Author's notes: Hello again! Here's chapter 5, fresh out the oven. It's about 500 words longer than usual (hard to say because of these notes). To be honest the ending feels a bit rushed, but well I was in a kind of a hurry. Had I not finished it today, it would have taken me a week to get back onto computer long enough to end it. Well, this is the best I can do now, so that should be enough. Oh, and I got another oneshot idea! I'll probably write it down next. Let's see if I can do it better than the Swordfish knight... Well, we'll see we'll see.
Now, reviews! From chapter three first (those that I did not send a PM, I think):
omegarulesall and Zeroeye: Thanks! Glad to be appreciated!
DarkAap: That's just what I was aiming for, good to know I succeeded.
Onmur: As I declared in the last chapter, this'll follow canon more or less for some length. There will be original events in the future though, actually probably as soon as the next chapter!
dan heron: Thank you for pointing that out, corrected it immediately back then.
ToAruKagaguNoPersona: Thank you. I do that sometimes too, but not in English since it's not my first language.
Chapter four:
Mr. Anonymous reader: Good to know someone likes it. I was bit unsure about those bits, that they were unnecessary and I was trying too hard to be funny. Thank you!
BlueMirage: Glad to be appreciated.
Fenrir034: Thank you, really motivating to know someone as enthusiastic as you reads my story.
Menooshuh: Yeah, I'm sad I can't write too. The longer I go without writing, the more ideas I get. The more ideas I get, the more I want to write. Too bad I can't focus on what I get those ideas for, so there will probably put up a few oneshots with varying qualities this autumn. And every oneshot will probably delay chapter for this story a little.
ToAruKagakuNoPersona: Yeah, guess who's my favorite Familiar of Zero character? I do hope I made an adequate action scene for this chapter.
Hmm? Was that all already? Well, my thanks for reading!
Please, motivate me to write faster by reviewing!
End notes.
Thinking,
"Speaking"
Spells, or setting
Flashback
=Change in POV=
Disclaimer: I own nothing
Chapter 5
Duel boss
The Goddess's temple
In the back of his mind Marche could hear a little voice telling him that there was something wrong with this picture. Here he was, a badass warrior mage with the blood of dragons, vampires and guardian spirits of entire races on his hands. Hell, he had even destroyed a world! His equipment was top-notch, made to fight against the most horrible of monsters! The enemy currently in front of him was a young girl, little more than half his size. She was dual wielding a staff too long for her and a bronze short sword. Her armor was the local school uniform, reinforced with bronze mail that was more of an art piece than something one wore for battle, especially when the opponents sword was made from superior metal alloy.
Yeah, Marche felt a bit like a bully at the moment. It was different when the girl was riding a dragon and taking potshots at him with ice spikes. It was different when she double teamed him with miss pyromaniac and tried to flash freeze him from behind.
But like an experienced warrior he was, Marche crushed that little voice. He knew from experience that looks could be deceiving. Small and cute did not equal harmless after all. Briefly Marche shuddered at the memory of seeing moogle gut a firewyrm with, of all things, a pair of castanets.
Marche's momentary lack of focus proved to be a mistake as his still mostly blue haired opponent (at the back of his mind Marche noticed there was almost no yellow goop on her. How did she dodge his surprise spell? Meatshield?) decided to seize the initiative and stabbed her staffs pointy end viciously towards Marche's eyes.
Marche dodged by swaying to the left and jabbing the Terre rod at her stomach, hoping to knock the breath out of her. The girl however surprised him by jumping closer to him, stopping the rod from getting enough momentum to damage her and completely nullifying the attack by redirecting the blow away with her sword. Marche then calmly sealed her sword arm by wrapping his arm around her, trapping the sword arm in an awkward position between his arm and her stomach.
As they stood there side by side, with Marche's arm around the shorter girl who still had her arm extended over his shoulder after the failed stab, Marche knew he had won. The girls sword arm was trapped and the other was overextended, not to mention that the crooked staff was more of a hindrance at such a close distance. Smirking triumphantly, Marche switched his hold on the saber, holding it blade down like a knife and then rammed it between the girls shoulder blades.
Then he felt a tug at the back of his neck and the world spun. Well, spun as much as it could before Marche hit the ground face first. Thanks to the Mighty Guard he didn't take damage, but he was still shocked. His arrogance had made him underestimate his opponent, so while he took his time to adjust a more comfortable grip, she had just hooked her staff behind his head and pulled, probably with the help of some sort of strength enchanting magic, making Marche loose his balance and let go of her. Marche just had to give the girl a little praise for her combat ability, not many warriors he knew would have thought of such a maneuver. Then again, violent death was not very high on people's things-to-care-about list back there. With no real fear of death, except in Jagds, people tended to be a bit more lax in do-or-die situations. But here a cornered foe fought more ferociously, which unnerved Marche a little. Maybe the sea was larger than he thought.
