《Magefall》 Prologue: The Culling It was twilight. A man, moving with the boldness and poise of a lion, strolled onto the steps at the colossal gates of The Acropolis. This man was Thaerus, Mage-Lord of Fire, Duke of Harlorr Fief, Head of the noblest House Dacia, and Supreme Commandant of the Eldandor Magedom''s Mages. The Acropolis, he thought, was the most hideous and unfathomable piece of architecture to have ever graced the Elandor Kingdom. It was built on the barren mountains of the north-east of the kingdom, situated in the middlemost point where the grey peaks completely enclosed a hill. The grim, black walls were nearly a hundred metres tall and four hundred metres wide, and the massive arch-shaped gates were built from a million strong elvish wood. Tremendous Darite steel spikes - magically resistant, uncorrodable, and nigh-indestructible - protruded from the surface of the whole construct like some horrific abomination of a thorn-bush. The guard towers that lined the walls were each manned by a hundred elite soldiers and headed by a powerful Mage. Although the total armed forces here amounted to barely a fifth of the forces in great cities like Castle Harlorr, it could defend against tenfold the number of enemies based on the structure alone. The entire complex was the masterpiece of the ancients, a relic of a horrific past where the legendary Magus''s - Mages powerful enough to transcend their humanity into semi-godhood - defended against Otherkind God-Kings and their colossal monstrosities. Now, under the ravages of time, the monsters of antiquity had faded into nothingness and the Otherkind vanished with them. Yet the walls of The Acropolis remained, unflinching and eternally unmoving to protect against an extinct enemy. Thaerus wondered whether if nowadays the walls were those of a prison than a sanctuary. For one, he would not stay in this hell hole unless his life depended on it. He far preferred the majesty of his home in Castle Harlorr. Even though the journey from his fief through Grandheart Forest, over the central farmlands, and into the mountains here took just over two months, Thaerus felt as if his eyes had forgotten what the colour of life back home looked like. He remembered the beautiful maidens of the court, the gorgeous tranquil fields, and the noble grandeur he indulged himself in. The man made a mental comparison to The Acropolis and saw only a harsh, brutal landscape without woman, scenery or nobility. Even now when he swore, the bitter, howling wind drowned out any sound other than itself. In fact, the only feature in The Acropolis that seemingly had any sense of beauty whatsoever was the Keep. It was an elegant thing - formed from a small, white curtain wall enveloping a gorgeous marble palace. The palace was a spire of ivory, twisting around and around itself like a snake strangling its prey. It climbed so high that, even beyond the impossibly tall walls of The Acropolis, it could be seen leagues away in the small fishing villages of the coast. Against the grim, bleak background the Keep was an exceedingly strange and alien structure. Outside, Thaerus was not alone - behind him, a sizable group followed him cloaked in dark, gold-lined robes. They were his noble, like-minded Imperials. All were hidden under the mask of their cowls, only identifiable by the emblem of a single, crimson flame on their chest. They were silent, perfectly still, and melded in the darkness. They all came with a single goal. Thaerus put up his arm and gestured. Begin. One of them stepped forward from the crowd. The Imperial reached out his hand towards The Acropolis and paused to concentrate. A moment later, a faint glow enveloped his arm. Then, a great cardinal red light erupted out of his skin and then ignited into a smokeless, magical fire that shone blindingly in the darkness. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. The three guardsmen in the gatehouse all saw the light immediately. They hesitated, pausing for a moment to verify whether they saw the same thing. It had never happened before, and not a single one of them could have anticipated this. Generations of a guardsman in The Acropolis would have never had a single incident or possible intruder like this. All the other guardsman were on guard below. They had no one to consult but themselves. Then, one particularly eager guardsman marched to the commanding Mage inside the gatehouse. "Sir! There are men outside the walls signalling to us." The Mage smirked. "Open the gate." The guardsman looked hesitant. "But Sir! They are