Those who bark threats rarely bite—unless they're small and overcompensating.
Jareth's magic was brutal, a whirlwind of sharp metal aimed directly at Rolo. Yet, with every strike, Rolo's demeanor remained eerily calm. The very air seemed to vibrate with the intensity of their clash. The metal shards whirled around Rolo, but each attack was met with a deft, almost casual deflection.
Every time Jareth tried a new strategy—be it a barrage of metal spikes or a rapid volley of whirling blades—Rolo countered with equal ease. His magic wove an intricate dance of control, redirecting Jareth's assault with an almost lazy flick of his hand. The metal projectiles were sent spinning harmlessly away, deflected with a finesse that drew murmurs of astonishment from the crowd.
Jareth's frustration grew palpable. His attacks became more erratic, more desperate, yet Rolo met each with the same composed response. The metal constructs Jareth fashioned into spiked maces and jagged blades were rendered almost childlike in their ineffectiveness as they were met with Rolo's magic. The arena seemed to hold its breath with every clash, the tension so thick it was almost suffocating.
The wind whipped around, heightening the sense of drama. It caught the edges of the spectators' clothing and rustled their hair, as if nature itself was reacting to the unfolding spectacle. Rolo's eyes, glowing with that intense green light, tracked Jareth's every move, his expression serene and unwavering.
Mose's voice cracked through the tense atmosphere as he leaned closer to me, a flicker of hope in his eyes. "Shay, look at Rolo! He's actually doing it. He might win this!"
I didn't respond immediately, my gaze locked onto Rolo's figure as he deflected another brutal assault from Jareth. I could see the strain in his posture, the fine line of sweat forming on his brow.
Mose's enthusiasm faltered when he caught sight of my rigid features. The contrast between his hopeful excitement and my grim focus was stark. He glanced up at me, searching for reassurance, but found only tension.
"What do you think?" I asked, my voice a low murmur that barely carried over the din of the crowd. "Who has more magic?"
Mose's eyes darted back to the arena, following the relentless exchange of magic between Rolo and Jareth. For a moment, the hopeful gleam in his eyes dimmed as the realization hit him. His face drained of color, and the gravity of the situation settled over him like a heavy shroud.
I could see the shift in his expression, the dawning comprehension as he recognized the disparity between Rolo's measured control and Jareth's raw power. The metal mage's attacks were fierce and unrelenting, and Rolo's skillful deflections, though impressive, were starting to show signs of strain.
Mose's face was pale as he grappled with the harsh reality of Rolo's situation. His voice was strained, barely a whisper. "Rolo... he's trying his best, but Jareth... has more raw power. Doesn't he?"
I turned my gaze back to the arena, my brow furrowed. I didn't immediately respond to Mose's question. Instead, I let the intensity of the battle unfold before us, the clashing of metal and magic echoing in the stadium. Finally, I broke the silence with another question, hoping to guide Mose's understanding of the situation.
"Why do you think Rolo doesn't try to control Jareth's magic for a longer period and uses his weapons against him?" I asked, my tone sharp yet contemplative.
Mose's eyes widened slightly as he considered the question. The realization dawned on him slowly, and I could see the frustration and anxiety in his expression. He glanced back at Rolo, who was once again deftly deflecting Jareth's brutal attacks, his every movement a testament to his skill and restraint.
The truth, of course, was that Rolo's magical reserves were limited. His ability to control others' magic, while impressive, was taxing and required a careful balance of energy. Each time he used his power to deflect Jareth's attacks or manipulate the metal, it drained him further. The strain was visible in his posture and the determination etched on his face.
Mose's shoulders slumped slightly as he processed the reality of Rolo's situation. "It's because... it takes a lot out of him to control Jareth's magic. If he tries to do it for too long, he won't have enough energy left to defend himself."
I nodded, my eyes never leaving the arena. "Exactly. Rolo's control is incredibly skilled, but he has to be strategic. His magic isn't infinite, and every move he makes has to be calculated."
