The room is filled with the sounds of clanging weapons and shuffling feet as Carson's 50 henchmen charge at us from all directions. Their eyes gleam with a mix of greed and determination, undoubtedly fueled by the promise of gold if they succeed in killing Chris and me. Their expressions are feral, like wolves cornering what they believe to be helpless prey. Little do they know, we're not the easy targets they think we are. We stand our ground, the tension in the air thick enough to slice through. This isn't just a fight; it's a test of survival, a clash of wills, and I can feel the adrenaline pulsing through my veins.
"Water Curtain!" Father's voice rings out, firm and commanding. In an instant, a shimmering wall of water springs up behind us, creating a protective barrier. It rises like a tidal wave, crashing down to encircle us, glistening in the dim light of the room. It's not just water; it feels almost alive, pulsating with an energy that resonates through the air.
Father's mastery of magic is evident as the spell manifests, the water swirling with a strange elegance, forming an impenetrable curtain that shimmers in the light. It reflects the faces of the men rushing toward us, showing their surprise and hesitation.
"I call a wall of water here and now, let the tremendous protection of water be upon the location thou seekest."
"Water shield!" Chris and I shout in unison, our voices blending into one. We summon our own barriers, adding another layer of defense. The shields rise up like sentinels before us, two more shimmering walls of water that add to the formidable protection surrounding us. The henchmen slam into these barriers, weapons raised, only to be thrown back as if they've hit solid stone. They stumble and fall to the ground, a look of shock plastered on their faces.
The room is filled with the sound of splashing water and grunts of frustration as the henchmen realize their assault has been rendered useless. They sit on the floor, momentarily stunned, their weapons clattering beside them. It's almost comical, seeing these grown men, fierce in appearance, now reduced to scrambling on the ground like disoriented children. The contrast between their initial confidence and their current state of disarray is stark. The sheer disbelief in their eyes as they scramble to understand what just happened is almost palpable. It's as if the reality of facing real magic has finally sunk in.
Without wasting a moment, we cancel our shields in perfect synchronization. The water walls vanish, returning to the ether with a soft hiss, leaving the henchmen exposed and vulnerable. Now it's our turn to strike back.
"Magnificent spirits of ice, oh imperial frozen prince in heaven, strike them down with your majestic sword of ice," Father incants, his voice a mix of command and reverence.
"Icicle Break!" His voice rings out with authority.
From the ether, five massive ice bolts materialize, each one sharp and deadly, gleaming like diamonds in the dim light. They hover for a split second before shooting toward the henchmen with a whistling sound. The air temperature drops noticeably as they streak forward, piercing through the air with a chilling grace. They strike their targets with pinpoint accuracy, embedding themselves into the arms and legs of five men. Cries of pain echo through the room, but we made sure to avoid any vital spots. Father's precision is surgical, designed to incapacitate rather than kill.
"I call an arrow of water here and now," Chris and I chant together, feeling the energy coursing through us. "Let the tremendous protection of water be upon the location thou seekest."
"Water Arrow!" we shout, and six arrows made of water spring into existence. Unlike the defensive shields, these arrows are slender and sharp, their tips glinting with a lethal edge. They fly through the air with a deadly grace, almost as if they have a will of their own. They strike six more men, each arrow hitting its mark with the force of a hammer. They cry out, clutching their arms and legs where the water arrows have hit, rendering them unable to continue the fight.
Our spells hit with just enough force to incapacitate but not to kill. The room echoes with the sounds of pained groans and the dripping of water as the henchmen struggle to regain their composure. Those who have been hit fall back, gasping, while the others glance nervously at each other, their initial bravado now replaced by trepidation. The look in their eyes changes from hunger to fear. They know now that they've underestimated us, that we are not mere children to be trampled upon.
Carson's voice cuts through the chaos like a blade. "Aren't you ashamed?" he yells, his voice laced with contempt. "There are only three people there, and two are children, and one of those children cannot even move, and you're getting afraid?" His words are like a whip, cracking against the fragile courage of his men.
