The original Wilhelm stood in the figurative eye of the storm, his concentration intense as he summoned every ounce of magic he could muster. A dense aura enveloped him like a sylvan shroud. His replicas stood around him like sentinels, poised and ready to engage.
Undeterred by the light copies, Bloodmask sprinted forward like a madman, his dual blood swords gleaming menacingly under the dim light of the fae-lamps. He held the edges outward and aslant, friction sparking in tow as he sliced through the air itself.
The eager Wilhelm rushed to meet him with a punch first, ask later approach. Bloodmask quickly drove him back, forcing it to dance on agile feet. The replica deflected and parried in a desperate bid to hold ground.
The morose Wilhelm observed intently, his eyes narrowing in anticipation. Sensing an opening, Bloodmask pivoted toward the melancholic replica to catch it by surprise. Despite its subdued demeanor, it countered with surprising ferocity. It slithered around the enemy and landed a bombardment of calculated strikes on his side.
Eager Wilhelm and morose Wilhelm flanked him on either side; Bloodmask recovered and was immediately pursued. Despite being outnumbered, he gradually outmaneuvered and dismantled both replicas with ruthless efficiency.
Only one remained, and it wouldn’t give Bloodmask any respite. With a playful glint in his eye, the funny Wilhelm sprang into action. It moved with deceptive grace, twirling its sword in complicated pirouettes. Bloodmask readied himself for him.
“You’re up to some devious shenanigans, I see,” the funny Wilhelm quipped as it spun around Bloodmask. “And you didn’t care to invite me!” His unpredictability kept the Solomonari on edge as their blades clashed repeatedly.
His frustration mounted as he struggled to gain the upper hand against the last Refractive Mirage copy. Despite his amped powers, the replica proved a formidable opponent as it matched him blow for blow.
Bloodmask stood his ground and studied his adversary. He’d need to take a page out of its book and resort to subterfuge. He waited for the moment funny Wilhelm retorted a wisecrack, and charging his blood swords with magic, he eliminated him with a single cross-slice. He bellowed in triumph and immediately searched for the original Wilhelm, but an unexpected sight greeted him.
Standing halfway between the two, Captain Roguenoir regarded Bloodmask with calm assurance, hands on his waist. His grim expression marked him as a new challenger.
“You’ll find that fighting me is no game of mirrors, Mr. Bloodmask.” Roguenoir jested. His elfin features were sharp and keen. There was a hint of amusement to them, perhaps at the overall situation.
Captain Roguenoir darted forward without further words. He closed the gap that divided them in a millisecond; he pressed his fingers together and concentrated magic into his hands. Bloodmask was quick to react and swung the Messer in a downward arc.
With a precise motion, the captain parried the blade with the side of his left hand. Clang! The steely, resounding clamor of clashing swords reverberated across the street. Bloodmask took a step back, confused.
Captain Roguenoir shot him a deadly smile as he extended a hand at him. A raw, jagged aura emanated from it. “Come. I will show you what my slash sorcery is capable of.”
Bloodmask, his breath ragged with frustration, resumed the duel. He aimed to overwhelm Captain Roguenoir with speed, but he parried each blow effortlessly, his hands moving as if with a life of their own.
The battle intensified into a series of rapid strikes and intricate footwork. Bloodmask feinted a thrust, hoping to catch the odious warlock off guard, but the captain responded with a counter-attack and turned aside the strike with a deft maneuver.
Ben observed that neither of them gained the advantage, and he could sense Roguenoir’s amusement from afar. A faint smile played across his face as he prolonged the deadlock further. Is this the extent of his powers, or is the stalemate by design? Ben couldn’t help wondering about the mysterious captain’s intentions.
Wilhelm’s voice cut through the din of the battlefield. “Rais, move!” Everyone turned to him, avid. The spell was ready to be used.
Captain Roguenoir snorted, a smile still playing on his lips, as he casually sidestepped out of the fray and cleared the way for him.
Wilhelm, now in a low crouch akin to a sprinter at the starting line, exuded solemn gravitas. “You reap what you sow, boy. I am truly sorry for this.” His voice, Ben noticed, was tinged with true regret. He drew in a deep breath and exhaled the incantation. “Radiate, Ultraviolet Edge.”
From the sole of his outstretched foot, a colossal flare of kaleidoscopic light erupted forth: a giant, fiery rainbow towering above the buildings that lined the street. It shimmered with an otherworldly brilliance, casting prismatic hues across their surroundings.
Wilhelm shot forward at hypersonic speed, a comet streaking through the heavens. His velocity was such that it seemed to tear through the fabric of reality itself, leaving a fleeting rift in its wake that pulsed with residual magic. The sheer force of his approach spread shockwaves to the sides, shattering every glass window instantly.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Bloodmask, surprised by the sheer magnitude of the highspell, hastily crossed his blood swords in a desperate attempt to shield himself. Wilhelm balanced his foot into a kick in midair and directed the torrent of energy straight at his feeble defenses. It slammed him with thunderous force, shaking the ground to its foundations.
The clash erupted into an explosion of searing light and swirling dust, momentarily blinding every spectator. A last shockwave rippled outward, pushing Ben off his feet. He could hear Sam cough from the falling dust.
“Who’s that?” Sybil asked.
Ben rubbed his eyes and squinted to get a better look. As the light and dust subsided, a newcomer emerged from within. Clad in a dark cloak and wearing a white skeleton mask, he cradled the battered form of an unconscious Bloodmask in his arms. It was another Solomonari, judging from appearances.
