Chapter 9: Violence and Cartoon Insanity

Meanwhile, back at the Plot…

Marcas was doing his best to keep his fear in check: when he was afraid he got angry, when he got angry he lashed out, and if he lashed out here he would die. Wizards, he grumbled inwardly, why did it have to be Wizards? He paused, and then shook his head. No, he corrected himself, why did it have to be Iceflame? They were back in the Hedge Maze, the two sides standing a few feet away from each other, except for Anathema and the Dark Fairy, who were talking to each other closer to the entrance to cobble out the details of the upcoming battle, leaving the stronger contenders to size each other up… at first anyway. Marcas was the only one doing so, Iceflame having lost interest after a few seconds. He now seemed to be having a staring match with the Maze's guardian. After giving himself a few moments to reign in his indignation, Marcas forced out a small cough, trying to bring the Wizard back to the matter at hand, to no avail; his focus would have been almost impressive, had it been applied to nearly any other activity. As it was, Marcas was having trouble keeping his blade sheathed; though the thought of hacking at the arrogant mage was compelling, the idea of the "attention" he'd more than likely receive was an adequate deterrent.

"Iceflame," he said, keeping his tone neutral. "I believe that our friends are done with their discussion." Indeed, the odd pair made their way towards them, the kid giving his subordinate a sidelong glance. The Wizard blinked slowly, bowed to the angel, who nodded in response, and turned to watch the two approach them. Scarecrow and Dark Fairy continued together until roughly three yards away, where they broke away from each other and went to the side of their respective teams. Anathema spoke first, her usual animated cadences missing in her apparent boredom: "We can do this in Unicorn Park. All of us, except Dean and Abraxus, obviously, are going to pair off against each other like so: Marcas and Will, Iceflame and myself, Carbuncle and Nicole, and Phil and Chrome. Matches are decided either by surrender or a knockout lasting at least one minute. No one can interfere with anyone else's match, and no one can kill their opponent. Or maim them unnecessarily," she finished with a dismissive shrug, drawing a small frown from her fellow negotiator.

"Afterwards," Nicole continued, "the winners have a free-for-all, and the overall winner decides what happens next. Of course, we aren't going to have everyone go through all of this for nothing, so the winner also gets a mystery prize, provided by either me if any of the Fir Darrig win, or Annie if it's one of us. Is that acceptable to everyone?"

Everyone nodded in agreement, though the Fir Darrig's assent seemed subdued. Marcas, in particular, was quiet, trying to ignore his rage in favor of quick analysis of the situation. Why the hell is Annie taking on Iceflame? I'm supposed to do that! I'm not supposed to fight the weak Wizard! What the hell is she thinking? If she wants to protect my ego, she's doing a pretty shitty job of it!

The gaggle of fighters made their way to Unicorn Park, a small, tranquil area which found its main purpose as a picnicking spot for both locals and visitors. Aw, how lovely, Marcas thought, inspecting the ground for any signs of traps. It's almost a shame. If this battle's anything like the ones I've been in, piss and blood are gonna get EVERYWHERE. There was nothing for it, though; there was simply nowhere else big enough to hold the battle. With Dean acting as a sort of referee, the fighters paired off and, on his signal, began to fight.

A pitched battle was always preferable to a standard Duel, in Marcas's opinion. Despite the notable drawbacks of not having Pips to rely on, meaning twice as much mana was needed to cast any particular spell, and the fact that spell cards weren't usable in that setting, there were enough positives to make up for it: being able to move around and dodge attacks; wards, charms and the like weren't so easily telegraphed; inventive use of spells was not only allowed, but encouraged; you could attack any time you were ready, battles not having any official rules or timer. For the most part, though, battles were extremely chaotic and, lacking the magic circle Duels used to retain magical energy, incredibly hazardous to bystanders. So of course, Dueling took precedence in most populated Worlds, with only the more primitive or martial societies putting battles like these front and center.

Two of the matches were decided relatively quickly: Anathema, catching Iceflame yawning, rushed him immediately, only for him to knock her head clean off her shoulders with a perfect check hook, and then spend the next few minutes helping her search for it; and Chrome managed to almost completely encase Phil in ice, save for his head, and promptly passed out from the strain, leaving him the winner by default, and leaving Abraxus to chip him out with his broken shovel.

