Chapter 16 Manhawk
Oliver quickly conjured a thick wall of ice to block the surge of writhing vegetation bounding toward him. For a second, it seemed as though it might hold. It didn't. The mass of tangled stalks crashed into the ice wall with crushing force, disintegrating the wall into a thousand glittering shards. The shockwave flung Oliver backward, and he struck the ground hard. The breath was driven from his lungs as he rolled across the dirt, grit grinding into his skin. Stinging pain flared across his chest where shards and debris had torn into him, leaving shallow cuts and bruises that quickly darkened. His grey t-shirt absorbed the dust and blood, and dark muddy brown spots stained it. He lay there for a few seconds, gasping.
A short distance from Oliver, Robert's eyes were wide and his posture rigid with shock. He seemed rooted to the spot, paralyzed by indecision, utterly uncertain about how to intervene.
"The difference between a Common wizard and a Mystic wizard," the man drawled, "is like night and day." The tangled stalks recoiled at his command, shrinking and slithering back to coil obediently at his side.
"A Common," he continued, "can only conjure the most basic and rudimentary spells. Little tricks. Orbs and shields." His lips curled faintly. "A Mystic, however, can do more than just feeble conjurations. We can use our magic energy to control the raw elements themselves." He gestured lazily to the surrounding field. "We don't need to summon spells—the environment is our power. These plants around me... they're my power. You see, there is far more to magic than throwing around a few flashy spells." He began to slowly walk forward, looking down at Oliver twenty-five feet away with a smug smile. "You're a beginner, a mere novice. You've still got a long, long way to go before you can become a challenge for me." He flexed the braided plant rope in his grasp. "Those hands of yours are being tied up today, and you two are coming with me whether you cooperate or not."
Slowly, Oliver pushed himself upright. His hands trembled as he wiped the thin line of blood from his pale lips. He forced himself to steady his breathing and surveyed the damage around him.
The rectangles of wheat and tripet within fifteen feet were a mess, ravaged by the force of the man's spell. Thankfully, the distant farmhouse remained quiet despite the disturbance. No doors had opened. No figures had emerged. There was no one else present besides the three of them—no need to worry about casualties. The sun had dipped low enough to brush the horizon, but was still bright enough to flare at the edges of his vision.
Oliver turned his head toward Robert, who remained several meters away, staring in stunned silence. "Poison," he called softly. "A little help?" And then he closed his eyes. When they opened again, they were no longer his. His form shifted rapidly as Xolomon took over.
The man halted and stiffened visibly.
"But of course," came Poison's deep, resonant rumble as he took shape.
The Plant wizard gasped—which expressed his astonishment far more than you'd expect his calm face to let on. "Elementals!" he exclaimed.
Oh, he'd heard of them, of course—who hadn't? Every wizard who went to a decent school knew what an elemental was! The briefing this afternoon had mentioned it over and over again. These were consciousness inhabiting raw elements through magic energy! Awareness woven into ice and sand! That's logically insane, it nearly defied reason!
They were the stuff of legend. For centuries, no one had ever seen an elemental, although rumours claimed that natural elementals existed as undiscovered creatures in the deepest trenches of Kreete's untamed wilderness. But there was no proof of their existence. No records confirmed, no witness credible enough.
And yet—
This was proof right before him now. He had been told that the two boys were possessed by human-spirit-turned-elemental-spirits — ancestor-souls created over two millenniums ago, which granted them the ability to become elementals with a host body. He had believed it in theory.
But seeing it... seeing flesh shape into ice and sand... seeing consciousness clad in living elemental magic... it was staggering. Elements becoming body for a mind... insane!
The man's thought raced, and his pulse quickened.
Earlier that day, after news of the hospital incident in Axille had spread through their ranks, his colleagues had spoken about it. Anyone who carried one of these elemental spirits, they said, stood an extraordinary chance of ascending to the Supreme level. These spirits were the rarest and most powerful magical beings ever created. To host one was not mere luck—it was a mark of destiny, of terrifying potential. They had been born from one of the greatest spells ever cast in recorded history, back during the Age of Sorcerers.