Mose's eyes flicked back to Rolo, who was still holding his ground, though his movements were becoming more labored. The gravity of the situation weighed heavily on him, and he clenched his fists in frustration and worry.
The atmosphere in the stadium was electric with anticipation and dread. Jareth, his eyes gleaming with a dark satisfaction, prepared for his next attack. The crowd watched as he raised his hands, summoning one of his most formidable techniques. A massive, spiked metal hammer materialized from all the shards, its sheer size and ferocity enough to send ripples of unease through the spectators.
Jareth swung the hammer with a thunderous roar, the weapon cutting through the air with blinding speed. Rolo's eyes widened, his focus intense as he summoned his remaining strength.
The hammer's impact reverberated through the arena, the sheer force of it nearly overwhelming. Rolo's magic was strained to its limit, and the hammer's colossal weight made the deflection an arduous task.
The force of the impact sent him skidding backward, his energy reserves draining rapidly as he struggled to maintain his grip on the magic. The crowd's gasps and murmurs swirled around me like a storm, their anxiety palpable.
With a final, exhausted push, Rolo managed to deflect the hammer's blow, but the effort left him visibly drained. His breathing was labored, and his once-steady hands trembled. The crowd watched in tense silence as Jareth's smirk widened, clearly sensing victory within his grasp.
He began to unleash a new barrage—metal bullets, each one aimed with deadly precision at Rolo's forehead. The first bullet whizzed through the air, a silvery streak of death. Rolo, despite his exhaustion, managed a desperate "Rego," but his magic was spent. Finally, he ducked. The bullet grazed his cheek, a thin line of blood appearing as it cut through his skin.
The next bullet followed swiftly. I saw the sheer panic in Rolo's eyes, his body barely managing to dodge the bullet as it whizzed past. It was too close, too fast, and he was too drained to effectively counter it.
That was the moment he found himself facing the third bullet. In that critical moment, the air seemed to freeze. I was already moving before I consciously registered it, a blur of motion as I appeared before Rolo.
The crash that followed was deafening. With a powerful kick, I intercepted the bullet mid-flight, sending it hurtling off course. It slammed into the wall with a resounding bang, the impact shaking the entire arena. The crowd erupted into a collective gasp.
My gaze locked onto Jareth with a steely determination. The metal mage's smirk had vanished, replaced by a look of shock and frustration as he realized his attack had been thwarted.
"Are you alright?" I asked Rolo, my voice firm but gentle.
He nodded, though his exhaustion was evident. "Thank you. I... I didn't expect it to get so close."
I took a deep breath, my gaze never leaving Jareth. The crowd's murmurs swirled around us, a mixture of relief and renewed tension as they awaited the next development. The tension in the arena was palpable, a thick, uneasy fog of anticipation and unease.
I turned my gaze to Livius, my voice carrying the authority of a king.
"Livius," I began, my tone icy and commanding, "I demand an accounting for how you intend to address the insolence of your apprentice, who not only attacked me but also wounded my subject with clear intent to kill. What do you have to say about this?"
Livius, caught off guard and visibly shaken by the turn of events, opened his mouth to respond but found himself unable to speak as my gaze fixed on him. I didn't give him a chance to collect his thoughts.
Turning sharply to Rolo, I commanded, "State your demands."
Rolo's eyes widened in shock, but he quickly gathered himself. He took a deep breath, his voice steady. "I'd like to have an artifact from the Sorcerer Lord's hidden vault."
The air seemed to freeze, and I could sense Livius's hesitation. His brows furrowed, and his lips pressed into a tight line, as if considering whether Rolo's life was worth such a coveted item. The crowd murmured, some with shock and others with scorn.
I cut through the tension with a steely edge in my voice. "A king's life is worth more than a mere artifact. You understand this, don't you, Livius?"