Dodging another bolt of silver energy from Will, the Fir Darrig had to admit that in an actual one-on-one Duel, he might not have lasted as long as he had. Drawing his sword, he ducked under another bolt and weaved around two more before swinging upwards, aiming at his opponent's thigh. Will managed to put his staff in his sword's path, making it jar painfully against the enchanted ebony, not even leaving a scratch. Cursing his carelessness, he parried four potentially painful blows, before being knocked back by a jab to the chest. Wheezing, he gripped the flat of his blade, charging it with Storm energy. With a quick pull, he surrounded the blade with a purple aura in the shape of a leaf-bladed sword nearly twice the size. Pushing off the ground, he rushed the young Wizard, readying a thrust; while not a cutting tool, the Stormblade was hugely painful, perhaps enough to put the sorcerer out of the fight. His wishful thinking was answered by Will tapping the flat smartly with his staff, driving it to the left, and, bowing, touching the blade with the "beak" of his hood, making it burst into wisps of energy. Leaping forward, the Fir Darrig managed to dodge a deceptively casual swipe, only to be floored by a searing bolt to the back.

Pushing himself onto his hands and knees, he fumed silently as he heard the Wizard walk toward him silently, no doubt to knock him out with a simple blow to the back of the head. He waited until he felt the bigger fighter stop a foot away, and in one smooth motion, did a handstand and pushed off the ground, clearing the surprised would-be victor's head easily and landing some three yards away. Shit! he thought, as Will shifted into a defensive position. Close quarters won't cut it. He's got reach on his side, and his staff's sturdier than I gave it credit for. Gotta try to pile on the hits from a distance.

He was wrenched from his ruminations by a flash of yellow light accompanied by a number of resonating booms. He and Will both dropped their stances and watched the source of the commotion: Carbuncle and Nicole's fight was at its climax, with each Fire specialist battering the other with energy-intensive barrages of fireballs, with some inventive variation swinging the pitched battle in one's favor only for an instant before the lead was erased by the other's quick thinking. Though both fighters were certainly enthusiastic, their attacks were relatively weak, conjured bolts of flame flickering more and more as the battle progressed, no doubt due to the youths' flagging endurance.

It seemed that the two gained their second wind simultaneously, however, and were now hurling their most powerful attacks at each other: Carbuncle managed to pull out his Quickdraw bow, and was even now firing explosive bolts of magical energy at the Dark Fairy flying through the air, who effortlessly avoided each barrage he let out; on her end, in each lull in Carbuncle's assault (to prevent the overheating of his bow) she formed a small meteor in her hand and threw it at him, only for the Fire Elf to leap away from the flaming projectile with a laugh. The battle was dead even until their mana was completely drained; Nicole ran out first, her aerial gymnastics draining her faster than her rather conservative attacks ever could. She managed to roll when she hit the ground, sparing her the worst of the impact but still earning a few bruises. Carbuncle launched himself at her, too drained to use the bow again, content to wield it as a makeshift club; he wanted to end the fight before his wily opponent could mount a proper defense. She rolled away though, and lashed out with a kick, which he blocked with his bow. After trading a few more blows, they broke apart, breathing hard, only to rush each other again a moment later.

Marcas was equal parts impressed and concerned by what he saw. Carbuncle's really improved since the last battle we all had, he thought to himself. Of course, nothing's decided just yet, though it's clear that he has the edge over the kid. And indeed he did; Carbuncle's time in the Fir Darrig had earned him a noticeable increase in close quarters combat skill, and Nicole, despite starting off slightly stronger, was quickly being overwhelmed. Marcas found catharsis at the thought of her inevitable loss; not only was the kid's presence an impossibility to know of in advance, her defeat of both his second-in-command and tactician worried him.

He, along with everyone else, watched the Fire Elf launch a salvo of flares at his opponent, only for her to form an unstable firewall they met and were subsequently absorbed into harmlessly. Letting it die out, she rocketed toward the exhausted Fir Darrig, kneeing him in the chest and, as he staggered away, peppering him with numerous fire bullets that were barely hot enough to be called embers, but were nonetheless powerful enough to knock down their battered target. Rolling upon impact, he got on one knee and fired a somewhat different energy bolt: purple instead of orange, and when Nicole tried to fly over it, immediately changed its course to meet her. She dodged again, and the game of cat-and-mouse continued until the inexorable arrow finally struck her in the gut, unleashing a torrent of electricity. She flailed in the air for a few seconds, only falling when the arrow finally dissipated, hitting the ground with a light thump.

"Had… enough?" Carbuncle said wearily; his already meager reserves had finally run dry, it seemed. Dean came forward to check on the downed Dark Fairy, and start the countdown.

