Eyepatch

The second day of the mini-tournament came along and Mortius finished up in his Combat class to get to the Arena for his next match. As he left the classroom, he found Clive standing outside waiting for him, smiling brightly and holding a rolled up paper under his arm.

“Ready for day two, champ?” Clive buzzed enthusiastically, as the two got into the elevator to go down.

“You’re in a better mood today. Yesterday you couldn’t stop going on about what a bad idea it was to enter the tournament…” Mortius commented, somehow managing to not add any spite or smarm into his words.

“Well, you know, I was skeptical at first, since you’ve only been here for a few months. But, I feel like after you managed to pull off some really impressive Līfcræft, you’ll probably do fine!” Mortius could only chuckle, giving a sarcastic thank you to Clive’s words. Clearly he was trying to be supportive but his choice of wording could have been better. 

“What’s that?” Mortius motioned to the rolled up paper under Clive’s arm.

“Oh, it’s a copy of “Gospel”. It’s a newspaper in Elier, helps me keep informed of everything going on in my hometown. Clive handed it over and Mortius scanned it a little. It was mostly riddles with preaching and lots of sections about the “Word of the Father” with some inspirational line or something accompanying it. The thought made Mortius roll his eyes, but the real news dominated the pages most of all. He stopped at one section, reading about news of attempted trade deals between Elier and Hjallbor, marking the fourth time this negotiation has been attempted. It seemed Elier was a very closed off country, only engaging with very select few countries around the world.

“Anglas are a bit high and mighty in this regard… Diplomacy isn’t exactly Michael’s strong suit…” Clive murmured, noticing the page Mortius read.

“Michael?”

“Leader of the Dōmiphin, and basically Grand Governor in Elier. He’s… well… unique.” As they went down and read more, a thought occurred to Mortius as he recalled the battle, and asked Clive what exactly happened to Vessik and that spell.

“Vessik botched the spell, the effect meant he couldn’t continue”, Clive explained.

“Yeah, but what was that spell? What happened to him?”, Mortius continued to press for answers. Clive shrugged his shoulders and exited the elevator as they arrived on the ground floor, heading into the Nether Floor. The Arena was all set up again and two of the combatants were already fighting. Meanwhile, an uninterested Saminha sat in the crowd, watching the battle intently. Mortius pointed her out and Clive became apprehensive again, going with him but choosing to sit away from her, leaving Mortius in the middle.

“Anyone here look like they might beat me then?” he asked as he turned to look at Saminha.

“Yeah, everyone. I think you’ll get a better fight out of the next opponent. I bet you’re gonna love this fight”, she snickered. There was something about the look on her face and the tone of her voice that indicated something to Mortius. He didn’t feel like he needed to be scared, but more just on his guard a bit more than before. Perhaps this next opponent was something to be feared. Looking back at the fight, Mortius asked Saminha what she knew about Vessik’s little blunder and she also shrugged dismissively. 

“Looked like Ūterlic to me. Reality bending spellweaving. If you care, ask Scholar Midh, he’ll know”, Saminha recommended, pointing at a man across the stage, watching the two new ones take their places. Mortius walked over to him, with Clive quickly joining to avoid being left alone with Saminha, and he seemed to grow more and more in size as they got closer. Once Mortius was right next to him, he realised it wasn’t the distance. This man was unbelievably tall, even when sitting down, and towered over the back of his high chair. His hair was slicked back and went down to the bottom of his neck. He sported a brown beard, not too short but not too long either. Accompanied with this neat look was also a small cut scar running down his cheek and into his beard. On his waist was a holster for a short and simple dagger, though compared to him it may have only looked like a dagger and could’ve been a sword. He looked directly at the two with a sudden urgency as they stared.

“What do you want?”, he asked in a low, dulcet tone.

“Erm, you’re the Portal Magic Scholar, right?”, Clive asked shakily. Scholar Midh nodded, not even blinking yet until Mortius spoke up.

“Saminha told me you’d know what that bubble thing was and what happened to Vessik”, he asked strongly, showing very clearly he was unfazed by the Scholar’s mysterious and scary dominance. The act definitely didn’t work as the Scholar stood up, showing exactly how tall he was and allowing his shadow to cast over a small portion of the rest of the crowd.

“Well, Maleos. What you witnessed was Ābiscræft. As a teacher of portals, yes, I have experience in this field. You can learn everything you want to learn when you come to study Portals in your sixth year but simply put, Vessik has trapped himself in a pocket dimension. He’s probably being chased around by a giant arachnid right now, or whatever creatures may reside in there. That’s what you get for being a Nedra that tries Ābiscræft…”, the Scholar explained before walking off and accompanying the Priestess to the Chapel. Mortius looked at Clive, confusion riddled across his face. Clive was equally baffled and gave a small shrug, not knowing what to say to explain it. The two watched the rest of the matches until the first match of the second round began, starting with Mortius. Clive took his place before, next to the stage, with Saminha also standing next to him, making Clive uncomfortably shuffle a little to widen the gap between them. Feeling absolutely no pressure at all, Mortius confidently strode up to the stage and faced his opponent. It was a Warlock girl. A very strange looking Warlock girl.

