For your etc.: Sound Check (Gravity) by the Gorillaz. You'll know when.

Chapter 7: The Storm

"Aaaaand it's over!" Will seemed to be equally amazed and deflated by the duel's conclusion. For a moment, he stared at the building Abraxus and Dean were knocked into. I thought he was ruminating silently, until I caught what sounded suspiciously like "Best to be safe". Still turned to the building, he began to speak in a casual, but measured way. "Hey, Nicole? Not to bother you, but that Meteor Strike spell you used..." He cocked his head to one side, as if he were trying to find the right words. A feeling of something being… not quite right began to ring in the back of my head. He continued, "Was it… a Treasure Card, by any chance? Like, you don't actually run the real spell in your deck?"

I was confused, and a little wary of his question. "…yeah, it was a Treasure Card. Why?"

He shifted a little and turned around, an apologetic grin on his face. "Nothing, really," he said. "It's just a bit disappointing, you know? I mean, if you did have that card, it would've meant that you were a Magus. You'd have been the strongest thing in Unicorn Way, and the only real opponent in the World outside of the Dueling Arena." He shrugged, dispelling the tension in the air, and made his way towards the ruin. "Anyways, I should probably get those two out of the rubble. Your friend looks like she could use some help, too." A mumbled "I'm fine, I'm fine" from Chrome did nothing to stop me from rushing over and checking her over.

Aside from a nasty bump on her head, there didn't seem to be anything visibly wrong with her. "Come on, let's get you up," I said, preparing to support her, but she pushed me away gently, standing up on her own. "If I said I'm fine, I'm fine," she muttered crossly, prompting me to ruffle her hair. "You two should probably grab some wisps," Will called out to us, Seeing the handle of a shovel, he grabbed it and, with a grunt of effort, pulled out half of it, along with a dust-coated Dean. Depositing the coughing Leprechaun under the sole tree, he pondered to himself absently, "Now where's the Ghoul?", as he returned to rooting through the rubble.

Abraxus slipped into one of the more intact ruins, following the telltale scents of straw, sulfer, and Bunny fear to what had to be the others' new rendezvous point, carrying the remaining half of his shovel. Charred and warped as it was from trying to block the Dark Fairy's spell, it most likely had to be replaced, to his chagrin. The manner of his loss was simply too humiliating to ignore. Either Nicole was a Magus Wizard, rendering the whole duel moot, or she used a single-use spell card, which was an affront to their challenge. He barked at Carbuncle, calling the Fire Elf to him. "What do ya need, sir?" the young Fir Darrig called out to him as he bounded over; the senior member was always both impressed and annoyed by the youth's manic energy.

Abraxus jerked his chin at the scene before them: Anathema and Phil, each wearing lime-green goggles, a Viking helmet, and an artificial lei, holding between them a frightfully large dragon, which was puffing iridescent smoke into the face of their fallen leader, to no visible effect. The two remaining Fir Darrig watched this spectacle in either bemusement (on Abraxus's end) or mirth (on Carbuncle's). When he was done stifling his giggles, the Fire Elf turned back to his superior. They've been at this since you two left to fight the fairies." He leaned in and said in a lower voice, "By the way, I saw that your shovel got… got. What happened back—hrmph!" Abraxus put his hand over his face and pushed him aside, stalking towards the idiots. Dropping the now useless shovel, he cuffed the oddly-garbed members and let loose a bark of admonition, bowling over Phil, but barely rocking the Scarecrow; the dragon, let loose, scurried off into the hedges. Anathema whirled to face him, indignation clear from her movements if not from her ever-grinning face.

"What was that for, shovel man!?

We're trying to wake the boss!

If your plan's better, spill it then,

but if it ain't, get lost!"

Abraxus was a bit taken back by her irritated dismissal, not by her acerbic tone (which he was more or less immune to by now) but by the fact that she was speaking in rhyme; though it was her normal method of speech, within a fortnight of her joining the Fir Darrig, it was decided in a vote that a conversation with her was an exercise in masochism, and that she needed to take speech classes before the rest of the crew went mad. Nowadays, she rarely spoke in rhyme except in times of extreme stress. This told Abraxus that the situation concerning Marcas was very dire, indeed. He didn't bother questioning the outfits; some obscure, probably fake ritual was most likely to blame. Instead, he knelt down to check Marcas: his face was pale, and twisted into a grimace; despite that, there were no visible wounds, and he didn't have a fever. If Abraxus didn't know any better, he would assume that Marcas was experiencing a bad dream. However, the Seraph's curse still rang in his ears, even now; though he didn't understand what she said, the result was right in front of him: somehow, she fashioned a curse powerful enough to render him unconscious.

