Swift Victory

“I don’t know Mortius… Going into a tournament, even a novices tournament, with as little experience as you have is a bit of a risky move”, Clive said to his companion as they traversed the hallways and headed to the Nether Floor.

“The whole thing is literally called a Gamble, Clive. There’s a lot of things at risk in the game but everyone does it anyway”, Mortius replied, walking to the elevator compartment and waiting for the doors to close. A few other students bustled in as well, scuffling for a position as the gears began to grind and the rails moved. Mortius looked out at the enormous amount of levels in the Institute and wondered exactly how much mystery there was in this great school, and what secrets it may be hiding. Already he’d witnessed blood sacrifices, a magical and life-threatening gambling game and even a most hideous transformation from one of the faculty. This place was absolute madness, so how exactly did it seem so normal now?

“Are you the one that fought Saminha?”, one of the students chimed. Mortius looked beside him to see a taller guy with reddened skin and hair. His appearance was rather gothic, wearing a green shirt vest and the emblem of the Kherzen circle on his hand. He had red highlights in his long black hair along with rather small curved horns coming out of his head. 

“Yeah… what of it?”, Mortius asked. The demon grinned menacingly, glaring at Mortius with his unblinking eyes.

“Hah, finally. She’s not lost since she got here, not even a draw. It’s about time someone put her in her place!”, he laughed, staring back out through the grating. The compartment stopped and the students got out, Mortius, Clive and the demon included.

“What do you mean ‘since she got here’? How long has she been here?”, Mortius asked.

“Oh… well, I arrived five years ago so… yeah, I think this is her 20th year now”, he said ever so casually. Mortius’ eyes widened and he turned to Clive who seemed just as surprised and shrugged. The three continued walking until they were outside the Īdelcræft classroom and the student stood at the door.

“Wait… so how old is she then? I thought she was a first-year like me!”, Mortius exclaimed.

“Oh no. She kept failing Īdelcræft at year five so she had to keep starting again from year one, orders from Astaroth himself, in fact. She’s restarted four times now and hasn’t gone past year five since. So this would be her fifth restart”, he explained. There were so many more questions Mortius had now, first one being, how old was Saminha exactly? Was she immortal? Are all Demonas immortal? This information even began to cast doubt over Clive’s age and time here.

“Hold on, Astaroth? Isn’t he a very high up Demon?”, Mortius asked. The Demon rolled his eyes, something Mortius felt he was going to get a lot during his time here.

“Yeah, he’s the leader of the Garrison, where all of us go when we graduate from the Institute. If you get the highest of high grades, you could be a general in the Garrison, which is something I aim for. I don’t know how she managed to get the re-trials though. Usually, it’s either you succeed or… well, die”, he explained. Mortius opened his mouth for more questioning but the door opened and Scholar Henning appeared.

“Are you going to loiter here all day Sir Calgis, or are you willing to avoid being left a frozen waste for beast food in Abarys? Your choice”, he sneered as he retreated to the classroom and left the door slightly ajar. Calgis sighed and nodded at the two before entering and closing the door behind him. Mortius thought about everything that Calgis said and formulated a mass of questions for Saminha after the tournament.

“Well, we better get moving. The tournament has already started and I don’t know when your turn will be”, Clive voiced as he continued on toward the Gamble Arena, Mortius following closely. The two entered the familiar room made entirely of stone, this time having a lot more chairs surrounding the stage. Upon the two points stood two other students, one was older and the other was, seemingly, in his first year. The kid was looking worriedly at the older student, gasping for air and nursing a mark all the way down his arm that looked like lightning. He had rivers of blood streaming out of both of his ears and his right leg was torn from a huge laceration. He was fortunate that his self regeneration was keeping him alive at the moment, and the other student placed his hand down on a sigil, warming up another spell.

The new student panicked and tried to reach down to the sigils but could barely move. Sighing and seeming like he was holding back tears, the student held his tome out in front of him and let it go. It landed with an almost weak thud, and a low horn sound emitted throughout the room and the match was announced over, the younger student losing by forfeit. As soon as the elder student shook off his spell, the other one closed his eyes and collapsed in a heap on the stone floor. Everyone laughed and Mortius too rolled his eyes and scoffed.

“This is a horrible bloodsport, don’t you think?” Clive muttered, staring down at the younger student who was being carried out on a wooden slab layered with blankets to the Chapel where he would be placed with the other failed contestants.

“Who’s to say… it’s their own fault for getting into something they can’t handle. Besides, everyone here should know by now what the Gamble is and how it can escalate, so if you’re still stupid enough to brave it without being sure of yourself, then you deserve what you get afterwards”, Mortius muttered, glaring at the cocky older student who was too busy showboating to realise half the audience was trying to boo him off the stage.