“Next battle, Mortius Maleos versus Anikot Moröz. Combatants, name your stakes!”, the Echo announced. Moröz? Mortius recognised that family name, back in Oxilian, someone with the same surname attended the Xora Academy. The Moröz family were strange to say the least. Some considered them dangerous fanatics, others just thought they were nuts. Either way, if she was from that family, she was worth taking seriously.

“I want his soul to be my own!!”, Anikot giggled, with a maddened spark in her eye. Mortius frowned, not being frightened by her display but more kind of disgusted. This Anikot was… peculiar. Exactly the kind of Moröz peculiar he’d heard about. She was wearing the usual uniform but she’d added her own decorations to it, covering her vest in various coloured gems that seemed glued on and had metal spike cufflinks on. Her long black hair was tied upwards into two ponytails, one of which she seemed to have a hard grip on. Her eyes were deeply unsettling. Opened fully wide, so much that the full white of her eyes could be seen. Mortius noticed she seemed to have different coloured warlock eyes, one grey and one red. Both of those wide eyes were fixated on Mortius. Below the eyes, and the… deceivingly adorable button nose, lay a nasty, devilish grin, almost going cheek to cheek. Her head was tilted slightly to the right and Mortius couldn't help noticing that her stocking wrapped legs were bent slightly at the knees and shaking a little. Madness seemed rife in this Institute but none truly encapsulated the madness than this woman.

“Overruled”, the Echo shouted. Anikot let out an annoyed and rather terrifying screech that made some of the students’ quiver and the first years cower in their seats. 

“FINE! Then… um… ooh, I know! You have to take me on a fabulous date! Which ends in a nice moonlit walk towards a pyre where I can sacrifice you to the Old Gods!”, she laughed again madly. Mortius’ arms were no longer crossed and just staring blankly at this crazy lady before him. This was next-level and, though he had no foreboding gut feeling, he had a sense that this fight was going to be one that he would remember his entire school career.

“Overruled again. You may only choose one bet!”, the Echo said again, this time somehow sounding agitated.

“UGH! Fine! I’ll take the sacrifice! Yes, I must appeal to the Old Gods with your blood and… mmmm, flawless skin”, Anikot snickered, licking her lips a little. Mortius felt some small vomit rise up from his throat and he had to concentrate to hold it back, though he made sure everyone could see him gagging. Looking around, some of the other students also looked a little worried and Emeritus shuffled slightly in his chair, with a rather disgusted look on his face. Mortius wasn’t entirely sure what a sacrifice to the Old Gods entailed but as far as he could tell, it only really involved a little fleshy slice and dice, something he could easily recover from. Looking back down at his supporters, his confidence wavered slightly when he saw their expressions. Clive was somehow far more pale than usual, looking like he’d just witnessed someone die before his eyes. Saminha, however, was grinning in a sickly manner, looking far too amused and happy to make Mortius think he was in for a good time. It was an odd kind of bet to place down, but he had a fun idea for his own bet.

“Well, better than taking you on a date. If I win… hmmm, I want your eyeball. I’m gonna rip it out myself”, Mortius replied, staring directly at her with unwavering stoicism, attempting to match or even surpass her level of creepy and insane. The crowd murmured and chatted, expecting a denial from the Echo.

“The stakes stand. If Moröz wins, Maleos will be sacrificed to the Old Gods. If Maleos wins, Moröz surrenders her eyeball. Let the fight begin!”, the Echo said as the crowd cheered.

“Hey, guys! What does sacrifice to the Old Gods entail??”, Mortius shouted.

“WHAT DO YOU THINK??!! DEATH!! I TOLD YOU THIS WAS A BAD IDEA!!”, Clive screamed back. It was at this point that Saminha couldn’t keep herself together and burst out in a madly triumphant cackle.

“WHAT?!”, Mortius yelled back, staring up at the High Scholar. “I thought you said deathmatches were banned!!”

“Well… technically yes. You can’t stake your life on the Bet, but… there are some small loopholes”, Emeritus said calmly, giving absolutely no indication of concern and not trying in the slightest to hide his amusement.

“Yep… and one of them is death by sacrifice! I hope you’re ready for my fingers to be… sliding through your corpse’s entrails!”, she said almost silently, shuddering as she said so, her eyes even rolling upwards slightly in ecstasy. Mortius was disgusted but had no time to think as she’d already summoned a spell.

