Madrick
Sitting in a Throne Upon the Mountain’s Summit, Feather-branch Forest, Savriâ
Madrick sat upon the throne-like chair which he’d managed to craft during his self-indulgent bout of showing off. The ifrit’s design spell was both difficult to master and expensive to cast, yet the impression its use tended to leave was more than worth it. He’d seen through his snarky apprentice’s best efforts to remain nonchalant. She’d been moved and her retinue had been astonished.
Adjusting his position to one of regal disinterest, he waited. He’d stopped trying to mess with Willow’s climb once she’d demonstrated the ability to, somehow, stop the effect of his spells from taking. She wasn’t using any counter spelling method he’d ever heard of, she wasn’t brute-forcing a defense by destabilizing his mana, or even putting a barrier between the spell and its target. Whatever she was doing allowed his spell to complete successfully. The feedback from his spells were clear, they’d landed and done their job. Yet, nothing changed.
Each transmutation spell claimed to have completed, having changed the rock to earth. Yet, he could clearly see it hadn’t changed at all. It had remained stubbornly the same. His localized quake spell had returned an all-clear response to him, yet the earth hadn’t so much as shuddered. He’d even tried a new spell as a final challenge for the girl, a shattering spell targeted in a twelve meter diameter which caused the face of the cliff to shatter and explode violently away from the mountain. At least, that’s what happened to all of the rock more than four meters away from Willow’s position when he cast it. That had been the moment she realized he was interfering. She’d glared upward and snarled his name. Had she been an equivalent rank to him, he may have trembled in fear.
Snickering at the thought of a child newly arrived threatening him, Madrick sat and waited. The girl had less than ten meters left to go, so he knew it wouldn’t be long. His domain kept him well informed of her progress, especially since she had that odd ability of hers which removed his influence over her area, active. She’d tried expanding it while working through his spell-based obstacles at first, but once she’d determined it wasn’t enough to keep the mountain together when he wanted it to fall apart, she’d condensed it. For the last six hours or so she’d had the ability active but restrained to just her body. The finesse displayed in being able to alter an ability to that extent already was incredible.
Unable to contain his excitement at what he could mold her into, Madrick began rubbing his hands together in anticipation. It was, of course, that very moment that the would-be-powerhouse in question flew over the edge of the mountain. She clearly saw his less than dignified pose, landing with a scowl on her face.
“Eh, took you long enough.” He grunted, dropping his hands, pretending to not have been plotting anything.
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Nuu
Sitting Atop a Shard of Meteorite Shrapnel, Feather-branch Forest, Savriâ
The finger of sharpened space detritus was a monumentally poignant final locale for Nuu. Considering the cosmic garbage had fallen like the sword of a god’s judgement on his behest, one might understand the chagrin which dominated the majority of his emotion spectrum. In some circumstances, claiming honestly to have called a singular calamity down upon the surface of a planet might have been a source of pride, for Nuu it was quite the opposite. Had he intentionally pulled a passing comet from the heavens and brought a single splinter crashing into the earth, he would professed to all who would hear! Lamentably, the truth was more unsavory.
The giant eyesore which now graced the planet of Savriâ as its now most obvious landmark had been a mishap. A result of experimentation, the result of ignorance. In truth, Nuu had written a scene in which a fantastical fluttering mix of colorfully sparkling dust fell around him in a beautiful plume, framing him majestically as his scales and the particles of lightly drifting stones bounced light between themselves. The exact scene he had written came to fruition, of course. Yet not in the manner in which he’d believed.
Though it was a bitter memory, it had also taught him a singularly important lesson regarding his ability. While there was little that he could not accomplish if he gave an appropriately vague timeline, the method of delivery was outside of his control. He may have imagined a magical effect, spontaneous brought forth from nothing, but his ability did not. It operated primarily by altering the course of already existing forces. The rest of his experiments performed while languishing on this planet had taught him more of his limitations and restrictions.
To find himself now trapped upon the very object of one of his most shameful failures was an irony deserving of praise. The great narrative surely understood the meaning of subverting ones expectations.
Lessons of his past firmly in mind, Nuu had plotted his escape from the man who had hunted him between planets. The delight he had felt upon realizing that his captor had entirely lost interest in, and subsequently attentiveness regarding, him was rapturous. Seizing the opportunity, he had begun writing at a fevered pace. The plot which he’d devised while waiting for his queue was simple and bare bones, bereft of detail.
