Colosseum - Round 2 - Magus vs Black Mage

[Storyteller]

For the second round, two practitioners of magic had been brought together to do battle on a setpiece designed from a futuristic verse.

On the Coruscant end of the battle zone, Black Mage stood still and stared toward Magus, who waited before Diablo's standard.

When the gong sounded, both mages were off, much to the excitement of the crowd, who eagerly awaited the spectacle before them.

Judge – Proto Man

Magus posts first and may do so at any time after 10 PM CDT.

Description of fight area and other information can be found here - <!-- l --><a class="postlink-local" href="http://omniverse-rpg.com/viewtopic.php?f=28&t=4362">viewtopic.php?f=28&t=4362</a><!-- l -->

Please refer any questions to that thread.

Word Limit: 750
Posts: 3
Time Limit: 48 hours
SP use is enabled. SP does not regenerate between rounds. Injuries may occur. Neither injuries nor SP use are factored into judgment, only the quality of writing

[Magus]

Once more unto the breach.

Isn’t that what they said when they sent kids to die in wars? Made it sound nice. “Oh just another jaunt through the battlefield.” Kids, most barely eighteen and some younger, sent to die so fat, wealthy old men could grow richer.

Once more unto the breach.

Easy to say when it’s not your life on the line.

Magus scanned his surroundings with an air of utter boredom before resting his regal gaze upon his opponent. He was a physically unremarkable man; slender and of average height. He dressed in tattered old robes and an equally weathered, ridiculous hat.

The fiend might have scoffed at his would-be opponent if not for the eerie yellow glow that emanated from beneath the wide brim of his hat, which all but erased his visage in darkness.

Even more interesting was the low, familiar hum of arcane energy. It swirled around this man like snowflakes in the wind, fizzing and bubbling all around him.

“A fellow spell-slinger,” Magus proclaimed. “I’ve no doubt you can feel the pulse of the arcane on me, as well.”

He looked around himself again. The two of them stood on platforms of steel suspended in mid-air, with bunkers and weapons strewn all about. Two ships not unlike the Epoch floated above them, and below roiled an unspeakably foul-smelling disaster. He wrinkled his nose at the unbelievable stench and did his best to put it out of his mind and instead focus on his opponent.

He tugged on his brown leather glove creating a satisfying creak from the material as it snugged around his fingers. His palm turned upward, and with a sizzling spark, a vulgar, oily blob burst to life in a puff of purple motes. The air seemed to bend around this energy, as foul as the toxic soup below them.

“You’ll die if you fight me, you know,” Magus idly flicked his eyes over one of the weapons racks on his side. It bristled with all sorts of futuristic weapons, tainted by demonic influence. How ironic that the Demon King found himself under the banner of Diablo. “You really should consider surrender, unless you’re eager to hop off this mortal coil.”

“Heat of the light, show your flame.” the odd-looking man retorted, raising a palm up at him and eliciting a raised eyebrow and an amused smirk from his opponent. “Fire!”

“Gah!!” Magus twisted to the side and hit the deck, narrowly avoiding the flame bolt as is seared through the air. He rolled up to his feet and levelled his ball of Gloom at his adversary but instead of loosing the attack, he barked an incredulous guffaw, before breaking out into a fit of laughter. He seemed genuinely amused, but to the Black Mage, it sounded sinister, indeed.

“An incantation?!” Magus snorted. “You require a focus to channel your power??”

“Water chilled, sharpened-”

“How quaint,” the Fiendlord flatly responded, hurling a bolt of Gloom and interrupting the Black Mage’s next incantation. The bolt missed, but it bought Magus enough time to Shadow Step into the plane immaterial.

Tendrils of unspeakably malevolent energy teased at the periphery of his vision, and images of the world around him seemed to shudder and tremble in place. Magus stalked toward his prey and froze for a moment on a narrow, metallic catwalk, halfway to his target.

