The world is at war!
Its once lush fields of emerald grass and tranquil meadows now lie as dust-strewn wastelands filled with the burnt husks of tree trunks, its earth pockmarked with deep craters. All signs of the verdant lands they once were have been erased, replaced with a deathly silence, only broken by the mournful howling of the wind and the distant cries of carrion crows.
Scattered across this desolate land lie the signs of a great and unnatural battle, as if the elements of the world themselves had gone to war. Sharp stone spikes pierce the ground, electricity faintly sparks between metal rods across muddy puddles, bombs embedded into the ground still emanating a chilling frost around it from an eerie blue light within.
Yet things in this lifeless no man’s land rarely stay quiet for long. For beyond distant fog comes a rising rumbling shaking the dirt and stone, while escalating growls of mechanical engines rise.
Through the thick mist, the silhouette of a colossal war machine begins to materialize. A pair of heavy treads churn through the swampy mud, supporting a thick armored frame crowned with a large shielded turret, pointing out a long imposing cannon, whining as it slowly rotates and scans its surroundings.
A Juggernaut–an armored titan of war–rolls forward daring any to oppose it.
And from behind it another emerges, followed by one more. Pushing beyond the fog, their colors start to show. Painted with a regal red and gold and a plate-like shield welded onto the front of the turret. Their form evoking that of a gallant armored knight atop its barded steed, yet faceless and devoid of humanity.
But the Juggernauts are not alone. Hidden within the destruction of the battlefield, something watches them approach. Footsteps clamor and shadowed forms begin to bear their long firearms towards the approaching threat from their trenches, heavy weapons begin to poke out of the holes of well-hidden bunkers, all while someone loads an ominous red glowing shell into the breach of a long, heavy cannon and peers into the sights aimed at one of the approaching juggernauts.
In a single moment, the silence is broken. First a whistle, then a deafening explosion as a glowing red bolt streaks through the air and pierces straight through the front of one of the advancing juggernauts as it bursts into flames, its heavy turret catapulting into the air before dropping back down into the mud.
The world explodes in light. From their trenches, the soldiers slice through the air with neon slugs—projectiles of burning energy in different hues of freezing blue, electrifying gold, and searing crimson–lighting up the haze of smoke and dust. And the Juggernauts take no time to retaliate. The chain guns spit a barrage of glowing slugs while their cannons unleash thunderous blasts, sending shockwaves that rattle the ribs and blur the senses. Each impact leaving scorched holes or blossoming into thunderous eruptions.
Yet the Juggernauts continue forward, the barrage of smaller slugs ricocheting harmlessly off their thick steel armor, doing little more than cracking their glass sights and obscure their view as they push forward. But the juggernaut's crew are reminded of their mortality as a large bolt strikes their armor. The loud clang ringing within as the juggernaut’s armor barely deflects a blow that likely would have spelled their doom had it been more precise.
So within the cramped, metallic confines of the juggernaut, the commander shouts an order and the gunner responds by grabbing hold of a nearby lever and pulling back with determined purpose. As though spreading from the soldier’s touch, a bright orange energy courses through the juggernaut like blood through its veins, illuminating the inside and shining through every seam in the warmachine’s armor. It hummed with the unmistakable sound of a charging power as that energy formed within its cannon until it reached a blinding zenith and let loose its cannon with an even louder roar.
Yet the bolt hits the ground right before its would-be assailants, embedding itself into the ground with little effect. For a moment one would think the round to be a dud–until the ground begins to rumble, then shake, then crack wide open as earth bursts through the ground tearing the entire opposing trench line asunder.
The other juggernaut follows suit, charging with a different blue energy before firing a round through the gaps of a bunker. Moments later, ice begins to burst forth from within. The freezing tendrils spreading with unnatural speed, encasing the unlucky inhabitants in solid frost.
With the lines broken, a commander's whistle rings out through the air. As if apparitions, waves of soldiers materialize out of thin air, giving a rallying cry that echoes across the battlefield as they charge into the breach.
