The Scramble [Complete]

[Magus]

Magus glared at Bradley for a long time, ignoring his extended hand. The man called ‘Fiendlord’ wasn’t just dangerous, he was overtly menacing. He was tall, standing at about six and a half feet, and strongly built despite his focus on the arcane. His complexion was pallid, sickly pale. From this washed-out lack of color, his fiery eyes of scarlet shone in an unearthly, disturbing light, like two tiny pinpricks of smouldering brimstone. His eyes were hard, utterly devoid of compassion or consideration. His stare was hard and calculating.

He was clothed in baggy, dark pants and a fitted leather chest plate that left his arms bare. A dazzling, bright blue amulet hung from a gold rope around his neck, hidden underneath the leather, and a heavy, crimson cloak hung heavily from his shoulders, draped around his chest but leaving his front bare, flowing down his back like a cape.

Long, flowing blue hair cascaded down his neck and shoulders, and his ears appeared pointed and elf-like. Unbeknownst to his audience, they were not naturally pointed. Nor were his eyes and skin color natural. All twisted by prolonged exposure to dark and dangerous magics.

The man looked equal parts powerful and sinister. He set his jaw as his eyes flitted from Bradley to Thrall and back again. He considered what the mighty warrior had said. That he wasn’t ready. He could have scoffed. Magus had literally just defeated the closest approximation to a god that he had ever encountered. If he was not ready, than who in all of the Omniverse was?

Something tugged at him, though. Some distant thought nagged that not all was as it had appeared on the surface. “Tell me… since you are ‘not fond’ of one another, why do Bradley’s forces not simply annihilate yours?” Magus had addressed Thrall directly, in a partially deliberate show of preference over Bradley. It did not go unnoticed.

“Things are different in the Omniverse. Everything comes down to will, to skill, and to Omnilium. A sword is just as powerful as a gun, a punch as strong as a flying arrow. It all depends on who has the most Omnilium… and talent,” the orc replied.

“Therefore…” Magus raised his left arm to his side and concentrated. He reached deep into the realm of shadow and found… emptiness. His vast, nigh-unending well of power seemed… empty. He concentrated harder, his eyes set with determination.

Most didn’t know it, but magic was equal parts talent, power, and belief. A wizard needed talent to shape and control it, power to fuel and propel it. But without belief, there was no way to manifest it. Without belief, talent and power were nothing.

It was a lot like faith, in a way. Divine power couldn’t be wielded by someone who didn’t believe in it. In the same way, magic could not be wielded by someone who didn’t absolutely believe that they were capable of casting the desired spell.

Magus considered perhaps his belief was shaken by the fact that he found himself in what appeared to be another reality. Perhaps the ancient channels of magic could not be accessed here. Much of the arch mage’s power had been drawn from reality, from fear, despair, hatred, and suffering.

He practised shadow magic. Known as the Forbidden Magic, it was the only school of power that had only purely destructive applications. Its nature was methodical, oppressive. Some called it evil, because of the things it fed on. The things it propagated.

Surely, those things existed here. Camelot and Coruscant were evidently at war! Surely there was an abundance of negative energy all around him. Perhaps this void, this Nexus, canceled out the flow of energy.

“Omnilium,” Thrall said abruptly. “Your… powers. You’re trying to access them, yes?”

Magus regarded him for a moment, and then returned his concentration to mustering his energies.

“Without enough Omnilium, your powers will be diminished. The more powerful you were outside the Omniverse, the longer it will take you to recover all of your strength. Some grow stronger faster, of course. Their will is strong,” Thrall passively rumbled. “With respect, you are at the weakest state possible for a Prime. Going after Omni, after the Oververse. It’s insane. Bradley is manipulating you. You aren’t ready for-”

“Don’t. Tell me. What I’m not ready for,” Magus hissed through gritted teeth, lowering his arm. “You just said some grow stronger faster than others. I will simply have to recover my strength as fast as possible, then, correct?”

“It’s not as simple as that. Omni is not-”

“Oh, come now, Thrall,” Bradley said with a twisted smile. “It is ultimately his decision to make, is it not?”

Magus said nothing for a moment, pondering the facts. Thrall was clearly the more truthful of the two he’d spoken to since he had arrives in the Omniverse. His warning carried more than clinical advice – there was true apprehension in his words. He meant what he said; Magus was not ready to face Omni. Not yet.

Perhaps, though, he would access the rest of his power over the course of his job for the people Bradley served. He rubbed his chin and then forcefully drove the spike at the bottom of his scythe upon the empty whiteness beneath his feet. Despite the impact, nothing marked it where it had been struck.

“Understand this, Bradley. I will in no way be indentured to you. One task in exchange for your help. One job,” he then parroted the one-eyed man with just a hint of venom in his voice. “What do you say?”