Instead of one of those fucking shadow people standing outside the force field, there were now dozens. Most were clumped up together, but a few scattered about, half surrounding Magus. And they were all staring up at him, watching him. He couldn’t see their faces, but they were staring.

Ignoring it, Magus broke into a run before leaping into the air and driving a flying punch into the Black Mage’s face. He continued beyond the speaker of incantations and selected a weapon from the Coruscant side. He turned to face his enemy and stepped back into the material plane.

The Black Mage toppled over the side of the railing from the impact, grabbing onto the metal and saving himself from plunging into the pestilent fog below. With a grunt, the dazed wizard hauled himself back over the rails and onto the metal catwalk.

“Heh. Well done, Scarecrow,” Magus jeered, holding his new weapon out to his side. In a flash, the bright red glare of Magus’ lightsaber bathed him in a dramatic glow.

Once more unto the breach.

One last time for you,

Scarecrow.

[Black Mage]

He was literally the deadliest wizard of all Sarda, and here he was pitted against an overgrown elf with sea-shaded hair who sported a hard leather codpiece over his lavender trousers. The man carried himself with the air of an experienced wizard, but his coy expression revealed his arrogance. The man was a murderer, of children in his last match no less, and the Black Mage spared no quarter for such villainy.

Or at least that was something confident and heroic that Fighter would want him to say. Truth be told the Black Mage had found himself in a terrifying bout of magic, surrounded by a mish-mash of demonic caverns and space-age architecture hovering over a pit of virulent and repugnant sludge. His foe was quick, powerful, yet patient, giving the Black Mage enough time to vault himself over the metal railing and bring himself to a stand.

"Heh. Well done Scarecrow." He taunted, before his thumb pressed onto the metallic cylinder held in his hand, causing a distinct snap-hiss to ring as the crimson blade of energy was released, emitting a low hum as the Magus put up a devilish grin. Only a stride away he leapt forward with a diagonal slash. Backed against the wall the Black Mage attempted to dart to the side and evade the blow, but his opponent's quickness was equal to his own, and the Black Mage suffered a blow to right forearm. Rather than feeling a simple cut or bash however the Warrior of Light was met with a burning sensation that scorched through his coat and left a second degree burn. Gnashing his teeth from the pain he willed himself to spin his wrists as he backpedaled.

"Wind, flowing, never tame, throw my foe and give him pain!" He grunted as he pulled his palms together, fingered outstretched as the epicenter of a small vortex, throwing his opponent backwards. Not one to be caught offguard the Magus disappeared from reality before he touched the ground, wind still pushing past where he should have been. The last time he had disappeared like this the young wizard had found himself launched by a well-placed hay-maker so the Black Mage decided to rush forward into a downward slide as he chanted.

"Sickening grasp, spread your poison. Bio!" Magic coursed through the Black Mage as a small pustules and boils began to form at either of the Black Mage's hands, draining out of him before coming together to form a bubble of a tainted green hue. The Magus then reappeared, around two meters past where the Black Mage was before he disappeared. The Warrior of Light threw one bubble at his shins with his left, then one with his right aimed in a straight shot at his chest, hoping to hit one way or another. His foe's reaction was quick enough to evade the first strike, but acid tore through cloth on the next, corroding into his body a few seconds later. The Demon-Lord chortled as the small incantation presented it's meager first-hand effects, inflicting little in the way of immediate pain.

"You've some skill scarecrow, but you've no idea the power of true magic." He said before his body erupted in a mauve stained inferno, knocking the Warrior of Light to the other end of the catwalk and setting portions of his cloak and cowl ablaze. Frantically the Black Mage threw off his outer robe as he rose back to a stand, revealing a tattered thin white undercoat, and the Black Mage's gaunt ebony form underneath. With the heavier clothes removed it was also easier to spot the constant wax and wane of his chest in accordance with his breathing. He was in pain all across his body, but he couldn't give up. If the six swords and seductive flames of the Fiend Marilith could not best him than neither should this wizard, no matter how dark his arts.