These are not any soldiers; these are Mage Soldiers. Clad in crimson, gambeson-like armor, bearing golden pauldrons, and red helmets with gilded facemasks obscuring their visages. At first glance, these soldiers may look like medieval warriors, but their weaponry and gear tell a different story.
For, in each of these soldiers’ possession is a “slugger,” a long rifle-like firearm with rotund muzzles, each bearing a round magic gem inserted into its base, shining a different color for each soldier.
They charge forward, unleashing a barrage of neon slugs—raw, magic-charged projectiles that give the slugger its name. When greater power is needed, they slot a rune-etched cartridge into the weapon, steady their aim, and fire.
At the pull of the trigger, the runes glow brightly, floating in the air for a brief moment before focusing their arcane energy back into the weapon. A fireball hurtles into enemy lines, stone walls rise from the ground to shield against incoming fire, and magnetic pulses disarm foes, scattering their weapons in chaos.
Each mage soldier, trained in their own specialized set of spells, each contributing unique expertise to the battlefield.
And their arcane mastery doesn’t stop there. Mortar crews rain shells that explode into razor-sharp gusts of wind, medics stitch wounds closed with glowing magic scalpels, and Juggernaut crews channel their spells directly into their machines, turning them into versatile engines of destruction.
Back and forth slugger bolts fly across the battlefield, punctuated by the continuous flare of sparking spells.. The entire display is as beautiful, and mesmerising as they are deadly and chaotic. The entire battle scene is just a small part of a greater ongoing battle with the combat lines spanning miles and combatants in the hundreds of thousands.
Even the skies are not spared. High above the battlefield, the clouds flash and quake, lightning illuminating the darkened nimbus. Through the chaos, a colossal shadow emerges—a Flying Fortress. Like a massive whale breaching the waves, the massive steel craft rises from the clouds, held aloft by powerful magic. Its hull bristles with rotating turrets and flak cannons, manned by mage soldier aviators, ready to unleash devastation..
Following in pursuit, a swarm of nimble, aluminum-winged Airobirds streaks through the sky. Their crystal-powered engines scream as rotors pull them at incredible speeds. The lightning flashes from earlier reveal their source: magically charged guns firing from the smaller aircraft. Like piranhas, they swarm the Flying Fortress, pelting it with streams of bolts and electrified spells that spark and dance across its steel hull.
But the Fortress is no easy prey. Its many turrets erupt with firepower, filling the skies with bolts and explosions. Lacking the precision to strike their agile attackers, they overwhelm with sheer volume. The resulting storm of flak and magic forces the Airobirds to weave through a dazzling display of chaos that would put any firework display to shame.
As reinforcements arrive, the dogfight intensifies. The mage soldier pilots twist and turn around each other in an effort to get the upper hand. Their arcane skills shine as one slices through wings with a stream of pressurized water, while another creates a swirling cyclone in its wake to throw off a pursuer. Yet danger is ever-present. A single misstep or stroke of bad luck sends pilots and their aircraft plummeting like fiery comets into the waters below.
But even in those dark, endless oceans, danger still looms. Where once sailors dreaded the gnashing teeth and clutching tentacles of sea monsters of the deep. Now, their nightmares are born of steel–for a new apex predator now rules above the waves. A Leviathan–a towering warship and the pinnacle of arcane engineering power–cleaves the tumultuous waves with ease.
Adorned in red and gold, with shield-like plates reinforcing its superstructure, the Leviathan resembles a castle adrift on the ocean. Massive twin-gun batteries dominate its silhouette, dwarfing the mage sailors below. Slowly, with deliberate inevitability, its massive weapons track their targets. When the turrets fire, it ripples the air and churns the waves as mighty bolts arc across the horizon, striking at distant targets barely visible against the sea.