Lamentably, the opportunity to specify an outcome which favored Willow and preserved her from harm was far afield. Should he have a day to write his scene, perhaps. A fortnight? More assuredly, yet even such an scale of time would hardly suffice to ensure her safety and role within the scene. A score of months would be a reasonable span in which to craft the layered scenes necessary to ensure the specific outcomes which he personally favored. Alas, the great narrative had conspired to force a pace change upon him. Guilt may tear at him later, as he truly did not wish Willow any harm. With a strong effort of will, Nuu returned his bounding mind back upon his own circumstance and trial.
A portion of his secrets had already been lost, forfeit as the toxic gaze of Madrick had demanded and extracted them from his unwilling lips. Fear of losing all he had worked so hard for over the course of nearly a thousand years was too great a threat. In exchange for his life, at least that was the presumed deal as Madrick had never actually stated any specific intention, Nuu had explained his work upon the planet of Hesvāra. Moreover, he had sworn a soul-oath never to return to that planet willingly. The price was low, considering his experimentation on that planet might just as simply be resumed elsewhere. Perhaps even here. Savriâ was suitably vacant of life and organizations who would care to send a ranker after him. Though truly, the same assumption had been what sent him to Hesvāra. In all the multiverse there was no concept of assurity, not beyond his own ability to craft scenes. An ability which was his only recourse to ensure his own escape with his life and freedom in tact.
Despite any anticipated future guilt, her expected presence was the one certain variable which he had at his disposal. He wrote with as much certainty as he believed was feasible without creating a scene so weak as to be destined to break. The scene had flowed forth from his pen with such alacrity as to be divinely inspired. If not predestined by a god, perhaps he had touched upon one of the innumerable true plots of the great narrative.
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The consideration had true merit, as no sooner than he’d invested his mana into the scene did he feel its grooves take hold. In every instance and exploration of his power he had ever contrived, if he activated a scene with himself included, he would be gently offered a comforting groove. A suggestion of a role he might play. In a singularly alien instance, his ability turned upon him and he knew with certainty that he would not escape the clutches of the scene he had written.
The scene began just as he had written it. Willow’s form came flying over the rim of the mountain’s edge and landed with her eyes pinned on Madrick. Not knowing either of the participating characters well enough to create believable dialog, he had maintained a vague outline. He’d written, ‘the powerful and arrogant voice of the ranker sniped at the landed champion without consideration, fueling the stoked fire of her formerly controlled rage’.
The condescending, “Eh, took you long enough.” Was followed by the explosion of incandescent fury which he had designed. A pang of regret tore at Nuu’s heart, resolving to apologize to Willow should he find an opportunity in which he would not put himself at risk of capture by her master.
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Willow
Approaching the Mountain’s Tip, Feather-branch Forest, Savriâ
The climb was all but complete. Having realized three fourths of the way up that it wasn’t the mountain fighting her, but Madrick, she had nearly screamed up at the man in the sudden hot anger which blazed within her. She had contained the impulse and contented herself with a few choice words. As she approached the end of her grueling ascent, she found a suitable area to brace herself for the final push. She would not be giving him a chance to throw a gust of wind at her as she pulled herself up onto the flat surface of the mountain top. Or the opportunity to create a wall of flame so hot that she could either burn to death or fall to her possible death. Or any other horrible thing. She was done. She had won. And he. Would. Not. Take. That.
Bunching her muscles, she directed her mana in a now nearly effortless manner and it suffused the exact muscle groups she needed to enhance. Then she crouched down, holding two strong stones which the reinforced with her new spell imperative command, which the UICI had prompted her to name, and leapt. The strength of her body was leveraged perfectly, eking out every ounce of power they had to offer. She felt as if she was soaring, cresting the edge without slowing. Then she saw Madrick, sitting on his stupid little throne and rubbing his hands together like a crusty emperor plotting to turn an impressionable and vulnerable youth to the side of murder.
She landed, containing the tumultuous emotion which was beginning to become the default upon seeing her so-called mentor. She would remain in control, remain disciplined. She would not let him goad her or-
“Eh, took you long enough.”
Willow’s world went red and froze. The picture before her was clear as a modern Polaroid print. Everything within her view was crystalline, just shaded by her fury. Her mind was clear. The wrath within was also monstrous. Interposed upon the still image of Madrick’s stupid smirking face and limply falling arms was the memory of her throwing herself against coach over and over again. The absolute uselessness of the gesture. The blindness her anger had caused her. Since then, she had learned to channel her rage into her focus, yes. That rage was not part of her focus. It was used as fuel for it. The memory of trying to hit Madrick, just once, played across her consciousness next. The burning, churning, grinning, cackling fire of havoc promised her she would have the strength she needed.