The man's thoughts tumbled over one another.
Their own faction leader was rumored to host one of those ancestor-souls and is already at the Legendary level, this close to achieving the Formidable realm. The three Superior wizards of the Magic council were rumoured to possess ancestor-souls as well. They said the remaining were scattered all over the world. But today, the Black Fraggers had gotten information of two of the ancestor-souls... that's two! If he could complete this mission, if he could capture them—if he could bring both boys back. A slow, uncontrollable grin stretched his lips.
"Your ancestor-souls are not strong enough to defeat me," the man declared. "Your bodies aren't yet strong enough to unleash a fraction of their true power. At present, they barely measure up to the first rank of the Mystic level, I, however, am at the seventh. I'll give you two one final chance to surrender." Though his voice and demeanor remained composed, he sounded unmistakably excited. Oh, he hoped they'd resist. He wanted a battle. The thought of clashing against two ancestor-souls at once... thrilling. This was something he was going to boast about for the rest of his life!
Xolomon's face was set with grim determination. "Just like the kid asked," his deep voice rumbled, "what if we refuse?"
The ancestor-souls were a nine-feet towering presence, their size alone was imposing, their forms dense and heavy with power. Even the Plant wizard had to admit it—the sight was intimidating; it could chill the bravest hearts. And indeed, he felt it.
A thin, involuntary shiver creeping along his spine.
"You have your own consciousness, separate from your hosts?" The Plant wizard's delight was unconcealed now, almost boyish. "Fascinating!"
Then, in the very next heartbeat—without a word, without so much as a flick of his fingers—a faint green-brown mist began to seep from his relaxed arms. The mist coiled lazily at first, but then it thickened quickly. Thorned stems condensed. Spiked branches materialized. Splintered shards of wood, coils of barbed vines, and other dangerous-looking vegetation materialized piece by piece and began circling around the man as if caught in a gentle tornado.
The man lifted his chin, regarding the towering elementals with open challenge. Oh, he was ready now. Ready to whoop some elemental butt! If only he could record this.
The elementals stood rigidly, as though daring him to make a move.
"Poison, can I ask you something. I... I'm confused," Robert's voice lit up Poison's mind even as they watched the man conjure his plants. "I thought magic was ancient history. I've always thought wizards were just... hearsay. How can they have existed and I've never heard of or seen one before?!"
"Outright ignorance, kid. Outright ignorance," Poison thought back dryly. "The worst kind I've seen in centuries."
"C'mon, tell me something!" Robert urged.
"Alright, I'll explain... but it's kid-friendly version, though," Poison began as a rock spike materialized in his grasp.
"From what I've observed in recent centuries," he continued, rolling his shoulder as if testing the weapon's weight. "In our world, Kreete, wizards are known to exist, yes. However, they're considered a rare sight, but this is only true for the general population. But don't lump Axille into that, cus you non-traveling Axille residents are practically cavemen. I don't know if you were listening, but that store owner thought the practice of magic was extinct. And you thought the same too. Do you know what you two share in common?"
Then the battle began.
Before Robert could respond, the Plant wizard flicked his wrist, and the spiraling halo of vegetation exploded outward. A violent barrage of splintered wood, barbed vines, and needle-like thorns shot toward both elementals at punishing speed.
Xolomon reacted instantly. With a thunderous step, he darted sideways, and the projectiles shredded the wheats in the space he had occupied moments before. Poison's attention, however, was divided, and that caused him to react a fraction too slow.
Before he could completely dodge out of the way, several thorns pierced through his lower legs. But to Poison who barely flinched, the damage was absolutely negligible. Sand spilled briefly from the injury before compacting again, sealing the hollows as fresh grains shifted into place.
Back within Poison's mind, Robert, unbothered, was just about to respond 'no' to Poison's question when the answer struck him—so obvious. "We've both stayed in Axille our whole lives. I heard the other guy, Fallen, say that to him. And for the record, I was listening..." Robert's consciousness seemed to flush. "Sorta."
"Then that answers your question," Poison replied.