From the high tower of the bridge, a stoic captain and his command crew steer the battle. The dark room hums with the glow of flashing monitors and the rhythmic beeping of arcane sensors. A lookout’s urgent shout pierces the air, and the crew turns just in time to see the faint blue glow of a torpedo slicing through the water. Moments later, it strikes one of their escort ships. Crystalline ice explodes on impact, massive icicles piercing the hull and triggering a series of eruptions that send the ship lurching violently.
Determined to strike back, the captain barks his orders. The intercom sputters to life, its warbling static carrying his command through the sterile, steel halls where the crew springs into action. Within the belly of the beast the crew responds. Deep in the Leviathan’s magazine, they haul massive shells, loading them piece by piece into the narrow elevator. Gears grind as the ammunition ascends, runic charges glowing brightly as they are attached. Crystal engines hum to life as they are calibrated with precision. The shells are craned into their barrels, the turret commander signals readiness, and the bridge gives the order.
The turrets roar with the fury of gods. Twin shells launch skyward, streaking as blazing crimson bolts. The air vibrates as the bolts combine mid-flight, their resonance activating the arcane spell. Flames erupt as the projectiles form into the shape of a flaming phoenix, wings spread in flight. With a piercing screech, it lights up the sea, exploding in the air above its targets. The resulting scene an apocalyptic hellstorm as flames consume the seas.
A conflict of unparalleled proportions has overtaken the world. From the rich golden shores of the Solar Dominion, to the harsh icy peaks of the Treviet Union, beyond the towering jungle cities of Umaja Republic, and spanning the mystic flying isles of the Nagarashi Shogunate, the ever-creeping tendrils of war spread across the world leaving few untouched by its trail of chaos and despair.
The massive scale of industry has clashed with the wonders of magic in a deadly union that has changed the world forever. Long gone are the days of gallant knights charging forth clad in enchanted armor or wizened wizards spending decades mastering spells and incantations. Now powerful magic can be mass produced in the thousands, loaded into a simple handheld slugger and fired in a matter of seconds.
This is the age of the Mage Soldier. This is the Second Arcane War.
And it is on the western continent of Skyfell, a vast and diverse land, where an age-old rivalry between north and south has once again reached its breaking point.
From the snowy northern mountains march the vast hordes of the Treviet Union. Its countless mage soldiers descend upon the south like an endless wave, bolstered by vicious monsters, and led by powerful Channelers who subject their bodies to unpredictable magics, they seek to plunder the lands of the south just as their raider ancestors did long ago. Rebuilt stronger than ever after its defeat in the First Arcane War, its new ruler, The Frost Empress, commands her subjects with a frozen fist. Unsatisfied with her already vast domain, she intends to succeed where her predecessor failed and bring the south to heel.
It is only through the courage of the brave Mage Soldiers of the Solaran Dominion that the rich, sun-swept lands of the south are protected from their advancing enemies. Through courage, training, and superior magical engineering, Solar’s mage soldiers push back the invaders from the north. For The Solaran Dominion is not merely a nation of people but a nation of soldiers, where all men and women work toward the common good of their homeland's safety and prosperity. Led by the Supreme General and his High Command, every citizen is considered a soldier in the efficient military complex that is The Dominion, with every patriotic member ready to do whatever is necessary for the safety and prosperity of their nation.
But alas, there are times when even the courage and skill of Solar’s Mage Soldiers are not enough. When the enemies of The Dominion employ insidious tactics, twisted magics, and dark schemes beyond what the standard Mage Soldier can be expected to handle. It is in these dire moments that the true champions of Solar rise to meet the challenge—the Aces!
Aces are not mere mage soldiers; they are legends. This coveted title is bestowed upon the rarest of individuals—men and women who have proven themselves to be far beyond ordinary, both in arcane prowess and in fighting spirit. Masters of their craft and unparalleled practitioners of magic, Aces possess the ability to turn the tide of the most dire of battles. Their strength is unrivaled, their skills unmatched, and their courage unwavering.
