"So, you think you have uncovered an insidious plot do you? Ha!' jested the Magi of the mind. 'And what dear boy is your evidence? Referred, in your testimonia, is suspicion. What you have here are mere circumstantial ponderings, have you actual proof?" As his last word echoed through the cavernous room a rumble stirred from below, then a second.
"Earthquake?!" I both sharply shouted and asked of my companions. Then the third lifted me and my companions off the floor a small measure. Still with no reply from the two Magi, although by this point my answer is all but assured. Both Magi stood staring incredulously at the tile. A fourth great rumbling groan erupted stone from the centre of the room and scattered the magi and I against the walls. I heard screams pierce through the crashing of what was a grand mosaic of polished tile and runes to the level below. Scrambling to regain my footing, I scan through the dust-filled room for the Archmage. This sight I am beholding, this is supposed to be impossible. How are the runes giving way, magic is a set science. It's rules are fact, it's rules are law. However, as I think these thoughts still, the stone itself crumbles. Braking through a portion of my bafflement, I look away from the destruction and attempt once again to find the Magi. Only now, through a heavy layer of dust, I do vaguely see, a silver and gold shimmering figure walking casually towards a second figure glowing with an ember orange hue. The orange glow I recognize as the magic belonging to Archmage Frough, but before I can start my feet in his direction a bolt of gold lightning coursed form the other Magi towards him, startling me and locking my feet in place. Is this assailant the Magi of mind? Do these hues of silver and gold belong to Magi K'eil Fondo? I have never seen a true demonstration of the power of the 'cannon of the realm' up close, this is not something I have any hope of standing in between. Just like that, once again, I'm reminded how ceremonial my duty as his escort is. The lightning stopped and formed a sphere at the tip of Cromlen's boney finger and popped into tiny sparks, within the same instant a hexagon appeared around his wrist, glowing in sympathy with his hue. At each corner orbs of his own formed, and each comparative in size to the lightning sphere they replaced. Then they shot away from him, hurtling in helical spirals towards the unknown Magi, growing in mass as they travel. They hit their mark and magical fire explodes, forcing me once again to the ground. I squeeze my eyes shut, shielding them from the radiance of the blast. Why are these two Magi fighting? Who is the other Magi? Master Fondo did not seem to like the Archmage, there was certainly animosity between the pair, this however seems rather an extreme escalation. When I re-open my eyes, the magical light has intensified from both the Archmage and his attacker. Although, the golden shimmering has grown much larger from the opposing Magi. Surrounded by a golden light, tendrils of silver start to stretch from the apposing mass. I almost didn't notice how much dust once again clung in the air as the light coming from this mage was a blinding brightness still. As though the light from their magic is truthfully the only remaining source of illumination left in the room, dwarfing the dim luminescence the strait windows leaka. Tendrils of silver snaked towards the Archmage at a pace that shows no urgency, but enclosing on him they are. In response Frough lifts a circle of stone and tile around him. Pouring in his fire, it then starts spinning, slow at first but in seconds it becomes a blur of magic and earth. Cromlen starts towards the blinding light while simultaneously launching balls of flaming molten stone. They both stretch their magic closer and closer towards one another, until, they clash. I expect more explosions of magic but there is no eruption. Instead, I see the tendrils being denied by the emberous fire magic. Until that is, the glow of the other magi shifts to silver and the tendrils to gold as Frough charges closer still. But, in the very next second, least twenty of the magic tendrils slip through his barrier and spear the Archmage. Chest, legs, arms, torso and head are all penetrated, then rapidly and viciously separated, spilling the entirety of Archmage Cromlen Frough's blood and magic to the room. Screaming in involuntary suprise, fear enters my spine at a sprint as the glow turns to me, I cannot see any eyes, nor a face. But, I know they are staring straight at me. Tendrils once again start to snake. This time, towards me.
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Wasting no more time I head towards the archway that held the entrance I used to enter. However, I start to slow then come to a stop as I come to the realisation I have no key, no key to reveal the corridor, no key to deliver me to safety. Is there even such a thing as safety anymore, with the Archmage defeated, in a damaged hall of law no less. Then there's the swiftness he was despatched also, very unsettling to the reality I was led to believe we live in. Was there ever such a thing as safety or was it merely my own naivety to believe in it in the first place. Standing in the same room as the supposed strongest Magi in the realm as they receive a quick thrashing and dismemberment, can really challenge your perceptions. Once all these thoughts have collated, I notice I am turning back towards the figure sword drawn. No point running if I can not, no point begging if I will not be able to live with myself. Finally, there is no real point in fighting, there is no hope, but I would have said the same to anyone hoping to defeat "The Cannon", Magi or not.
"I am a knight of the kings guard and first son of house Gallo! I demand you contain your magic and surrender!" I shout, trying my best not to fold under the weight of my words; my entire mass shaking beneath me. "Identify and submit!" There is no reply of words, but action, I feel something grasp me from behind and I am forced face first to the ground, my steel ripped from my grip and my wrists bound. Then with one solid crash I am rendered unconscious.
Once the stirrings of sense start to return to me I instantly notice the bandage barring my vision. Faintly, muffled shouts can be heard. Sounding so very distant, I can not make out the words. Am I dying, was I injured to that an extent. Of course, I had no hope, Cromlen lasted but a minute. I cannot understand the voices, no matter how I strain, not a single utterance of the words surrounding me. That is, until, all at once the muffles resolve to a singular word, traitor; as it is shouted, no screamed, at me from what sounds like fifty men least.
"Traitor!"
"Traitor!"
"Bastard traitor!"
"Me? A traitor? How? A fucking traitor, no!' I find myself screaming at them with injustice empowering my voice. "I have always supported the regal and the realm-" A swift kick lands solidly, flat across my jaw, cutting me off. It lifts my entire body off the floor, leaving one of my boots behind and ending my exclamation. Once again I am rendered unconscious and dragged in some unknown direction, to some undisclosed location.