“Why, exactly, am I facing off against him again? He kicked the shit outta me the first time.” Zahn’s complaint fell on deaf ears as Ethan dragged him out to the stone ring once again. Fresh off their preparations from the morning he was impatient to get to their opening-the-door-to-Hell experiment, but the obnoxious requirements of the ring called him anyways. “And why would nobody tell me about the match? You could have brought this up literally all morning.”
Ethan neared the ring of stones holding the Shaman in question, and slowed to lean closer. “For one, your daily matches are broadcast just before noon, so no I didn’t know about it until after your turkey adventure. And two, it didn’t say in the message. Just the match and which ring, you’re in eight in case you care.”
Zahn scowled at the explanation, still not seeing where the other fighters were getting their broadcasts from. “And how the fuck am I supposed to know what’s being broadcast? Don’t tell me the fat bastard just didn’t give me a thing I should have.”
The other Player chuckled as they reached their scheduled fight. “Well I said earlier they might be Psychic. There’s going to be another blast sent out when you step in, so try to pay attention to the thing you’ve got boiling away in your brain. You might just not be listening for it.”
“That’s stupid. You’re stupid,” came Zahn’s intelligent and well-planned reply. He looked across the sand at Brouhaman, finding the old man patiently waiting with both hands gripping his magical walking stick. The lowbie took in a long breath and stepped over the sunken rocks, listening for anything out of the norm. Something tingled behind his ear, and a light whining noise echoed briefly off to the left somewhere before the usual constant mumbling returned to the background. Shaking his head to clear it he looked again at his opponent to find the old caster frowning at him.
“Not the greeting one is supposed to give their instructor,” came his weary voice. “If you had intended to show me respect, the proper method is to bow before and after crossing the divide, not your animal display of frustration.” Brouhaman lifted his staff in one hand as he pointed to the ground with the other, “You have not learned from the spells I taught you. Be it from your ignorance or laziness, I shall not tolerate a student of mine acting so poorly. You will learn, young Player.”
Zahn hung slack from his ready stance, trying to parse what he was hearing. “Ah, no? No. You already taught me the spells, what the hell else are you-” Before he could finish the objection, his mentor began casting.
“Shape.” The old man’s voice carried a deeper resonance that Zahn could almost feel vibrating through his feet when his spell executed and blew his mind. A lumpy rock the size of his head erupted from the ground, resting on the sands as if it’d fallen out of the sky. The small boulder wobbled and morphed as its edges shifted around to take a more solid shape, molding around itself to become a perfect sphere.
Zahn blinked dumbly as the basic-level Earth spell took on new life in his eyes, just in time for the second lesson.
“Shift.” Hearing the second cast had the Player crouching, snapped out of his stupor to try and react to the ground. Is he going to bury me? Make a room of sand? Dirt tentacles? The run of questions were answered when he looked back up to see the sphere of stone levitating off the ground, responding to the Shaman’s staff. Green mana hung suspended off the end of his staff, looking like an inverted halo for a healthy growing lawn.
Brouhaman tilted his staff forwards, pivoting off the active spellform as if it gripped the wooden stick. The slowly spinning sphere took on a rapid energy, going from a sideways wobble to spinning in place fast enough to make Zahn imagine he could hear a motor engine. Without further prompting the missile launched itself, rocketing towards the Player as he desperately dove to the side. The ball rebounded off the walls of their private duel, bouncing against the ground before its constant spin launched it back in the air like a vengeful tetherball.
Zahn ducked under a high jump and tried to keep his eye on target as he fingered his dagger. I can’t cut a fucking rock with this thing. Can I inscribe the opening line on it? He jumped to the right as the missile shot past again, its momentum finally slowing. Do I need to write on the thing, or just draw it into a trap? His unending questions weren’t likely to be answered by the sphere as it rolled across the ground but he knew who could.
Turning away from the evil futbol, the Player faced Brouhaman directly as the old man stood frowning back at him. “So, you don’t need to inscribe the spells for them to work?”
The Shaman’s frown deepened into a scowl, “Of course not. You’re describing a ritual casting, not combat applications. Do you truly intend to not respond with magic?”
Zahn let out a self-deprecating laugh, “Of course not yourself. It’s not like I have a spell you can’t counter or turn against me. Why do you want to duel me, anyways?”
“This is not a duel,” the old man growled. “This is instruction. Obviously I will counter your magics, how else would you learn what to expect? Your arrogance should have been answer enough. Shape.” With his second cast, another larger rock erupted from somewhere beneath. Zahn could feel a slight tremor but it ended as the new sculpture arrived and began to morph itself. Without the old man seeming to give any direction, the bigger stone unfolded itself taller and quickly took on the outline of a statue. With each second he watched the rock smoothed and bent its edges until a replica of the old Shaman stood three feet tall.