Heroes without equal, they are symbols of hope and pride. Children grow up dreaming of donning their insignia, while adults see them as paragons of what every citizen strives to be. Whether motivated by the promise of renown or a selfless desire to serve, nearly every Solaran has, at one point, imagined joining the hallowed ranks of these elite heroes.
Yet no discussion of Aces would be complete without the mention of the hero himself—a man who has countless times stood alone to save the Dominion: Captain Dalten Vearez, the legendary Silver Fox. For it was he, who saved the lives of countless noncombatants trapped in the Siege of Stone Valley, as they miraculously held out against impossible odds. And it was he, who saved the Solaran army from certain defeat at the Battle of the Scorched Plateau, in a sudden surprise maneuver. And it was he, who after being lost behind enemy lines, escaped to face The Dread General Volten himself and ushered in an end to the First Arcane War. The foremost master of light magic and perhaps the strongest Mage Soldier to ever exist. The Silver Fox is a true hero, who has defied the impossible time and time again.
But that was two decades ago, and a new war rages. Now a General, the Silver Fox is needed away from the front to command our armies. Now more than ever the Dominion needs new heroes to rise up and take on the mantle of Ace, and champion the nation to a brighter tomorrow. For even the Silver Fox himself was once a man from humble beginnings who rose to the occasion in a time of need. When the time comes again any young Solaran soldier can step up and prove themselves to be the next great Ace.
This was the dream that young Damian had strived for. For as long as he could remember, he wanted to become a Ace–to prove that he had what it takes to be a hero. Just like his father. Just like the Silver Fox.
Unfortunately for Damian, the situation he found himself in currently was far from heroic. Because for the moment Damian sat cowering in a dirty trench desperately clutching his slugger close to his chest as slugs tore through the air overhead, snapping like a whip as they struck the dirt around him. While every few seconds a shattering boom would shake the trench walls, showering him with dirt.
As Damian looked around he saw that his squadmates were doing no better. Most stayed huddled in the safety of the trench with fear in their eyes, too afraid to look out and risk being engulfed by the chaos up above. The few that dared attempt to pop their head up above to return fire quickly retreated back down or blasted back into the dirt.
They were in dire straits, and Damian knew if nothing was done soon, defeat was inevitable. Yet for all the danger, this was his chance—the perfect moment of desperation to prove he could turn the tides and show he had what it took to be an Ace. With a deep, steadying breath, he locked away his fear and rose to his feet. He carefully crept up the trench, as he peeked over the parapet to get a better look at what they were facing.
Across the field was a row of soldiers. Sluggers up as they sprayed at the trench line with a suppressing barrage of slugs, steadily advancing closer with each passing moment. But it wasn’t the soldiers Damian was most worried about, it was the massive flaming beast being paraded behind them.
From Damian’s vantage, the beast looked more like a moving inferno than a creature, towering three stories tall with flames cascading up its frame. Its eyes blazed like twin furnaces, cutting through the swirling flames that crowned its monstrous head. Long curved horns poked out of its flaming skull, and its arms ended in jagged clawed hands, both searing bright like molten iron. While every step it took with its bulky hind legs landed with a crash leaving large blackened and charred footprints in its wake.
Whatever slugs the disorganized defense managed to fire dissipated as it impacted with the intense flames around it, and it returned every bit of aggression back tenfold, opening its toothy maw to launch boulder-sized fireballs that exploded on impact, tearing massive chunks out of the ground around the trench.
Damian wracked his brain for a clue, searching for advice his father might have given him. But he quickly remembered how evasive his dad always became whenever the subject of actual combat arose. Left without answers, his thoughts turned instead to the legends—like the Battle of Windsgate Narrows, where The Silver Fox had thwarted a column of nearly unstoppable Juggernauts by exploiting a critical design flaw.
But he could barely make out any details clinging to cover, and the very moment he attempted to pick his head up any further he was confronted with a fireball lobbed straight in his direction as he was forced to dive back down onto the floor of the trench where he was once again barraged with smoke and another dusting of trench dirt.