“Easy for you to say… you walked out of a draw with the longest reigning champion ever”, Clive replied, feeling a little unsettled by the response. Clive had really come to know Mortius rather well, and though he somewhat expected a response like this, he still found his demeanour unsettling. He knew that Warlocks went through a lot in their culture, many things that, to an Angel, seemed downright cruel and unfair. But how much misery could a person have gone through in their life to produce a spiteful man like this? It almost made Clive think he didn’t want to be friends with Mortius, but despite his flaws, he had his good qualities as well, and Clive felt a duty to give him at least one friend in the Institute when he was so clearly not good at making them on his own. At the very least, he certainly wasn’t going to let Mortius become best friends with the D�"mon woman and possibly be worse than he already was.

“What was the gamble for this one then?”, Mortius asked. Clive shrugged and squinted toward the entrant board. The board showed the names of all the tournament combatants along with the information of the previous fight. Draiden Noctis versus Marek Ivtä, both warlocks and the stakes were Draiden’s staff versus… Clive couldn’t believe it.

“Draiden’s staff versus… Marek’s education… what? Is that allowed?”, he asked. Mortius shrugged and looked around for some kind of official in presence. Thankfully, the High Scholar himself was in attendance for this tournament and was clapping for the victorious Draiden, though he did not look happy about the outcome. Then again, he didn’t seem saddened either. Mortius walked over to the High Scholar and gave a short wave to get his attention. Emeritus saw him coming and started to smile only slightly, giving him a nod in recognition.

“I didn’t think you enjoyed this kind of stuff, sir”, Mortius started, standing next to the High Scholar’s chair and looking out at the stage, as if pretending he was not engaging in conversation.

“Not especially, no. But being High Scholar means a lot of things, such as attending some functions like this when I have the time, and time is something I have in great abundance”, he replied, still looking around at the other contestants. Mortius looked at the board for a moment, noticing that it was his turn to fight for his place in the next round. There were eight hopefuls in the first round, meaning that there would be three rounds in total until the final winner of the tournament.

“So, what about that kid then? Is he really going to be expelled?”, Mortius asked.

“Well, the rules of the Gamble are absolute. The only thing that is not allowed in this school is deathmatches. Anything else is fair play, though the wording wasn’t precise enough at the fault of the victor. Everyone knows what they are getting into for the Gamble, so make sure you’re certain you will win. Thankfully for Marek, he only loses out on his education for this year. However, if you are certain you are going to lose and only four turns each have been made, then your forfeit means you are exempt from the Gamble rule. Remember though, Sir Maleos, only four moves. Exceed it and you are all in”, Emeritus explained. Mortius dwelled on this thought for a moment and figured he would be absolutely fine to go through the tournament without any forfeiting, but this tournament was likely going to be torture.

“Next fight is Vessik Dzellig versus Mortius Maleos”, the strange voice once again boomed. Mortius took a deep breath, earning a nod of approval from the High Scholar, and walked to the staging ground where the fight would take place. His opponent, Vessik, was of the Nedra, one he’d seen fairly rarely around the Institute. The blue vest marked him as a member of the Gol’gardah Circle. His skin was scaly and he had similar eyes to that of Saminha and Calgis but they were more reptilian in appearance. He had clawed hands, both of which were wrapped around two tiny gold daggers, both wrapped in vines and had emeralds at the hilts. Mortius prepared himself, but then noticed someone nearby, crossing her arms and glaring at him with a grin.

“I wondered where my coach was!”, Mortius shouted over the crowd.

“Don’t push it, Warlock! Besides, you won’t need coaching against this one. If you lose to him, I’m gonna kill you!” Mortius chuckled as he turned back to Vessik.

“Be careful! Nedra, they specialise in Woruldcræft!”, Clive shouted. Everyone booed him, urging him to keep quiet and not attempt help and Saminha went around to him to punch him on the shoulder.

“Why are you even here?! Why don’t you go pray or something?!” Saminha growled.

 “I’m here supporting my friend! And I’m sure I’d be more helpful than you!” Clive tried to look angry, but Saminha only huffed and raised a fist, prompting him to lower and defend himself as the match started.

“Combatants, name your stakes!”, the Echo boomed.

“If I win… you don’t get to take part in the rest of the tournament! HAH! Oh, wait… no, hang on”, Vessik said, stumbling on his words and not realising what he did. The entire crowd boomed with laughter alongside Saminha, who jeered at him from the sidelines. Even Clive couldn’t help giggling a little bit at the blunder.

“And if I win, you are out of this Institute because clearly you’re too stupid to be here”, Mortius replied, giving Vessik a condescending look but still fighting away a grin at the knowledge of having the crowd on his side today.

“NO! You can’t do that! I’ve been at the Institute for six years! This is my final year! You can’t kick me out of here now!”, Vessik screeched, waving his closed fist angrily.