unidentified and possibly hostile!" The Mage''s smirk turned into a sneer. "Open. The. Gate." "But his royal Majesty is currently staying here, this is a violation of - " The guardsman was cut off by the sensation of a cold, overwhelming force on his neck. The Mage''s right hand glowed an ethereal crimson as hot, boiling magic surged from within him. Strange, ghostly runes warped into existence on the pale hands of the Mage. A chain of pure magic wrapped itself around the guardsman''s neck. The Mage slowly twisted his hand, forcing the guardsman''s head to twist with it, and drew his fingers in tighter and tighter into a fist. The guardsman''s face went white, and he desperately struggled against the brutal, choking power. He tried to cry out. Then, the Mage, satisfied with his suffering, whipped his hand away. There was a savage crack as guardsman''s neck snapped. His corpse fell lifelessly on the ground. The Mage kicked him out of his path as he stepped outside. From the great height of the walls, the light looked different. It was the perfect image of a crimson flame. The other two guardsmen were staring with bewilderment at the sight, with confusion and apprehension raging in their minds that rivalled the storms they knew so well here. They did what every man did when faced with impossibility - they wavered. That was their mistake. The Mage seized on the opportunity, his magic was still eager to be unchained from the confinements of his mortal body. Both of his hands glowed, and the same unearthly runes grew bright and hot with power. Then, a moment later, there was a loud thud as two more their bodies crumbled to the ground. As he pulled the lever to open the gate, the Mage mirrored the crimson flame he had seen down below, as he too donned the gold-lined robes of the Imperials. A moment later, there was the almighty quake of the earth, as the gates shoved away from the very land it rested on in order to fully open. There was the tremendous roar of steel gears and thick rope strained to drive the complex and ancient apparatus that worked the enormous gates. The echo of the entire process reverberated from mountain to mountain. Men and horses were knocked off their feet as the force of the operation sent immense shockwaves in the area. Then, the gate was completely open. Not a piece of wood or steel stood in between the outside world and the untouched insides of The Acropolis. There was an eerie silence as everything ground to a halt. Every man, woman, and child knew something had gone terribly, terribly wrong. Thaerus laughed madly. The invincible, unpenetrable gate and walls of The Acropolis fell without a single man lost. Half his life had been spent for this moment, and nothing could have possibly gone better. From the shadows of the mountain, behind his Imperials, an unseen army of mages in the hundreds arose from their positions in the darkness. "Now, gentlemen, I believe we have an incompetent dynasty to be rid of." All the stars in the vast sea above had aligned. All the men behind him were his to command. And all of the great Magedom before him was his to be seized. Chapter 1: Homecoming "Hey! Try to keep up will you, Cyrus?" Marlin, thin, amber-haired, and positively beaming, charged away from the lagging figure of Cyrus. Cyrus sensed the challenge and immediately sprinted after the disappearing Marlin. The great oak trees of Grandheart Forest were large and their verdant leaves wide, in which they wove a tight semi-brush layer between the canopy and forest floor. Seeing through the layer was difficult, traversing them was even more so. Yet the two boys ran, leapt, and bounded through the oak trees with the mastery only years of repetition could have brought. It was a scorching summer day, but the great swelling sun did nothing to slow their advance. It was windless and the air was dry, with only the drone of cicadas to accompany the laughter of the two. This was the Greatheart Forest they both knew so well - unfathomably immense, gorgeously lush, and stupidly hot. "Why the rush? Got something to compensate for?" said Cyrus, his skin glistening with sweat and his chest strenuously heaving. His white shirt was soaked and sticky but cooled rapidly against the rushing wind as he ran. As the forest blurred by him, Cyrus found himself fascinated and dreadfully curious by the boy he was chasing. "How are you keeping up so fast?! What are they feeding you at Harlorr?" "Nothing special," Marlin cheekily answered. "You might need some work on those sticks you call legs." "And it as if you''re more