"Guess running's not an option," The elder spellgun spoke as he turned to see both ends of the passage in collapse, "If that's the case, let's light 'em up!" And like a cornered animal's gambit, he looked to his glyphs to conjure small orbs of blue light upon his fingertips—each sphere refining itself into a spear as he aimed it at their heaven-sent pursuer.

"On it!" In the same breath, the younger of the pair answered the call for fire as he summoned floating globs of metal around himself, each shaping into floating blades of mithril and mana whose edges were surgically sharp, and they gleamed a dull jade as the moon struck the spellblades with streaks of light.

"Let 'em loose!" And with the echoing hiss of the wizened sorcerer, the stagnant air of the underground was parted by spears and blades enchanted with adrenaline-fueled mana, striking the knight with enough force to stir bricks off the narrow walls.

Sounds of their attacks striking true reverberated within the shadowy den, each spear that managed its mark sweltering with a fizz and each successful slash chiming like a bell.

But such is the strength of those bred for war—that nothing less than an army is enough to faze such titans in combat.

"I expected better." From within the haze of debris spoke a voice cold as a midnight breeze, a figure emerging unscathed from the cloud of soot

The Paladin continued to tramp forward, each step seeming like a herculean effort as the interlocking plates of silver sounded like gongs with each step as the sentinel showed no signs of halting his advance.

Just how thick is this bastard's shell?

The pair simultaneously wondered as each azure spear struck the sentry's hide with no effect as a barrier of purple energy coated each argent scale, deflecting the sapphire javelins with little heed.

The blades followed second to the spears,, being commanded by Ascel with ethereal hands as he slashed with the octet of swords from afar, each brand more than sharp enough to cleave through boulders—though against the Paladin's own armament, they were more akin to paperweights in the wind striking an immovable boulder.

"Those took a whole lot of mana to make just to get turned into scraps..." The brazen spellgun remarked as he furrowed his brow at the hopeless sight, summoning new globules of liquid metal to continue their fruitless attack.

The brandished weapon of Efraim was the Lodestar, a storied claymore whose origins are spoken of only in whispers within the sealed courtrooms and dwellings of nobility.

Forged from the remains of a comet that once roamed the cosmos, brought earthbound by hundreds of mages in a ritual that turned the city they inhabited to dust, the remnants of the celestial body were collected by a kingdom long gone and crafted into a greatsword of momentous gravitas and power for the personal guard of kings, queens, and all aristocracy in between.

And though aged, easily older than even the most ancient parts of Gaksi, the weapon showed no wear nor tear even as the hands that wielded it have changed dozens if not hundreds of times. However, this ubiquity was not unfounded, as housed within the blade was power untold, one that once changed the very orbit of the stars.

"If you wish to continue drawing breath, belay your stubbornness." The knight spoke as he raised his brand to effortlessly swat away the oncoming daggers, most being deflected while some were shattered by the swings, "My steel will outlive your resolve if you continue." And behind each slash, a trail of violet energy followed the blade, the sword almost resembling a paintbrush as the swings began to sketch the end of its victims' stories.

"Have it your way then! New plan!" The runes above Ascel's wrist shifted from calm grays into incandescent scarlet as his hand began to glow red-hot, "Firecracker!" He then suddenly announced as a wicked lash of fire manifested from his hand, striking the knight like a whip as it left searing marks on the walls—branding the dull cobble with black stripes of ash.

Each scourge rang out with a blistering hiss, the gaseous weapon striking like a gavel as it set the lifeless gray plates alight—the Paladin remaining unbothered but now bearing cinder kisses upon his once unsoiled hide.

"If you say so!" His partner returned as he lowered his spellhand to unholster a firearm of soft blues and ivory whites, churning with mana as it began to glow a sapphire hue before a drill of water left the barrel at speeds exceeding sound, hammering the living pillar repeatedly.

Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

While neither elemental assault gave the sentinel pause, each converging whitehot crackle and aqueous pirouette produced clouds of steam that scattered the lunar lights, refracting the luminance of the fluttering mana that galvanized the air with each cast and trigger pull.

"I expected more than blithering steam from some of the most wanted sorcerers in the kingdom." The Paladin walked through the weightless mist just as he did the still-unreeling hailstorm of water and fire, "Disappointi-" But those who fight for their so-called light are those most easily blinded by its brilliance.