“Naur ahsku!”, she shouted as she thrust her hand forward and a giant ball of black mass flew toward Mortius. He tried to reach for the stone tile but was too late as he was knocked back. The force felt like a giant hand punching him in the ribs and his heart felt like it was on fire. Grunting and holding his chest, Mortius got up slowly and slammed his staff on the floor. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t use this until he really needed it, but this one had now truly angered him. It landed on the attack symbol and he quickly reached for the infinity symbol to stop anyone from noticing what he was doing. Placing his hand quickly on his staff, he stared down at Anikot, who didn’t even move, seeming as if she wanted to be hit.

“Asir’in aigh!”, Mortius said and waited for something to happen. A transparent ripple effect emerged from his palm and quickly shot toward Anikot. She stood there for a moment, seeming like she just saw a ghost, but then snapped out of it and began looking around and mumbling to herself, unable to form words. She looked at her staff confused and began to get even more frantic, screaming at the crowd and using the staff as a threatening rod.

“Well, that was easier than I thought…”, Mortius murmured as he picked up his staff from the position it was in and forcefully thrust it in the direction of Anikot. With the spell charged and stored in the staff, the resultant thrust caused a static feeling in the staff, with Mortius feeling a rumbling from within it as he gripped it, similar to that of rushing tidal waves. A torrent of clay emerged from his staff and propelled itself toward Anikot, breaking her body as she flew like a ragdoll and smacked against the wall, covered head to toe. She tried to struggle against the tide, but the clay quickly overwhelmed her, seeping over her body until only her head and right arm were available to move.

“Anikot Moröz is unable to continue, Mortius Maleos wins!”, the Echo announced. Everyone stood up and cheered again, but Mortius was not bathing in the approval of his classmates. Not even well into his first year and already someone was trying to kill him. He’d been through enough so far and seen enough to know that he was not going to allow anyone to think they could take him down easily or think they could get away with such. The closer he came, the more he was realising the world he was in. Mortius needed to send a message to everyone here, that if they came after him, they would pay for it. Slowly getting down to one knee, he grabbed his staff and turned it upside down, placing the jewel right in front of her eye. He felt the power inside the staff activate again. As if it knew exactly what his plan was and what he wanted. The weapon linked with his thoughts, obeying his command and glowing menacingly against Anikot’s face.

“Stay still…”, he hissed as the three jewels that rotated the large one revolved faster, and faster, until they suddenly stopped. They pointed diagonally downwards, then suddenly shot forwards and dug into the socket of Anikot’s left eye, spattering blood outwards and on to Mortius’ face. He only stared as she screeched and cried, either from the pain of her eye socket being stretched or the looming surgery, or perhaps both. In between the incoherent screaming and gurgling, Anikot whimpered out some pleas for mercy, for Mortius to stop, but the procedure only continued, with everyone staring in dead silence. Anikot wailed, her head and arm writhing as she desperately flailed to try and grab the staff, or anything to get away. The crackling of her skull and squelching of flesh could be heard and a distinct tearing sound followed by the squelch of something sliding out, as she quieted and slipped into unconsciousness. Slowly the eye was pulled out towards the centre jewel, blood slipping down to the floor and a small, thin cord could be seen elongating and eventually snapping, leaving a tiny hair of red peeking out of the vacated socket and resting on her cheek. Mortius held the staff over his shoulder and stood up, holding her eyeball clearly for all to see, the tail of the nerve dangling below it. Everyone was silent and didn’t move as Anikot was broken free from the clay, picked up and taken out of the arena. Mortius walked off the stage, everyone staring at him whilst the next combatants slowly approached the stage area, watching the blood on the floor immediately evaporate.

“T-that… was- um… something…”, Clive stuttered, unable to stop staring nervously at the still dripping eyeball in Mortius’ hand. Clive knew that Mortius was a little troubled, perhaps even a bit mean, but this was beyond cruel, a kind of evil he’d never seen before. Clive retreated a bit, but looked pleadingly towards Mortius, hoping he could say or do something that would redeem what he just did.

“Something… SOMETHING?! That was AWESOME!” Saminha joined the two, slamming an affirmed hand down on Mortius’s back and almost making him fall over. It seemed this great act of cruelty had won a bit of favour with Saminha, but removed some that he had with Clive. Either way, it was Saminha being impressed that Mortius needed right now.

