I use the window of opportunity to scamper away from Fulgir, desperately gasping for air.
Before I’m even able to prop myself up, a flash of lightning casts my own shadow straight ahead. Another thunderous explosion rings out, and if it weren’t for this state of fervor I was in, the sound alone would’ve been enough to make me wince in pain. For a moment, I fear the worst – was that the sound of Wulfram getting turned to ash? I whip my head around immediately, but strangely enough, the lightning bolt struck Fulgir. The tattooist was making his way to me, while the lightning magus seemed to be recuperating from the shock. Could it be that he can’t control the lightning bolts very well? My train of thought gets derailed the moment Wulfram grabs me by the scruff of my shirt, and standing me back up.
“How many times does this make that I’ve saved your ass?”
The air I push out through my bruised windpipe creates a little whistle.
“Are you still talking? Maybe we should ask him if he needs any tattoos removed.”
It was inaudible, but I could see Wulfram click his tongue.
“Fine. For now, just tell me what you’ve figured out about his magick.”
We both see Fulgir begin to straighten out his back, and unfortunately, he didn’t seem to have been meaningfully hurt by the lightning bolt. To my disbelief, Wulfram’s arrow lay planted into the ground next the magus; the only visible mark it left was a flesh would on his shoulder.
“Surely you did more than just graze him from here.”
“The lightning burnt off all the fletching from my arrows – now tell me what you’ve been able to figure out, Erland.”
Fulgir didn’t even lead with a snarky comment. Strands of his hair were once again pointing up towards the sky, and as he stepped forward, I could already tell he was getting ready to electrocute whichever one of us he could get his hands on first.
“Rule number 1: if he touches you while his hair is pointing up, you die. Rules 2 through 50: hit him with your arrows!”
Wulfram looks ready to protest, but we don’t have the privilege to bicker. Fulgir was near, and as it stands, the archer with metal arrowheads is a much bigger threat to him than a half-dead brawler running on fumes. Fortunately, I was only a quarter-dead, at the most.
Round 2.
Biceps. Right trapezius. Right side of his chest. Triceps. Jab!
My strategy of reading which hairs stand on attention still seems to be working if I’m onlt avoiding his punches. He could kick me at any point, but Fulgir’s smart enough to realize that the moment I get swept off my feet, Wulfram’s line-of-fire gets cleared for another shot. That being said, as long as he’s ‘charged’ from getting hit with that lightning bolt, even grazing him with my fist would lead to a quick death. I need Wulfram to nail him with his arrows, but the magus doesn’t let me maneuver around him.
Another jab, then a hook.
“Can my archer do his job?!”
“My arrows don’t have fletching!”
“Just shoot at him Wulfram! Rules 2 through 50 were about this exact thing!”
“I’ve only got like 12 arrows here, Erland!”
The margin by which I’m squeezing in between Fulgir’s punches keeps getting smaller.
Uppercut. Backhand!
The fist passes close enough to my face for tiny needles of electricity to jump to and from my body. The lightning magus doesn’t seem to be concerned – in fact, his expression looks more composed than it did before the archer’s arrival. Arrows continue to cut through the air during our exchange, but with the feathered ends burnt off, each projectile ends up veering slightly off-path.
We need another pair of hands.
“Wulfram! Where the hell is Rum?!”
The tattooist stutters a bit, before shouting back.
“I don’t know! She shook me awake, and ran in the opposite direction of the village!”
The news freezes me in place for a fraction of a second – enough time for Fulgir to almost make contact.
“She ran away?!”
“Or, she could’ve come up with a plan!”
“OR, she ran away!”
The ranged support Wulfram was providing began to slow down – his quiver presumably running low. My eyes are glued on Fulgir’s arms, catching out increasingly more irregular punches. Uppercut, feint! Jab, another jab–
*crack*
My bottom jaw smashes into the top row of my teeth, delivering the impact even further up my head. What was that? The lightning magus’ jab transformed into an elbow strike at a ridiculous speed – his joints firing sharply in a way that shouldn’t be possible to pull off with so much power. It takes a moment of internal panic to realize Fulgir is wearing leather elbow pads. I could’ve died just then, and judging by the magus’ grin, he knew it. If Rum wasn’t going to get here to even the odds, we needed to take another stupid risk.
“Wulfram!” The tattooist and I make eye contact, but without saying anything out loud, I just give him the sign. My two fingers make a pinching gesture just over my forehead, and without waiting to see his response, I turn back around
“That’s idiotic.”
Rum was the first to voice her complaints, as always.
“Well we need a hand-signal for those situations. Otherwise, whoever we’re dealing with will immediately know–”
“Erland, not the hand-sign! The entire premise you want a hand-sign for is idiotic!”
Before we devolved into another shouting match, Wulfram moved in to mediate.
“Let’s be reasonable Rum – if we’re ever hopelessly outmatched, it’s good to have a contingency ready, just in case.”
Rum didn’t let up in the slightest.
“I’m not saying there’s no practicality, I’m just saying there are idiotic elements involved with something like that.”
“What kind of elements?”
She went quiet for a second, before half-whispering a response under her breath.
