A few minutes earlier, Poll stood in a relatively safe corner of the battlefield, his stance calm but his eyes darting nervously. Beside him, Elowen watched the chaos with a serene expression, though a faint tension lingered in her posture.
Poll's eyes scanned the action, but his thoughts were miles away.
Poll's internal monologue:
Okay, Poll, focus. You told them you had a spell. A spell you… definitely do not have. Why did I even say that? Oh, right—because I wanted to look cool. "I'm the main character," I said. Well, congratulations, Poll. You've officially written a check your brain can't cash.
He rubbed the back of his head, his nerves bubbling up into a tangled knot. No pressure, though. Totally fine. Just a little battlefield carnage, a few world-ending stakes, and me with absolutely no plan. Yep, no stress at all.
He stole a glance at Tiara and her assistant in the distance, their auras pulsing with malevolent energy.
Okay. Mana corruption. I've studied this. Corruption alters mana frequencies at will. Fine. What if I just… jammed the connection? Yes! A jammer! That could work! But how?
His eyes flicked to Elowen.
"Hey, Elowen!" he called, forcing a grin that screamed desperation and genius all at once.
"What?" Elowen turned to him, her tone flat but curious. "Did you finally finish that spell?"
Poll hesitated for a split second, then waved dismissively. "About that… I might need your help. Can you, uh, show me your shield magic real quick?"
Elowen raised an eyebrow but complied, her golden shield shimmering to life in front of her. "Here. What now?"
Poll's gloved hand reached out, gently touching the edge of the shield as his mind raced.
Right. Her shield's got Harshil enchantments—specifically designed to counter mana corruption. Knew it. But it's weak against heavy physical hits. I can work with this. I just need to… modify it. Add some structural reinforcement and tweak the mana signature. Easy, right?
His fingers traced patterns on the shield as streams of mana began to flow into his gloves. Symbols flared briefly before fading, his mind rapidly shifting gears.
Okay, Poll. Step one: mimic the enchantment frequency. Step two: combine it with a mist dispersal effect. Step three: reinforce against physical attacks by… borrowing elemental stability from my gloves. Perfect. Totally doable.
Elowen tilted her head, her gaze narrowing. "Poll… what exactly are you doing?"
"Shh, genius at work," Poll muttered, his focus sharpening.
Mana surged around him, flowing through his gloves in erratic pulses as he restructured enchantment layers at an almost inhuman pace. His hands moved like a blur, recalibrating spell matrices and merging disparate frequencies into a single cohesive energy signature.
Elowen blinked, her usually calm expression replaced with astonishment. "Is he… actually doing this? He looks like he knows what he's doing…"
Poll's face twisted into a grin. "I know! It's amazing, right? I mean—uh, yeah. Totally under control. Almost there!"
Suddenly, Seraphina staggered forward from the frontlines, her breathing labored, blood trickling from her nose.
"Mother!" Poll shouted, his eyes snapping toward her.
Seraphina waved him off, her voice firm despite her exhaustion. "I'm fine, Poll. Just focus. We're counting on you."
Poll gulped, refocusing on his work. Almost there. Just a few more calibrations…
His gaze flicked to Eryndor, who was a storm of power on the battlefield. Each swing of his blade tore through the air, shockwaves rippling across the ground.
Poll's thoughts derailed momentarily. Dad's incredible. Look at him go. I had no idea he was this powerful. He's like one of those anime warriors who doesn't need a backstory—he's the backstory!
A thunderous explosion erupted nearby, snapping Poll out of his reverie. The shockwave tore through the battlefield, rattling his bones. His head jerked toward the source: the Nightread squad.
Poll's mouth hung open as he stared at the smoking devastation. "What the… They're blowing up the place! They don't even need my spell!"
Elowen smirked beside him. "Guess the main character's slacking."
"Ha-ha," Poll deadpanned, his fingers still weaving mana into the burgeoning spell. "You'll thank me when this works."
[The Evolution of Vekris and Nyra]
The battlefield, once alive with the cacophony of clashing steel and rippling magic, grew eerily quiet. The air was heavy, dust swirling lazily as if uncertain whether to settle or flee. Slowly, the silhouettes of the two assistants emerged, their twisted forms regenerating unnervingly fast. Each grotesque injury mended itself with a sickening slurp, skin reforming over fractured bone, sinew twisting and snapping into place like a puppet being stitched together mid-motion.