“Shift.” Not waiting for Zahn to finish admiring the spellwork, Brouhaman cast again and waved his magical stick. As the Custom traced his movements, he saw the mana flow down his arm and into the staff, dropping out the bottom of the wood and leaving a trail behind when he drew a quick circle on the air. As the circle completed, it seemed to harden and grip the staff into its center as if it now rested on the active spell. Brouhaman didn’t move as his statue shook and twitched, its limbs grinding their way up in jerky sliding motions that barely mimicked life. The miniature rock man haltingly strode stiff legs towards him, staring at nothing with its lifeless eyes.
Zahn stepped back, keeping a distance between them as he again contemplated an attack pattern. “Shape,” he tried to warp the ground into a pit and felt a massive surge of heat race down his leg, his mana pool dipping for nearly two seconds before stopping. The burst of power gathered in the sands between them, looking like he’d crafted a magical green pond before the sands shook and exploded upwards. Zahn coughed and covered his face, trying to keep it clear as he watched his opponent and the approaching doll.
The Player could still see the other caster and his creation, with the dark green glow lighting up the statue’s moving joints as well as a lighter coloring filling its body. The little man seemed to stumble as he crossed the new pit, only to easily walk along the half-foot deep divot he’d actually made to continue its attack. Zahn shuffled sideways to keep out of the thing’s reach, finding the ring almost impossible to navigate without his eyes. The dent he’d exploded from the ground had already failed to slow the oncoming attack, but his tiny mage dagger would likely do even less.
His leading foot found the rock ball from earlier and sent him tumbling to his left as the statue swung its stiff arms overhead. From the ground he pointed his hands up at the thing and slashed two lines horizontally across it like an entspricht sign and cast. “Sever!” The attacking doll broke apart, its body fragmenting along two new creases that let the rock fall from its waist.
Zahn scrambled to his feet and got some distance from the mess, his mana eyes tracking the colors within the construct. The small statue still leaked its green mana into the air, but seemed quite finished moving. He looked over at the Shaman to find the same glower waiting for him.
“Who taught you that?” The old man didn’t raise his voice, but the message carried easily across the ring. “That spell is not within your Grimoire.”
The Player glanced over at the broken open wall he’d carved the Sever spellform into several days ago, trying to understand. “Uh, yeah it is. You even made a big deal about how I carved it.” Shifting his feet and trying to navigate around his pitfall, Zahn made his way closer to his opponent step by step. “What, you wanted me to try and re-shape your little monster?”
Brouhaman let out a huff before tapping his staff against the ground and releasing a spell. The Player had time to see three small runes light up along its shaft before ribbons of dark green raced away from its tip as if he’d dropped soap onto oil. The surge of colors captured the sand around them and pulled it along, dragging the floor out from under his feet and sending the lowbie tumbling down as the ground adjusted itself. When he found stable footing again, the sand ring was flat and undisturbed within their rock borders. If he hadn’t been the one facing off, he would have thought they didn’t start yet.
“You know nothing of the spells I have already taught you. You cannot use even the simplest variants of the most basic of spells. Before a novice would be allowed to even hold his magic foci, he must demonstrate sufficient mastery over these essential components in greater castings. How could you ever hope to raise a wall of spears when you cannot even inscribe a ritual? How can you aim to move a wall when you need an hour to budge a pebble? You are either lazy or stupid, likely both, to be so limited with the tools I have handed to you.”
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Zahn straightened up under the abuse, feeling his temper jump to join the conversation. “Are you kidding? You gave me two of the most basic, simple-ass spells there are! Do you even know how long it takes to carve runes into a wall filled with someone else’s mana? When did-”
Once again cut off, he felt the ground ripple and shift as the elder Shaman scowled and tugged his staff along the ground. “Be silent, you ignorant whelp. I gave you the essential tools to build an arsenal, the means to grow an empire, the spells that will shape your magical career for decades to come. You find difficulty in engraving a stone? Fool. Every rock already bears the energies of its owner, its master, and you will soon learn the masters we borrow our meager power from are not interested in your ineffective tactics.”
Zahn forced a tight smile as he listened to the ongoing rant, trying to remain calm enough not to shout. “What you call ‘ineffective’ I call functional. I’ve spent days carving a single fucking spellform, I’ve picked up Seal and Sever and Spike, and I’ve been using magic to beat down opponents well out of my fucking ranking cap, you gregarious asshole!”
