The cold elemenium of his new Creation Earth Staff thrummed against his palm. Deynfif could manipulate the earth beneath his brothers' feet – the Direction Attribute made it possible. But their own energies shielding their bodies would clash with his intent, a messy, inefficient struggle. He needed an opening, a moment of vulnerability around his brothers’ soles.

The officer's lower lip curled. "Fight!" The word ripped through the air, a fleck of spittle catching the light.

Wasting no time, he slammed his staff onto the ground, cracking against the hard-packed earth. A rumble, the cue. He trusted his brothers to lower their energies in their feet, just for a breath. He focused, the scent of dust sharp in his nostrils… and the spittle? Now!

Two earthen pillars exploded from the ground, launching Hirua skyward and propelling Einntyr forward like a battering ram.

Einntyr roared, "Earth Style: Stone Smash!" A solid rock glove materialized from his fist, surging towards the Lightning Lancer. Hirua descended from his flaming leap, his fiery slash aimed at the Ice Blader.

The staff vibrated, urging the earth upward in jagged spikes beneath his foes. But a sudden gust ripped through his focus, pulverizing the earth into dust. His gaze swept the field – dirt, no solid rocks, nothing but loose dirt. Useless.

Hirua stumbled, crimson blooming on his cheek.

"You alright, brother?" The words scraped against his raw throat. That reckless nature, the impulsive charge - impatient again.

“Just a scratch." Hirua's hand smeared crimson across his cheek. His bolo dipped, flames stuttering, then whipped back into a frenzied arc as he charged again.

The staff felt cold and heavy in his grip. How? Energy thrummed in his veins, yet the staff only controlled the earth around him. His old wand only had a Direction Attribute, no Emission. How to materialize, to create... This was all new to him. This weapon, this Creation Staff... a puzzle.

The smith's words: "Creation type. Concentration, lad, to emit energy within its range. But how it materializes the energy depends on you… each wielder is different."

Einntyr's body, solid as a boulder, tumbled through the air. He slammed his staff down. Einntyr landed with a grunt, not a thud. The earth beneath his brother, yielding. Softer now.

But that was all he could do. Across the field, his earth spike shattered – dust against the Lancer's speed. Air choked in his lungs.

“Your own way,” the blacksmith had said. Your experiences… habits… favorites... What were his? Wind slammed into him, a fist against his chest. His footing slipped, the world a blur of green as his scarf whipped across his face.

The smith's words echoed – create something unique to yourself. Each earthen spike became dust under the Magus' wind. What made him unique? The ground scraped his palms as he stumbled back. Another earth pillar – another shield gone.

The Magus' wand dipped, a sharp gesture.

He reacted instinctively, staff arcing upward, energy thrumming through his hand. A rough wall surged from the ground, a barrier against the oncoming wind. But the wind tore at it, shredding with a noise like grinding teeth. The gust slammed into him, knocking the air from his lungs and leaving him sprawled on the ground.

"Deynfif!" Einntyr's voice cut through the haze of dust.

He forced his hand up, thumb angled against the sky. Each breath was a blistering shard in his lungs. His gaze shifted to the fort's tower, a stack of rough, stone cubes, loomed above. Wait… Cubes… how do you create an object? Rough earth scraped against his palms as he pushed himself up. Every object started with a point.

A vertex.

He thrust his staff out, picturing the tip as that origin point. Then another vertex, a unit's length to the right. He swept the staff, connecting the two vertices – a line segment, the first edge of the object.

One unit up from the origin. And another from that vertex to the right. Four vertices. He swept his staff, weaving the other edges, forming a square. The face of an object. But it wavered, a ghostly outline against the dust. Not solid. His breath hitched in his chest. Why?

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Another gust of wind slammed into him, sending him stumbling back. He tasted grit, his heart pounded like a frantic drum in his ribs.

Hirua's roar tore through the dust, a guttural rasp. His brother’s attacks were wild, too direct. Impatient again… Each swing predictable, a one-dimensional attack. Dimension?

A two-dimensional projection in a world that demanded a third one. His breath hitched. Length, Height and Width. That was it.

He copied the square in his mind, pushing it one unit forward. His staff blurred in the air, connecting lines between the vertices. Eight vertices. Twelve edges. Six faces. A mental image of a perfect cube.

