Chương 9: Chapter 8 — Magic Only

Chelsea"Mardie, you want your chance at revenge? Over here now," the proctor yelled, his voice carrying clearly across the training grounds. Chelsea's eyes widened as the man slowly rose from the dirt, a hood drawn low over his face. Thick, travel-worn cloth hung from his shoulders, more suited for walking across the countryside than standing in a duel. There was none of the practiced polish of armor, none of the gleaming discipline she had seen on other fighters.

And yet, there was an undeniable weight to him, a quiet menace that made her stomach feel uneasy.

"I'm going to kill her, Grimble," Mardie said flatly, his tone almost hollow. No inflection, no flare of anger or excitement, just certainty.

"This isn't going to be an exhibition. She is going to die." The words landed on Chelsea like a hammer, cold and unyielding.

"Do what you feel you must," the proctor replied, his voice softening in the way he had for her. Compassionate, steady, as if he were trying to keep the storm at bay.

"I assume you're both ready?" Chelsea's hands went to her sword out of instinct, but fear twisted her grip.

"Wait. Let me grab my practice sword," she stammered, her voice trembling.

"No," the proctor said firmly.

"This will be a test of magic. No abilities or physical weapons. You must defeat your opponent using magic only." Chelsea's knees went weak.

"Wait, what!?" she yelled, stepping backward.

"I don't know any magic! Can I forfeit? Is that an option?"

"No," both Mardie and the proctor said simultaneously, the sound cutting off any hope of escape.

"You don't get to worm your way out of this," Mardie said, his monotone now carrying a edge of emotion. Chelsea's chest tightened. She clasped her hands together, voice cracking.

"I'm sorry! He was threatening to rip my wings off and probably had other nefarious plans for me. I wasn't going to just stand there and take it." Mardie's hands went to the top of his head, his gaze lifted toward the sky.

"Our village was destroyed. Did you know that? My mother, trapped under a burning pillar. She screamed for me to take my little brother and run, to always protect him." His voice was eerily calm, almost as if recounting a memory rather than recounting pain. Then his eyes locked onto Chelsea's.

"I watched the life fade from her eyes as she burned to death. And then today, I watched you gouge out my little brother's eyes before smashing his head with his own weapon. He was defenseless. You didn't have to finish him like that."

"You may now begin," the proctor announced, his voice carrying clearly but calm across the training grounds. Chelsea's heart jumped into her throat. There was no turning back.

"I am going to watch you suffer," Mardie said coldly, his words slicing through the air like a blade. With a wave of his hand, he muttered something in a language she couldn't even begin to understand. The ground beneath her didn't tremble, nothing seemed to happen, but then, with a sudden rush of wind, she realized the spell had begun. Chelsea's eyes widened as she felt the invisible force slam into her, sweeping her feet out from under her.

She was launched into the air, twisting helplessly, the world spinning around her. A second gust hit her from behind as she slammed into the packed dirt, the impact rattling her skull. Pain bloomed across her head and shoulders, her vision fracturing as black crept in at the edges before she blinked it away. Before she could catch her breath, another wind swept in from the left, spinning her like a ragdoll, followed almost immediately by a blast from the right.

She hit the ground hard, bounced slightly, and scrambled upright, trying to remember which way was forward. A sharp blow to the back of her head knocked her down again, but the base of her horns cracked against the dirt like a natural helmet, saving her from a concussion. Chelsea tried to sit up, but a force slammed her forward, sending her tumbling into a front somersault. Dirt flew into her eyes, stinging them, and her tail whipped uncontrollably as she tried to regain balance.

Her claws scraped against the earth, digging in instinctively as she attempted to brace herself for another gust, a futile attempt to anchor her body against the invisible storm. Mardie wasn't casting again, yet the winds continued. The spell seemed to sustain itself, like a predator with its trap set. His chest heaved slightly, a subtle reminder that even this exertion taxed him, but he looked entirely in control. Chelsea's stomach sank; she was the one who would pay for any mistake.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Thrown once more into the air, she twisted to her best ability, landing on all fours instead of her feet. Every joint and muscle protested, but she learned the rhythm of the attacks: left, right, front, back. She braced against each gust, feeling the air push against her like a battering ram. Slowly, painstakingly, she adapted, planting her feet and shoulders to absorb the force.

She had begun to predict the pattern. Her chest heaved, lungs burning, as she glanced at Mardie, about to let herself smirk at a rare moment of progress. Then she froze. His palm was raised again, his lips shaping a new string of strange syllables. The air exploded around her. A tornado whipped up in an instant, canceling all her hard-won positioning. Chelsea sucked in a breath and looked at the back of her arm. A long, thin cut appeared.

