Cyrin’s entire body seemed to protest when they
stepped into the alley, all of their senses warning them that it was
uncomfortable and they should be moving away from their Hollow, not
closer. Their communicator buzzed again, and after scanning their surroundings,
they spared a second to check it.
>autumnleaf:
just don’t pick your favorite quilt of
course! i want you to have that
Before Cyrin could even decide whether to type I’ll
be back or just reply to her later, something invisible slammed into their
chest, knocking them backwards and off-balance.
They didn’t turn it into a somersault when they started
to fall, like they’d told Mireya they could do, but they did recover quickly.
Cyrin pivoted, turning their backwards momentum sideways, and managed to half-stagger,
half-glide to the right. They quickly reached into a coat pocket, finding the knife
artifact that Clarity had commissioned with Concealment and Force— the only
weapon that they could smuggle through security and had on their person now— and
clenched it in their hand, searching for what had hit them.
It didn’t take long to find. A viciously grinning
person materialized in front of them a few feet away, the last wisps of a Concealment
spell wearing off as he stepped closer. He held another spell in his hand, and when
Cyrin’s stomach turned at the sight of it, they had to guess it was Tremor. Strangely enough,
their attacker didn’t activate it immediately. Instead, he closed a fist over
it and cast a different spell with his other hand, a simple spinning of magic
that Cyrin recognized as Flare.
“Are you here to mug me?” Cyrin asked flatly, while shaking
out his wrist to get rid of the pins and needles.
The Minor Mage laughed, lifting the Flare spell. “Do
you think I am?”
Cyrin inched backwards towards the wall behind him, which
his attacker took as a chance to step forward. He waited a moment, then swung
his arm out at the man’s head. The mage ducked, mistaking the hand holding the
invisible knife for a clenched fist. Instead of punching like it seemed he was
about to, Cyrin flicked the knife at the hand holding the Flare spell. The man
shouted in surprise and pain, pressing his other hand to the wound. The knife,
no longer in contact with Cyrin, reappeared as stuck in the mage’s wrist.
Before the man could have a chance to remove it himself, Cyrin drew it back to
him with a pulling motion, the Force magic causing it to fly back to his hand.
“I hope it’s not your intention,” they said as they wrapped
their fingers around the grip, fighting to keep the tremble in their body out
of their voice. “You aren’t doing the best at it.”
Grimacing, the other mage stepped back, a haze in his
eyes as he let his injured hand fall limply to one side and transferred both spells
to his other palm. “Don’t sound so smug just yet,” he snapped, stretching his
fingers in the way that spellcasters did to warm up when they were about to
perform a complicated weave.
Cyrin felt their breath catch in their throat, and
they moved away, putting the knife in their coat and backing out towards the
street again. Tremor and Flare together would make an explosion of fire that
would spread wide, in one of the most dangerous hybrid spell combinations. Even
if Tremor wasn’t so debilitating to them, they really didn’t want to be here
for that.
They’d left the Minor Mage one-handed, though, with
both parts of his spell unactivated. There was still time to recover this.
Cyrin flung out their arm, trying to take control of
the Flare spell. The man struggled against the resistance, messily combining
the two spells in a sloppy weaving. While the two of them fought for control
over the magic, Cyrin’s gaze landed on the mage’s MagicBox. It was on his belt,
hanging wide open with more magic inside. They hardly had any left of theirs
and no time to get it, but that magic was easy to take.
Giving up on trying to sabotage his attacker’s spell,
Cyrin instead made the unguarded magic fly to his hands. Urgency and the lack
of feeling in his fingers made the casting hard, but he worked fast as he spun
up a Force spell, then hurried backwards to the sidewalk just as the other mage
finished his spell.
“Get back!” Cyrin shouted to the pedestrians around him,
activating the Force spell as a barrier closing off the alley the moment before
the other spell activated.
The vibration that went through the ground under his
feet was more than enough to make him and everyone else nearby fall down. A wave
of burning heat rushed his way before the Force shield pushed it away, saving
him from the firestorm. Cyrin managed to sit up just in time to watch the
explosion fall back in on itself, going out in a blaze. The rumbling in the
ground lasted much longer, and he had to wait several seconds before it had
subsided enough for him to stand.
A dozen car alarms were going off, and windows from
both buildings in the alley— of which the lobby of his apartment building— were
shattered. The people directly around him were slowly staggering to their feet,
looking at the scene or him in shock. Others, out of range on the other side of
the street, were pointing and gasping. But for the moment, no one could react.
The mysterious fighter was just as shocked, scrambling
to his feet and smothering a flame burning the edge of his coat. He and Cyrin stared
at each other for a moment, then they both moved— the mage to push his way
through the crowd and run, Cyrin to dash to the entrance of their apartment. A
few people moved after them, and they thought they saw some following the other
mage too, but now that there was feeling in their hands, they could pull out
their keycard and race through the door before slamming it locked shut behind
them. Their momentum made them stumble towards the elevator, fumbling to press
the up button as they quickly wrote a message to Mireya.
>cyring-wolf:
so, i nearly got burned alive
That type of message was completely normal between
them, and when they got it after the elevator doors opened and they stepped
inside, Mireya’s response was just as unconcerned as they expected.
>bluelightningrod:
medium rare?
>cyring-wolf:
actually, it would have been more like
well done
probably even past that at a “congratulations”
>bluelightningrod:
oh you would hate that wouldn’t you
you *still* have opinions about steak
>cyring-wolf:
some things die hard
>bluelightningrod:
such as you!
i’m adding this to the ledger of your
near-death experiences
Cyrin let out a tired laugh, slumping against the
elevator wall as it carried him upwards. He used the rest of his time to type
out a longer message.
>cyring-wolf:
in all seriousness, do watch out. it was a
mage who tried ambushing me, and i’ve got a feeling someone sent him. i’m on my
way, just be careful
>bluelightningrod:
we can talk about it when you get here
in the meantime, no crashing into anything
>cyring-wolf:
no promises
The elevator dinged, opening to a hallway. Cyrin kept
an eye out unlocking his apartment, grabbing his jetpack, and taking the elevator
all the way up to the roof so that he’d be able to take off. The wind was fierce
in its greeting when he stood on the edge of the building, giving him a taste
of what he’d be feeling when he was flying through it. He didn’t need to
take a deep breath before jumping— this hadn’t made him nervous in ages now—
but he did anyway. Letting winter air fill his lungs before the leap felt just
as natural as first falling, then soaring, the wind answering to him as he wove
through buildings and back over the jagged cliff.
Points: 6841
Reviews: 235
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