One of the henchmen, a man with a scruffy beard and blonde hair, opens his mouth to protest, perhaps to voice the fear that's etched into his features. "But sir—"
"No rebuttal, just fucking kill those two children and do your fucking job!" Carson shouts, his face turning an alarming shade of red. His anger seems to reignite the resolve of his men, or at least it scares them enough to keep fighting.
"Yes sir!" they shout back in unison, their voices shaky but determined. They rise to their feet again, weapons in hand, and charge towards us. But there's hesitation in their movements now, a wariness that wasn't there before. They advance cautiously, eyes flicking nervously between us, like they're expecting another attack at any moment.
Despite their fear, they come at us again, swinging swords and maces, their expressions twisted with desperation. They're like cornered animals, driven to fight because they see no other option. The room is a blur of motion as they close in, their weapons glinting ominously.
"Wind blast!" Father's voice boomed, echoing off the stone walls. A fierce gust of wind erupted from his outstretched hands, like an invisible tidal wave sweeping through the room. The force was tremendous, and it barreled into the henchmen charging at us, their feet lifting off the ground as if they were mere leaves in a storm. They were thrown back, arms flailing, landing in a tangled heap on the ground, a mix of limbs and weapons clattering to the floor.
But the gust only reached so far. Beyond the line of fallen bodies, nearly 20 more men advanced, their faces twisted in a mixture of fear and determination. Their eyes were locked on us, weapons raised, every muscle in their bodies coiled like springs ready to release. They hesitated for a moment, seeing their comrades tossed aside so easily, but the promise of gold was a powerful motivator. With a collective roar, they surged forward again, their footsteps pounding against the floor.
"From the depths of the sea, I summon you." My voice rang out, clear and resonant, as I began the incantation. "With the power of the tide, let this water surge and collide. Arise and unleash your might!"
"Beating Tide!" The words left my mouth with a force of their own, carrying the weight of the spell. In an instant, a massive wave of water materialized before me, its width stretching three meters across. It swelled up, towering over us like a wall of liquid fury, and then crashed down with a thunderous roar. The sheer volume of water was breathtaking, and it moved with a terrifying speed, churning and frothing as it barreled forward.
The wave engulfed everything in its path, consuming the henchmen in a deluge of icy cold water. They were swept off their feet, arms flailing as they were dragged along by the relentless current. The wave didn't stop; it surged onward, crashing through the door to the corridor with a deafening crack, shattering wood and sending splinters flying in all directions. The water flooded the hallway beyond, carrying the men with it like driftwood caught in a river's flow. Some of them were slammed into the walls, where they crumpled to the ground, unconscious, while others were simply washed away into the darkness beyond.
The room fell silent, save for the sound of water sloshing against the walls and the soft moans of the few men who remained conscious. The once-advancing horde had been reduced to a scattered, broken mob, and the power of the spell left an almost tangible aura in the air. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, the adrenaline of casting such a powerful spell still coursing through my veins.
Father turned to me, his expression a mix of sternness and concern. "Will," he began, his voice carrying a weight that made my stomach drop, "I'm sorry I haven't told you about this before, but using Beating Tide inside a house was a bad choice." His eyes held mine, and there was no anger there, just a deep, underlying worry. "That's why I haven't used it since earlier, because there is a chance that the water can also harm you."
I glanced around at the room, now half-flooded with water, debris from the broken door floating aimlessly on the surface. The wave had been stronger than I expected, almost too strong for the confined space we were in. My pulse quickened as I realized just how close we'd come to being caught in our own attack. The sheer force of the wave could have easily dragged us along with the henchmen, smashing us into the walls just as it had done to them.
"We're lucky that the water didn't reach us," Father continued, his voice softening just a bit. "But don't use it ever again inside a house."