Damian realized there was no way to act from the safety of the trench. If he was going to find a weakness, he needed to get around the beast and find a new vantage point. But moving in the open was too dangerous. Then, an idea struck him—or at least half of one, and that would have to be enough for now. Gripping his slugger tightly, he began making his way down the trench.
Under normal circumstances, finding anyone amidst the ear-shattering explosions and chaos would be impossible. Fortunately for Damian, the person he sought was predictable enough–he simply had to know where to look.
Lo and behold, there he was—Leon Danero—positioned as far from the fight as possible, hiding behind the sturdiest wall available and doing his best to ignore the chaos around him. Leon was a boy about the same age as Damian with a family name almost as notable, though the two couldn’t be more different. Here was a boy whose uniform was spotless, his glossy, carefully styled hair peeking out from beneath his helmet, a stark contrast to Damian’s disheveled, battle-worn appearance. Where Damian’s father had instilled in him that respect was something to be earned, Leon—like many from so-called prestigious families—believed respect was tied to one's rank, or more precisely the rank of one's parents. And that motivation would make Damian’s request all the more challenging.
“Leon, quick. Come with me, I need your help!” Damian shouted, trying to jolt the boy into action..
Leon looked up with an incredulous expression, his skepticism plain. “You want what?” he responded.
“I need your help,” Damian repeated, more firmly this time. “I have a plan, and I need you to help me pull it off.”
“And the Captain told you to come get me?” Leon asked, raising a brow.
“Well… no,” Damian admitted, his voice faltering before quickly regaining confidence. “But we’re going to lose this thing if we don’t do something!” He had hoped Leon might jump at the chance in the heat of the moment, but deep down, he should have known better.
Leon snorted. “Oh no! No way. I am not getting mixed up in another one of your… ordeals.”
“Come on. I know we can take that thing on–”
Leon cut him off, “And where exactly is the captain? Shouldn’t he be the one coming up with the plans?”
Damian paused, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh… last I saw, he was on fire and getting blasted over my trench.”
“I knew it! I knew this would happen!” Leon loudly complained, “The moment my name was chosen for this squad it was hopeless.”
“We can still beat that thing. If my father was here he would-.”
“You aren’t your father. We all know that.” He sat down even firmer, and crossed his arms in defiance. “No. If we don’t have any orders I’m keeping my butt right here. Nice and safe behind this nice friendly wall.”
“And what, wait here for that thing to come over here and burn you to a crisp? What kind of plan is that?”
“Surrender is a plan. And it’s probably far less likely to end with me getting my eyebrows seared off than going with you, surprisingly enough.”
Damian knew he should have expected this, his reputation wasn't the greatest these days, but he also knew the reputation Leon was known for too, a Danero always had a price is what the others would say, and there was still one card Damian still had to play, although he loathed using it.
“If you help me, I’ll introduce you to my Dad!” Damian winced as he spit out the words.
At this, Leon’s ears perked up. No one from a socialite family like the Daneros could resist the chance to rub shoulders with the Silver Fox. He would probably brag about it for years. He thought for a moment, drawing out a suspenseful, “Hmmmm…” before finally breaking. “Fine. Fine! But if things start going downhill, I’m running the other way.”
“It won’t! Trust me, it’ll work,” Damian said, waving Leon to follow. Leon let out an exaggerated click of his tongue but begrudgingly followed.
They came to the very edge of the trench line, before them just an open field. Although a short run away was a line of forested trees and shrubs that ran along the length of the battlefield. Enough to give them some semblance of cover from the oncoming fire.
“Can you get us across there,” Damian said as he pointed to the trees in the distance.
Leon’s face twisted in disbelief. “Why in the world do you want to go out in the open? To make us an even easier target?”
“Because nothing is going to change if we just sit here? Besides, if anyone has a cartridge that could keep us from getting hurt, it would be you.”
“I don’t like what you are implying.” Leon Scoffed, “But yeah, I think I have something that might work, and I wouldn’t mind getting further from here.”