"Well that was fun, but it looks like your friend there managed to pull off a win." Marcas jumped as Iceflame's voice piped up right behind him.

Marcas flashed his usual grin at the Necromancer, hiding his earlier unease (I didn't even hear him come up to me!). "Of course, it was a given. He wouldn't be one of my top soldiers if he could be beaten by some windswept Dark Fairy from who-knows-where."

Iceflame nodded, though he seemed almost subdued; it was obvious that he was rooting for his new friend. "That last shot, " he asked, "was notably different from anything else he fired in the fight. Storm magic, which is your School, and it tracks the opponent, a trait that would've suited him well much earlier. I'm going to go out on a limb here and say you taught him that."

Marcas grinned wider, though inwardly he was a bit perturbed at how easily the Wizard arrived at the truth. Well, it's not like it's supposed to be a secret, he reasoned, and besides, it doesn't take a genius to figure it out by any means. "Right you are. I taught all my elites at least one move with properties they couldn't develop on their own; the prime example being Carbuncle's Tracker Jacker."

Iceflame seemed confused. "Elites?" he asked. "What, you have-"

"You can do this, Nicole!"

"Don't give up!"

The two were jolted by Will and the recently awakened Chrome, who was shouting their support for the now shakily standing Nicole, who managed to get up before Dean's knockout announcement.

"Oh, come on!" Marcas cried, exasperated. "Do you have to drop a bridge on her to knock her down for good?!" Iceflame waved him off, straining to hear the Dark Fairy's next words: "As a matter of fact… I haven't. How's about you try it again?"

Carbuncle growled impotently, caught between anger and, Marcas noticed with some irritation, the beginnings of panic. "Well?" he called to his scout, making him flinch and look to him apprehensively. "Are you going to keep her waiting, or are you going to give her what she asked for?" Carbuncle shook his head, as if to clear it, and turned back to his opponent, resolute. He began charging an even stronger Tracker Jacker, sweating from the strain. Nicole was poised to kick off, her wings stiff with tension, ready to fly at a moment's notice. The Fire Elf pointed his crystal-clear bow at her, a magenta orb sparking into existence in the hole in the middle. Grabbing it lightly between his thumb and index finger, he drew it back, stretching it into a familiar arrow shape, aiming right at the Dark Fairy. Her cheering section immediately changed their tune at the sight of the far stronger attack:

"You can't do this, Nicole!"

"Give up!"

Flashing an annoyed glare at the duo, she said, "Thank you so much for your support, you guys. I'm almost overwhelmed by your faith in me to win. Thank you."

They had the decency to fake shame and look away, but Iceflame decided to chime in, "Stow the sarcasm Nicole. You're about a dozen levels away from being able to tank THAT." He waved toward the Tracker Jacker, already half again the size of the previous one, and still growing. "You know it, I know it, even that Phil guy knows it, and he's twenty feet away and frozen. Just bow out now, and I can get rid of these guys that much quicker." She pretended not to hear him, focusing on the magic missile as it let out a harsh buzz, ready to be fired at last. "Last chance, lady!" Carbuncle shouted over the noise of his attack. "Give up or I fire!" The Tracker Jacker, not designed for the level of overcharge Carbuncle forced it into, let off a burst of sparks in her direction, making her jump back in alarm. Marcas could see worry and unease cloud her expression. Good. This makes my job that much easier. One big part of his job (and a job it was, though some duties were tackled in a more lackadaisical manner than others) was making predictions: potential enemy hideouts to line with listening and seeing charms; new routes for supply lines that the rebels wouldn't predict themselves; the next move of the opponent in order to enact a countermeasure; all this and more was on Marcas to predict in order to keep his hold on Wizard City, and he did it well. The others wish they could run a ship this tight. Of course, no one could predict the events of today; after all, his initial raid was interrupted, he was cursed, two of his elite squad were defeated, Wizards were involved, and now they were taking part in this fiasco.

That damn kid is to blame. She's the one variable I couldn't see, and I know the others wouldn't have, either. Won't stop them from giving me shit if they hear about this. So, they won't. The kid will either give up, or fight, get Jacked, and lose. Everything gets decided in the next few seconds either way. The Fairy chimed in, seeing an opportunity:

"Nicole, we are serious! I know you have some sort of plan, and I know these things have a habit of sorting themselves out, but that thing's going to be your death if it hits you!"