than skin and bones?" Cyrus replied. In spite of Marlin''s confidence in himself, he too was sweating like a pig. However, his brown robes were far more ventilated than Cryus''s common shirt, and it''s magical properties allow himself to easily dissipate the heat. Marlin was not nearly as athletic as Cyrus, nor was he was strong or nimble. What he did have was a sharp head on his shoulders, and a little talent called Magic. Call it cheating, but to him all was fair and game when it came to their challenges with each other. They moved rapidly through the dense forest, Marlin maintaining a strong lead against Cryus of around fifty metres. Through streams, hills, and bush they ran and ran and ran. It was something so Marlin to do, Cyrus thought. How he snarked at everything he said, and how eager he was to prove himself, and how hard he tried to make his point. Marlin was born frail and weak, but with a heart full with determination to prove his worth. Like Cyrus and all the other orphan children in Eless Village, they were born common. It was what every man, woman, or child was grouped into if they were magicless. Mages dictated everything in the Elandor Kingdom, relentlessly oppressing everyone whom they considered low-born and filthy. Every common hated their status and their powerlessness, but none did more than Marlin. He learnt of his powerlessness first hand in his days in the orphanage in Eless Village. His tiny stature made him a target all too easy to pick on and bully, and in the scramble for food in the poorly supplied mess hall, Marlin frequently went to bed without even an ounce of food in his stomach. When he fought back, he was beaten down. So he learnt to fight in a different way. For every piece of food stolen from him, he would remember and repay their deeds at their most vulnerable. Dead rats in bed. Poison in their soup. Pets found strangled outside their room. Marlin learned that even when he seemed completely defeated, through pure struggle and work he could break others and elevate himself. All the other children had this innate drive to assert themselves over the rest, but Marlin took it to the extreme where he saw life itself as a competition. If he could not win with fists, then he would win with wit and trickery instead. Even Cyrus himself once bullied Marlin, although after the rock ''accident'' nearly splitting a child''s head open he realized what kind of person he was provoking. Instead, he befriended him, and they found each other to have far more in common with each other than they thought. Both orphans. Both competitive. Both in dire need of someone to rely on. Cyrus thought that Marlin''s time in the orphanage drove him slightly bonkers. But insanity was the least of his issues when it came to a boy as ambitious as him. That destiny he craved came calling on their 13th summer when the Mage-Seekers arrived. They were Mages that roamed the Magedom to test common children''s latent talent in magic because although exceptionally rare, children born to commons could possess magic. Mages were powerful but rare, and new blood had to be fed into the system in order to keep the archaic system alive. When Eless Village''s children were tested none, including Cyrus, were found to have even the slightest hint of magic in them. Except for Marlin. Cyrus could still remember the jealousy he felt when he saw the first wisp of magic emerge from within his skin. Then Marlin''s skin started to glow a deep, sapphire blue. And then a torrent of runic power burst from him like a broken dam, sending a shockwave that blasted around the entire village. At that moment, Marlin knew that he had become more than some common child in some poor village. Barely a week later, a group of men clad in dark, gold lined robes knocked on the doors of the orphanage. They were from Harlorr Castle, and Marlin was invited to become the apprentice of the Mage-Lord of Fire, Thaerus. The invitation, of course, was nothing more than a formality. It wasn''t a request, it was a demand and threat - join or perish. Marlin, with all the ambitions a boy could have, accepted it in a heartbeat. He has whisked away to the distant land of Harlorr Fief and Cyrus had not seen him since. Cyrus shivered at the thought of interacting with Thaerus. The adults never liked to talk about him, and when they did, it was always in hushed whispers when no one was watching. Thaerus''s contempt for the commoners was almost legendary. Rumour had it that he had the tongue of a man and his whole family cut when he had badmouthed him while drunk. Cyrus