vertigo. Then he trips over his own feet and falls on his face.

The crowd's cheers turn to laughter.

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"Get a grip, Will! He's switched our vision." Kimpy is kneeling, his eyes closed. His expression is focused and professional. "It's a debuff spell. Get a grip! Close your eyes and cast an AOE around you. Shore up your defense until the effect wears off."

"I can't see, Kimp! It's like he's taken my eyes away! I'll kill him. He's cheated somehow. I'll kill him!" But in his disorientation and distress, he can't seem to concentrate on producing a spell.

All things considered, Kimpy is handling the disorientation much better than I was expecting. I'm impressed that he assessed the situation and developed a sound strategy to counter an unfamiliar spell. In just a couple of heartbeats. If they both closed their eyes, or if William quit moving his head around so much, they might get somewhere. Too bad that isn't the case, and I won't give them time to recover.

The fight isn't over just yet.

"Watch out Will! He's..." starts Kimpy. He tries to erect another mud barrier. It's big and showy, with jutting dull spikes. But he can't measure the distance well using another person's sight and it misses by a mile.

I slap Will across the face. Because it feels good to do. And because doing so means I can use his pain, and less mana in the next path. "Sleep..." I say, and he does.

Derek is on his feet again, rage painted on his face. He looks around at the jeering crowd, clearly rooting for me and not him. "You're not a combat mage. What the hell are you doing?"

I grin. "Winning."

My words drive him to frothing. He conjures a ball of force in each hand and starts wildly chucking them at me one after another. His aim is terrible. His movements telegraphed. I simply dodge one after the other, making him more and more angry.

Kimpy is wriggling out of the effects of my spell. His mental defenses being reinforced by his own mana, then tearing through my binding. Also impressive. "Keep your cool, Derek! He's trying to wear down your reserves and keep you off balance."

Somehow, his partner's words cut through to him. Which is disappointing. I could use Derek's anger, driving it upward to insane levels.

Instead, Derek stops and begins charging a new spell. Whatever it is, it might have the juice to stop me if I don't end things now. Especially when Kimpy's eyes come back to him.

I dart forward and divide my attention. Visualizing being in two places at once-- a few feet to the left and a few feet to the right. Then pour my mana into the vision to give it life. It's a harder spell to hold and less powerful than what I've used to disorient Kimpy and William.

To everyone's eyes, for an instant I'm in two places at once, about to attack Derek from the left and right. But I'm in neither. I'm exactly where I was before-- directly in front of him, but for a critical moment, unseen.

Derek falters, losing concentration on his spell as he tries to launch what he was building in two directions at once. His spell fizzles along with the fake copies. And realizes his mistake as my knee rams into his solar plexus, winding him.

Eyes wide, he goes down again. Turning to his side, he vomits. "What?... the..."

Kimpy finishes working through my debuff and gets on his feet, his guard up and his eyes intensely fixed on me.

This fight might be finished.

All my tricks have been used up. All I have left is to project confidence.

"That's it, isn't it?" Kimpy says, his eyes narrowing. "Your body doesn't generate a lot of mana, does it? That's why you had to rush at us, throwing all you had into your strongest debuffs?"

"Damn," I curse under my breath. No one in the school has seen me fight before. This kid figures me out in under a minute, most of which he was blinded by my spell.

The corner of Kimpy's lips twist up in a smile. Double damn. I just confirmed his hunch.

"By earth and water, blood and bone, let skin be stone," Kimpy mutters an incantation and wreaths his body in stone armor, conjured through a transmutation of pure mana.

Triple damn. What the hell am I going to do now?

"You deserve better than this imbecile," I say, gesturing lazily in Derek's direction. He's still doubled over, retching. Still, I don't lower my guard, which is good for what happens a few moments later.

"It would probably be better if you forfeit."

"Maybe you're underestimating me. I could have a trump card up my sleeve."

"We both know you don't. You've got hand-to-hand training, but without powerful reinforcement magic, you'll just break yourself against my stone."

He's not wrong. But I'm stubborn. I might forfeit. I've already shown up Derek's team. But I might be able to force Kimpy to use up some more of his magic. I might also make a fool of myself. Before I can make up my mind, Derek surprises me.

Not because I don't see him coming-- Rather, because of what he decides to do when he recovers enough to do something.

Derek gets to his feet and I feel the surge of magic.

I learn later that Derek's father is infamous. A powerful evoker with a knack for fire magic. The gift runs in the family.

"Fireball."

Derek's quick-cast is speedy and powerful. Even at its lowest-level casting, the fireball is far outside the normal parameters of permissible force in a high-school duel. I realize in a split-second, how much more mana Derek naturally has access to than I do under normal circumstances.