The implication was clear. The value of a life, especially that of a king's, far exceeded the worth of any artifact. Livius's face paled slightly, but he nodded, reluctantly accepting the terms.
"Very well," he said quietly. "The artifact will be granted."
"Additionally," I continued, my voice unwavering, "I expect financial compensation for Rolo's injuries. I want a credit card provided before my companions and I leave."
The audience erupted into a cacophony of outrage. Shouts and insults filled the air—how dare I demand such a price from their master? The crowd's anger was palpable, and the atmosphere grew heated with their dissent.
"Kneel."
The effect was immediate and chilling. The apprentices fell to their knees, their bodies moving as if compelled by an unseen force. Their eyes widened with fear, the murmurs of dissent ceased abruptly, replaced by a deep, suffocating silence.
The arena was filled with the gasps and strained breaths of those who had been forced to their knees. I let my presence wash over them, an oppressive force that made the very air feel heavy and cold. I held the silence for a moment longer, letting the weight of my authority sink in.
The atmosphere in the arena remained thick with tension as I surveyed the kneeling crowd. My gaze swept over the faces of those who had dared to berate me, their expressions now a mix of fear and reverence. A cold, disdainful smile tugged at my lips.
"Isn't it amusing," I said, my voice carrying a chilling edge, "how mere ants dare to berate a king? You think you can defy me without consequence?"
I let the words hang in the air, each syllable heavy. Their defiance had been swiftly quelled, their arrogance shattered by the sheer force of my presence.
"How dare you, insignificant creatures, question my demands? You are in the presence of a king, and your insolence is as laughable as it is futile. Remember this moment, for it is a reminder of your place."
The apprentices, their faces pale and their bodies trembling slightly, dared not lift their eyes. I could feel their fear and apprehension like a tangible force in the air, mingling with the chill of my aura.
I turned back to Livius, whose face showed a mix of condemn and begrudging acceptance. "See to it that my demands are met. I expect the artifact and the financial compensation."
I walked slowly toward the kneeling Jareth, the weight of my presence pressing down on him like an invisible force. His defiance had crumbled, and now, even in victory, he was nothing more than a pitiful ant before me.
I stopped just in front of him, towering over him as he trembled in place. "You've won, Jareth," I said, my voice low and menacing, "so you get to keep your pitiful life. But understand this—you will always fear me."
I leaned in slightly, letting the words sink in, my tone growing colder. "From this moment on, you will never be able to use magic against any creature that bears my coat of arms. If you even try, you will remember this fear."
My command seeped into his very being, binding him with an unbreakable fear that would haunt him for the rest of his life.
Livius, watching from a distance, shook his head, "You're cruel, Shay."
I didn't respond. His opinion meant nothing to me.
I turned my back on Jareth, beginning to walk away. The moment I did, Jareth let out a desperate scream. "What did you do to me? Did you curse me?"
I paused, then slowly turned my head to look back at him, my expression calm, almost indifferent. "Curse you?" I repeated, a slight smirk playing on my lips. "I'm no mage, Jareth. I don't need to curse anyone. I merely used a power you can't even begin to comprehend."
Jareth's eyes widened in horror, the realization of what had just happened settling in as he stared at me, his fear palpable.
As I turned to leave, I cast a glance at Rolo and Mose. Rolo's eyes were wide, while Mose looked like he was holding his breath, trying to process everything that had just unfolded.
"Rolo, Mose," I called out, my voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "We're done here. Let's go."
They didn't hesitate. Rolo quickly regained his composure, and Mose, still slightly shaken, hurried to catch up with me. The three of us walked away from the arena, leaving behind the chaos and fear that now gripped the apprentices.
As we exited the stadium, the heavy atmosphere followed us, but I could sense a shift in both Rolo and Mose. They understood the message I had just sent—to Livius, to Jareth, and to everyone watching. We were not to be trifled with.
The arena was silent, the tension thick as I made my way out, the power of a king leaving its indelible mark on everyone present.