As his boot returned to the mire of the earth, instead of falling upon the soot-laced brick of the underworld, it fell upon an intricate disc of ebony steel and cobalt that was surging with a voltaic power that crawled from the Paladin's footfall all the way to the tips of his very fingers—the grip on his weapon failing as it fell to the ground with a tremendous sound.

"What...Is this..? As his muscles locked in place and his once indomitable defense became an oversized outlet for the volatile bursts that ran through every nerve of his hulking frame, his once immovable body was rendered convulsing.

"You know, for someone so used to look down on us," A husky voice spoke through the sputtering voltage, "You sure picked an unfortunate time to stop staring at your own feet." And with fangs bared at their sharpest and a grin dripping with so much venom that it could corrode steel, the mage took his first steps forward, confident strides summoned from his once trembling legs.

Conmen came in many shapes, sizes, and forms in Gaksi, but what most varied them were their techniques. Each employed a menagerie of tactics and cunning to writhe their way through the filth of the city's litter, none quite the same and as unique as their wielder's very own psyches.

But when it came to visual deception, many doctrines were long-tested by the masters of the deceitful craft, and one of them was no more complex than a stage act.

Veil not with darkness alone—use smoke and mirrors when one can. Illusions are a weapon, an attack on the senses. Never underestimate sleight of hand.

And it just so happened that a certain outlaw of great replete came from these humble beginnings.

One who is still familiar with the powerful simplicity of clouding one's senses with smoke, mirrors, or steam.

"D'you know if you use a little bit of condensation, you can do a whole lot of things right under people's noses," Davi, the ever-bold spellslinger, began to retell, his words painting an image of a past long gone yet whose teachings remained within the sly mind of the sorcerer, "You can pickpocket, steal, plant objects, any number of things really." As he stepped closer and closer to the once living force of nature before him, he took a small disc out from within his coat, the exact same one that held the immovable knight unmoving.

"All of your ridiculous pandering, and all it takes is some water and a fulgur-rune slate to shut you up," And with his face no farther than a few inches from the deadliest man- no, weapon in Gaksi, he spat at the sentinel's still-jittering mask, "Calling us rats when you're the one who got caught in a trap."

"Alright, calm down, Davi, what the hell?" The young mage finally spoke up, running to his elder and grabbing him by the shoulder to look at him in his spite-filled eyes, "If you're done monologuing, I suggest we hightail it outta here before your newly-made friend gets his bearings. Now move!" And with that, fleet-footedness returned to the pair as they sprinted away from the knight and toward an alternative route—the rays of light coming slowly leaving their backs as they ran.

Though even more fleeting than their escape was the false respite that strengthened their resolve.

"...Not..Yet." With words no louder than murmurs, a faint glow reappeared on the still shaky fingers of the knight as his blade stirred in place, anticipating its return to its master.

Ascel turned around as he felt the hairs on his nape run stiff, the precognition no more than luck as he glimpsed the sentry begin to escape his binds and the ominous glow of a hollow indigo return to his gauntlet.

"Shit! It didn't hold! Go on, I'll-" But before he could access his tome of spells, it was already too late to reinforce the chains on the behemoth.

With a simple clench of his fists, the once unmoving sword's edges began to glow with a lining of amethyst as it raised itself up like a guillotine, the dust and droplets of water around it being repelled by its mere aura.

"Impact." And with a single word and flick of his still-pounding hands, the meteoric weapon crashed straight into the floor, unleashing a massive tremor that shook like a quake of earth-shattering proportions—the entire city of Gaksi quivering to its core.

Bricks fell, sewage rained, and the light of the moons and torches was no more as the once sprawling hallways of the underworld's underbelly disappeared under the weight of the great battle—the warriors joining the countless victims of conflict that lay beneath the city.

Even in death, Gaksi's constants remained well and truly the same.

A caste city where the topmost stood in elegance and wealth as those below knelt to taste even a morsel of their leftovers.

And now, at the very bottom of it all, in a coffin of excrement and deteriorated cobblestone, lay the bodies of sorcerers so cunning, so bold, so loyal, and yet all the same as the rats whose home now laid destroyed, dead with neither glory nor honor in their demise.

Or so one would think.