"Owwch!" she exclaimed, rubbing it just as another cut appeared on the back of her hand. Then another on her opposite shoulder stung. Pain blossomed just below her hairline as a fourth wound opened. She looked around for a place to hide, but there was nothing, no cover, no wall, no stone large enough to shield her.

Noticing that her tunic was still unscathed despite the chaotic winds, she sucked her arms inside as if preparing to wriggle out of it, raising the fabric just high enough to duck her head into its shadow. For a moment it was like being in a small tent, fabric pressing against her ears, muffling the roar of the storm. The air within was warm and dry, almost a relief compared to the battering winds outside. She curled in tight, heart pounding, hoping the cloth would give her a second of steady her thoughts.

The wind raged against her body, tugging at the hem and sleeves of the tunic, but not with enough force to topple her. She braced her stance and realized, with a flicker of gratitude, that she'd been lucky so far. Her eyes hadn't been hit, not by grit, not by sparks, not by whatever tricks Mardie was casting into the storm.

"This is the end!" Mardie's voice bellowed, warped by the wind, carrying across the arena like a final sentence.

"Enough games!" Chelsea froze, muscles coiling in anticipation. There was silence then, unnervingly so, like the whole world held its breath. Maybe the proctor had stepped in to stop things? But no, the gale still snapped at her clothes, her hair, her skin. The storm hadn't relented. Mardie's voice cut through again, harsher this time, laced with authority. He shouted one more word, strange and guttural, the syllables vibrating in a way that made the air feel heavier. Chelsea waited, tense in her fabric cocoon.

Nothing. She dared to peek her head out, squinting against the violent air, and only then noticed it. The ground around her was aflame, licking upward in jagged tongues of orange and crimson. Her own clothes shimmered with fire, bright strands of flame unraveling up her arms and legs as if they'd been dipped in oil. Her breath caught. She hadn't even felt it. Did not all demons have fire immunity? Why would he use fire against me if demons were immune?

The flames moved across her skin without bite or sting, the heat nonexistent, her body reacting no more than if it were brushed by feathers. If anything, the lack of sensation was unnerving. The light of the blaze did obscure her vision. She noticed words appeared in the upper left of her vision but contrasted next to the light, she couldn't make them out. But if Mardie thought she was immune, he'd change tactics. Better to let him believe his spell was working.

Chelsea clenched her jaw, then let out a shriek, high and ragged. The sound tore at her throat harder than the fire ever could, each scream scraping her vocal cords raw. She doubled down, thrashing her arms as though the flames consumed her. She had to give him credit. The combination of the tornado's pull and the sudden ignition was clever. The inferno curled upward in great spirals, drawn along by the current of the wind, creating a funnel of fire that blotted out the world beyond.

And inside that blazing whirlwind, she could see where he was, his position like a shadow pressed against the wall of flame. The screaming hurt more than the fire itself, but she forced herself to keep at it, to sell the image of a demon losing control. Later, she told herself, she'd test just how deep this immunity went. For now, she had a fight to win. Chelsea broke into a sprint, her boots pounding against the scorched ground, fire streaming off her like a comet tail.

Mardie stood with his back turned to the inferno, shoulders hunched, as if even the nearness of his own spell scalded him. Maybe the fire wasn't his ally after all. She didn't give him the chance to react. Chelsea leapt, her body a blazing missile, and slammed into him. Her arms wrapped tight around his torso, locking at the wrists, while her legs hooked and cinched around his thighs. Fire clung to both of them now, crackling over cloth and skin alike.

She angled her head, snapping her teeth toward the back of his neck, but she was too low, her jaw snapping against air. Mardie screamed, more in panic than pain, and threw himself backward. His full weight crashed down on her, a desperate attempt to smother the flames. Chelsea braced for agony but found the impact dull, softened by the position of her body. He bore the brunt of it, not her. As for his attempt to snuff the fire? Futile.

His own clothing was already alight, and with her grip locking his arms, he could only thrash and roll clumsily, his movements growing less controlled with every second. He slowed. Slowed again. And then, stopped. The roaring cyclone of fire collapsed all at once, as though the storm itself had been severed from its source. The winds fell silent, and with them, the inferno faded from the arena floor. Yet the fire clinging to Chelsea and Mardie did not vanish.

It clung stubbornly, crawling over their bodies in unnatural hunger. Chelsea's nostrils filled with the smell of burning flesh. His flesh. It curled and crisped beneath her cheek, a smell that should have been repulsive but hit some deep, primal part of her brain like roasted meat. Not awful, no, but she preferred her meals with less scorch, less carbon.

"Chelsea, stop!" she snapped at herself, shaking her head violently. She wasn't a predator. She wasn't a monster. She wasn't a demon. She wasn't. But the thought lingered all the same, smoldering like the fire still crawling across her skin.