“Just wanna point out, that was a lucky shot,” quipped Ethan from somewhere outside their duel shield. Zahn flipped a middle finger in the direction of the noise without turning, confident the old Shaman would launch an attack.
“I saw your attempts, little novice. You loosened the ground and lifted it up, wrapping and ensconcing your friend. If you bothered to learn the spell you were trying to copy, you would have emptied the dirt beneath him and cast Burial to sink his entire body beneath the surface and suffocate him. Your pitiful casts are only a reflection of your arrogance, trying to mimic the profound effects of master terramancers without an iota of respect for the work spent on their craft!” Brouhaman shouted back at the lowbie, matching his irate ranting with a cross lecture. “To presume you can simply avoid the years of hard work spent on honing their skills and leap to their heights is among the prime examples of why your kind is universally hated, constantly showing yourselves to be among the worst - what?!”
Zahn held up a single hand and waited as his voice rose, trying to keep a straight face under the teacher’s shouting. “You mentioned Burial, is that another high-level spell you didn’t bother telling me about? Can you only teach S-named spells or something?”
Brouhaman’s face darkened further as it flushed red. “Your mockery will not stand, novice.”
“No, seriously.” Zahn could see mana filling the other man’s weapon, and didn’t believe for a moment he’d survive the skull-level seriously attacking him. His heart pounded behind his ribs, the heat rippling through his arms with every beat making them shake. “You only showed me you can shape a rock today, nevermind a moving fucking statue. You gave me tools with zero instruction, and you’re mad I didn’t independently inspire myself to be a fucking sculptor? And now you accuse me of copying some rando spell I’ve never even heard of? What kind of teacher are you anyways?!”
“I am effective.” The Shaman Brouhaman lifted his staff, its inner lights glowing a brilliant blue that rapidly shifted hues to the green spectrum as he held it up. “Grasp.” Slamming the stick into the ground, he sent out the spell that Zahn saw as a half-dozen ribbons of emerald light streak through the ground under his feet before turning over on themselves and ripping upwards. The six bands of dirt broke apart into grasping hands with long rocky arms wrapping themselves around his body as they climbed. First they gripped his ankles, climbing over one another like the worst version of snakes he’d never heard of. As they reached higher each hand would grip his leg in a vice before the next wound itself over the new base to climb higher, painfully grabbing onto his body with each tier they rose.
Zahn tried to break his leg free, finding the loose sand of the arena shift beneath his step and rise with his foot as if he were dragging a swamp up from its own watery depths. The constantly overlapping hands left his legs wrapped in earth as they climbed up his torso and gripped his arms, dragging them close to his torso and seizing his elbows to further restrict him. The Player panicked, trying to keep his arms moving as he failed to kick a foot free from the prison.
“Burial.” The Shaman’s voice carried no inflection as it echoed over their small shared space, and Zahn’s panic rose further when the sandy dirt arms wrapped around him took on a fresh coat of color and changed hue darker. What had looked like six ribbons of mana wrapping around him melded together into a long sheath of dirt wrapped like a cocoon from his feet up to near his shoulders, before the huge tube began to sink. The lowbie wriggled and gasped as he tried to break free, feeling the pressure around his legs increase as they sank below ground level and dragged him down. He struggled against each inch that he sank, completely ineffective against the ongoing interment.
As the ground rose up to meet the top of his prison, Zahn was sunk almost completely underground with both arms trapped and legs immobile. The spell continued to bury him, obeying the command from Brouhaman and uncaring to the struggle of its victim. He looked up at his opponent, finding the Shaman standing calmly and channeling his spell as energy rippled down his staff into the ground. The old man watched his struggle and said nothing, unmoving as his student sank to his death below the dirt.
The ground passed his chin, prompting Zahn to take an illogical deep breath and nearly gag as the pressure around his torso seemed to increase from the trap. Why would I get a deep breath when it’s squeezing me? Griping at himself, the lowbie sank below eye level and squeezed them tight to avoid getting magically empowered sand in them. His air supply ticked away as the seconds crept by, finally coming to a halt underground. From the mana above him, Zahn could see the brutal Shaman standing in place and could even see the remnants of mana within the small golem he’d broken before nearby. Now that the Burial spell had finished its work, the tight grip around his body fell away to be replaced by the crushing pressure of all the ground he’d been surrounded by. Neither arm could move, and he couldn’t even shift his head enough to make room to breathe. Mana jumped out of his core, as if responding to his amped blood pressure and adrenaline. The warmth from his energy was briefly comforting, until his mental imagery compared it to fire and he became again aware of his lack of air.