It was obvious that Annie and Phil were failing in their attempt to break the curse. It wasn't especially surprising considering that the Seraph was well beyond any of the Fir Darrig in terms of power; even Marcas, as hard-headed as he was, knew that a straight battle between them and her would earn them a humiliating defeat, which was why he got Mildred to enchant ribbons with the Entangle spell. If she can't hit us, Marcas had explained, then there'll be no one who can stop us from taking over.

A curse, of course, was an entirely unprecedented development; angels, being angels, weren't normally known for their hexing prowess. Not many things were, as a matter of fact; classic curse-craft was such an esoteric, convoluted, and often ineffectual skill that terribly few people ever took more than a passing glance at it before (rightly) declaring it worthless, and curse-breaking fared even worse. Which brought Abraxus back to the Main Problem: Marcas was cursed; in what manner, he couldn't guess at, but he was unconscious, though that could be attributed to shock rather than the curse itself. If it was an effect of the curse, then they would eventually be defeated, and forced to leave the Maze. Then, they would seek out Mildred again, as she was the only cursebreaker they knew (or, at least, the only one who would deal with them), to get her to lift the curse, a prospect Abraxus immediately discarded; not only would this attack be an all-around failure, Mildred would never let Marcas live it down, and he in turn would blame them. He could already picture it: You were fighting a bunch of FAIRIES! How the hell did you idiots lose!? Whatever they said, their leader would reject under the belief that their failure was due to not the opponent's superior strength (indeed Abraxus, who experienced it firsthand, wouldn't ask Marcas to extend his suspension of disbelief that far), but rather an inner weakness that could be exorcised by a no-nonsense Self-Confidence Regimen that included survival matches on tiny, unpopulated Worlds a dozen meters across, suicide sprints through vast cave systems, and the telling of deep, dark, embarrassing secrets, to name the least severe trials. If that didn't cure their lack of confidence, it would at least make them fear it enough to silence any voice of trepidation that rose up in the future. Pulling himself out of his train of thought with a shudder, he considered the other possibility: that Marcas's unconsciousness was not part of the spell's effect, and had in fact been caused by shock. In which case…

Pulling from his store of energy, he generated a thin, wavering aura around his hand, ignoring the smell of ozone that wafted over him. Laying it flat across his leader's chest, he pushed the energy into Marcas, the energy surge jolting him awake with a yelp. He leapt to his feet immediately, surveying the area with a practiced eye, but neglecting to turn around, where Annie, Carbuncle, and Phil were getting over their shock and looked ready to burst. "Abraxus!" he barked, unaware of the danger behind him, "where the hell are the oth—GAH!" He was cut off by the others leaping on him for a group hug.

"Marcas!" cried Carbuncle.

"You're okay!" said Phil.

"But of course you would be! I didn't doubt that for a second," Annie said with a straight face (figuratively speaking), all the same hugging the fairy as tightly as her straw arms would allow.

"Meh meh,vrrf noi, va coujull ge OVVAME?!" Marcas's words, though muffled to the point of incoherence, were understood completely by his assaulters, who jumped back, their worries over his well-being mollified. He turned back to Abraxus, mind already on the next topic. "What happened to me?" Abraxus made a gesture with his hand, making their signal for "curse"; actually trying to convey that in his usual manner of communication would only result in confusion and irritation for everyone involved. Marcas blinked, and looked in the direction of the Maze, whose guardian was doubtless awake and alert by now. "But… she's an angel. Right?" Abraxus shrugged, feeling a bit helpless considering the potential explanations. Marcas contemplated the conundrum for a few seconds, before abandoning the issue entirely in favor of looking at the broken shovel on the ground. "Isn't that your shovel?" Hoping against hope that Marcas wouldn't ask him THE question, he nodded.

"I'm guessing you dueled the kid who screwed everything, huh?"

Abraxus nodded grimly, mentally letting out a sigh of relief; Marcas, knowing how skilled he was, would take it for granted that he won, being unaware of the Dark Fairy's… ace in the hole. The tiny bubble of hope that welled up in his chest popped when he heard, "Did you win?"

Cursing his luck, he briefly considered lying, but something told him that that course of action could only lead to disaster. He begrudgingly informed his leader and friend of the events of the past half-hour.

"…The fuck?"