With that, Leon reached down into the pouch at his waist. Out of it he pulled a square metal cartridge with several blue runes emblazoned on its side. He then inserted it into the slot at the bottom of the metal base of the slugger. Then he lifted it up and aimed out in the direction they intended to go. Leon focused intensely as if remembering an equation in his head. And as he did them the gem on its side began to glow bright, before projecting out a brilliant circular pattern of runic symbols. A few Damian could recognize, such as the sign for water and protection. Though before he could read more the symbols quickly shrunk back into the gem as a notable hum signaled the spell was ready.
“Ok, when I fire I’m going, so you better keep up.” Leon instructed.
Leon pulled the trigger. A sharp clap echoed from the weapon as a blue slug shot outward, but it didn’t travel far. Just a few feet from the barrel, the slug seemed to collide with an invisible wall. The impact scattered its light across the unseen surface, which shimmered briefly before shifting into a flowing stream of clear blue water.
The water splashed outward, spreading and settling midair as though filling an invisible mold. Within seconds, the liquid fully solidified, forming a large, man-sized kite shield that glistened in the sunlight.
“Go!” Leon shouted as they sprinted forward. The shield floated alongside them, perfectly matching their pace.
For a few heart-pounding moments, nothing happened as they sprinted at full speed. Then it hit. Slugger bolts began raining down around them. Most shots missed, but those that struck the shield disintegrated on impact, leaving behind wisps of steam.
Before long, they made it to the tree line and dove into the undergrowth, collapsing behind the cover of the foliage. For a moment they stayed there as they collected themselves.
“Ok, now what is this plan of yours?” Leon asked.
“I just need to check something,” Damian said, picking himself up and jogging along the cover
“What do you mean you ‘have to see’? You said you had a plan!” Leon shouted, hurrying after him.
“I do… I just have to see if it will work,” Damian replied, his tone distracted.
Leon was about to protest before Damian quickly shushed him and pushed him into a crouch. The beast and its escort were about to pass them now and they could even feel the heat coming off of it despite it still being some distance away.
They stayed silent, barely daring to move. Only once the group had safely passed did they exhale a quiet relief.
“Look!” Damian whispered as he pointed towards the rear of the beast. “See how the flames are all coming out of the same area in the back?” Damian pointed and just as he said Leon could see the flames flowing out from a singular point on its rear.
“Yeah, so?”
“If that is wreathing magic, then it actually needs to project from a certain point.”
“Yeah, so? If it’s projecting from anywhere it’s the front, right? That’s where it’s probably the strongest.”
“But that’s fire magic. Air actually has to get into that thing. I bet it's projecting from the back, so it can still funnel air through. It wouldn’t be able to control the magic precisely from that far away. Meaning the projection point is actually the weakest. I bet I can get a shot in from there.”
“That doesn’t sound like you’re too sure,” Leon said, looking at Damian incredulously. “Besides, we can’t even try that from here. There’s no clear shot.”
“Over there.” Damian pointed to a jagged pile of boulders and rocks behind the advancing party. “That's the perfect cover. Those cracks are narrow enough that no one could hit a target shooting through them.”
“Well, I’m not going out there,” Leon said flatly.
“No one asked you to,” Damian shot back. “I just need cover again.”
Leon shook his head. “Damian, that’s thirty yards out. My shield doesn’t reach that far—it barely goes fifteen.”
“That’s enough,” Damian said, locking eyes with him. “I’ll make it work.”
“Make it work? That’s your plan? Run across an open field and hope you don’t get blasted to pieces?” Leon shot back.
“What do you care? You get to stay here in the trees while I do the hard part.”
“Fine, your funeral.” Leon relented with a roll of the eye. Once again bringing up his slugger as the crystal started to glow blue. “Just tell me when, I guess.”
Damian steadied himself, dropping into a ready position. He took a deep breath, savoring it as if it might be his last. His eyes zeroed in on the target, his resolve solid.