"Water, chilled, sharpened, strong. ICE!" The Black Mage roared and began slinging ice dart after ice dart at the fiendlord. If he magic could not best his opponent's through sheer might, perhaps it could through suppressive fire.

694 Words via wordcounter.net

[Magus]

The firestorm faded away until only the Demon King remained aflame, his energy sword devilishly humming with each movement of the eloquent weapon and his adversary stripped of much of his clothing.

Magus suddenly felt very, very tired. Though he’d rested after his last fight with the would-be assassin and watched as most of his wounds miraculously vanished, in this instant he felt as though he’d not recovered from it at all.

“Water chilled,”

Magus rolled his eyes. Another incantation? Really?

“Sharpened, strong.”

The wizard on fire cocked his head in amused anticipation. Scarecrow’s last attack managed to slightly sting. Maybe this one would hurt his feelings.

“Ice!!”

The Fiendlord’s eyes grew wide he was suddenly assailed by a salvo of icy spikes. Caught completely flat-footed, he tugged his cape over his face in a hollow to shield himself from the tiny, frozen missiles that peppered him all over like a machine gun.

In a desperate fit, Magus flailed his lightsaber at the incoming projectiles, scorching them out of existence before they could do him harm. It didn’t take him a second thought to begin pushing toward the Black Mage, deftly swatting the icy weapons out of the sky as he charged toward his quarry, lightsaber angrily buzzing under the movement of each swipe.

Losing his ground, the infernal spell-speaker summoned another incantation. “Air that strikes quick as a blade,” he murmured as the sizzle and pop of electricity coursed through his fist, arcing from his knuckles.

Magus leapt into the air, his blade over his head and ready cleave his foe in two.

“Bolt!!”

A deadly blast of lightning lanced out at Magus, who pulled another one of his maddening disappearing acts.

He landed on the catwalk in the monochrome of the world-between-worlds, inches from the giant electric spear that reached out at him. Electricity sounded strange here; the energetic crackle and fizz had been replaced with an ominous rumbling, scraping sound.

“Peasant,” he spat, stalking toward his prey. Again, he closed the distance and raised his weapon for the killing blow, before he was literally staggered by a sudden, horrible headache. He collapsed against the guardrail of the catwalk, his lightsaber slipping from his grasp and tumbling over the side into the environmental disaster below. His eyelids, already heavy, stung with the burning sensation that came with sleep deprivation.

What had the Scarecrow said? Sickening grasp, spread your-

“Poison,” he whispered. He looked up at the spell-speaker, who posed dramatically, frozen in place, lightning leaping from his open hand. “Poison.”

He tried to right himself but lost his footing, crashing into a heap on the steel-mesh surface of the catwalk. His breathing quickened as he fought to remain calm.

“Poison, you goddamn, backwards, mouth-breathing, incantation-spewing, fucking Philistine,” he growled, struggling pathetically to try and get up off the floor. His hand wrapped around the guardrail and he pulled himself up, but what he saw caused him to topple back down.

Though he’d only glimpsed it, he was certain: those shadow people were still gathered around the force field that kept the fights contained, only now their number had more than doubled in size and they had surrounded him quite completely.

Magus climbed up the guardrail and put his feet beneath him, fighting the fear that crept up his spine and turned his guts to water. He couldn’t fight; not like this.

Fighting the exhaustion that ached in his bones, he extinguished the flames on himself and gathered his energy for another spell as he ran toward the Coruscant armory and leapt on top of it. Or, he’d tried, but crashed into the side and awkwardly hauled himself up. From there, he leapt up and caught his fingers on the wing of the stationary spacecraft that hovered above him.

Magus climbed up onto the ship’s wing and glared down at his frozen opponent. He stepped out of the plane of shadows and time unwound itself; Scarecrow’s lightning blast harmlessly raged across the arena and he himself appeared quite confused at Magus’ disappearance.

Before he climbed into the ship, he unleashed the energy he’d been channelling, and a dark, greasy fog rolled out, obfuscating the wizards and the TIE fighter that the prince of Zeal settled into. The cockpit sealed itself with a sharp ‘hiss’. His hands settled on the controls. It felt familiar. Like the Epoch.