I nodded, the reality of my actions sinking in. "Yes, Father," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. I could feel a lump forming in my throat, a mixture of shame and relief. I had been reckless, too caught up in the heat of the battle to consider the consequences of using such a destructive spell indoors.
Father gave me a small, reassuring smile. "Don't worry, I'm not angry." He placed a hand on my shoulder, a silent gesture of support. "Now that there are only 19 henchmen left," he said, turning his attention back to the remaining men, "are you not going to surrender?" His voice was calm, almost conversational, as if he were discussing the weather rather than the outcome of a life-or-death struggle.
Carson's eyes flashed with defiance, his jaw clenched in fury. "Don't underestimate me, magician," he spat, his voice dripping with venom. "I won't ever surrender to the likes of you." His gaze swept over his remaining men, who stood uncertainly, their eyes flicking between us and the wreckage left in the wake of our spells. Carson's lips curled into a sneer. "My henchmen," he barked, his voice rising, "I'll give you 100 gold coins if you can kill any one of them! You can do anything—just kill even just one of them!"
The room went deathly silent as Carson's words sank in. The men shifted uneasily, their eyes darkening with a mixture of greed and fear. 100 gold coins was a small fortune, enough to tempt even the most cautious of them into taking a risk. I could see the conflict in their eyes, the way their hands tightened around their weapons, the way their muscles tensed in anticipation of the order to attack.
Father's body tensed beside me, his posture shifting ever so slightly into a defensive stance. He knew, as did I, that desperation could make people do dangerous, reckless things. If Carson's men decided to act on that promise, we could be facing a wave of attacks from opponents with nothing left to lose.
But what happened next was completely unexpected.
One of the henchmen, a burly man with a scar across his face, stepped forward. But instead of charging at us, he turned his back on Carson and began to walk toward the door we had breached. "Where are you going?" Carson demanded, his voice trembling with rage.
The man paused, glancing over his shoulder at his former employer. "Sorry, Sir Carson," he said, his voice steady but unyielding. "But no matter how much money you offer, I wouldn't risk my life fighting that monster." He gestured vaguely in our direction, the meaning clear. He wasn't just talking about Father; he was talking about the raw, destructive power we had just unleashed.
Another henchman, a lanky fellow with nervous eyes, stepped forward as well. "Me too, Sir Carson," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I'm sorry." He bowed his head and followed the first man, making his way toward the door.
One by one, the remaining henchmen began to move, murmuring apologies to Carson as they filed out of the room. Their faces were pale, eyes wide with the realization of just how outmatched they were. It wasn't worth it. No amount of gold could make them face the kind of magic they had just witnessed. They knew, as surely as we did, that they were no match for the power that had just been unleashed in this room. The allure of 100 gold coins faded in the face of self-preservation.
Carson's face contorted in fury as he watched his hired thugs abandon him, leaving him standing alone in the center of the room. His eyes blazed with a mix of rage and disbelief, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He looked like a man on the verge of losing everything, and for a brief moment, I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
"You cowards!" Carson's voice echoed through the room, filled with fury and betrayal. His eyes blazed with an intense rage, and his face turned a deep shade of red as he watched the henchmen file out the door, their heads bowed in shame. "After all I've done for you, I helped your families when no one else would! And now you repay me like this?" His voice trembled, not just with anger but with the sting of betrayal. "You ungrateful bastards!"
The henchmen didn't turn back, each step away from Carson seeming to drain the last of his authority over them. The room felt colder, the sense of danger dissipating as the men retreated, leaving their leader alone in the void of his fading power.
Father stepped forward, his eyes locked on Carson. His expression was one of calm determination, the kind that comes from a lifetime of facing down threats. "Now," he began, his voice steady, cutting through the tension in the air, "I will ask you again: are you going to surrender or not?"
Carson's face twisted with a mixture of defiance and desperation. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, shaking with suppressed rage.
