Marvel found his feet moving toward certain death against his will.
His mind screamed at them to stop, to resist Echo's control, to plead for help from his classmates. But his words were trapped by Echo's spell. His feet ignored his mental cries, stepping into the empty space outside the window, with nothing but air beneath them.
He fell.
As he plummeted toward the ground, Marvel struggled to rein in the terrified chaos of his thoughts. He did not want to die by Echo's hand. He didn't want to die ever again. He was not going to die.
I am not going to die! he ordered the shadows. You are not going to let me!
The shadows huffed, amused by his demands.
I am your master!
The shadows disagreed. Marvel was merely a borrowed vessel, not so different from a golem. They would let him crash into the ground and revive him afterward, heal him slowly. Yes, he would die, but it wouldn't matter since he would come right back.
The ground rushed toward him faster and faster. Mages below scattered, shouting in alarm, but none of them offered aid.
Stop me from falling, right now!
His descent stopped abruptly, leaving him floating ten feet above the ground. Below him, the mages stood frozen in their poses of alarm and surprise. Everything around him was motionless—leaves, wind, even the air itself.
"What the fuck?" Marvel blurted out.
The shadows informed him they had stopped his fall, as he had ordered.
"How?" he demanded, looking around at the eerie stillness. "I don't know a spell like this."
The shadows chortled, reminding him that they had cast the spell, not him.
"How can athar cast spells?" Marvel wondered aloud, trying to make sense of it. "How?"
The shadows found it pitiful that Marvel was so ignorant. They were not like that empty mage magic, a mere vessel for another's will. They were alive, capable of thought, intention, desire, and choice. They could learn. Of course, they could cast spells.
"But how is that possible?" Marvel asked. "Who taught you?"
The shadows deemed Marvel too idiotic to deserve an answer.
"Unless…" Marvel began to piece it together. "This master of yours—he taught you? Like how I showed you how to do the detection spell?"
The shadows grew uncomfortable with how close to the truth he was getting.
"Is that how you saved me with Baylin? With the golems?" Marvel pressed. "How you protect me? Because your master already taught you the spells you'd need?"
The shadows warned him that continuing this line of questioning would result in them unpausing his impending death.
Marvel squinted up at the window he had fallen through. Echo was gripping the ledge, her face frozen in shock and horror. Ironically, the only mage who seemed to regret his fall was the one who had forced him to jump. Hilarious, really.
She had tried to kill him after tormenting him in class, sentencing him to a duel he couldn't win, and stealing his will. Shadows darkened around Marvel as rage burned in his chest. Power surged through him, power enough to destroy her if he wanted. The shadows encouraged him. He only needed to let them do whatever they wanted.
She would cease to exist.
Just like Quinn.
Quinn, one of the greatest Adept mages the Academy had ever seen. Flynn, who had sparred with Marvel because he was kind. Adia, who had fought her fear before battle, only to die anyway, forgotten. Pidge, the first Aegean to attend the Academy, determined to prove her worth.
They had been like family to him. Yet, since arriving through the portal, Marvel had barely had time to think of them, let alone grieve. He feared that if he let himself think about them, the cost of his power would gut him.
Did he really want to add someone else to the list?
It's fair game. He wasn't sure if the thought was his or the shadows'. Echo Killian's tried to kill you first. She's just like every other mage, taking advantage of your weakness. She can't be allowed to get away with it.
But she looked so much like Quinn…
"No," Marvel said, burdened by regret and guilt. "Leave her alone."
The shadows hesitated, then raced for Echo anyway.
Marvel started. This was exactly what had happened at the cave. He would not allow another death on his conscience.
"Stop!" he ordered the shadows. "I said stop, by Satis' teeth! I COMMAND you to stop!"
Ignoring him, the shadows circled around Echo, ready to unmake her.
"Hell no, you don't," Marvel snarled, instinctively grabbing the smoky magic and pulling it back. It shouldn't have worked, but somehow, it turned solid in his grip. He tugged with all his strength, though there was nothing to brace against.
The shadows shrieked in his mind, fighting to get away. The pain was like a stake driven through his skull. He screamed and let go of them.
Fortunately, they left Echo alone, but now they turned their wrath on him.
Enraged, they surged at him, a spear of living darkness aimed at his throat. Marvel's hands passed through the smoke-like energy as it drove into his throat, targeting his arrays.
It felt like the shadows were trying to tear him apart.
Marvel clutched at his chest, bending over in pain. "You can't kill me! What will happen to you?"
The shadows didn't care. They tightened their grip on his arrays and began to pull.
A scream tore from Marvel's throat. He clawed at his skin, desperate to stop the shadows.
Stop panicking! he told himself. Think!
Through the fear scrambling his thoughts, an idea surfaced. He forced himself into a stance and began to cycle in reverse, shoving the shadows back toward his centre, inch by bloody inch. It was a battle of will against will.
Sweat soaked his body, and blood spurted from his mouth and nose. The usual pain of magic coursed through his veins, but he endured. His only other option was to die.
I will not die. I will not die. I. WILL. NOT. DIE.
Suddenly, it was over.
Marvel sought inward, relieved to find the shadows securely wrapped around his centre, screaming threats but unable to harm him.
For now.