His laser cannons belched fiery death as he strafed his Miasma-mired enemy in his new-found death machine.

749 words as per wordcounter.net

[Black Mage]

The screech of the TIE fighter resounded throughout the arena, causing a visible tremble in the Black Mage's neck for those close enough to see it. Memories of the Warmech in his homeland came flooding back, it's nuclear weaponry annihilating his former companions, the Warriors of Light. Hands rose with surprising quickness and shielded his ears from the noise as it flew closer, the shrill screech of the TIE Fighter's wings now being supplemented by the quick zip of it's laser cannons. Steel melted as it's blasts reached the catwalk, leaving craters inside the floating islands before the Black Mage.

He should have ran the moment he heard the fighter's screech, but his response was delayed by a half a second as he was frozen in fear. Eventually he darted to the side,lucky not to perish by the laser's blast, but not lucky enough to escape the brunt of the blast. Thrown to the side of the catwalk his left arm was . . . missing. The left side of his torso was encrusted in an unnatural black layer of skin, and the shrill cry of pain emanating from the Black Mage could be heard over the roar of the crowd. A smaller grunt escaped the Warrior of Light as he pushed his right hand to the ground and tried to stand, stumbling mightily as he rose.

To say his body cringed was an understatement, but in the back of his ears he heard the screech of the TIE fighter altering in pitch, slowing down and then accelerating in the distance. His body wouldn't complain anymore if he stayed. But he'd have to test the Faceless Man's words, and he wasn't ready to do that. How could he take down such a monstrosity? A quick glance around the arena presented a solution. The turrets. He needed to get to the turrets.

Though desperate and pushing through the pain the Black Mage knew he could not best the contraption for speed he rushed forward for a moment before turning his head over his shoulder to see it gaining on him, laser blasts coming closer and closer. He continued to run until he guessed the TIE had gained enough distance, then pushed backward on his step to throw himself backwards, away from the blast. The plan partly worked, as the Black Mage evaded the blast, but he landed foot-first in a crater, pain jolting through his spine. A quick jump and reach showed he couldn't escape the crater, though chances were he wouldn't be able to pull up anyways. Which meant one thing.

He needed to fight his way out.

"Heat of the light . . . show your flame. Fire!" He attempted to muster an incantation, slowly piecing the words together as cinders formed on his right hand, soon burning brighter as the fireball finally formed. The screech of the TIE fighter again changed frequencies, doppler effect well at work. It was coming from his left, the zip of laser blasts coming closer and closer. Hurling wildly in the direction of the noise he flung his magic poorly and desperately, but his luck turned. The zips stopped, and the image of a TIE fighter flailing with one solar panel ablaze, the fighter spiraling uncontrollably until he heard a loud crash. The Black Mage put up a small smile. He'd survived another bou-

"You'll have to do better than that Scarecrow" A voice spoke slowly and from behind, prompting the Black Mage to turn and lob another ball of fire. It wasn't over just yet.

[Magus]

The futuristic fighter shrilly shrieked under Magus’ direction; strafing the Scarecrow back and forth and cascading waves of deadly energy upon him. So effective was the vessel that the time traveller had thought the battle won when a burst of mage flame crashed into the side of the elaborate flying machine. Lights flashed and klaxons blared, and all manner of displays warned that the ship was out of control.

The TIE fighter spun toward one of the metal platforms and utterly disobeyed any of Magus’ attempts to right it. Just before impact, he stepped into the plane immaterial and leapt through the back of the fighter, into the very same crater the Black Mage had taken shelter in. He stepped back into reality just as a thunderous explosion rattled the platform.

His opponent had not fared as well as he had, he observed as he rose from the knee he’d taken in the fall. Burns scorched his torso where his left arm should have been and extended down near to his hip, blackened and charred. The vision was utterly grotesque and Magus found himself someone impressed at the resolve someone such as he must have had to persevere in the face of such colossal suffering.

