Fighting solves nothing—except for who gets the last word.
Duel
Breakfast was a somber affair. The usual noise of morning chatter was replaced by an oppressive silence that hung heavy over the table. I stared down at my untouched plate, feeling every bit of the tension in the room. Mose, looking utterly exhausted with dark circles under his eyes, sat beside me. Rolo was surrounded by an icy aura that practically screamed, 'Don't even think about talking to me.'
Gil and Iris exchanged worried glances but chose not to ask what was wrong. It was clear that they sensed something was off but didn't want to pry.
Unable to stand it any longer, I stood abruptly, leaving my meal behind. I could feel the eyes of everyone in the room on me as I walked over to Livius's table where Jareth was seated, still bound and smirking with a defiant glint in his eyes.
I took a deep breath and spoke firmly, my voice slicing through the silence. "I officially challenge Jareth to a life-and-death battle."
Livius's face froze in shock. He looked like he'd just seen a ghost. I knew that if I'd wanted to kill Jareth last night, the diplomatic fallout would have been disastrous. A duel, however, was a cleaner solution that avoided direct conflict. Still, I saw that the prospect of losing one of his apprentices was weighing heavily on Livius's mind.
"No," Livius said abruptly, shaking his head. "I will not allow it."
My eyebrows shot up in surprise. "So you choose Jareth's life over our alliance?"
"I do not want Jareth to die," Livius said, his tone resolute. "And you would kill him if given the chance. It would be ridiculous to call it a duel under these circumstances; it would be a massacre."
I pursed my lips into a thin line, struggling to contain my frustration. "Then how do you propose we resolve this?"
Livius's gaze turned steely. "The only way to have a proper duel is to have one of your subjects compete in your stead. Subject against subject. That is the right way."
Jareth's smirk widened as he savored the unfolding drama. His expression was a cruel mix of satisfaction and mockery.
I shot Jareth a cold look before turning my attention back to Livius. This is underhanded, even for him. Mose can barely control his magic, and Rolo has limits to his abilities. They wouldn't stand a chance against Jareth.
Rolo stepped forward, his face set in determination. "I'll do it."
"No, you won't," I hissed, my voice low and fierce. "We can't risk you against him."
Rolo's expression didn't waver. "It's the only way to resolve this mess. Mose can't control his magic."
I sighed deeply, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on me. "Then it won't be a life-and-death duel. We'll ensure that."
Livius's eyes narrowed with a mix of relief and curiosity. "If it's not to be a life-and-death duel, then what?"
I met his gaze with a steely resolve. "We'll set the terms. No one will die today. But Jareth will face consequences, and this issue will be resolved on our terms, not his or yours."
The room fell silent again, the weight of my words hanging heavily in the air. I turned my gaze back to Livius, my expression a mask of grim determination.
"If Jareth wins this duel," I said, my voice steady and resolute, "I will honor the outcome. He will live, and I will come up with another punishment. But if he loses, he will face the full extent of his punishment, and he will be dealt with accordingly."
I could see the flicker of surprise and concern in Livius's eyes. This was not the straightforward resolution he might have hoped for. His own apprentice's life would still be on the line, and he would be faced with a choice he might not have anticipated.
Jareth's eyes gleamed with a mix of arrogance and cold calculation. It was clear he was trying to gauge his chances and perhaps plot his next move.
Mose's face was pale, and Rolo's icy demeanor only intensified. The stakes were higher than ever, and the tension in the room could have been cut with a knife.
My voice was unyielding. "But remember, no matter the outcome, there will be consequences."
The room fell silent again, the weight of the decision hanging in the air. The challenge was set.
(...)
The arena was packed, every seat filled with spectators eager to witness the dramatic turn of events. The air was thick with anticipation, a palpable buzz running through the crowd. The challenge had been set, and now it was time for Rolo to face Jareth in a duel that would determine not just that worm's fate but the resolution of this messy situation.
From where I stood, I could see the stark contrast between the two combatants. Rolo was well...scrawny and clearly younger but he stood with an air of quiet determination. On the other side, Jareth loomed like a towering giant, his confident stance and cold smile reflecting his belief in an easy victory.
"Begin," Livius shouted.
As the duel began, Jareth hurled a storm of metal shards toward Rolo, each one glinting menacingly under the stadium lights.
For a moment, the arena fell into a breathless silence. The shards sliced through the air with deadly precision, and it seemed as though time itself had slowed. The crowd's anxious murmurs crescendoed into a chorus of concern. Eyes widened in fear as the metal projectiles closed in on Rolo, who remained eerily still.