"Well, can't find the dude here. He must've slunk off into the Maze." Will wiped the sweat off his brow, and glanced at his ruined outfit with a hint of dismay on his face. "I'm going to change," he said, his voiced tinged with resignation. You three just… wait for a sec?" He went behind the tree for a few seconds, and emerged in… a bird costume.

It wasn't really a bird costume, of course. But it was definitely in the style: the hood had black opal eyes on the sides, as well as an honest-to-god beak protruding from the lip; a bright ruby set in the both the chest and shoulder, with black feathers sticking out from the shoulder gem. The whole thing was red, with white flame decals, and there was a line of black runes around the hem.

Will grimaced, and said, "I see the looks on your faces, and let me just say: don't. It was a gift, it functions perfectly well, and keeping it clean is actually doable. So spare me the jokes; I heard 'em all already." Chrome and Dean were able to stay composed, but I couldn't keep a lid on my snickers, until the sorcerer snapped, "Okay, you are in no position to laugh. Any competent duelist who saw that last move would laugh you out the door."

That got through to me. "What are you talking about?"

"Your Challenge, to Abraxus? Remember that?"

My Challenge? He must've meant the thumbs down I gave to the Ghoul. "Is that, like, an actual thing?"

"Yes, and they are very serious things. Challenges expressly forbid the specific targeting of other combatants, healing yourself, Charms and Wards of any kind, and any spell that is not specifically within your power, and was instead given to you by an item… or Treasure Card. To Abraxus, that move of yours meant either you just decided to cheat, or it was a deliberate insult. Heck, that's probably why he left."

I was shocked. "But… I didn't…" I tried to defend myself, but stopped. What happened, happened, whatever the reason behind it. I was two hours into the rest of my life, and I was already known as a cheater, or a prick. The fact that Abraxus was even now an enemy didn't ease the bitter taste in my mouth in the slightest. I flopped to the ground with a groan, the dry grass poking at my already fraying tunic. Will saw my distress, and seemed apologetic. "Sorry," he said, "I just get a bit prickly when people poke fun at me. Look, how about we go inside and find the guy. Just explain the situation and boom, problem solved. You did lose your memory, after all. He'd have to be a total asshole to hold it against you." I… didn't consider that at all, actually. Yeah, he'd understand! I'm just an amnesiac he hit with a shovel, so really, he should have no problem understanding that I just misunderstood the terms. So there's no problem at all! I then stopped, and sat up. There was something wrong. It's quiet. Too quiet. The birds, tweeting happily enough just minutes ago, were gone, along with any sign of insects and small animals. It felt like the World was holding its breath; in anticipation or fear, I didn't know.

And then the reason revealed itself: an impossibly massive energy spike appeared in the Way, near where I guessed the park was, and began moving toward us, terrifyingly fast. Chrome, Dean, and I jumped up from our spots under the tree, and nearly fell over again from the force of what felt like molten rage slamming into us. Dean immediately took off toward the maze, shouting, "Guys! GUYS! We gotta go! NOW! Pick up Marcas and run!" Chrome shrieked and tried to pull me… somewhere. I was frozen in panic, unable to process anything except the approaching energy. Those two couldn't sense power like I could; I realized it a few minutes ago, when I tried to explain how exactly Will's energy was different from Lady Oriel's. This, though… it was like an enraged elemental, an avatar of destruction cleaving through Reality itself. It made Oriel look like… me, I guess. I registered Chrome tugging on my arm, which annoyed me, but I was too busy trying not to quake out of my skin to do anything about it. With a huff, she let go of me, which I appreciated… and kicked me in the head, sending me careening to the ground, which I didn't appreciate.

"What the fuuuuu—" I stopped as Chrome lifted me a few inches off the ground with a grunt (I was somewhat bigger than her), and started to fly towards the Hedge Maze. "You can't do anything against something like that," she whispered gently. "It's nothing like the Fir Darrig. Just let Will handle it, okay?"

I was stunned – well, more so. She thinks I was standing there because I wanted to fight that thing. I could've laughed, if I wasn't filled with so much self-loathing. If that thing was in front of me, the only thing I would've done was piss myself. I started as I processed the rest of what she said. Will's gonna fight it? Doesn't he feel that thing's power?! It's gonna tear him in half!