He withdrew the karambit that Lud had given him. The one he would need to return to him. By plunging it into his neck.

“You’ll have to do better than that, Scarecrow,” Magus breathed.

He’d expected the charred wizard to freeze in fear. He’d expected to use that moment to reach over his shoulder and to slash his throat.

What he was not expecting was to take a ball of fire to the eyes. Dropping his blade and clutching his face, Magus doubled over and shouted a couple of choice epithets at the Black Mage. He hadn’t yet recovered when a withering surge of misery washed over him as though every one of his nerves decided to transmit signals of pain all at the same time.

It wasn’t until after that he heard the distinct and tremendous clap of thunder, barely audible above the ringing in his ears. It didn’t take genius to figure what had happened. His foe was probably literally dying but it hadn’t stopped him from electrocuting the goddamn hell out of him and blasting him into a wall.

The lightning that the Scarecrow commanded was powerful stuff, indeed. His leather chest plate had melted and fused to his flesh where the arcane energy had struck him, and his limbs twitched and spasmed uncontrollably.

Slumped against the wall of the crater the two found themselves in, Magus opened one eye, the other too badly burned and swollen to do the same. “Much better…” he paused. The ringing had stopped, but the howling of the Black Wind had grown so much louder now. Something terrible was soon to happen to one of them, and Magus didn’t care to find out which one while lying defenseless in a smoldering hole.

He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, everything was monochrome and frozen and… wrong.

Gritting his teeth, the injured shadow wizard pushed against the wall and slid up its rough surface into a somewhat upright position. The lip of the crater loomed at him from high above; what enormous deadly force the ship had projected to scour such a huge amount of metal.

This part was going to hurt like hell, and he was going to hold the Scarecrow accountable for all of it. Just as soon as it stopped feeling as though his heart was going to burst out of his chest.

Magus charged at the wall, kicking up against it once, then twice, and leaping up as high as he could, outstretched arms above him slapping down on the edge of the crater. The Fiendlord’s body slapped against the wall. It forced from his lips a terrible yowl and the white-hot resurgence of agony threatened his grip, but he held fast and scrabbled up onto the thick, metal platform.

One hand covering his chest, he limped toward a shack on a nearby platform. The twisted, burning wreck of his starship spat sparks and sizzled near the shack that Magus leapt for.

His knees buckled when he landed and he rolled forward, slipping out of his Shadow Step and crashing into the shack, weakly dragging himself behind cover. He would catch his breath, and then the Scarecrow would catch the most vicious and brutal suffering he had ever felt.

748 words as per wordcounter.net!

[Black Mage]

After a powerful bolt of lightning surged through the Black Mage's fingertips the child-slayer was gone. Teleported again to somewhere else in the arena. A delaying tactic that he couldn't afford the Warrior Of Light needed to find him, or at least find a more defensible position. Mustering his legs forward he attempted to run, but found he lacked the strength. Raw adrenaline could only carry a man so far. Not even managing a walk the Black Mage merely collapsed forward, falling face-first into the melted metal of the catwalk's crater. Blood trickled from his nose down to his chin, broken from the impact of the metal and it's previous scorching to laser fire. The left side of his body, a scorched black mess, was in a state of amplified pain as it interacted with thankfully melted rather than jagged metal. A scream escaped his lips despite the Black Mage's attempts to keep it inside. If the Magus had re-appeared he'd know that he still hadn't escaped this infernal pit.

Letting out a grunt he pushed his hand on the ground and attempted to get back up, his bicep rising until it was parallel with the floor, then stressing and shaking for a moment before gravity slowly pulled him back downwards. Rounding out his hand into a fist he slammed it to the ground, realizing that pain and fatigue had nearly taken him. Outstretching his hand he attempted to reach out and push his body forward in a sort of mixture between a crawl and a slither, hoping the lack of level ground in the crater would help him rise if he went to steeper heights. Pushing through the pain intensified on his left side as the black crust of his torso scratched against the floor, parts it coming of as scabs and leaving the tender flesh underneath exposed. He had progressed perhaps a decimeter when it became too much for him. The Black Mage stopped, and tried to push up with his hand once again, meeting the same lock-out sensation as his arm came to be parallel with the ground.