The tension was palpable. Some spectators shielded their eyes, unable to watch, while others whispered in uneasy tones. "He's going to be torn apart!" someone near me gasped, their voice laced with dread. I could feel the collective anxiety of the crowd as the projectiles hurtled toward Rolo.
Mose was practically on the edge of his seat, his face a mask of horror. His hands gripped the arms of his chair as if to hold himself together. "Rolo," he whispered, his voice trembling.
"It's okay, Mose," I said softly even though, my own heart pounded in my chest as I waited for the inevitable impact.
"Absolutio."
The crowd's murmur grew into a collective gasp.
As Rolo spoke the incantation, the air around him seemed to quiver with a sudden, palpable shift. The word itself carried an almost tangible weight, and the green glow of his eyes intensified, casting an ethereal light across his features.
The wind in the arena picked up, swirling in a subtle but deliberate dance around him - it sent a shiver through the spectators as if nature itself was responding to the surge of magic. His magic rippled through the air with a newfound intensity. It was as if a veil had been lifted, revealing that Rolo was not the fragile figure everyone had presumed him to be.
The once hushed crowd now stirred with renewed excitement. The atmosphere was charged, and every heartbeat seemed to resonate with the unfolding drama.
Then, just as it seemed that the shards would impale Rolo, he raised his hands, his face set in a mask of calm determination.
"Rego."
His eyes flared with a brilliant green light, and in an instant, the shards were deflected with a forceful surge of magic. The projectiles veered off course, colliding harmlessly with the ground and the arena walls.
The crowd's reaction was a mixture of collective relief and astonished disbelief. Gasps of shock and surprise rippled through the stands. The murmurs of doubt began to shift toward a stunned respect as Rolo's true power was revealed. Those who had turned away in fear now found themselves drawn back by the spectacle.
Mose, initially paralyzed by worry, let out a shaky breath. "He's actually doing it... he's really doing it," he said, his voice a blend of awe and relief. He watched, still tense but visibly comforted by Rolo's demonstration of skill.
I glanced around at the audience, noting the shift from anxious whispers to enthusiastic cheers. The once skeptical crowd now watched with rapt attention, their doubts dissipating as Rolo's magic continued to deflect Jareth's relentless attacks.
Jareth's attack was brutal, a whirlwind of sharp metal aimed directly at Rolo. Yet, with every strike, Rolo's demeanor remained eerily calm. The very air seemed to vibrate with the intensity of their clash. The metal shards whirled around Rolo, but each attack was met with a deft, almost casual deflection.
Every time Jareth tried a new strategy—be it a barrage of metal spikes or a rapid volley of whirling blades—Rolo countered with equal ease. His magic wove an intricate dance of control, redirecting Jareth's assault with an almost lazy flick of his hand. The metal projectiles were sent spinning harmlessly away, deflected with a finesse that drew murmurs of astonishment from the crowd.
Jareth's frustration grew palpable. His attacks became more erratic, more desperate, yet Rolo met each with the same composed response. The metal constructs Jareth fashioned into spiked maces and jagged blades were rendered almost childlike in their ineffectiveness as they were met with Rolo's magic. The arena seemed to hold its breath with every clash, the tension so thick it was almost suffocating.
The wind whipped around the combatants, heightening the sense of drama. It caught the edges of the spectators' clothing and rustled their hair, as if nature itself was reacting to the unfolding spectacle. Rolo's eyes, glowing with that intense green light, tracked Jareth's every move, his expression serene and unwavering.
Mose's voice cracked through the tense atmosphere as he leaned closer to me, a flicker of hope in his eyes. "Shay, look at Rolo! He's actually doing it. He might win this thing!"
I didn't respond immediately, my gaze locked onto Rolo's figure as he deflected another brutal assault from Jareth. I could see the strain in his posture, the fine line of sweat forming on his brow.
Mose's enthusiasm faltered when he caught sight of my rigid features. The contrast between his hopeful excitement and my grim focus was stark. He glanced up at me, searching for reassurance, but found only concern.
"What do you think?" I asked, my voice a low murmur that barely carried over the din of the crowd. "Who has more magic?"
Mose's eyes darted back to the arena, following the relentless exchange of magic between Rolo and Jareth. For a moment, the hopeful gleam in his eyes dimmed as the realization hit him. His face drained of color, and the gravity of the situation settled over him like a heavy shroud.
I could see the shift in his expression, the dawning comprehension as he recognized the disparity between Rolo's measured control and Jareth's raw power. The metal mage's attacks were fierce and unrelenting, and Rolo's skillful deflections, though impressive, were starting to show signs of strain.