“…y’know… like our honor n’ stuff…”
I nearly bit my tongue off in an attempt not to burst out laughing, although Wulfram seemed a bit more sympathetic. After I stifled my cackle, I spoke again.
“I really hope the irony of an ex-mercenary having problems with losing honor isn’t lost on you.”
As if a bear poked with a stick, Rum launched a piece of wood straight at me. I couldn’t even move before it hit me straight in the teeth.
“Look, just… I…”
I couldn’t tell if she was getting embarrassed, or too angry to string sentences together.
“How you die matters. Some people don’t deserve the privilege of choosing how they die, but we should!”
Rum was grumbling, and once again, Wulfram reassured her.
“I think that’s noble. But in our line of work, a lot can go wrong. And what could be more honorable than dying for the sake of others’ victory?”
“It’s more complicated than that…”
The three of us sat in silence for a little while.
Then, Rum looked at me, and made a pinching gesture just over her forehead.
“What’re you doing?”
“This is going to be the sign. I’m pinching a pea.”
“Oh, because of the phrase pea-brain?”
“No, because you need to be a special kind of stupid to tell your comrades you’re fine being maimed, or worse, in a fight. So, anytime you use the sign, remember how big of a moron you’re being.”
Immediately, I made the pea-brain gesture at Rum, and slung back the piece of wood straight at her head. Wulfram watched us fight to near-death before breaking it up. As always.
Everything hurts. Already, I can feel some of my muscles outright refusing to move the way I want. And for what? I’ve put my life on the line this whole time, and all I’ve managed to do was stab the lightning magus, and choke him a little bit. I stumble towards the bandit, still wheezing air into my lungs. Before he gets a chance to speak, I go first.
“Hey Fulgir.”
The air around him crackled, and his expression soured.
“No more games. You can take some pride in the fact that you’ve made me take you seriously. Or don’t.”
“Wanna see a magic trick?”
Fulgir is within an arm’s reach now. He does his best to hide it, but I can tell he’s puzzled. I lift both my hands up, as though I’m surrendering.
“I’ve got nothing in my sleeves…”
The next instant, there’s a sharp pain.
The large, metal tip of an arrow stabs straight through the bone and cartilage of my hand at a tremendous speed. Fulgir doesn’t react – and how could he? Wulfram must’ve positioned himself right behind me, and with the all-clear to do collateral damage, the line-of-fire became clear. The projectile pushes out all my viscera out of its path, and after exiting, skewers my right hand into the magus’ shoulder. The barbed tip gets lodged in Fulgir’s body, and while the pain is excruciating, seeing genuine panic wash over the bandit’s face is motivation enough. His hair, which had still been suspended in mid-air, drops down. Unconsciously, my mouth curls into a shit-eating grin, and my left hand, into a fist.
I start to wail on the magus, striking him in the face and side. To my surprise however, Fulgir uses his free hand neither to block, nor to hit me back – instead, all of his focus seems to have been diverted towards prying the barbed arrow from his shoulder. I also notice how desperate he is to move further back; get out of Wulfram’s range before he nails him with another shot. Instead of continuing to punch him, I try to pull back, utilizing the arrow that has both of us stuck together. Finally, the magus retaliates with a punch, but…
It’s weaker.
With a loud yell, Fulgir manages to rip the arrow out from his body, small pieces of flesh still visibly clinging onto the arrowhead. He hurls another punch, and it’s as if a lever had been switched – the magus’ ridiculous speed returned, as did the arm-hairs which forecast what attack he was throwing. I stepped back, and shuffled even further away, the arrow still digging into my right hand.
I try taking a breather, but a voice calls out from just behind me.
“That was–”
“Shit!” My heart nearly jumped out my chest. “Clear your throat, man! Or cough next time!”
Wulfram rolled his eyes at me.
“Did you figure something out?”
As I spoke, I slid the arrow out from my palm. Thankfully, the lack of fletching made its exit less painful.
“I think he’s got a fourth magick we didn’t know about. Remember what you told me? About the carpenter who got struck by lightning?”
“Whose muscles all cramped together?”
I groaned in pain as I tried to make a fist with my right hand. No good.
“I can now confirm lightning squeezes every muscle in your body – like you wouldn’t believe – but what if you were able to pick exactly which muscles to cramp up?”
Fulgir seems to have given up trying to apply pressure on his shoulder wound. Wulfram finished my thought for me.
“Then you could use every muscle at 100% capacity, always.”
I snap the metal arrowhead from its body, and store it for safekeeping.
“His strength is absurd,” I show Wulfram the barbed arrow tip, “but like all of his magick, he can’t control it when something metal is in play; especially if that metal ends up lodged inside of him somehow.”
Suddenly, the sky began to darken. As small fires continued blazing across Cupram village, the moonlight which had been illuminating our arena began to recede – engulfed by an inundation of storm clouds. Myself and Wulfram both looked up at the sky, which began to feature infrequent flashes of blue light. Fulgir had not taken a step anywhere since dislodging that arrow from his shoulder.
“Erland, how did you deal with lightning bolts?”
“I didn’t. He’s only struck himself with lightning so far.”
All of the hair on our bodies began to stand at attention.
“Should we run?”
“Let’s run.”
We ran.
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