He directed brown magic energy from his hand into the ground, and then gave one mighty stomp. A ripple shot through the ground like a shockwave, disrupting the Plant wizard's footing for a second, making him unable to avoid the ball of ice that slammed into his thighs a moment later and sent him stumbling backwards with a wince.
"The world is integrated with magic, kid," Poison continued. "It's woven into everything. In fact, I've seen ordinary people use home appliances powered by magic energy. Wealthy people hire powerful wizards for private security. I've seen many buildings designed to resist strong magic waves and auras. Magic's everywhere, Robert. In every layer of society."
The Plant wizard conjured two red seeds and quickly dropped them onto the ground. The instant they touched the soil, the seeds burst open and from each a plump green tendril with crimson tips grew out very rapidly and shot forward with terrifying speed—one toward Xolomon's face, the other toward Poison.
Xolomon thrust both hands forward, and a burst of icy dust erupted from his palms, expanding in a frigid cloud. A second later, the tendril racing toward him pierced the cloud. The frost seized it in an instant, crawling along its length in jagged veins to its point of origin and locking it solid mere inches from Xolomon's eyes, encased in thick frost.
But the plant writhed. Cracks began forming along the ice as it fought against the freeze. Xolomon rushed forward with a snarl, seized the frozen tendril, and tore it apart. The pieces withered instantly, dissolving into drifting green magic particles that immediately faded.
"I've heard people say Mayor Wills is a wizard," Robert added, curiously.
Poison meanwhile, moved his head to avoid the tendril aimed at him. It missed his face and darted past. However, the vine curved mid-growth, coiling around his torso and arms in tightening loops. The crimson tips began digging into his body fiercely like a parasitic worm.
Poison grunted as though the vines were a pitiful, needless nuisance. The sand composing his body compacted and hardened, muscles bulging as he pushed outward. With raw strength, he tore the tendril free, and it crumble into green magic particles.
"Possibly," he thought casually to Robert. "Wouldn't be surprised if he is."
The Plant wizard extended both arms, and dozens of jagged, splintered pieces of wood materialized and assembled in the air around him, poised like ammunition.
"Just take it this way, Robert," Poison continued. "The average person might think they've never seen or encounter a wizard in their lifetime, not knowing that they'd walked right past dozens of them."
The jagged pieces of wood launched.
Poison extended a hand and a brown mist poured from it, quickly condensing into a thick wall of compacted soil and stone. The incoming splinters embedded themselves into it with a rapid series of heavy thuds. A few managed to shoot through, but none touched either elemental.
"Unlike the normies, wizards possess this unique ability to sense each other through their aura," Poison went on. "Much like tuning forks... you've heard about those?" Behind the barrier, he poured magic energy into the wall to reinforced the structure. Layers of stone and sand condensed and knit tightly.
"Tuning forks vibrating in harmony. Wizards function in much the same way. Our magic energy carries its own frequency, its own signature. When two wizards come within proximity, those signatures interact. They recognize each other, and instinctively, the wizards' brains compare and contrast intensity to gauge each other's rank—no introduction required, no words exchanged."
He paused, then continued dryly. "In other words, or rather according to the 'adult-friendly' version; only wizards can identify other wizards without being told. They do so by perceiving the oscillation of magic energy radiating from another's core. That energy expresses itself as a secondary aura. Its subtle and invisible to ordinary sight, but unmistakable to those attuned to magic."
A violent impact interrupted him. Another wave of wooden spikes stormed the Earth wall. The structure trembled under the barrage as jagged stakes punched through its surface, displacing stone and sand alike. Several wood spikes protruded menacingly through the barrier. One pierced through and grazed Xolomon's arm, and five seconds later, the wall was breached and destroyed.
"Though the average normie knows that wizards existed," Poison went on, his voice steady despite the chaos, "they had very different ideas about what they are and what they do." He quickly pointed downward at the mound of sand that once was the Earth wall, and a dense mass of soil surged upward from the mound, rising to hover before him. There, they compacted into dagger-like projectiles. With a sharp swing of his arm, he sent the Earth daggers streaking toward the Plant wizard in a tight formation.