Feeling his lungs becoming desperate, the lowbie growled at himself uselessly. Good job, provoke the strong guy. Not use Psychic, not use Fire, just use mouth. Bravo, moron. Trying to slam his head against something barely gave him enough room to open his eyes, though he didn’t dare. With magic fueling them, he had no use for blinding himself against the grinding sand. Rocking back and forth as much as he was able, the gap compressed dirt to each side as he ran out of air.
Scraping his skull against the rocks, he tilted his head back enough to be looking directly at Brouhaman. The mana in his system rippled its way up his back to meet the small scrapes he earned, making them burn as the power touched them. Feeling more angry than scared, the Player opted to at least ruin the other man’s day. Choosing the only spell he knew was a simple as a line, Zahn smashed his chin forward and dragged down as much room as he could make. He felt the delicate skin on his nose split and bleed, dragging down sharp rock fragments buried with him. Rage demanded he answer for the pain and blood, and his usually calmer higher functions completely agreed.
Zahn tilted his head back as far as he could, finally letting out the desperate breath that begged release. “SEVER!” His muffled growl could barely have been called a word from underground, let alone something intelligible, but the spell still took hold. The single line he’d drawn with blood sparked up as if aflame, glowing brightly as it sucked mana from his body in a rush and exploded. He caught a glimpse of his mana pool dumping itself out and emptying into the simple spell before his world upended.
The ground tore itself apart with a roar, as if he’d thrust giant hands into the dirt right in front of him and heaved. The sudden shift of earth to each side pulled him upwards and out, freeing him up to his waist as the ground bucked and heaved against his spell. The ring of stones marking their battle’s border shattered, the rocks sent flying as the wards failed. When the sound stopped, sand fell from the sky like snow and obscured everything not glowing with mana.
Zahn bent over, heaving for air as he half-layed on the ground. He was still buried to the waist, through the crack he’d made let the man’s legs hang freely instead of being turned into sausage. He tried to push himself free with his arms and collapsed, his limbs refusing to give him that much strength. His prone panting drew steps from behind, but he was too tired to care. His brain felt like he’d been rubbing it in salt and a massive headache was blooming between the eyes.
“Well. Good fight you two,” Ethan’s cheerful tone made Zahn want to commit murder, though his exhausted mind didn’t tell him how.
“Perhaps. At very least, repairs are needed. This lesson is over.” The Shaman’s voice sounded almost bored as the old man withdrew, not bothering to even address Zahn. As he left the ruined fight ring, a voice meekly whined out a message from a great distance away.
“The fight is a draw, with Shaman Brouhaman electing to spare Player Zahn. Next fight, Davi the Devious against Shawn Baker, in ring four. One hour from this time.”
Zahn stuck a finger in his ear to try and clear out dirt, perhaps hear the small voice more clearly but whoever it was already stopped. Ethan grinned as he heaved the other Player out from the crack and tried to help him stand.
“Bravo, Player. Seriously, I think you made the great Shaman shit himself when you broke out. Next time though, leave the ring intact? Others need to use that y’know.”
Zahn held up a hand, trying to stop the flow of chatter as he pushed at the other’s face. “Stop. I heard a voice.”
“Oooh, someone’s making friends? Devils?”
He scowled at the blond, “Idiot. After the fight, someone was talking. She said I was ‘spared’ and there’s another match soon between devious bakers.”
Ethan released him, ignoring Zahn as he collapsed back on the ground. “That’s it! That’s the Broadcasts, you can hear them now?”
“Agh. No?” Zahn complained from the ground. “Only after I won, she stopped.”
The ‘lock made a face as he bent to retrieve the Custom. “Yeah, well. She can’t talk forever, can she? Still, good job. You scared an old man and now you can hear the basic announcements, I call that a good day for you.”
Zahn presented another middle finger, still too tired to think of a creative comeback. “Maybe the lessons today should be, ‘your earth spells do way fucking more than you think’ instead of whatever about announcements. As long as I have you, I don’t really need to care about the PA system, do I?”
Ethan smirked as he pulled a hand to his chest, “Aww, you’re so sweet. As long as you have me, and I have no reason to let you miss a match and automatically lose. What a guy you are, making me your goddamn secretary.” His voice dropped to a condescending baby-talk, “What a guy~ you are.”
Covered in dirt and regaining some of his strength, Zahn gripped the other man’s shoulder tightly. “Pretty sure I can Shape or Shift my way into figuring out Burial, are you really that sure you want to be my target? I really don’t mind.”
The blond Warlock coughed out a laugh, clapping the Custom on his back. “Bah, none of that today. We’re busy! We have a schedule to keep, demons to raise, you know. Normal stuff. So, how ‘bout we just kick back and catch the next match? It’s not like we have time for our project until tonight anyways.”