But these were thoughts for another time. Marche rolled away frantically, trying to evade an attack he knew was coming. An enemy lying on the ground, stunned, was a seriously tempting target. And she did not disappoint. Marche had barely gotten away, when the first ice spikes impaled the floorboards he had been lying on. Quickly Marche rose into a crouch and charged towards the girl, before she could erect any more ice barricades around her. Distance was the key here. As long as he and the girl were fighting at melee distance, their supporters would be no good because of the fear that they would hit their own ally. But now there was distance between the two. Worse, Marche was between the girl and her support with no cover, while the girl still had the flames and the smoke they produced to give at least minimal cover for her from the mercenaries eyes. If Marche could not get close to the girl, he would be caught in crossfire.
Conjured ice rained down on Marche, but he swatted the hastily made –it seems she had decided to go for quantity over quality this time- spikes away like flies with his dragon bone rod. Then he swung his saber horizontally at the girl, interrupting her casting by forcing her to parry with her sword.
From there, the fight seemed to have reached a stalemate. Marche spun like a dervish, swinging both his saber and rod at many angles, each swing connecting to another and throwing in a few leg sweeps every once in a while. Every attack thrown at him was batted away or blocked. The few small scratches he got were unable to pierce his coat, though at the moment the girl realized it, she started to aim at his head and joints. The girl herself was leaning heavily on her enchanted speed, evading blows like she was one of those annoying Viera fencers with their unnatural Reflex techinque, attacking mainly by stabbing with her staff and using the sword to deflect or redirect Marche's heavy blows. She didn't kick like Marche did, but a few times she did whisper a small chant and swing her staff, creating either a hail of small air projectiles to distract Marche, or a single spike that would impale him, high grade armor or no.
Had there been experts of weapons present, they would have been able to tell that neither of the fighters had really had training for their weapons of choice. They had no real forms to their movements or techniques to utilize. They were both fighting through sheer experience, what their bodies had learned was effective and what had saved their lives countless times in the past. Masters of the sword might have sneered at the crudeness of it all, but there was some grace born from practicality to it.
Marche grunted as he ducked under a thrust at his throat, trying to catch his opponents legs with a leg sweep at the same time. She just jumped over it. Marche continued the spinning motion as he put his leg back on the ground, swinging his saber up as he rose from the crouch. The move was evaded almost infuriatingly easily by the speedy girl, who countered almost instantly with a stab to Marche's throat, but Marche managed to divert the attack by hitting the staffs side with the elbow of his extended arm, move which was followed by a horizontal swing of the Terre rod that proved just as useful as the dozen combos before it.
Our skills are too equal, Marche thought, his respect for the blue haired girl ever growing, wonder how she became this good? Another futile exchange that benefited neither of the combatants went by.
If our skill with weapons can't decide this, then it's our magic that will, Marche thought with a hint of disappointment. Clearly this girl was not someone who would be slowed down for long by Matra Magic and Acid would not hit an enemy this fast, so he'd have to use another spell, even though he had wanted to keep as much of his magic as secret as he could. Of course there was also the option to just slug it out with the girl until either one fainted from exhaustion, but that was not a possibility when both sides had reinforcements only kept at bay by their duel. If they exhausted themselves too thoroughly now, they'd be easy pickings later. This might have gone on too long already, Marche thought as his arms ached from the constants swinging of heavy weapons and his Onlyone got slick from sweat. Not that any of this showed on his face. More than likely his opponent was in the same situation too.
A flash of light interrupted the battle. The girl immediately took evasive maneuvers, no doubt remembering that those flashes heralded Marche's spells. But when a random elemental force failed to attack her, she slowed down a little and threw a cautious glance at Marche.
And she fell straight into his trap.
In Ivalice Stare was the signature spell of Ahrimankind monsters. It resembled hypnosis that worked through eye contact, truly a fitting spell to a monstrous race that looked like huge eyeballs with wings and clawed legs. While it did not force those who looked in his eyes to obey any one command he gave, it did leave them in a confusing trance. Strong willed individuals could overthrow the effects in seconds, but in a battle like this, a second's disorientation was all it took to lose one's life.