I quashed my fear and twisted out of Chrome's grip, darting in front of Will, who flashed me a small smile before fixing his attention on the Power; it seemed to be coming slower than before, though it was as huge as ever. It was too close now, about to round the corner into view. Ignoring the sounds of a scuffle behind me (I found out later that Will was restraining Chrome, preventing her from literally dragging me back into the Maze by the hair), I saw the Ghosts flicker and tremble, before flying back as though shot from a cannon. And then the wind hit us: alive with electricity and extremely dry and hot, its strength nearly knocked me flat. I straightened in time to see a boy of about sixteen taking purposeful strides toward us, the power radiating off of him creating a maelstrom of epic proportions. He was… white, to say the least. For starters, he was dressed like a pimp at a charity gala: white top hat, white suit and gloves, white cape flowing freely behind him, and white boots; all with red trim, much like Will's clothes. Paired with positively pale skin and snowy hair, he looked like an especially vibrant ghost. The only things about him that didn't fit his monochromatic-ness (not sure how to use that word, exactly) were his "wand", a flashing, orange and green spear slung around his back, and his eyes; at first, I thought that they were gray, like Chrome's, but as he stopped about ten feet away from us (tooclosetooclosetoocloseohmygodHE'STOOCLOSE) I realized that they were a molten silver, blazing brilliantly like eldritch moons. As I got a good look at him, I saw that he looked almost… pretty. He could've been mistaken for a girl if he dressed ambiguously enough; hell, he could have actually been a girl, and I was just thrown off by the cape (in my defense, it was a sweet cape; it was twirling behind him and everything like a cape should when you're about to kick some ass). Lightning arced across the cloudless sky, and the air vibrated with a heavy pulse of energy, as the Wizard leveled his gaze at Will, who smiled back at him genially. The Wizard narrowed his eyes. "William Starspear," he said. I was surprised; his voice really didn't fit him. I expected it to be either high and clear, like a girl's, or deep and booming, which would fit his power. But he sounded… normal. Just a regular teenager's voice, as impassive as his expression. Didn't matter. His aura said enough.

"Nick. Glad to see you're up." Will was still smiling, apparently happy to see what only appeared to be a walking Doomsday scenario. A bolt of lightning came down, obliterating the closest ruin. The force of the explosion threw Chrome and I to the ground, but leaving the Wizards unfazed. Only one thought ran through my head: Holy goddamn shit, we're all going to DIE.

The Fir Darrig felt the energy of an impossibly strong being appear in the Way, and began to panic as soon as it began to rocket towards them as if guided by pure rage. Abraxus in particular was affected by it, as he recognized the energy signature. His thoughts raced, trying to find a solution before HE showed up. He KNEW that one Wizard looked familiar, he just knew it! He looked to his team for ideas, but abandoned that course of action when he saw them running around like chickens with their heads cut off. The only one actually doing anything productive was Marcas, and he was busy trying to corral the idiots under his command. His annoyance driving back his terror enough for him to act, Abraxus reached out, plucked a screaming Carbuncle off of Anathema's head, took the horn the Fire Elf carried on his belt, and blew a series of short, sharp notes, making the others stop in their tracks. With everyone calm(er than they were before), Marcas was free to ask the most important question: "Is it him? The Wizard you were talking about?" Abraxus nodded, and made the agreed-upon symbol: Iceflame. Marcas stared at it for a moment, and leaned back, looking at the ceiling.

"…Shit."

I had a moment of clarity: if it came down to a fight, we were going to burn. "So," Will said, still smiling (oh god please stop smiling you're gonna get us all killed), "what do you need?"

"Where are my keys?"

I blinked. W…what?

"Your… keys?"

"Yes. My keys. I require them to open things."

"I know how keys function, yes."

"So where are mine?"

"I would assume you had them."

His expression didn't change, but the wind, already howling, began to scream, with small flames beginning to race around us. "Odd, then, that I distinctly remember you saying not ten minutes ago that you had them."

Will's smile turned coy. "Well, I distinctly remember saying that I took them. At this point, I don't have them."

The air began to vibrate, pebbles and smaller chunks of asphalt rising into the air and incinerating. The heat haze obscured the two Wizards' features, but left their voices comprehensible. Nick's sounded annoyed when he responded, completely understating the titanic fluctuations his aura produced as it condensed around us, halting at a twelve-foot diameter: "Then where are they?"