couldn''t understand the mind of someone who could do such cruelty, but he could understand why someone like Marlin would follow such a man like Thaerus. Thaerus was powerful - the strongest Mage in the Elandor Kingdom, with great mastery over the magic of pyromancy, and perhaps the most influential man in the kingdom after the Mage-king himself. Someone as aspiring as Marlin could not get a better mentor to start his journey. So when Marlin showed up on the doorsteps of the orphanage this summer morning, Cyrus thought he was seeing things. He was even more surprised by the way Marlin treated him - he had expected the arrogance and pride that the mage''s (especially Thaerus) was infamous for, but it seemed that Marlin had barely changed at all. So Marlin was still Marlin, and he did what he did best - and that was to immediately drag Cyrus away somewhere to compete. That somewhere was old, homely Grandheart forest. "So, what are you doing here anyway?" Cyrus asked as he looked around himself. They were sitting in a large glade that opened wide from the dark, cool embrace of the trees. Scorching light bathed everything in the vicinity. The grass was long up halfway to his knees, and wild pearl lilies bloomed around them. Cyrus was still recovering from their race here, and the few words that came out of his mouth were rushed and graceless. Marlin seemed at ease, and he barely panted while they rested, although from the sweat on his face Cyrus could tell he was still quite exhausted. The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. "They sent me back here." "They sent you back here?" "They. Sent. Me. Back. Here." "They sent you back here?" Marlin scowled at him. "Want me to repeat that again, my good deaf sir?" "But why?! I thought you were some genius Mage?" Cyrus exclaimed baffled. His forehead wrinkled in thought. Wasn''t he some great talent that even the Mage-Lord Thaerus would desire? Wasn''t he so clever that he scared everyone around him? Did he do something that offended Thaerus? Would he be in trouble- As Cyrus sunk into deep thinking, Marlin roared aloud with genuine laughter. "You should see the look on your face!" Marlin blurted out between his snickers. He slapped Cyrus''s back in delight. "Why are you thinking so hard? Are you worrying about me? There are explanations a lot simpler than being expelled, you know?" Cyrus blushed in embarrassment as he realised Cyrus had purposely left his answer vague to bait him. It was Marlin, of course. Why did he forget? This person was so good with his words and manipulations, and he should have easily expected something as petty as this from him. It was just that he had forgotten how to deal with him. Something that was familiar from routine was now foreign and out of practice. A year was a very long time to not to see someone, and a warm feeling settled in his chest. He had indeed missed Marlin very much, although he would never for the life of him confess that out loud. Marlin calmed down from his fit of laughter, and explained: "It''s just a holiday. They were busy with something at Harlorr. Something very important, from what I''ve gathered. I barely had any lessons in the last half of my time there, because Lord Thaerus was so obsessed over whatever in gods name they were doing. So they just sent me back here for a while." "Thaerus? What''s he-" Marlin glared at Cyrus as he began. "It''s Lord Thaerus." Marlin corrected. Cyrus gave him a deadpan look. "Does that really matter here? In the middle of nowhere?" "Its habit, I suppose. I don''t like calling him that either, but I''ve seen what he does to those that displease him. He blew up one of his followers - one of those dark robed people that always stalks behind him. The poor guy just made a face at an order, and then Boom! He''s dead." Cyrus grimaced at the thought. What kind of person could do such a cruel thing? Marlin was not a good person by any stretch, and neither was himself really, but to blow up one of his own? That took some ruthlessness that he wasn''t sure he could even understand. "So I take it you didn''t have a good time there?" Cyrus asked. "Well, I actually enjoyed it quite a bit. There was that threat of death hanging over me, but that isn''t much more different to here. Lord Thaerus isn''t bad in the lessons, but good god the man is stuck-up. He wouldn''t be quiet about how much better he was to quite literally anyone." Cyrus chuckled at Marlin''s outburst of irritation. It seemed that Marlin had quite the experience during his year there. He threw his hands up