“Well, I need to make an impression somehow. I’m probably not going to survive here if I look like anyone can take a shot at me, so I make a dramatic statement. I’m sure Saminha has done the same to plenty of other students. I’m just taking a page from her book”, Mortius said gleefully as he looked down at the eyeball in his hand and slowly enclosed it in his fist, squishing it and a combination of blood and tissue slowly squelched and squirted, oozing in between his fingers. Saminha nodded with great approval, even flipping her hair back in dramatic fashion as if to confirm her influence was great. Clive nodded slowly, trying not to vomit and doing his best to scrub the image out of his head. Mortius looked at Clive and took note of his expression and the fearful look in his eyes.

“Relax. She’s a Warlock, it’ll grow back eventually. I’m not going to go around maiming and dismembering anyone that comes near me now. And I won’t do that again for the final fight, promise.” Though Clive still gave a small nod, his fears were only slightly put at rest as he looked back at the board.

“Well, it’s not gonna work if you’re facing Jericho”, he retorted, pointing up at one of the combatants. Mortius looked at the fight and saw the two next ones already fighting, Incubus versus… something that looked similar to Clive, which could only mean Angel. This guy had an extremely chiselled face and the generic blonde quiff as if he’d jumped straight out of an action-adventure book, wearing the blue Gardah vest. It was a funny thought that people of the same species could wind up in different circles, showing that even creatures like Anglas could be different from each other. At least significantly enough to be deemed suitable to a different circle. Jericho fought confidently, never even flinching despite being hit by fire. Then he pressed the attack sigil and grinned slyly. He didn’t even utter a word as he held out his hand, holding his enormous engraved shield loosely beside him, and a giant ray of pure light blasted from his hand and hit the Incubus. Mortius’ eyes widened as his skin began to sear and melt away slightly, his pained cries echoing throughout the hall before he collapsed to the floor. 

“Berus is unable to continue, Jericho wins!”, the Echo announced as Jericho gave a nodding bow to Emeritus and exited the stage. Mortius could only glare at the arrogant man who gave him a small wink and a smirk as he walked back to the stands, not even considering going to the Priestess for his injuries. The bold arrogance, the stature, physique, it all suddenly reminded Mortius of Drower. Though he barely knew Jericho, Mortius had a good way of analysing people, and he could already tell from one look that this man was a true glory hound, desperate to look like the best game in town.

“Angel anatomy. All injuries go away soon enough, not even leaving a scar. We don’t need medical care. It’s the most advanced self regeneration among all the races”, Clive explained and Mortius nodded. The only species with a slightly rivalling regeneration ability was D�"mon healing. Intriguingly, yet unsurprisingly, the D�"mon Jericho faced was not recovering from the angelic magic. It seemed that it would still require some healing.

“Checking out the looks of the future Gamble champion?”, the arrogant tones of Jericho found their way into Mortius’ ears as the man came down from the stage to face the three.

“Shhh, I think you’ll have to repeat that for me, feathers…” Saminha interjected, getting directly into Jericho’s face.

“Ugh, please, don’t stand so close, your breath smells like ashes and you’re making me cold from here…” Jericho turned his head away, almost purposely detailing a jawline so sharp it could cut through brick. Mortius only glared at him, but Clive seemed to be turned away, and Jericho seized this opportunity.

“Clive, Clive, Clive… tsk, tsk, tsk… spending your free time with a Warlock and a D�"mon? Shameful. Father would be even more disappointed in you if he saw this…” Jericho had a look of both disappointment and enjoyment, noting Saminha’s clenched fist as she seemed ready to start a fight, but Mortius stood in front of Clive, looking directly at Jericho.

“Are you sure about that? Clive’s a better Angel than any I’ve seen so far in this place. Especially you.” Clive raised up a little more after hearing this, seeming surprised to find Mortius of all people standing up for him. He’d never thought that he would so quickly jump to Clive’s defence, and judging from Saminha’s confused and slightly disgusted face, she didn’t expect it either. Jericho only looked between the three and scoffed.

“Of course he is. Clive is a unique Angel without a doubt. Kind, caring, wary of others feelings, unwilling to fight. Certainly not what an Angel should be but… well, we all have our special traits, don’t we, brother?” Clive only turned away, looking down at the floor as Jericho chuckled haughtily.

“Go. Away.” Mortius growled, prompting a staredown between the two, but eventually allowing Jericho to leave. That one interaction was all Mortius needed to have a strong desire to cut Jericho down. That arrogant a*s was going to get the fight of his life and Mortius was ready to spend the following night thinking of the worst things he could do to put him in his place.

“Moortiuuuusss, come visit me in the Chapel! We’ll have a lot of fun when I rip your heart out!” Clearly Anikot had broken out of her pain induced unconsciousness as her screeches could be heard from a distance while she was carried out of the arena, prompting Mortius to pretend to violently gag.

“Let’s get to our classes before she sneaks out of there and… touches me when I’m not looking or something…” Clive nodded in agreement as he left, while Saminha joked about Mortius’ new girlfriend on the way out of the Arena.