But the man was casting too. The ground behind him split open with a deafening crack, and a sizable, clean-cut tree trunk burst upward and swung vertically through the air like a hammer. Poison darted forward just in time as the trunk smashed into the spot where he had just stood. The impact churned the soil and sent debris flying in all directions.
"The majority," Poison continued, as he watched his daggers reach the man, "believe wizards live quietly among us. Unidentified. Working in secret for governments or shadow agencies... stuff like that."
One of his stone daggers managed to pierce through the rotating shield of bark the man had hastily conjured and graze his shoulder, slicing a small hole through his clothes.
"A smaller handful of ignorant skulls, like yourself and that store owner, believe that wizards and magic are nothing more than a myth, a practice from a bygone age."
A volley of sharpened branches shot toward him. Poison raised one arm, and a curved slab of rock ripped itself from the ground, intercepting the attack in a shower of splinters.
"To most ordinary people," he went on, "seeing a wizard in action would always remain a rare and spectacular event, usually when they battle magic beasts in the city; even if it was masked behind a cloak of secrecy. I've seen people gathered in the street and watching as a wizard captured a fugitive, or subdued a rampaging beast."
Xolomon roared and slammed his fist into the soil. A wave of frost rippled outward, freezing a creeping tide of brambles before they could entangle his legs.
Poison conjured a rock spike and hurled it at the wizard with great might. The man's eyes widened. In that split-second, he understood that none of his shields could successfully block the spike rocketing toward him with blinding speed. He immediately jumped out of the way, robes whipping agitatedly. As soon as the spike screamed past, the Plant wizard snapped his gaze toward Xolomon, who was already drawing back his arm, waiting for the icicle in his grasp to form completely to hurl it. The wizard pointed a finger at him. At once, the frozen brambles around Xolomon shattered in a spray of frozen shards as thick roots erupted from beneath him, coiling upward like living serpents and lashing around his legs, seeking to bind him.
Caught mid-throw, Xolomon snarled in frustration. The icicle dissolved in his grip as he was forced to abandon the attack. With raw strength, he tore against the tightening roots and wrenched himself free.
"But strangely, after the excitement was over," continued Poison, "the entire incident would dissolve into little more than gossips and rumors. No official statement. It's not reported in the news or anywhere—at least not in any media normies have access to. That's probably why you don't know so much about them—most likely. The Magic Council knows their stuff. To another few—children mostly—wizards are figures of wonder, like superheroes; organized hidden protectors of the world."
The man clapped his palms together. Before him, an enormous, bulky tree coalesced from a thick cloud of green magic energy. Branches twisted outward, leafs unfurled in a swift bloom, roots extended like lightning. Within seconds, a complete massive tree had formed. With a loathing thrust of his arm, the man sent the large tree surging forward like a living siege engine, it's bulk tearing through the soil as it barreled toward them.
It smashed into the Ice wall Xolomon had raised moments earlier as the tree began bounding toward them. The barrier shattered. Chunks of ice burst apart on impact as the tree plowed through what remained of their defense. It surged forward without slowing, slamming into both elementals with crushing force and driving them backward across the ravaged field. Poison and Xolomon skidded through dirt, carving a shallow trench with their heels as they fought to resist the momentum. At last, the tree ground to a halt in a shower of splintered bark and torn soil. Xolomon staggered from the recoil—but managed to catch himself before falling.
With a low groan, Poison straightened. "Yeah," he finished dryly, brushing fragments of bark from his sandy arm, "that's pretty much the long and short of it."
"Ka mab ochei, Gabor," Xolomon rumbled, turning his head to look at Poison with an icy smile. The tree was disintegrating into green magic particles. "Remember when magic beasts would raid villages and we'd all put aside our difference and fight them alongside those brave wizards of old?"
"Cas," Poison grinned back. "E cherte Ramon?"
Xolomon's shoulders shook faintly as he faced the Plant wizard again. "Cas. No one who witnessed him die could ever forget how amusing it was."