and hurled himself onto his feet. Then, he asked the inevitable question of burning between them. "What do you want to compete in?" Marlin gave a sly grin as he too stood up to face Cyrus. He slid his hand into his robe and then drew out two long, cylinder packages. They were both wrapped in strong, chestnut-coloured leather that covered the entirety of their length. Expensive, Cyrus immediately thought. Those must be ridiculously expensive. He usually wore the cheapest of fabrics, and not even the rich mayor had a leather jacket as luxurious as that. From the covering alone, he could tell the thing was going to be extraordinary. Then, Marlin tossed one of the packages over to Cyrus, who caught it with as much care as he had in him. It was exceptionally heavy, and he very nearly dropped it when it first landed on his hands. Cyrus thought it was probably heavier than 4 large bricks combined. How was Marlin carrying this around? When Marlin bet him on their race here, he was already greatly surprised. But to do that while carrying two of these? Cyrus looked at Marlin, observing and analysing his body. No obvious changes, he noted. He was a little bit taller, but his limbs were still as skinny as he remembered them. Something had to have changed about him, but what? Marlin grinned smugly at Cyrus. "There''s no need to gawk, Cyrus. I know of my greatness personally." Cyrus felt his face flush red again. He had been baited twice already, and he felt more foolish than he had ever been. But before he could regain himself, Marlin immediately pressed on. "Open it. There is a string tied to the end; untie that, and it will open." Cyrus held the package lengthwise and searched for the said string. He could not find anything even after a minute of probing and scrutiny. "The other side, Cyrus." Cyrus sighed as he flipped it around. There, after a bit of fiddling around, he found a small knotted black string protruding from the package. With a vigorous tug, he undid the knot and the entire package fell apart. The leather unwrapped as he spun the package around, the excess collapsing onto the floor as the contents were revealed. A beautiful sword, of sterling steel, lustrously silver in the radiant light, and incredibly powerful in the hand. It was not too heavy nor too light - it seemed that the weight of the package was in the leather, not the iron. It sat with a perfect balance in his palm and he could feel how gorgeously crafted it was. The distance between the bottom of the hilt to the tip of the blade was of thirty inches long; too short for a longsword, yet too long for a shortsword. It seemed to favour the sturdiness a shortsword gave, yet it rejected the strong wide base of one. It seemed to favour the grace and nimbleness a longsword gave, yet it rejected the great reach of one. Too small for an adult, too small for a child, but perfectly sized for an adolescent - like himself. It was an exquisite amalgamation of the common swords, forged by a smith who wanted exactly everything and nothing at the same time. But it was absolutely deadly - Cyrus could tell that the edge of the blade was incredibly sharp, and the steel it was hammered from was of supreme quality. It would not shatter or break easily. Cyrus broke away from his trance-like examination of his sword and looked up at Marlin. He too held an identical blade, with the same glory and majesty of his. Marlin pointed his blade towards Cyrus. It was a challenge, he realized. "A sword duel. It was our favourite game to play when we were younger, wasn''t it? But instead of sticks, we''ll use these beauties I brought from Harlorr Castle''s Smith." Marlin said, lowering his body as he shifted into a stance. "Challenge accepted." Cyrus replied as he held his new acquaintance tightly in his hand. Chapter 2: Fratricide Marlin lunged at Cyrus, moving so fast that his figure was nothing but a blur to his eyes, and smashed his blade against his. Their blades crossed at each others centre, and the violent screech of metal against metal resounded from their clash. This screech rang sharply across the entirety of the open glade, leaves shuddering from the heavy noise. Cyrus felt his head throb in pain from this harsh sound that ringed endlessly in his ears. The enormous force Marlin exerted onto his sword forced Cyrus to buckle. Cyrus had never touched a proper sword in his life, and his only experience with any sort of weapon was limited to a selection of sticks and stones found on Grandheart Forest''s floor. So when Marlin swung so aggressively against him, Cyrus''s