“And it’s a miracle you’ve survived this long without being eaten alive”, Mortius jeered. Everyone else laughed along and cheered him on whilst Vessik protested even more.

“The stakes stand. If Vessik wins, Maleos leaves the tournament. If Maleos wins, Vessik leaves the Institute. Let the fight begin!”, the Echo announced once more. Mortius looked down at the five symbols on the floor in front of him, going over what they meant in his head very quickly.

‘Okay… the X symbol is for attack spells but is mainly Woruldcræft. The circle is Ābiscræft, the infinity is Edscræft, the circle with lines in it is Īdelcræft and the wavy symbol is Līfcræft. Right then…’, he thought to himself as he saw Vessik already charging him for an attack, his daggers both emitting white smoke as if they were ice cold. Mortius pressed down on the X symbol and felt the familiar feeling of heat in his hand. Placing his hand on the jewel, now lit up and rotating again, he glanced down at the foot of his staff, placed on the floor and away from the attack symbol. Should he use his tactic now? No, best to save it for someone who was likely more capable at this. This match was already won in his mind. Vessik yelled and tried a downward swipe with both of his daggers, Mortius blocking with his staff and opening his hand at Vessik’s belly.

“Thra’er ahsku woulth!”, a wave of air pressure burst from Mortius’ hand, sending Vessik flying back and upwards. His head hit the ceiling with a crackling noise as he fell and crumpled to the floor. Clive and a few others in the crowd cheered him on, and Saminha only folder her arms, frowning but unable to hide how impressed she was. Perhaps this guy was worth all of his talk after all. Maybe it would be fun to train him up, and from there, she could take the credit for his rise to glory, being the one that showed him the ropes in the first place. It would be tough for him to continue bragging about how great he was when his victories were all overshadowed by her. Holding his head, Vessik gingerly got to his feet and growled at Mortius, pressing down on a stone.

“Aardt sealac!”, Vessik shouted as he aimed his own spell, but nothing happened. Mortius looked around but saw nothing and began laughing until he felt his shoes become hot. For some reason, Vessik seemed a little taller than before. Or, Mortius felt shorter. He looked down and saw the stone underneath him had become sloshy and more like wet clay, not to mention very restricting. Clive stopped his cheering, looking more concerned now and Saminha only smiled as she watched. There was no way he’d be able to strengthen his way out of that, and depending on random spells that he couldn’t properly organise could only either make his situation better or worse. Saminha quietly hoped it would be worse, since there was nothing better than the idea of him losing his very first match in the tournament. Especially to this guy. Mortius looked down at his hand to see the fers and prayed it would help him out somehow.

“Lyrf swe’irh oare felaisk!”, Mortius chanted. It was a long one so it must have been extremely powerful, and powerful it was. He stopped shrinking in the quicksand and felt an odd sensation all over his body as if he were ten times heavier. Mortius’ eyesight felt somewhat glazed over and the whole room looked darker. Everyone marvelled over what they saw and leaned forward to verify the sight before them. Even the High Scholar stroked his beard, seeming very impressed. Mortius looked down on himself and noted that his skin had turned slate grey. Like metal. The spell had covered him entirely in an armour coat, making him feel almost indestructible. Grinning widely, he knew this would give him a huge advantage for future attacks, while Vessik merely growled and stomped the floor in annoyance.

“You can’t mess with me like this! If my quicksand won’t take you down…”, Vessik frantically looked down at the sigils, knowing melee attacks were useless at this point, and pressed hard on the time stone and held a spell in his hand. Mortius noticed the High Scholar’s grin immediately turned into a frown as he leaned forward even more. Mortius had a strange feeling about this spell coming up and tapped the defence stone, preparing for what may come.

“Geist swe’irh aon!”, Vessik shouted. Emeritus’ eyes widened and he picked up his tome, standing up immediately. However, no interruption was required as a medium-sized bubble appeared in the middle of the arena between the two combatants. It appeared to be transparent but there was something inside it, like an entire little land with forests and fields. It rippled and hummed while Vessik laughed madly. Then, as he laughed, Mortius raised his hand, ready for what may come but Vessik then began to slide toward the bubble.

“What?! NO! NOT ME!! NOOO!!!”, he screamed, clawing at the air for aid and screaming at the top of his lungs. The bubble grabbed onto him and began to slowly form around him. It rippled wildly as Vessik swung around, flailing his arms like a mad ragdoll being puppeteered without direction. Soon enough the bubble swallowed him whole. Mortius closed his fist, dispelling the incant he had ready. He cautiously approached the bubble and held his staff out, trying to poke it.

“STOP!!”, a voice boomed and Mortius looked up to see Emeritus standing up straight. Glaring at Mortius and the bubble, he sat back down calmly and waved his hand.

“By way of a backfired spell, Vessik has lost this battle. Mortius Maleos wins!”, the Echo announced.