“Now!” Damian shouted as he took off without waiting.
Just like before, the familiar clap of Leon’s slugger rang out, summoning the watery shield that raced beside Damian. It deflected the incoming bolts, shielding him as he dashed forward.
But unlike last time, the shield came to an abrupt halt after just a few seconds. Damian’s stomach dropped as he realized he was exposed. Bolts zipped past him, and with no other option, he began weaving erratically, hoping his unpredictable movements would keep him alive.
In truth, Leon was right—Damian had no plan. But he did have courage, and that’s what truly made a hero, wasn’t it? A hero was someone brave enough to do whatever it took to make a difference. At least, that’s what Damian believed.
As Damian charged headlong through the chaos, a wild grin broke across his face. Slugs zipped past him, chaos erupting all around, but he felt a strange clarity and sense of purpose with every step. He was scared—of course he was—but that fear only drove him harder.
In that exhilarating moment, he felt it— that he truly had what it took to be the hero he was destined to be. And for one sweet, fleeting moment, he felt like he truly was the son of the Silver Fox.
When Damian finally dove behind the rocks he let out a relieved chuckle, before he had to take a moment to remind himself that he still had more to do, as he shook off the odd euphoria. He was able to quickly get back up to his knees and scampered towards a slit in the rocks, just small enough to stick his slugger through and aim.
Luckily, the beast hadn’t noticed him, its focus fixed on the trenches ahead. Its escort, however, was less oblivious. Bolts struck the rocks in front of him with sharp, snapping cracks. Still, the narrow gaap in the rocks left Damian nearly untouchable—hitting him would take nothing short of a miracle.
Damian raised his slugger and peered through the sights, focusing past the volley of slugs at the rear of the beast. There it was—a spot untouched by flames. Within, he could just make out a vaguely human form. That was his target.
Damian focused on his slugger—he had one shot to get this right. He didn’t need anything fancy—just one clean shot. One chance to bring the beast down.
They say magic draws its power from one’s spirit, and Damian poured every ounce of his into this moment. His focus, his determination, all channeled into a single shot. The slugger’s crystal flared to life, pulsing with a sharp silver glow. It wavered—shining bright one moment, dimming the next, then flaring up again. Damian didn’t notice. He didn’t want to notice. He just focused more and more as the crystal got more and more erratic. And then he pulled the trigger.
For a moment, the world froze. A deafening crack split the air, and the crystal shattered in a blinding flash of light. The force hit Damian’s chest like a sledgehammer, knocking the wind from him as he was hurled backward. Sparks Shot up, and a plume of shifting colors burst into the air like malfunctioning fireworks. The vibrant rainbow plume rose into the air, drawing every gaze. The battle slowed to a halt, momentarily forgotten in the face of the dazzling display.
Then, a sharp whistle screeched through the air. Instantly, everything came to a halt. The advancing combatants escorting the beast stopped firing and lowered their weapons. From the trenches, teenagers covered in dirt and soot began to climb out, looking utterly defeated.
A stern-looking woman in crisp officer’s garb and polished high boots stormed onto the field. She waved her arm sharply as she barked commands, her voice heavy with authority.
The flames of the large beast began to die down, its massive, imposing form shrinking with each flicker until the last ember vanished. In its place stood a tough-looking, amber-haired girl, her glare fixed in Damian’s direction, an annoyed scowl clear on her face.
And Damian lay sprawled on his back, soot covered and groaning. He coughed up a puff of smoke, and showed no intention of getting up anytime soon. As the ringing in his ears began to cease the sound of footsteps in the grass drew his attention, and soon the sunny sky was eclipsed by Leon’s smug face. as he looked down at Damian and mocked.
“Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you, hero,” Leon said, his voice dripping with mockery, before striding off and leaving Damian to his shame.
Once again, Damian was faced with an undeniable truth. Despite two full years at the Providencia Academy, despite being the son of the legendary Silver Fox, despite training and studying over and over again, Damian was completely and utterly terrible at magic.