As Marche saw the girl's eyes became hazy, he lashed out with a kick to the girl's stomach, sending her sprawling to the ground on her back, trying to catch her breath. The feeling of bullying got stronger as Marche dashed next to her and lifted his foot over her.
"Good… fight", Marche panted his last respects to the skilled warrior in front of him, sounding far more exhausted than he thought he was, before stomping her.
Only to be foiled at the last second by a concentrated stream of fire that hit him on the side, sending him to the ground too, next to his intended victim.
It looked like the dark skinned fire mage had come to her friend's aid. And with the supreme control the locals had over their magic, she had used a spell that wouldn't harm her friend. Marche actually felt a pang of jealousy when he understood that. After all, he had no-one to look over him like that anymore.
Marche rolled over and pushed himself up, trying to get the enemy mages into his sights. He was hurt, but it was more because of the concussive power of the spell, not the flames. Once again his Judge coat and Mighty Guard had proven too strong for the flames, though a quick glance revealed a slightly scorched spot on his side.
Marche gritted his teeth as he pulled himself up. This was bad. Why weren't the mercenaries shooting? Sure, the wall of fire blocked most of their sight, but it should be quite clear that the duel was over and that they were free to shoot.
Maybe something happened to them. Maybe the team that split doubled back and ambushed them from behind, Marche thought as he dashed to cover behind a broken table, this sure is different from Ivalice. Marche quickly brushed some sweat off his face and peered at his opponents. The blue haired mage was back up already, all traces of Stare gone from her eyes.
Maybe it's time for a tactical retreat, Marche decided and pointed the Terre rod at the wall of fire that had cut him off from his reinforcements.
"Blizzara", Marche called the spells name and a large block of ice crashed onto the flames, starting to melt immediately, dousing some of the flames. Marche then threw a Thunder at the duo to cover his escape. The red haired fire mage yelled something, and Marche remembered that there was a third mage too and threw his head at his last known direction so fast that he gave himself a whiplash. The male mage with drying flan drool on his clothes was waving his wand –no that was a rose, not a wand- at him. Marche remembered him being an earth mage and braced himself for a rock spike from the ground or maybe a gravel blast.
What he got instead was a small torrent of rose petals. Marche wasn't sure if he would have liked Fullmetal Alchemist style seven-foot granite spikes instead. He had played enough games to know that flower petals were usually preludes for finishing moves. Marche really wasn't in a condition to take a hit from something like that.
Definitely time for a tactical retreat.
Marche leaped over the flames, using the ice block as a stepping stone and just as he landed behind the flames, he felt a surge of magic and reflexively hit the dirt in hopes that the finisher would go over him.
To his surprise, he didn't hear anything that he could connect to a finishing move. No howling thunder, no cracking flames or wailing earth. He didn't get the feeling of the whole world stopping to stare in awe at the next move like it was in Ivalice when he initiated a Combo. But what he did feel was a sudden increase in weight. Local equivalent of gravity magic like Demi? Marche thought and slowly pushed himself up. No, it's not so much of an increase in weight, but more like my entire body got stiffer. It's hard to move, Marche corrected himself as he finally got to a standing position. Then a reflection of light at his sleeve caught his attention, causing him to check his coat.
Since when did my Judge coat have armor plates? Marche thought and inspected closer. No, these are not armor plates… Just normal bronze plates attached to my armor. They're the reason why I feel so stiff! Marche realized, but when were they… Of course! Those petals from before! Transfiguration is a basic skill for earth mages here! Marche tried to pry one of the plates off, but it was firmly attached to his clothes folds and around his arms. He'd have to rip his coat to get them off fast.
Marche got a cruel awakening to the reality of the battlefield when a sudden punch to his face sent him crashing onto a wall. By Famfrits sweaty socks, what is it this time? Marche swore in his mind as he clumsily got onto his knees, his head ringing from the hit. A trickle of blood flowed from his temple.
"Are the robots trying to conquer the world or something?" Marche mumbled as he saw his assailants. There were two of them and they looked like beautiful women, except that they were made of bronze. Their bodies had some gashes here and there, one of them actually had a crossbow bolt sticking out of its head. No, I remember seeing these before at the roadside battle. Golems, one of the signature spells for earth mages, Marche thought rationally, before focusing on the signs of battle around him, guess this explains what happened to my reinforcements? While I was dueling, the earth mage sent his golems to take care of them. Flames don't bother metal constructs too much, so they could just march over the flames and take them by surprise.