Mose's face was pale as he grappled with the harsh reality of Rolo's situation. His voice was strained, barely a whisper. "Rolo... he's trying his best, but Jareth... Jareth has more raw power. Doesn't he?"
I turned my gaze back to the arena, my brow furrowed with concern. I didn't immediately respond to Mose's question. Instead, I let the intensity of the battle unfold before us, the clashing of metal and magic echoing in the stadium. Finally, I broke the silence with another question, hoping to guide Mose's understanding of the situation.
"Why do you think Rolo doesn't try to control Jareth's magic for a longer period and use his weapons against him?" I asked, my tone sharp yet contemplative.
Mose's eyes widened slightly as he considered the question. The realization dawned on him slowly, and I could see the frustration and anxiety in his expression. He glanced back at Rolo, who was once again deftly deflecting Jareth's brutal attacks, his every movement a testament to his skill and restraint.
The truth, of course, was that Rolo's magical reserves were limited. His ability to control others' magic, while impressive, was taxing and required a careful balance of energy. Each time he used his power to deflect Jareth's attacks or manipulate the metal, it drained him further. The strain was visible in his posture and the determination etched on his face.
Mose's shoulders slumped slightly as he processed the reality of Rolo's situation. "It's because... it takes a lot out of him to control Jareth's magic. If he tries to do it for too long, he won't have enough energy left to defend himself."
I nodded, my eyes never leaving the arena. "Exactly. Rolo's control is incredibly skilled, but he has to be strategic. His magic isn't infinite, and every move he makes has to be calculated."
Mose's eyes flicked back to Rolo, who was still holding his ground, though his movements were becoming more labored. The gravity of the situation weighed heavily on him, and he clenched his fists in frustration and worry.
The atmosphere in the stadium was electric with anticipation and dread. Jareth, his eyes gleaming with a dark satisfaction, prepared for his next attack. The crowd watched with bated breath as he raised his hands, summoning one of his most formidable techniques. A massive, spiked metal hammer materialized, its sheer size and ferocity enough to send ripples of unease through the spectators.
Jareth swung the hammer with a thunderous roar, the weapon cutting through the air with blinding speed. Rolo's eyes widened, his focus intense as he summoned his remaining strength.
The hammer's impact reverberated through the arena, the sheer force of it nearly overwhelming. Rolo's magic was strained to its limit, and the hammer's colossal weight made the deflection an arduous task.
The force of the impact sent him skidding backward, his energy reserves draining rapidly as he struggled to maintain his grip on the magic. The crowd's gasps and murmurs swirled around me like a storm, their anxiety palpable.
With a final, exhausted push, Rolo managed to deflect the hammer's blow, but the effort left him visibly drained. His breathing was labored, and his once-steady hands trembled. The crowd watched in tense silence as Jareth's smirk widened, clearly sensing victory within his grasp.
He began to unleash a new barrage—metal bullets, each one aimed with deadly precision at Rolo's forehead. The first bullet whizzed through the air, a silvery streak of death. Rolo, despite his exhaustion, managed a desperate "Rego," but his magic was spent. Finally, he ducked. The bullet grazed his cheek, a thin line of blood appearing as it cut through his skin.
The next bullet followed swiftly, its trajectory unerringly toward Rolo. The bullet was imminent and unrelenting. I saw the sheer panic in Rolo's eyes, his body barely managing to dodge the bullet as it whizzed past. It was too close, too fast, and he was too drained to effectively counter it.
In that critical moment, the air seemed to freeze. I was already moving before I consciously registered it, a blur of motion as I appeared before Rolo.
The crash that followed was deafening. With a powerful kick, I intercepted the bullet mid-flight, sending it hurtling off course. It slammed into the wall with a resounding bang, the impact shaking the entire arena. The crowd erupted into a collective gasp.
My gaze locked onto Jareth with a steely determination. The metal mage's smirk had vanished, replaced by a look of shock and frustration as he realized his attack had been thwarted.
"Are you alright?" I asked Rolo, my voice firm but gentle.
He nodded, though his exhaustion was evident. "Thank you. I... I didn't expect it to get so close."
I took a deep breath, my gaze never leaving Jareth. The crowd's murmurs swirled around us, a mixture of relief and renewed tension as they awaited the next development. The tension in the arena was palpable, a thick, uneasy fog of anticipation and unease.
I turned my gaze to Livius, my voice carrying the authority of a king.
"Livius," I began, my tone icy and commanding, "I demand an accounting for how you intend to address the insolence of your apprentice, who not only attacked me but also wounded my subject with clear intent to kill. What do you have to say for this?"
Livius, caught off guard and visibly shaken by the turn of events, opened his mouth to respond but found himself unable to speak as my gaze fixed on him. I didn't give him a chance to collect his thoughts.