"Normally I'd be all for letting this happen," Anathema said, surprising her teammates, "but the Girl Scout's right; Carbuncle can't kill the Tracker Jacker at this stage, and you couldn't tank it at any stage. Give up now so we can move this along." Carbuncle started at her words, then flinched at the Jacker's rumbling; it was quickly becoming too unstable to hold for long. "What'm I supposed to do with this!?" he wailed.

"Just fire at a cloud or something, idiot!" she fired back at him.

"But there aren't any clouds!"

"Sucks to be you, then!"

Ignoring Chrome's outburst ("Damn it, why are you calling me that!?"), Marcas saw a strange light spark in Nicole's eyes, and she straightened up. "Chrome," she said, "you're right."

The Fairy blinked. "I… am? G-good! Carbuncle, you can just shoot one of the buildings—"

"These things do sort themselves out, don't they?"

"…NICOLE."

"Listen: if I fight, he's going to fire his Japer—"

"Jacker!"

"—Jacker at me. And I'm pretty sure he put everything he had into it, so if I dodge it, I'll have already won it!"

"Nicole, that is retarded. You couldn't even dodge the last one!"

"Come on, Chrome! I've lasted this long already! I gotta see this through to the end!"

"I can't believe we're having this conversation."

"Neither can I."

"CAN I FIRE NOW?!" Carbuncle screamed, his entire body vibrating.

Nicole lifted off the ground and zoomed off, grinning like a loon. "Go ahead!"

Carbuncle finally let loose the Tracker Jacker, now the size of a standard Moonstrider spear. Oddly, as large as it was, it was only slightly faster than before, though still fast enough to overtake Nicole's initial head start within the first few seconds of their chase. It's over, Marcas thought smugly, before Nicole banked a sharp left, leaving the Jacker barreling forward for a full second before training its course on her again. "What?!"

They continued like that for a time: the Jacker's superior speed allowed it catch up to the Dark Fairy with ease, only for her to make a sharp turn that it simply couldn't perform in kind, making it skid uncontrollably in an attempt to realign with her new trajectory, spitting sparks all the while. "What the hell is wrong with it?!" he asked, more to himself than anything.

"It's too big." Marcas looked over at Iceflame in bewilderment.

"What?"

"It's too big," he repeated simply. "You didn't account for this level of overcharge when you made this attack, did you? That's the problem: it's as fast as ever, but it can't correct its course as easily as Nicole does when it comes to sharp turns."

Marcas turned back to the spectacle with ever-increasing fury. "Well that's just great. Just fan-tucking-fastic."

Iceflame shrugged "It's a good strategy, but it'll only keep it at bay until she gets too tired to fly, at which point she'll be a sitting duck. Hopefully the rest of her plan comes into play before then."

The Tracker Jacker scored a deep groove into the ground, leaving a sheen of spotted glass behind as it followed Nicole's new path: directly toward Carbuncle.

"Are you for real? That's not gonna work, moron! It tracks your magic signature, not your heat signature!" Carbuncle was grinning widely; he knew that Nicole only had seconds before she ran out of energy to fly, leaving her an easy mark for the Tracker Jacker to pick off.

"Well… I suppose this is the best she could do, given the circumstances," Will posited diplomatically, even as Chrome groaned in dismay. "Being chased by a mad firework tends to derail people's train of thought."

"This is just beyond stupid. This is AP Dumbassery right here," Marcas shot back with glee. They watched as she zoomed toward the Fire Elf, who was jeering at her "plan".

"The kid never had a chance," Iceflame intoned solemnly.

Chrome stamped her foot, incensed. "Damn it! Why does she never listen—"

"She's not the one he's talking about."

She turned to Anathema, who had spoken. "What—"

CRUNCH. Nicole's fist connected with Carbuncle's prominent jaw, breaking it and sending him reeling to the ground, unconscious. The Tracker Jacker, reliant on the Fire Elf's constant focus to retain its form, dissipated. Dean checked him over, and after a minute, he finally said, "The boy's out! Nicole wins!" He then began to heal his downed teammate, while Marcas did his best not to snap his sword in rage. She faked him out! She faked me out! That's it! I am through messing around! I'm making it through to the next round if it's the—

"I'm out." He started, at looked at his opponent…or rather, his former opponent. "Wha…"

"I'm out," Will repeated with a shrug. "I can see that the two of you really want to fight each other, so I'd really be more useful cheering from the sidelines than waylaying Phil with the Nicks." He didn't flinch as a flame bullet from Iceflame flew past his head.

"With that in mind," Dean said, hoping to diffuse the tension, "let's break off to our respective factions to discuss events and plan. We'll regroup in an hour."