"Over my dead body," he spat out, venom dripping from every word. "It's better to die than to be a pawn of this fucking kingdom!" His voice cracked with the force of his hatred. He lunged for the sword lying on the ground, the one that had been swept away by Father's wind blast earlier. The metal gleamed coldly as he brandished it, his knuckles turning white around the hilt.
Father's gaze shifted to the only henchman who had remained by Carson's side—the blonde man who had dared to speak earlier. The man stood stiffly, his eyes downcast, but there was a resolve in his stance that couldn't be ignored. "And you?" Father asked, his tone leaving no room for deceit.
The blonde man raised his head, meeting Father's gaze with a determined glare. "I will fight too," he said, his voice steady despite the tension in the air. "I won't become like those ungrateful bastards. If not for Sir Carson, my daughter would have died from her illness." His voice softened, a hint of gratitude coloring his words. "He gave me the money so she could be cured, and I will never forget that debt." His eyes flashed with conviction, his hand resting on the hilt of his own weapon.
Father's expression softened slightly, but there was no wavering in his resolve. "It seems like we can't persuade you two to surrender," he said, his voice carrying a note of regret. "So the only way to end this is to beat the two of you." He began to raise his hand, the first step in casting an incantation.
"Wait," a familiar, grating voice interrupted, sending a shiver down my spine. "Aren't you forgetting me?" The tone was filled with menace, and it came from the shadows at the edge of the room. We all turned toward the source of the voice, and my heart sank as Ruel stepped into the light, his hand crudely wrapped in a cloth bandage where I had cut him earlier. He glared at me with eyes that blazed with murderous intent, like a predator that had found its prey after a long hunt. His lips twisted into a cruel grin, revealing his teeth in a way that made my skin crawl. "I haven't gotten my revenge on that kid yet, so don't you dare touch him."
Carson's face lit up with a twisted joy at the sight of his remaining loyal henchman. "Ruel!" he exclaimed, relief flooding his voice as if his salvation had just arrived. "Ruel, my beloved henchman, kill the three of them," he ordered, his voice regaining a semblance of its former authority.
Ruel sneered, his eyes never leaving mine. "You don't have to order me, Mr. Carson." He took a step forward, his presence filling the room with a palpable menace. "That kid owes me something, and anyone who gets in my way of getting my revenge will die." His voice was low, a promise of violence that sent a chill down my spine. He moved with a predatory grace, like a wolf closing in on a wounded deer.
Father stepped forward, placing himself between Ruel and me, his back straight, his expression unyielding. "I don't know who you are," he said, his voice calm but filled with a deadly resolve, "but if you want to hurt my son, then I can't just stand by and let that happen."
Ruel's lips curled into a mocking smirk. "Then I'll kill you first," he said, his tone dismissive as if he were discussing something as trivial as swatting a fly.
Father's eyes narrowed, assessing the threat. "With only one arm of yours?" he asked, a hint of skepticism in his voice.
Ruel's smirk widened into a full-blown grin, filled with malicious glee. "This is a handicap," he said, raising his bandaged arm slightly. "I lowered my guard earlier, and that's why my hand was cut. But now, from the very first, I'll take you seriously. So don't worry, you'll be dead on my first blow." There was a cold certainty in his voice, a confidence that spoke of experience and countless battles fought and won.
Father's lips curled into a smirk of his own, but it was one of defiance. "You're underestimating me too much," he said, his voice dangerously calm. "You might find yourself dead if you underestimate me." His eyes gleamed with a challenge, the air around him seeming to crackle with energy.
Ruel's eyes flashed with fury at the challenge, his grin vanishing, replaced by a look of murderous intent. "Then I'll show you that I can kill you with just one blow," he hissed, his voice filled with malice. He lunged forward, his movements a blur of speed and power.
"So watch closely, because this will be the last thing you see in this world," he snarled as he closed the distance between them, his blade arcing through the air with lethal precision.