He channeled energy to his staff. The cube materialized – a solid block of rock, the size of his head, hovering before him. Then it crumbled out of existence. His fingers tightened on his scarf, twisting the green fabric. The energy – he needed to hold it, steady, unwavering. He drew a breath, focusing on the image again.

"Geometric Earth: Cube!" The words burst from his lips, an unplanned shout that made him wince. He caught Hirua's eye. His brother's face remained a stoic mask, focused on the fight. Whew. A new cube hummed into being, solid and stable this time.

His staff hummed beneath his palm, an echo of his intent. The cube shot toward the Ice Blader, a sharp angle against the chaos. With a swift sidestep, she dodged the attack. His fingers tightened on the staff, twisting. The cube's path shifted, a sharp angle redirecting mid-flight. It slammed back towards her, rock against fragile body.

The Air Magus' wind lashed against the cube, but it held firm, a defiant spin against the gale. He gritted his teeth, forcing another surge of power into the staff. With a flick of his wrist, the cube became a blur of angles, a whirling vertex of rock. The Ice Blader, in a frantic movement, swatted and spun. But his cube struck home, a brutal assault on flesh and bone.

He spun the staff, the elemenium a cool weight in his palm. So this was it - Creation, a weapon born from will.

Hirua's battle cry tore through the air, a blur of motion lunging towards the stumbling Ice Blader. His blade, a streak of fire.

"Wyntcailm, help!" The Ice Blader's cry echoed.

The Air Magus twirled his wand, drawing a crescent in the air. A squall howled towards the Ice Blader, yanking her from Hirua's reach, dropping her beside her teammate. The wand rose again. A gentle breeze, swirling from its tip, solidified, a visible current snapping into place around the Blader and Lancer.

The crowd shifted, a collective murmur rising. The Magus’ allies straightened, shoulders stiffening.

The wand's doing more than just wind. The air itself felt different. A chill ran through him, a sudden draft against sweat-dampened skin.

The Lightning Lancer before Einntyr vanished in the blink of an eye, a cloud of dust billowing outwards in his wake. Hirua hadn't moved, his eyes wide, fixed on the crackling spearpoint now hovering inches from his face.

Ozone filled his nostrils. No! Hirua! His arm snapped out, a cry frozen in his throat. "Cube!"

WHAAAANNNG!

A cube slammed into the spear shaft. The trajectory shifted, the spear tip a hair's breadth from Hirua.

His chest tightened, breath trapped. His fingers, slick with sweat, almost lost their grip on the staff.

Hirua rolled beneath the deflected spear, his bolo an arc aimed at where the Lancer's neck had been a moment before. A flicker of movement – a blur of violet and scorched air. The Lancer was gone.

The spear whipped back, a violet line aimed at Hirua. His brother stumbled, bolo barely rising in time. Again. And again. Each parry a fraction slower, a hair off. Hirua’s footwork frantic.

A cube of rock, sharp edges hurled towards the Lancer. But the foe just twisted, a near blur. The cube missed, air rippling in its wake. Another cube, launched with a flick of his wrist. Another miss. What had the Magus done? The spear tip was almost invisible, a blur of thrusts and swipes. Each near miss of his cube left a tingle in the air, a vibration against his skin.

Hirua's bolo arced and deflected. A guttural roar ripped from his brother’s throat as another swing met only air. "Can't hit him!" his brother spat.

The wind whipped his scarf, a green blur against his cheek. He spun, eyes widened. Einntyr – a fleshy boulder – tumbled through the air. His staff thumped against the ground, a cushion of earth rising just in time to break Einntyr's fall. The 'Stone Smash' in his brother's fist crumbled, the rocks scattering like pebbles. "Einntyr! You alright?" The words scratched his throat, a cold shard lodged in his chest.

"Oofta!" Einntyr’s booming laugh echoed as his fist slammed onto the ground. Dust exploded skyward, a pulverized column framing his grin. "Looks like it's my turn to mix things up a bit, eh?"

Right, it's time. He nodded, returning Einntyr's grin. "Hirua! Regroup!"

Hirua stumbled back towards them, leaving a trail in the dust.

Einntyr raised his left hand. A shimmering blue, like rays through clear water, gathered around his palm. Energy flowed and compressed into a sphere of water.

Silence – so sudden it was like a wall slamming down. Across the field, the opponents were statues, mouths gaping. Einntyr's grin was a blade flashing in the Light. Their wildcard, ready to play his hand.

Einntyr roared, drawing back his water-wreathed fist.

Water Style!