Poison, without effort, suppressed a laughter, then his gaze sharpened as it returned to their opponent, who was already gathering his magic energy, preparing another assault. "It's a shame that the boys are just ordinary," he said, tone heavier now. "It's seriously limiting what we can draw out. It's a real damper. Do you think we'll manage to beat that pampo?" Despite the faint grin still lingering on his face, doubt weighed down his voice—as though he already knew how steep the odds truly were.
"I've had enough of this," the Plant wizard snapped. Though he stood several strides away, his words carried sharply across the ruined field. "It's been rather fun sparring with you two." The green magic energy around him faded. "But you've wasted enough of my time. I'm expected to report back before dusk, and I'm not going to let you delay me any longer!"
The air before the man shimmered.
Threads of silvery magic energy began to coil from his arms, thin at first—like strands of molten light weaving through the dusk. They spiraled inward, faster and tighter, gathering density. Within seconds, the strands fused together, condensing into a sphere of liquid.
Water.
It churned violently, steam already rising from its surface.
With an upward motion of his hands, the Plant wizard directed the sphere to hover above him. Silver magic energy streamed continuously from his raised palm, feeding into the growing orb of hot water. The water trembled and thrummed, a deep hum resonating from within as it absorbed more and more energy.
"A water spell?" Poison muttered.
But how had the man done it? Water spells were supposed to be the domain of Water wizards, not Plant wizards.
"You look surprised," the Plant wizard said, amusement flashing in his eyes as he noticed Poison's confusion. "Allow me to enlighten you." The silver current pouring from his arm intensified, and the steam from the spell was beginning to fog the area.
"You see, as wizards grew more powerful, we acquire the ability to form a pact with a magical creature, who would become our servant and ally."
The sphere continued expanding, now the size of a large carriage, its surface roiling and bubbling.
"These creatures are aligned to specific affinities based on their species. Once such a contract is forged, its elemental affinity becomes accessible to the wizard—the wizard can use its magic energy. That means, I may summon my contracted beast to fight beside me… and wield its magic as though it were my own."
The sphere had grown to the size of a small cottage now—larger than any ordinary shield could withstand. Steam rolled outward in thick clouds, the heat warping the air and turning the battlefield heavy and damp.
"The Water spell you see before you," the man went on, "is proof that I have entered into a pact with a powerful Water magic beast. An Aquaserpine to be exact—excellent bloodline. My beast is so powerful right now, that it could match the strength of a sixth-rank Mystic. But of course, all that is information you wouldn't be privy to, since you're from a time where magic never reached such heights!"
Sweat poured down the wizard's temples now, soaking into the collar of his robe. The humidity was suffocating. Moisture clung to everything—the flattened crops, the ravaged soil, the man's robes, even the very air itself. Tiny droplets formed along Poison's sandy frame and beaded across Xolomon's icy shoulders.
The sphere grew again. Now it loomed like a suspended chamber of boiling fury—nearly the size of a moderate house. The sound of churning water was deafening, like an ocean compressed into a single point.
Poison's gaze slowly dropped from the massive orb to the man standing beneath it. His eyes widened just slightly. "Oh," he said casually, tilting his head as though just remembering something. "You were saying something?"
If it was mockery, it was masterfully delivered.
"I apologize," Poison continued, glancing back up at the monstrous sphere overhead. "Your spell is… rather distracting. I didn't quite catch those last few words." He looked back at the wizard. "Would you mind repeating them?"
The man's face flushed a deep red. "Water Sphere!" he bellowed, the sheer force of his voice shaking the air itself. In an instant, the massive globe of boiling water erupted forward, steam curling violently around its edges. The ground beneath quivered as the spell surged ahead, growing in momentum and mass with every heartbeat. The sphere seemed almost alive, a whirling vortex of liquid destruction radiating an oppressive, suffocating heat that made the air itself shimmer with distortion.
The elementals stood frozen, like deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. In this case, the "truck" was a massive sphere of boiling water, moving at measured speed. At their current level of power, it would be impossible to set up a strong enough defense. It would be like using a sheet of paper to block a speeding rock. If only Oliver or Robert were at least Common wizards, the ancestor-souls could have completely regained their first-rank Mystic power. Perhaps then they could successfully block the spell or at least weaken it. But the boys weren't.