Marche sighed and stood upright, his gaze on the ground. He knew that the enemy mages were approaching too. Probably with more golems. They thought they had won. He was alone, he was hurt and he was physically exhausted. No way could he use his magic effectively now. That would be true for a normal mage. But Marche was not 'normal' mage. His magic was molded after game mechanics. That meant that no matter his physical condition, his magic would stay as strong as ever. Even if he were on his last leg, even if he lost all his limbs, he could use his magic as if he was in perfect condition. It was time for Marche to screw the 'keep my powers secret' plan and show what he really could do. He was, after all, a magic user first and foremost. Even in Ivalice, where he got the physical ability he had always wanted, he decided to become a mage instead of a warrior. It just suited him better.
"Hey, you blue haired girl", Marche said with a raspy voice. He hadn't even noticed how dry his throat was, but it fit nicely into his plans. Finally something went his way. He then raised his gaze just a little, so that he could glare his opponents from under his bangs. He saw them. The three mages, with their wands or staffs pointed at him. Alongside them stood three new golems holding spears. The male earth mage looked triumphant, no doubt imagining the glory and fame he would get from this fight. The fire mage looked pissed at him. Well he did kick her friend quite hard, not to mention the whole 'duel to the death' thing that lead into it. But the blue haired mages face looked as stoic as ever. Marche realized that he didn't remember seeing any emotion on her face for the whole battle. Her eyes however had a hard glint of steel on them. She knew Marche wasn't out yet.
"I remember that green haired woman introducing you back in the forest, but I'm afraid I forgot your names already. So, would you introduce yourselves before we finish this?" Marche propositioned with a smirk copied from Marche's nemesis Llednar Twem himself. Guy was scary as hell, just what Marche wanted to channel right now.
"Hmph! Very well criminal! Know that you were defeated by the might of the fourth son of general Gramont! Guiche de Gramont! Remember it when you are thrown in cell and wait for your trial!" the blonde earth mage declared. Is he posing? Marche thought. Were this a manga, he was sure he would be sweatdropping at the man's antics.
"Even if you are a despicable example, how could a man forget me? I am Kirche Augusta Frederica Von Anhalt Zerbst. And know that for hurting Tabitha, you will burn", the red headed fire mage promised with a glare. But Marche had been glared by much more frightening persons before, so he just brushed it off. Though he did note what a mouthful that name was. But these two persons didn't really interest Marche. He focused his gaze at the one he blamed most of his situation. The blue haired ice mage.
"…Tabitha", the diminutive girl whispered, her gaze not wavering from Marche. Hmm? No last name? Marche thought idly, but committed the name to his memory anyway.
"Hmm… Quite a colorful bunch you are. Well then, miss Tabitha, miss Kirche and mister Guiche, today I have lost the battle, but won the war", Marche said and raised his head, twisting his lips into what he hoped was maniacal smile. The image he wanted to give called for it. He wanted to mess with their heads. Make them think he was even more dangerous than he really was. And even if the grin wouldn't play out he had just the ability to generate fear in his enemies. Then he looked Tabitha, for she was the most dangerous enemy here, straight into the light blue, almost grey eyes and declared:
"So, let me salute your prowess by taking off the kid gloves for a second."
=Kirche's POV=
Kirche knew something was wrong. Maybe it was the bloodthirsty but arrogant smile or piercing glare, but Fouquet was giving completely different feel than moments ago. Tabitha had noticed it first, or perhaps she had known it for the whole battle? Kirche had trouble reading her best friend normally, so in a battle like this, she was a completely shut book for her. But Kirche could still read Tabitha's actions a little. If Tabitha thought it was still prudent to keep your guard up against Fouquet, then she would too. Although Kirche found her wariness lessen when she saw that the thief could barely stand up straight. No way could he still use magic effectively in that state, right? Even if he had resisted the flames again, the blunt force behind her Flame Stream was almost comparable to a Wind Hammer spell and Fouquet had taken that attack cleanly. And that was before he was pummeled by Guiche's golem. Not to mention the heated melee he had had with Tabitha before. Honestly that was probably the biggest shock tonight, Kirche thought as Guiche gave his pompous introduction, I didn't know Tabitha was that good at close range. She sure has earned her title of Chevalier. But why would she have learned something like that?
Kirche still gave her introduction with her usual flair. Tabitha would tell her later, if she wanted. It wasn't Kirche's job to pry into her past against her will. Now she was better off focusing on Fouquet. She was planning something, she almost said it himself. 'Before we finish this' he had said. He definitely had something planned. But what could it possibly be? Guiche's golems had been surprisingly effective in dispersing the mercenaries, probably because there had been surprisingly few of them.