"You are pathetic." He heard the low rumble of his opponent's voice from behind him. Abandoning the idea of actually coming to a stand he pushed again with his arm and tried to carry the momentum with his torso so that he might roll over across his burnt left side, so at least he could face his enemy and perhaps sling another spell or two.

"I didn't say you could move scarecrow." The voice of the childslayer rang in his ears, preceded by the stomp of his foot onto the Warrior of Light's back, halting his roll before could it going. Blunt force trauma echoed throughout his core, as a thick haze crept around him. It was hard to tell where the exhaustion of the battle began and where the effects of the haze started but the Black Mage still recognized it's intent. For a split second he felt a weight off his shoulders, but it was merely a prelude to more suffering as the Magus stomped over his left oblique, tearing through burnt skin and pushing it's raw underbelly.

"I don't know if Omni speaks true, but I know death is too good for you Scarecrow." Magus twisted his foot up and around the black line of skin on his torso, up and to where his left arm should have been. The body of the Black Mage jolted and convulsed in agony as the child-slayer would not even grant him the mercy of death, preferring the art of torture. Stuck here in pain, a stone's throw from death the Warrior of Light needed to do something, but what could he do from the ground? Wait, there was one spell he knew from Sarda that might have worked, but could he struggle through the incantation? His hope turned to despair, until his memory flashed.

“An incantation?!” Magus snorted. “You require a focus to channel your power??”

If the child-slayer didn't need to speak to release a spell, perhaps he didn't in this realm either. Keeping his palm to the ground he focused the best he could as runes encircled the crater, hidden by the haze of the miasma and the heat of the moment. His body writhed from the Magus's boot, but ten seconds later he punched his fist to the ground, unleashing the most powerful spell his mind could remember.

"QUAKE!!!!!!!!"

746 words according to wordcounter.net, including the Magus quote. Quake is a Tier 1 Supermove, 1/2 SP spent for the tournament.

[Magus]

The Black Mage roared, but nothing came of it. Magus’ eyes flashed with recognition at what Scarecrow had done. Or attempted to do.

“…Trying to overcome your limitations?” the larger wizard mused. “Good. For what it’s worth, you can, you know. I used to rely on gestures to focus my abilities. Your dependence on such a crutch will fade as you grow more faithful of your own abilities.”

His adversary said nothing.

Magus held his palm out to him, summoning a swirling, blackened energy. “You’ll die here knowing you’d fought well against a true magister. Hopefully, if you wake up again one day, it will drive you to build yourself up, to become stronger. You have potential,” he paused for a moment, and looked away. “I… should not have made you suffer. I should have killed you outright. My contempt for this place grows every day and it may someday cast a shadow on this reality that no sun will be able to erase away.”

Still, the Black Mage made no retort.

“I told this to my last opponent: it is not out of anger that I shall kill you, but out of the hope that we may someday meet again, to prove that Primes truly are everlasting. The knowledge could be quite useful to me. Even to you, though I won’t pretend to be offering you a gift, other than a quick death.”

Scarecrow looked up at him, glowing eyes narrowed into angry slits.

The Gloom in Magus’ gloved hands glowed, rainbow light swirling over greasy blackness, before his fingers curled over the energy, crushing it down into nothing.

After a long, awkward silence, Magus lowered his arm. He spoke in hushed tones, so that only the defeated wizard could hear. “I entered this competition to gain notoriety. I want to build an army, first to get my revenge on a man who betrayed me, and then to consolidate my forces and conquer this land. I will raise legions to go to war with Omni, and you… I will need spell-casters. You could be quite useful to me. Seek me out in Minas Tirith, if you wish. I will be busy… setting things right there for a time after this.”

Magus turned his back on his opponent and left him there.