Eryndor's grip on his sword tightened, his eyes narrowing as the dark aura surrounding the assistants intensified. The corruption that had once cloaked them in a chaotic storm began to condense and refine itself, collapsing inward until it formed a shadowy cloak that draped their bodies. The cloaks shimmered ominously, then faded like mist, revealing two figures that seemed… almost human.
Their monstrous features were gone, replaced with unnaturally perfect skin, regal posture, and expressions that exuded arrogance and control.
"What… what is this?" Eryndor muttered, his shock evident even through his hardened demeanor.
Celestia's voice was low, tense. "They've fully evolved…"
The male assistant, now standing tall and composed, inhaled deeply as though savoring the air for the first time. A slow smile spread across his face. "Ah… this is exquisite," he murmured, his voice smooth and tinged with amusement. "Finally, no more distractions."
He opened his eyes—now glowing faintly with a violet hue—and spread his arms wide, as if embracing the battlefield itself. "Allow me to reintroduce myself. I am Vekris Valemont, and it is my distinct pleasure to meet you all." His tone was almost noble, each word dripping with confidence. "I have but one simple request: stay out of my lady's way. Do so, and I might let you live."
He tilted his head slightly, his smile soft but menacing. "However… interfere, and I will erase you from existence. No hard feelings, of course."
Seraphina's eyes darted between Vekris and the female assistant, her expression unreadable but tinged with unease. "This energy… it's nothing like before. Their entire mana signature has shifted. It's… more refined. Controlled. Dangerous."
Poll, who had been quietly analyzing from the sidelines, felt a chill run down his spine. His gloves buzzed faintly as his mana analyzer (MNA) kicked into overdrive. He glanced down at the readings on his glove, his heart sinking.
Poll's internal monologue:
Oh, that's bad. That's really bad. Like, 'we're all going to die' bad. My MNA's saying his mana levels are ten times higher than before. TEN TIMES. That's not a person. That's… That's a mana nuke with good posture!
He tapped furiously at his glove, as if somehow the numbers would change. They didn't.
Poll's voice cracked as he spoke. "Uh, guys? I think we should… maybe deal with him? Like, right now? Because I'm not saying he's invincible, but, uh, if he isn't, I'd love to know how to beat him."
Vekris's eyes landed on Poll, his expression softening into something almost friendly. "Not you, boy. My lady has plans for you. She was quite clear—your life is to be spared."
Poll froze, his overthinking mind spiraling into chaos. Wait. What? Plans? For me? Oh, great. Fantastic. Because nothing screams 'you're doomed' like being spared by the enemy for 'plans.'
He gulped, raising a hand. "Can I maybe opt out of… whatever that is?"
Vekris chuckled, his smile widening. "I'm afraid not."
Celestia's voice cut through the tension, firm and unwavering. "Request declined."
Before Poll could even process the exchange, the female assistant—Nyra Vala—stepped forward, her presence equally commanding. Her jet-black hair flowed like liquid shadow, and her piercing gaze swept over the battlefield. Her voice was cold, with an edge sharp enough to cut through stone.
"Then be gone."
A pulse of energy radiated from her, forcing everyone back a step.
Poll's internal monologue:
What the heck is happening? Why is everyone making these insane decisions on their own? Why does no one consult the overthinking genius who—okay, fine—doesn't have a real plan yet but might come up with one in, like, five seconds?
As the dust cleared further, Vekris stepped toward Eryndor, who held his ground, sword ready. "Ah, the noble warrior," Vekris said, his tone almost conversational. "You fight well. Admirably, even. But tell me… how long can you protect your people from someone like me?"
Eryndor's eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. "Long enough to put you down."
Vekris chuckled, the sound echoing unnaturally. "Brave words. Let's see if they hold weight."
Nyra, meanwhile, locked eyes with Celestia, her lips curling into a smirk. "I hope you don't disappoint me, queen. I'd hate for this to end too quickly."
Poll, now frantically assembling the last components of his jammer spell, muttered under his breath. "No pressure, Poll. No pressure. Just two super-powered psychos and a battlefield of chaos. You've got this. Probably."
He glanced at the rapidly intensifying confrontation, sweat beading on his forehead. "Yeah, no. We're so screwed."