"Check your bag. You brought it with you, if I'm not mistaken about the object on your back-"

The air surrounding us ignited, sending the three of us diving to the ground. Will's smile was finally gone, and he actually seemed a bit worried, which was so much worse. The ground directly under Nick was coated with frost, while the area immediately outside it was superheated into a roiling black liquid. Chrome, "safely" behind me, let out a quiet whimper as another pulse of energy drove us flat against the rapidly heating asphalt. I was nearly out of my mind with terror; I wanted nothing more than to do or say something, anything, to get Nick to stop, but I knew if I opened my mouth, I'd either throw up or burst into tears. How did we even get to this, I thought. One second I was letting Chrome and Dean look at my Deck, the next some power lord is getting ready to blast us into ash. I started giggling, understandably a bit beyond reason at that point. I tried to get up then, but Nick's expression finally changed, a wry grin illuminating his formerly grim features. For some reason, the new manic energy on display scared me more than the fireworks, and I quailed, letting myself sit down, shame coursing through me. I felt something move behind me, making me jerk in surprise. I looked over to see Chrome resting her hand on my shoulder. She gave me a sad smile. It's okay, her eyes seemed to say. Hurricane-force winds swirled around us, the flames reaching an all-time high. Then, all of a sudden, it stopped. The wind died instantly, the flames extinguished themselves, and the physical pressure of Nick's aura simply vanished, leaving only the still massive, but tolerable, mental pressure. He swung his bag around front and dug through it, finally pulling out a set of sparking keys. Hooking them onto his belt, he looked back at Will, who had risen when the storm died, and was now successfully shaking off the tar from his robe. "Well, thanks for wasting my time. Just curious, how high do you think the chance was I was going to attack you just now?"

Will had a thoughtful expression on his face. "Hmmm… I can say with confidence… roughly thirty percent. In reality?"

"Unimportant, but ballsy of you regardless. How strong do think you are?"

"Well, I'm Level twenty-nine, so almost a Magus; my deck is up to date; so reasonably strong. Why?"

"How strong do you think I am? Specifically, my Level?"

"Um… I'm guessing forty-five?"

"Try seventy."

That managed to shock Will… as well as Chrome and I. "Holy shit, Senpai," he said wide-eyed. "I thought a Master was the absolute! You said that yourself!"

"I was wrong. And don't call me Senpai. It's weird. Is there ANY reason you called me here, or can I just leave?"

Unperturbed, Will said, "Well, there was a duel I wanted you to see, but it ended surprisingly quickly. But, I can say with confidence that an even better duel will take place shortly."

Nick sighed. "Oh, joy. What in the name of Jegus H. Dick did I do to deserve you?" he deadpanned.

"You say that too?"

He flinched, and looked around, bewildered, until he locked eyes with the speaker.

"Y…yes, I do. Um, were you two here the entire time?"

"Yes, we were. I'm Chrome, and this is Nicole." Chrome almost seemed at ease with the Wizard, despite everything that happened literally a minute ago.

"…Ah. My name is Nicholas. Nicholas Iceflame. Ignore any use of "Nick" or… Senpai… from my compatriot here. I suppose I should extend an apology to you two. I only really do… that… when I'm sure there's no one else around. I didn't even feel you on my radar." Ow.

"Well, you should make the effort to employ CONSTANT VIGILANCE before setting the damn air on fire."

He held up his hand. "Scout's honor. In any case," he addressed to Will, "I'm going to go ahead and guess that they are the duelists you were talking about earlier."

"You would be right. The ones they're going to fight are right in that building."

"What, you mean the Hedge—" He finally saw the smashed ruins of the doors. "Okay, what. The fuck?"

"Yeah, apparently the Fir Darrig smashed right through the doors in a giant cannonball."

"The who? A what? I was gone for six months, what happened?"

Ten Minutes Later…

"Rattlebones, huh… everyone seemed so sure that Eric killed him. I suppose this," he waved his hand at the devastation around us, "is our reward for not employing CONSTANT. VIGILANCE." He said the last two words in a booming voice that echoed across the Way, jarring us out of our comfortable stupor. He grinned. "Man, that's fun to say."

I shook my head, trying to get back to base; I wanted nothing more than a hot meal and at least eighty hours of sleep, but I had a job to do. "So now that you know our problem, can you help us solve it?"

Nicholas looked down, rubbing his chin as he thought. Finally he looked back up. "In a word, no. Sorry."

"…Please?"

He sighed. "Sorry, but it's kind of out of my hands. I left my deck at home. And even if I did, I probably wouldn't be able to beat them before they beat you. I mean, you could stay out, and me and Will could—"

"No."

"So that's the way it is, sadly. So a traditional duel is out. Which means an all-out magical brawl. In which case, you're in luck: I'm not an especially great duelist (not that it matters against these guys) but I am a fighter. That's the main attraction at the Grand Arena, after all." Seeing the blank look on my face, he looked askance. "I'll… tell you about it later. For now—" he stuck out his hand to me. "How about we beat on some losers?" I put a clamp on the giggle before it managed to burble out of my throat, and instead grabbed his hand, pulling myself up. "Let's do it."