But why were there so few of them? He had clearly planned this attack, so why did he take so few reinforcements? Why didn't he prepare a golem beforehand, like when he broke into the academy? Was he really so sure he could take the six of them with only a handful of help? Sure, he could do spells of all elements seemingly effortlessly, but surely he knew that he would be overpowered by sheer numbers? Kirche felt an unpleasant shiver wash over her as he watched Fouquet raise his head, revealing his bloodstained face and a maniacal grin. This man is insane! Kirche thought until the words reached her ears.
"So, let me salute your prowess by taking off the kid gloves for a second."
Tabitha, as always was the first to react. Kirche didn't even hear her chant the spell, when an ice spike was already flying towards Fouquet. Not even a second later had Kirche prepared a fireball. Both spells smashed onto Fouquet's still grinning form. Spike right to the heart, fireball exploded to the chest. No way could he survive, right? He didn't have time to pull off a spell, and that was further proved by the lack of usual flashes he had when he casted spells.
But if no-one could survive that, then why was Fouquet still standing when the flames receded? Why did he look like there never was a spike impaling his heart or fireball exploding on him?
It looked like Guiche had finally caught on and with a wave of his wand, he sent the bronze golems at Fouquet. He just smiled that scary smile of his and raised his mace-wand, saying one word before a blue light flashed.
"Blizzaga."
Kirche felt a tug at her back when Tabitha pulled her and Guiche to safety. Then a huge wall of ice sprung into existence. It broke the walls and the roof of the hall as it expanded from nothing, either imprisoning or slicing apart the closing golems as it grew larger, sprouting sharp blades of ice in every direction. That is at least a square class spell! Kirche thought in amazement. It was one thing to see him use different spells from all four elements, but it was totally different to see him blast a spell that was clearly the highest ranking spell there is. And wasn't his main element earth? Ice spells are combinations of wind and water! This makes no sense! Kirche screamed mentally, did he play with us? Why didn't he just level this place at the start?
"Not in the plan", Kirche herd Tabitha whisper next to her.
"Plan? What do you mean Tabitha?" Kirche turned to her silent friend, who was peering into the wall of ice.
"Lost battle, but won war. Didn't plan on killing us", Tabitha explained with as few words as possible. While it would irritate the most, Kirche had grown accustomed to it long ago already.
"You mean he wasn't here for revenge? Then why…" Kirche thought, but Tabitha cut her off.
"Split the group", the ice mage said flatly and looked at the only male present.
"Oh no! The mission for her Majesty!" Guiche shrieked and slapped his forehead.
"Another ambush", Tabitha said flatly.
"We have to get to them! Tabitha, could Sylphid…"
Streets of La Rochelle
=Marche's POV=
Well, at least the escape plan worked, Marche thought as he ran away from the now devastated hotel. He did not want to be there when the city guard came to ask questions. It was actually a miracle they hadn't come already. Maybe the Masked man had bribed them off too? He would ask that later. Now he had to get to the meeting spot and pry off the metal plates. They were a hindrance.
The escape plan, or plan C as he called it (standard procedure was that plan A was made beforehand, plan B on the spot when A failed and plan C was always the Escape plan) had worked perfectly. Even if Kirche did melt her way through the glacier Blizzaga created, they would be too scared to follow him. After all, he was insane and he took their last spells without a scratch. DamageMP was such a useful ability when you had to be invincible. It didn't really make one invincible, but the effect was really similar. Especially if the opponent couldn't see what exactly happened when one used the ability. It was quite simple actually. When the spells got close enough, Marche just poured out his MP at them, creating a barrier of sorts which then absorbed all the damage, leaving him unscratched. As long as he had MP it would work. And with the rate he regenerated MP, he could always use it to take the brunt of all attacks. Well, if he didn't want to use his magic anyway. It was really draining on the long run.
After about 15 minutes of navigating the empty streets of La Rochelle, Marche finally made it to the empty warehouse he had designated as the meeting place with the Masked man and the mercenaries. Some of the mercenaries were there already. They greeted Marche sheepishly and Marche glared at them angrily. They could have informed him they were planning to retreat. He decided to instead order them to help him remove the bronze plates from his coat. He could punish them for real later. Now, he just wanted the heavy thing off of him.
It was a bit of a struggle, but after about an hour of work the coat and pants came off with no unrepairable damage to the clothes, which pleased Marche immensely. It would be so hard to get replacements here. When the clothes had nothing in them, the soft plates were easily removed and soon Marche got his gear back in optimal capacity. Like that he then settled down to wait for his emplyer. It would be long until he would realize that his employer would not be back.