Turning sharply to Rolo, I commanded, "State your demands."
Rolo's eyes widened in shock, but he quickly gathered himself. He took a deep breath, his voice steady but filled with resolve. "I want an artifact from the Sorcerer Lord's hidden vault."
The air seemed to freeze, and I could sense Livius's hesitation. His brows furrowed, and his lips pressed into a tight line, as if considering whether Rolo's life was worth such a coveted item. The crowd murmured, some with shock and others with scorn.
I cut through the tension with a steely edge in my voice. "A king's life is worth more than a mere artifact. You understand this, don't you, Livius?"
The implication was clear. The value of a life, especially that of a king's, far exceeded the worth of any artifact. Livius's face paled slightly, but he nodded, reluctantly accepting the terms.
"Very well," he said quietly. "The artifact will be granted."
"Additionally," I continued, my voice unwavering, "I expect financial compensation for Rolo's injuries. I want a credit card provided before I and my companions leave."
The audience erupted into a cacophony of outrage. Shouts and insults filled the air—how dare I demand such a price from their master? The crowd's anger was palpable, and the atmosphere grew heated with their dissent.
"Kneel."
The effect was immediate and chilling. The crowd, including the apprentices, fell to their knees, their bodies moving as if compelled by an unseen force. Their eyes widened with fear, the murmurs of dissent ceased abruptly, replaced by a deep, suffocating silence.
The arena was filled with the gasps and strained breaths of those who had been forced to their knees. I let my presence wash over them, an oppressive force that made the very air feel heavy and cold. I held the silence for a moment longer, letting the weight of my authority sink in.
The atmosphere in the arena remained thick with tension as I surveyed the kneeling crowd. My gaze swept over the faces of those who had dared to berate me, their expressions now a mix of fear and reverence. A cold, disdainful smile tugged at my lips.
"Isn't it amusing," I said, my voice carrying a chilling edge, "how mere ants dare to berate a king? You think you can defy me without consequence?"
I let the words hang in the air, each syllable heavy. Their defiance had been swiftly quelled, their arrogance shattered by the sheer force of my presence.
"How dare you, insignificant creatures, question my demands? You are in the presence of a king, and your insolence is as laughable as it is futile. Remember this moment, for it is a reminder of your place."
The apprentices, their faces pale and their bodies trembling slightly, dared not lift their eyes. I could feel their fear and apprehension like a tangible force in the air, mingling with the chill of my aura.
I turned back to Livius, whose face showed a mix of condemn and begrudging acceptance. "See to it that my demands are met. I expect the artifact and the financial compensation."
I walked slowly toward the kneeling Jareth, the weight of my presence pressing down on him like an invisible force. His defiance had crumbled, and now, even in victory, he was nothing more than a pitiful figure before me.
I stopped just in front of him, towering over him as he trembled in place. "You've won, Jareth," I said, my voice low and menacing, "so you get to keep your pitiful life. But understand this—you will always fear me."
I leaned in slightly, letting the words sink in, my tone growing colder. "From this moment on, you will never be able to use magic against any creature that bears my coat of arms. If you even try, you will remember this fear."
My command seeped into his very being, binding him with an unbreakable fear that would haunt him for the rest of his life.
Livius, watching from a distance, shook his head, "You're cruel, Shay."
I didn't respond. His opinion meant nothing to me.
I turned my back on Jareth, beginning to walk away. The moment I did, Jareth let out a desperate scream. "What did you do to me? Did you curse me?"
I paused, then slowly turned my head to look back at him, my expression calm, almost indifferent. "Curse you?" I repeated, a slight smirk playing on my lips. "I'm no mage, Jareth. I don't need to curse anyone. I merely used a power you can't even begin to comprehend."
Jareth's eyes widened in horror, the realization of what had just happened settling in as he stared at me, his fear palpable.
As I turned to leave, I cast a glance at Rolo and Mose. Rolo's eyes were wide, a mix of awe and confusion, while Mose looked like he was holding his breath, trying to process everything that had just unfolded.
"Rolo, Mose," I called out, my voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "We're done here. Let's go."
They didn't hesitate. Rolo quickly regained his composure, and Mose, still slightly shaken, hurried to catch up with me. The three of us walked away from the arena, leaving behind the chaos and fear that now gripped the apprentices.
As we exited the stadium, the heavy atmosphere followed us, but I could sense a shift in both Rolo and Mose. They understood the message I had just sent—to Livius, to Jareth, and to everyone watching. We were not to be trifled with.
The arena was silent, the tension thick as I made my way out, the power of a king leaving its indelible mark on everyone present.