A voice booms, “To the right we have Thunder, a veteran of the ring at three years.”
Tenson shoots a stream of yellow magic and it bundles up above him like a rumbling cloud. It’s impressive and all, but when the clouds are bright yellow, they look jovial. It’s like trying to be fierce with colorful cotton candy swarming above your head.
“And to the left…”
I sit up straighter and lean forward.
“We have the White Knight in his debut fight.”
I have so much riding on this fight and yet I can’t help but laugh. Sims paints all of his fighters in exaggerated personae. I’m mysterious, alluring, and unattainable as Smoke. Beckman is formidable and daunting as the Tsunami. Guess Kalyan is getting the good-guy act. How fitting.
Kalyan frowns at the name and shakes his head. He’s at least confident in there. For now. He glances at the swarm of clouds still billowing above Tenson, then he casts a spell too. Good, I forgot to tell him the beginning procedure. Kalyan’s spell gusts from his right hand and the frosty white stream flies toward Tenson’s clouds and whips through them. It then tears itself around the sphere like some wild bird. Oh Gods.
“Whoa, already—” The rest of Beckman’s sentence is lost in the uproar of the crowd cheering or booing at Kalyan’s brazen prefight show of power. It’s definitely not very White Knightly of him.
The announcer stalls before yelling,“Fight!”Tenson leaps into the air, spins, and throws wind in a razor-sharp disk. Kalyan ducks and slides to the side smoothly. He rolls and builds a shield. Good. And he needs it too, because Tenson comes flying back at him and strikes downward with one foot. But as Tenson’s foot lands, the shield disperses and gathers around his leg. In a flash of white, Tenson’s foot ices over and thumps to the ground from the extra weight. Kalyan isn’t done yet, though. With control of Tenson’s leg, he whips him across the sphere, where he smashes against the wall.
Beckman whistles. “Good, smart casting.”
But it’s far from over. Tenson is already rolling and cracking the ice with his own white magic. The ice breaks apart with a blast and Tenson is free, sprinting around the sphere in different directions, looking for an opening. Kalyan stands in the middle observing, which is going to give me a heart attack.
Move!
In a split second the two wizards meet. Tenson comes from the left and Kalyan ducks his fist. They both craft knives and suddenly the battle is a whirlwind of movement, with arms jetting, retracting, and blocking.
I can’t tell who’s winning or whether either has been cut. Beckman pats me on the back hard enough to remind me to gulp in air.
“Not your guy, huh?”
“Not my guy.”
The two keep it up until Tenson twirls his arm and catches Kalyan’s wrist. The shoulder bends unnaturally. Applause clamors in approval. The crowd is fickle today, can’t decide which wizard they want to win. Then, still in the armlock, Tenson kicks Kalyan against the curved dome.
“Nooo.”Without thinking I cast an orange and pink spell to examine the damage. My eyes blur and then focus on the muscles and bones within Kalyan’s chest. I zero in on the shoulder. There is a tear in the muscle and it’s already swelling. I blink to cancel the spell. When I refocus on the fight, there’s been a shift. Kalyan has wrestled out of the armlock and is clutching his jaw.
“What happened?” I ask.
“Your man escaped the armlock, but Tenson punched him in the face.”
I squeeze the railing hard. If Kalyan gets seriously hurt it will be my fault. He shouldn’t have come here. Fighting in a bubble of five meters is drastically different from any training ground or battlefield.
Kalyan and Tenson circle each other. At least Kalyan’s movements are still calm. The fighting restarts in a blink. Wind tunnels, Tenson’s favorite, volley against Kalyan, but instead of shields he uses yellow magic too. White and yellow streams hammer against each other. The wizards’ hair and clothing ripple as if caught in a storm. Kalyan withdraws and lowers his injured arm. I can see Tenson’s smile from here. He thinks he has won.
Please.The word beats against my brain.Please don’t mess this up.
One of the spells connects directly. This is always dangerous in the ring. In the small space of the dome too much power can build up and the magic can be uncontrollable. It could kill them both. I’ve never seen a white forte wizard in the dome before, but the white-and-yellow mixture appears holy, and as if a god will manifest among the rays of color. Kalyan and Tenson look about equal, but the energy continues to build. One of them is going to have to let go, and soon.
Tenson mutters continuously and each new wind spell builds with rhythmic pulses into a collision. But then I realize that Kalyan, silent and one-armed, has cast only one spell. Wait, that can’t be right.Onespell against the dozen Tenson has thrown?
I turn to Beckman. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”
He nods slowly. I don’t think he can believe it either. “Tenson has no clue. He can’t see it.”
In a snap it’s over. Kalyan says one word, one small enhancement to his spell, and Tenson is thrown against the wall. Built-up yellow magic bounces off the sphere and clusters into clouds. Tenson is down, the match is over, but for the first time no one cheers. No one can grasp what’s happened. Snow cascades over the two wizards, one passed out and the other catching snowflakes in his outstretched palm.
Beckman whistles softly. “If he isn’t your guy, are you sure you don’t want him to be?”
“What?”