He addressed Wilhelm, who still stood in the middle of the street—albeit visibly drained from the highspell he had just used. “We did not count on your presence today, Lightfoot. The worst match for my necromancy, I am loath to admit. I wonder if your being here is mere coincidence, or else…?”
“Just a passerby doing his civil duty, that’s all,” Wilhelm replied, his voice weary.
The tension thickened as the 6th Regiment closed in around Wilhelm and the two Solomonari. They drew their morning stars and were ready to apprehend the culprit. More Warlock Corps responders poured into the scene from every direction—the situation elsewhere was finally under control.
Unfazed by the encircling authorities, the Necromancer continued to speak with an eerie, icy calm. “Know you this: as long as my disciple draws breath, we will sniff out the Blake girl’s whereabouts. The Tome of Agatos will eventually be ours.”
Wilhelm looked visibly intrigued, his brow furrowing with concern. “The tome of what now?” He demanded, his voice urgent as the warlocks moved in to apprehend them.
But he did utter another word. Dissipating into shadows, they vanished into thin air before the stunned eyes of the 6th Regiment. They exchanged bewildered looks. Their weapons now pointed at empty space.
Wilhelm clenched his fists in frustration, the weight of unanswered questions pressing heavily upon him. The encounter had revealed more than just the existence of powerful adversaries; it hinted at a larger scheme at play. Just as the Warlock Corps moved in for routine questioning, the sky broke into a light downpour. In the distance, still tucked behind the trusty rat-mailbox, the trio celebrated the outcome of the battle.
Did we win? Ben scanned his surroundings: the injured warlocks and civilians, the demolished buildings and wrecked cobblestones, the litter of fleeing bystanders, and the abandoned floats; the damage Orangier had sustained and the possibility of their identities being compromised. He looked skyward and let the rain wash the grime off his face. It sure doesn’t feel like it. They made their way back to the Bean and Stalk, being careful not to attract attention and get questioned as well.
⦶⦶⦶
Ben and Sybil sat by the bar of a cozy tavern as a hot mug of chaiberry latte cooled before them, steam curling into the air.
“Hope Sam’s okay,” Sybil said, her voice tinged with worry.
Ben scoffed. “‘Course he is. He should be in the Hanging Gardens by now. What’s worrying me is how much he could’ve gathered from what he saw and heard today. He’s sharp, that Sam.”
Sybil sighed. “I need all the help I can get, don’t I? That’s what the adults are always saying, anyway. And his whole family are Grigori, too! You might as well let him join, now that the cat’s out of the bag.”
A brief silence followed. There weren’t many patrons in the Bean and Stalk, as per usual. On the other side of the bar, the wereboar Briggs kept busy cleaning glasses with a rag as he shook his head and muttered. “And here I thought business would be boomin’ today! Those purplecloaks will be all over the city now, mark my words. They’ll tighten security so much they might just accidentally strangle us wee folk.”
The tavern door swung open as a new patron entered. “Dark days are coming, that’s for sure. But it won’t be at the hands of the corps, Hells, they might just prove to be the lesser of two evils.”
They turned around—it was Wilhelm who had spoken. Relief washed over Ben and Sybil as he joined them by the bar, crumpling into a seat. He had stayed with the 6th Regiment for almost two hours after his fight with Bloodmask had come to an end, answering their questions.
Briggs poured him a mug of ale and expertly slid it across the bar without spilling a drop. It stopped exactly in front of Wilhelm, and not an ounce of its contents spilled. He took a long, grateful sip and reclined on the stool with a hearty sigh.
“So,” Wilhelm started. “Orangier filled me in on what happened. You did well out there—you acted like true Grigori. He’s fine, by the way; his injuries are being treated at St. Elmo’s Hospice as of right now, and he should be back in Sweeney Manor by tomorrow. As for you two, you’re in the clear, so that should tie any loose knots.”
“What about the Warlock Corps?” Ben asked.
“Captain Roguenoir couldn’t care less, but I did have to answer some questions. It was mostly routine stuff, though—what was I doing there, what I saw, that sort of thing. I told them I was just passing by, here to enjoy the festival, and jumped in when I saw the chaos. They had their suspicions, but they bought it in the end.”
Briggs snorted. “That only worked because you’re Lightfoot.”
Ben, still curious, leaned forward. “Why are you so famous, Wil?”
“Try infamous, lad. War has a way of making a name for you. A name you can’t discard, no matter how much you try. I was with the corps for most of Macha’s Rebellion. It wasn’t a pretty affair, and I followed orders without hesitation or complaint. Let’s just leave it at that.” He stared at his empty palms, lost in thought. The lines of his face seemed deeper, and his eyes were wearier. Ben could see the toll that the past had taken on him.
Sybil, sensing the somber turn, reached out and placed a hand on her teacher’s arm. “You’re not alone. We’ll face whatever comes next together.”
Wilhelm blinked, coming back to the present. He gave her a grateful nod. “Thank you. All of you. We have to stay strong. No matter how you frame it, today was a victory for us. The Solomonari won’t give up that easily, though. We need to be ready for whatever comes next.”
“I’ll keep my ears prickled extra sharp for any news,” Briggs said, his voice gruff but kind.
“We appreciate it, Briggs. Every bit of information helps. You’re integral to our intelligence work.” Wilhelm said, and he downed his ale with one big gulp. “Come on, you two. Let’s go home before something goes awry.”
They finished their drinks and prepared to leave, slipping into the narrow, musty passage that led to the storage room. The challenges ahead were daunting, but after the reality check they had faced today, they felt more capable of dealing with whatever came their way.
The air grew colder and more humid as they moved away from the comforting warmth of the Bean and Stalk. They walked silently, lost in musings of their own. Their footsteps echoed softly against the stone walls.