It's enough to bypass the safety measures of the magic dampeners. They take some of the juice away, but not nearly enough before it reaches me.

A ball of searing flame the size of my torso barrels toward me like the roaring maw of a devouring monster.

The crowd screams. I scream. The teachers across the arena scream.

I hear none of it.

The adrenaline in my body has given me access to a bit of mana. I wreath my hands in this impossibly small amount and put them between me and the flaming death ball.

You see, most people can generate mana through bodies naturally. They typically accumulate this mana throughout the day until it reaches a certain cap. Some people's capacity is much higher than others. Kimpy wasn't wrong when he guessed that my body doesn't generate much mana. That isn't exactly right. My body doesn't generate any mana at all. It also doesn't accumulate any. The only way I have been able to access and manipulate magic at all, is thanks to the magic of paths, and my strong affinity for empathy.

How did I get around this limitation? Through sheer will, and by studying the ancient magicians of paths. I have learned to turn emotions-- such as pain, fear, frustration, anger-- I can turn it all into mana. I have also learned how to store mana in crystals for later use. But as those are illegal in duels, I have only used what I could muster and hold for a few minutes before this duel began.

The flesh on my hands melts. The skin on my face blisters. The hair on my head singes and curls. I can smell burning flesh and hair.

But the fireball is in my hands. I am holding it. I am shrieking in pain, but the pain is my conduit to power.

It isn't enough.

There is another thing I can do. Something that is frowned upon in the magic community by virtue of being misunderstood. It is known that some magicians of days of old had the power to draw magic from others. The name given for these evil magicians who drew the life force from others to fuel their own strength and ambitions? Necromancers. Dark Mages. Evil.

Those magicians draw from life force. A magician of paths can draw on the magic itself. It's a distinction that the ignorant aren't keen on making. So it's a skill that I haven't used except in trusted company.

Put in this life or death situation, I don't give a shit what anyone thinks.

My mind expands. Drawing from everyone's shock and horror. I pull from my own pain. I hold on to the magic of the fireball. I keep it from exploding in my hands.

It isn't enough. My hands are charring bone and cooked sinew. My eyes melt in my skull. But I see the magic that makes the fireball. I latch onto it. My consciousness travels along the rainbow threads of potential, woven into a pattern of fire and air and pure mana for fuel. I follow the chords to their originator. I ruthlessly drive a wedge of my will into the core of Derek, who is horrified by his own actions. No, now that he has murdered me, he is afraid of his father. I don't care. I unravel him, latching onto what is left his prodigious mana pool and sucking him dry in an instant.

The fireball is crushed under my power. It doesn't explode.

But it isn't enough. I pull on the crowd around me until they are dry. It isn't enough.

My body is on fire. I am dying. The magic of what was once the fireball is in me, everything around me is in me. The universe is one. I am dying.

But I feel only power.

What is left?

The auto-heal. The magic in the crystals inside the dampening pillars.

I weave a path between us and auto-heal sigils. I overdrive them and pull from the crystals.

Finally, my body begins to heal. It happens fast, but every second is agony, which fuels my power more, and so I push more mana into the healing sigils. My eyes are repaired. The bones and muscles in my hands are regrown by magic. And then it is over.

There I stand, in the scorched ruin of my clothes. I am steaming. The magic dampening pillars are fried and smoking lightly.

I take a look around and assess the gymnasium. And become aware of the eyes on me.

Naked from the waist up. Odd pink skin coiled from the tips of my finger up my arms, replacing my once sand colored flesh. Is my face like this too? I look down and see splotches of pink in swirling patterns like flames all along my flesh.

And I am filled with power. I am positively crackling with it. In a room filled with magicians, they can all feel it. I could let it go. After all, my body can't hold it and I don't need it anymore. The auto-heal sigils and the mana crystals in the dampeners are all fried. I don't have the control to give the magic back to everyone here (Boy, does everyone look exhausted all of a sudden).

I'm tempted to jam it into Derek's brain stem in revenge. Maybe roast his ability to channel magic ever again. But I'm not evil. And even if he deserves it, that won't be good for me.

I decide that, given the circumstances, I've earned it. I just need to take it somewhere to store it. Fortunately I know just the place.

Kimpy is still standing nearby. His jaw has dropped, along with his stone armor. I must have drawn some of his magic too in my desperate attempt to save my own life.

Oh, but we're still in a dueling arena.

"Do you still want to finish the match?" I ask.

"What? Oh. Uh, no. I... uh... We forfeit."