The sweet promise warred with her good sense. Every time she had ever fought with anger, or done anything while angry, it had been ineffectual and useless. The mass of emotional red tittered at her, dancing around in response. It promised her it wasn’t just rage. It wasn’t just anger. It was so much more. It was part of her. She was incomplete without it. area active
Knowing that discipline had always been what won out in the end, what had always pulled her through in those final pivotal moments, Willow began to push it back. She was standing still and could swallow the hot tempest into her focus. The mass of angry emotion writhed in rejection, fighting her like a living thing. She held is firmly and funneled it into her ability. The red pane of frozen time vanished without fanfare, as if it never was.
Whether she was angry or not, she refused to let Madrick’s comment and flippant attitude stand. She sharpened her will and narrowed her focus. Its boundary sprang out, catching the smarmy man mid-smirk. Her experience over the last weeks, the memory of the last time she’d had to pour all of her strength into her power just to slow him, it all flashed through her clear mind. Her moment came, smooth and unhesitating, as if waiting to embrace her. She saw Madrick’s suddenly colorless dull-grey eyebrow begin to rise, then it froze. Hah! I’m stronger now, you jerk!
With silent determination, she charged. Moving like a blur, Willow hardly noticed the intervening space between herself and her target. Her fist flashed out with her full force, directly into Madrick’s slightly upraised jaw. His position was perfectly positioned, begging to be struck from below. She complied, coiling her body int the tightest, lowest, most explosive form she could manage as her momentum carried her the last meter to close the distance between herself and her unwitting punching bag. Releasing all of the energy in a perfectly controlled, singular explosion of force, her fist cracked against the bottom corner Madrick’s jaw. The cracking sound was satisfied for a bare moment.
The pain ruined that satisfaction. Her moment of focus shattered under the unexpected pain, shocking her to her core. An involuntary scream ripped from her throat, which she could still feel the phantom pain post healing left after screaming fall after fall. The unexpected lack of movement from Madrick staggered her. She collapsed gracelessly on her butt, holding her now shattered right hand in her left, staring at it.
Madrick grinned like a child who’d been nipped by a playful puppy, “You’ve improved! I didn’t even see you move which, believe me, is truly impressive! Well done, student! I knew you had great potential!”
Looking up at him, Willow’s gaze was dull. I… Failed? It felt so right. That should have been a moment of victory. Internally, she felt devastated. She’d fought Madrick the entire way up the mountain and had won. She should have been able to at least move the moron’s head a millimeter with that perfectly executed, full-power punch!
“How?” She asked, voice a croak despite being entirely healthy. Even as she stared at him, she had instinctively began cycling her mana through her Back Into It skill. Her hand was twisting back into shape and would be fine again within a matter of seconds.
Raising an eyebrow, Madrick raised a hand to his cheek and touched the spot she’d struck. He shrugged, “You’re just too weak to hurt me. Don’t worry, I think one day you might be able to. In fact, I think I owe you an hour of instruction toward that end.”
Oddly, despite talking to someone who had just tried her hardest to truly hurt him, Madrick’s bright smile appeared entirely genuine.
Huffing, Willow glanced around the little area at the top of the mountain. Noticing something was missing, or rather someone, she frowned, “What’d you do with Nuu? You didn’t hurt the guy, did you?”
Glancing around, Madrick’s eyebrows climbed nearly to his hairline, “Interesting, I don’t know. When you made your grand entrance the fae was within my domain, now I don’t sense him.”
Standing, he walked the dozen or so meters to the west most edge of the plateau from his own position at the northern point. A deep sigh rolled out from Madrick, not frustration so much as weariness. Getting up, Willow joined him, curious despite her disappointment and annoyance. Standing on his left side, a few meters out of easy arm reach, Willow follows his floor-locked gaze.
Burned into the stone was an oddly circular pattern with scribbled loops and whirls. The longer she looked, the more there appeared to be to the image. It seemed to, somehow, be a full three dimensional drawing, despite being carved into a solid plane of stone.
“Urgh, after chasing and searching for that guy he gets away.” Tossing a sideways glance toward Willow, he frowned, “I hope you’re worth all this bother.”
I’ll definitely break your jaw one day, you jerk.