first instinct was to simply grit and hold his guard. Their contest of strength lasted for a few seconds as they locked eyes in the challenge of each other. Both were grinning like madmen. The excitement of danger, the thrill of adventure, the drama of the fight - all the fantastical dreams of teenage boys filled their minds and they simply did not care for anything else. Pure exhilaration pervaded them. Then, Cyrus broke their stalemate as he suddenly forced down his sword, drawing both their blade closer and closer to their crossguards. Their swords shrieked at the motion, the edges sparking from the friction, causing Marlin''s blade to tremble at the crushing force that pressured it. Cyrus was taller and bigger than Marlin - his reach was superior to his, and his height advantage would make it so that his blade would inevitably overpower him. Marlin too realized this, reacting immediately as he flattened his blade in an attempt to diverge Cyrus''s blade towards the side. Twisting his wrist, Marlin aligned Cyrus''s sword away from his body, with its pale silver steel and the rushing wind barely an inch away from his flesh. But, as soon as he did so, he exposed his right flank towards the keen, expecting eyes of Cyrus. Cyrus immediately dropped all strength in his sword, and as Marlin lurched forward from the abruptly missing force, he delivered a satisfying kick to Marlin''s abdomen. He was sent flying. His sword shot into the dirt. "That was cheating." Marlin groggily complained, sprawled onto his back on the warm grass as he stared into the endless, cloud-dotted sky. "Hey, I never complained when you used magic on the way here," Cyrus replied, entertained at the sight of a downed Marlin. "You realized that?" "Of course. You didn''t expect me to think you spent all your time at Harlorr dancing, did you? How else would you carry two swords and beat me in a run?" ''I did expect you to think that'' Marlin thought to himself. ''Because that''s something only someone as stupid as you could think''. But it seemed that more than just Cyrus''s height had grown in their year apart. As Marlin laid there, pondering, Cyrus''s loud voice interrupted him. "Get up! You''re not done yet, mister skin and bones?" "Of course not!" Marlin, immediately recovered by Cyrus''s taunt, shot up and reclaimed his sword. But, as he turned towards Cyrus, he closed his eyes and called on his magic. A faint light emitted from his body - dying his figure a cerulean blue like the sky above him. Countless runes, bizarre and indecipherable, collected on Marlin''s skin. An invisible, immense power gathered around Marlin, it''s boundless strength ready to be bent and unleashed to his will alone. Cyrus felt the crushing sensation of magic in the air, which enveloped his body and nearly sent him on his knees. He did not even really need to see it, he simply remembered the overwhelming experience that was Marlin''s awakening ceremony. The incomprehensible power he wielded, the great majesty of his very being, and the awe he felt in his presence - it all came rushing back to Cyrus. This was Marlin. Not the scrawny, weak teenager he had beaten down with sheer muscle alone, but a mighty sovereign of magic that ruled a power he could never even touch. A boy with ideas and ambitions that eclipsed everything he had ever seen or known. It was not the feeble, scheming orphan that stood in front of Cyrus. It was Marlin, the great dreamer and perhaps the most promising and gifted Mage in the whole kingdom. An apprentice Mage, but a Mage nonetheless. The difference between Cyrus and Marlin was comparable to that of the heaven and earth - a god to his subjects, or a king to his slaves. Cyrus felt an impossible pressure on his body and soul as he stood half-bent in Marlin''s overpowering presence. Marlin''s eyes were on fire. Blazing, Burning and filled with a determination that few could understand. His blade glowed with an unearthly hue, it''s pale silver blade becoming wholly dark and throbbing with his magic. Their swords, although the same, was now so different that they seemed worlds apart. A king could not hold a peasants tool, after all. "On your feet." Marlin''s voice demanded. His voice was baritone, laced with the deep echo of magic. "I will not use any spells, for your sake. I''ll try not to kill you." "Thanks for the handicap, I guess." Cyrus croaked out. Even with the handicap, he thought, there was still no way he was going to stand even a chance. He was barely even standing, and he felt his bones shudder at every move. But even so, Cyrus