"Run!" Robert yelped in Poison's mind. "Elemental-morph or something... get us out of here!"
Robert got no response, but he could sense an underlying current of thought thread though Poison's consciousness... something about fear of cowardice... REALLY??!!
"Xolomon!" Poison called aloud, his voice barely audible above the hiss and roar of the approaching spell. "O sey ka ayei bo'soh!" Robert had no idea what language Poison just used, but the echo of intent was unppmistakable. He could decipher that Poison just told Xolomon about his suggestion that they'd flee.
Xolomon scoffed loudly and thought back, "iheel hoye-guu."
Robert's consciousness recoiled. Wait... did he just call me coward?!
"No, it means coward's disgrace," Poison thought to him. "Back in the old days, stepping back from an evenly matched fight can get you mob-beaten. It was one of the highest marks of disgrace."
"This is clearly not an evenly matched fight!"
But Poison paid him no further attention. He called to Xolomon. "We have to set up a defense! As many Ice and Earth walls as possible now!"
"It's wouldn't matter," Xolomon thought back. "Even if we put up our strongest shields, we won't be able to withstand that spell!"
"Then we try anyway!" Poison roared.
Together they unleashed their magic energy.
"Aaaarrgghhh!"
Dense brown and white mist surged from their hands. In a second, thick walls of ice and soil coalesced, forming in overlapping layers until a towering barricade stood between them and the incoming spell. Their heels were dug in the trembling ground as they braced for impact. Poison's jaw tightened. He knew his own body would regenerate instantly no matter how catastrophic the damage—and that spell was certain to do a lot of damage—but he feared for Xolomon who could not do the same. Would his body be destroyed? No. Xolomon's body was made of hardened, magical, elemental ice; the strongest there is. He should withstand this.
With that thought, Poison shut his eyes. And then he felt it. A powerful magic wave. But it wasn't from the incoming spell. He knew because this one carried a heavier, deeper signature. One that overshadowed the water sphere's by a great margin.
Then the Water sphere struck... the walls? No, it should have obliterated their defenses like sandcastles and come crashing on them without resistance. Poison's thought raced. And yet the spell collided with something. Something powerfully solid.
The impact was cataclysmic, and the sound was like a thousand thunderclaps rolled into one. It was deafening, the sheer force of it sending shockwaves shaking the field. The wheat and tripet bent violently, and flocks of birds erupted into the sky, their panicked cries scattering across the horizon.
But the force of the impact had no effect on the elementals.
Poison and Xolomon opened their eyes.
Poison looked around. They—infact the land within a radius of nine feet around them seemed untouched by the deafening impact. It was as if the spell they had braced for had simply… been blocked out of existence.
"Did we just… block the attack of a seventh-rank Mystic wizard?!"
The words burst out of him in a mix of shock and exhilaration, almost turning into a shout of triumph. But before his voice could fully rise, something else pulled his attention away. A presence.
Between them and the Plant wizard stood a figure, closer to them than to the man. Poison narrowed his eyes against the glare of the half-set sun, trying to bring the silhouette into focus. The figure was a middle-aged man with feathery wings that were absorbing into his body. After the wings were gone, Poison could see him properly... or at least his back.
But then the stranger turned around and faced the elementals. He wore a flowing green robe edged with yellow trim, thin yellow-thread-like patterns woven sparsely across the fabric. Under the dying sunlight, those threads shimmered like molten gold, glinting subtly with every movement he made. Beneath the robe, Poison could make out a tie and neat dark collar. The man's hair was pushed from his forehead. It was black but streaked with noticeable strands of grey. His rich, pale face was adorned with a distinctive black goatee that made him look severe. But none of that mattered compared to what pressed against the air itself. The sheer aura the stranger was radiating was far greater than the Plant wizard's. It was suffocating in its depth!
Even the Plant wizard froze. Recognition hit him like a blade. That beard... that face. Who in the world did not know that face?
His voice broke as he spoke, trembling with something between fear and reverence.
"M—Manhawk."
The name alone drained all the strength from his voice.