rose up and faced the challenge, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of awe and fear. But even now, he was still smiling. Marlin swung his sword. There was no grace or form in the slash, just simple, absolute strength. Cyrus raised his blade to meet Marlin''s, and when they connected, and Cyrus felt a vast weight crash into him. His body smashed into the ground, hands and sword trembling from the brutal shock. He tasted blood in his mouth. So strong, he thought. How could someone be this strong? It was illogical, impossible, but magic made everything possible. Marlin''s frail body had been charged so strongly with magic that streaks of bright light cracked on his skin. Cyrus crawled back up, his silver sword held tightly in front of him. Marlin swung again, his blade once again ruthlessly crashing into his, but this time Cyrus was ready. Clang! As their swords connected, Cyrus felt his muscles straining, pushing against the immeasurable force behind Marlin''s blade. Cryus was forced back step after step. He could feel everything in his body collapse - tendons twisting, bones shuddering and his muscles at the breaking point. The relentless assault would not cease. He closed his eyes and steeled himself for as long as he could. He was so close to breaking, just one more second and he would - Then it stopped. Cyrus blinked his eyes wide open. He saw Marlin, his sword still touching on his own, standing in front of him and unable to push any further. His face was full of surprise, clearly not expecting Cyrus to still be standing after his full power. He had done what he thought impossible. His eyes narrowed. But Marlin was not done yet. He once again swung, but this time when their blades met, Cyrus was forced back from the force, but he did not budge from his stance. His sword, in defiance of their differences, did not cower in his presence. Marlin struck once, then twice, then thrice, yet Cyrus parried them all. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. Cyrus''s actions were thoughtless. His entire body was burning, parts of himself that he didn''t know existed throbbing in agony. He didn''t know how he was fighting Marlin, only that he could now see something that he couldn''t see before. When Marlin swung, he simply followed the blade and braced himself. Even with the gigantic strength of magic, Marlin lacked any kind of real skill with the sword. He was compensating for their differences in size and talent with his magical power. All Cyrus had was his body. His arms were numb with shock and his legs were on fire. Cyrus would lose every exchange, but every exchange revealed Marlin''s flaws. He would match Marlin''s innate superiority by sacrificing his body. Marlin''s blows grew weaker and weaker to Cyrus, having adapted being beaten at every exchange they made. They parried and struck and parried and struck. The grass they fought on was crushed by their steps. Again, another strike was unleashed onto Cyrus. Clang! As he reeled back, Cyrus''s eyes glowed. He saw it - Marlin''s weakness. An exposed side, an unguarded right flank. Cyrus''s blade thrust forwards like an eagle charging its prey. Marlin, for the first time since unleashing his magic, was forced to defend himself. His guard was sloppy, and only through sheer might barely deflected the attack. Surprise flashed on his Marlin''s face, but it disappeared as soon as it came. Marlin attempted to restart his assault, but before he could do so, Cyrus immediately continued his counterattack. He had to guard himself, once again forced to parry Cyrus''s deadly thrusts as he was forced onto the defensive. Marlin''s magic could not help him to defend himself, for, after all, god-like strength was useless when he could not attack with it. All of his opportunities was sealed by the repeating assault of strikes and jabs that threatened to win the challenge. Cyrus pushed on, flowing with the tempo of the fight as he suppressed every move Marlin could make. Cyrus''s strikes were clumsy and unbalanced, but even a novice''s desperate flailing was potentially fatal if Marlin was careless. Cyrus was completely exhausted. He sustained himself only on the sheer exhilaration of their battle, with adrenaline pumping through every drop of blood. The fight was rapidly swinging in Cyrus''s favour, as he forced Marlin further and further back until he touched the trunk of an oak tree on the fringes of the glade. Frustration boiled inside Marlin. He had never felt so humiliated in his life. How was it possible? How could he be pushed this far? It felt like a joke, the Mage Apprentice of the Mage-Lord Thaerus losing while using his magic against some common. He had worked so hard to shed his life as a common, only to fail against the one he believed he was superior to. Marlin could accept that Cyrus was stronger than him. Marlin could accept that Cyrus was more agile than him. But he could not accept that his magic was so inferior that he could be bested in combat. Marlin, in his great anger, forgot about the competition. He took this as an attack on his very being, that all his effort amounted to nothing. "Get off of me!" Marlin shouted as a pulse of magic erupted from his body. The formless, booming magic shook the earth and blasted everything around Marlin away. Cyrus was sent flying backwards as the shockwaves smashed into his body. "I thought you weren''t going to use spells?" Cyrus groaned, secretly elated that he had forced him to use a spell. The world spun around him as he tried to reorientate himself. The magic pulse had hit him hard on the head, and he knew that he wasn''t going to last much longer. Marlin did not reply to his question but simply glared at Cyrus''s crouching figure. They both instinctively knew that the end was near. Cyrus, drained and barely conscious, had been beaten around so hard that he looked like he had wrestled a bear. He would have to stake everything if he was going to win this, Cyrus rallied himself. He needed to win this. This was almost certainly to be their final great challenge. Once Marlin returned to Harlorr Castle, they were unlikely to ever meet again. It was the rule of the land for the commons to be segregated away from the Mages. His spirit as a competitor and a friend demanded that this last challenge be his. They raised their swords and charged at each other. Cyrus poured every ounce of strength into his arms and cleaved downwards into Marlin''s blade. Marlin, forcing his magic over impossible limits, attempted to meet Cyrus''s blow under the great boon of magic. It was not until the very last moment when Cyrus realized something had gone terribly, terribly wrong. Marlin''s eyes had suddenly changed. The great determination he knew so well had been extinguished, instead replaced with a strange, unfamiliar look that Cyrus would have never thought possible on his face. It was fear. Pure, unadulterated fear radiated from Marlin. His magic was gone, Cyrus realized. The runes had vanished, the signature blue light had evaporated, and his impossible strength ripped away with them. He never realized how hard Marlin had pushed himself. The reality was that Marlin had overexerted his magic to his absolute limit. The strength, the spells, the power, it all came at a price. If Marlin was to perpetually drain his magic, then he would inevitably bleed himself dry. And when his magic ran dry, he would face the inevitable consequence - exhaustion or death. Neither of them had noticed how worn Marlin had gotten, not even himself. Cyrus, barely conscious, only had his mind on winning. Marlin, in his anger and frustration, did not even bother to check on his own state and simply pushed himself further. He had already done the unthinkable by wielding the immense power, for even heaven-sent talents like Marlin have their limits to their magic. Utilizing this state in his frail body was difficult. Extending this strain was an impossibility. When Marlin attempted to use his magic that final time, he had pushed past this boundary and his body simply shut down. The exhaustion, no longer being suppressed by the occupation of magic, came crashing down on him. Marlin went limp. His sword, still extended in front of him, was held without any sort of grip - his fingers so exhausted that they could not grasp the handle. His chest felt like a hammer had smashed into his ribcage. Every inch of himself was numb and motionless. He tried to defend himself. His arms refused to lift, his legs refused to stand and his entire body failed to even twitch in responce. Marlin suddenly found himself powerless and fragile. His one and only nightmare, to return to his state of uselessness. A scared, paralyzed child stared foolishly at his doom. Cyrus saw a million alien, repressed emotions flash across Marlin''s eyes as the silver blade approached his body. All of Cyrus''s final, desperate force was spent onto this slash. It was unstoppable. No amount of strength could hinder the unimaginable momentum it carried. Cold steel severed through Marlin''s figure. Hot blood spilt onto Cyrus''s guilty hands, and the stench of death filled the air.