Andrew Rowe - Sufficiently Advanced Magic

My family had never been particularly devout, but the Tyrant was a central aspect of our culture. Everyone knew about him. He’d conquered nearly the entire world outside of Kaldwyn. He was the only entity in the world with enough power to rival the goddess herself.

And, thinking back to the stories of heroes opposing the Tyrant, they all ended one way—

—the heroes died.

It was possible that trying to beat this guy in a straight fight was unwise.

The problem?

I didn’t have any better ideas. I didn’t have a bell on me. When I’d used it before, it’d been left behind in the other half of the dungeon. Presumably, the others would have picked up the one that I used, and Sera had the one that Jin had used.

And, unfortunately, Sera was on the other side of a sealed door.

“Vanniv, you got anything bigger you can hit him with?”

The karvensi grinned. “Of course! Buy me a few moments, would you?”

That I could do.

I raised my sword in a salute.

The Tyrant paused…then mirrored my gesture.

Huh.

Maybe there was something there. Was he going to fight honorably?

I mean, enshrouding a guy in plants wasn’t exactly the traditional definition of honorable, but maybe there was a way I could take advantage if he was going to be bound to some kind of rules.

I’d have to keep that in mind. But, for the moment, I charged.

I hadn’t had a good sword fight in ages.

The Tyrant brought his sword down in a heavy slash. I side-stepped, allowing the greatsword to crash into the floor. It sliced carpet and into the floor beneath.

A quick thrust from me. He stepped backward faster than I’d expected, avoiding the strike, while dislodging the greatsword from the floor.

The room was getting darker, but I couldn’t pay attention to that. The greatsword whistled sideways, threatening to bisect me. I met it with a parry, which was a mistake.

The impact force was staggering. I flew backward, plants deliberately parting around me, and slammed into the nearest stone wall.

My barrier kicked in on that impact, but even the more advanced sigil I’d made wasn’t good at softening kinetic force. I felt a moment of bone-shuddering pain as I cracked into the wall and fell to my knees.

The Tyrant turned to where I’d fallen and walked toward me at a leisurely pace. He was only steps away from melee reach.

I lashed upward from my kneeling position pushed on the sword’s aura with transference mana from my hand. A crescent wave of kinetic energy leapt out of the weapon, ripping through the air.

The Tyrant met it with a swing of his own. For an instant, a sphere of force manifested in the air, and the Tyrant fell back a single step.

Not bad.

I braced myself, using the saber to push myself to my feet — a terrible idea, and a great way to ruin a sword — and allowed myself a grin.

I may have celebrated a little too soon.

The Tyrant gripped his sword with both hands, raising it above his head — and copied my technique.

And even at a glance, I could tell the wave of cutting force that he’d sent toward me was vastly more powerful than my own.

I didn’t have a lot of room to move. The plants had cleared to let me hit the wall (thanks for that, plants), but they were still close enough to impede my ability to dodge.

So, I countered with something more experimental. I activated my demi-gauntlet’s transference burst, but as the energy tried to leave the gauntlet, I grabbed it with my mind and tried to channel it into my sword. If I could combine the sword’s mana with the gauntlet’s, maybe…

My gauntlet’s blast slipped free, careening uselessly into the ceiling.

The Tyrant’s slash caught me dead-on.

I heard a solid crack as the impact drove me back into the wall. My barrier had activated; I could see it flickering in front of me, a huge crack across the surface nearly the entire length of my body. From its fluttering, I could see that it had barely held against the strike.

I wondered if it would have killed me — actually killed me — if I hadn’t built myself a stronger barrier.

That was not a happy thought.

And I was tired of getting kicked around by a simulation.

I pushed off the wall, gritting my teeth as I made a diagonal slash and pushed the mana at the Tyrant.

He moved to block, of course.

I rushed forward in the attack’s wake, moving my off-hand.

As he deflected my first attack, I threw the crown.

And, as I expected, he turned his head to follow.

Three quick thrusts, each aimed at vulnerable points in his armor.

All three hit.

None had any effect.

There was no visible barrier, no sign of any magic, but I was hitting something harder than stone or steel.

But I didn’t stop.

He turned back to me belatedly, swinging his sword in a lazy arc that forced me to take a step back. I raised my gauntlet and sent a burst of gray mana directly into his face.

That staggered him, but only for a second. He swept horizontally and I knew I couldn’t parry it again. My barrier wouldn’t take another impact with a wall.

I blasted his sword with the gauntlet’s transference function, arresting the blade’s momentum just long enough for me to step back. Then, once out of range, I blasted him with gray mana again.

A single chip fell away from his mask.

“I tire of this foolishness.”

I smirked. “I’m just getting warmed up.”

Ah, the most traditional of all boasts. Not exactly creative, but it was a classic. Much like stories of heroes being killed by the Tyrant.

Maybe that wasn’t the best line of thought for my current situation, though.

I raised my sword in another salute. I was getting used to his reach, and my hand was barely tingling from the use of the demi-gauntlet. Months of practice had bolstered my hand’s mana to the point where I could use it over a dozen times without much difficulty.

If he isn’t invincible, and he is predictable, I can beat him.

That was when he kicked me in the chest.

I flew backward. It didn’t carry the same impact as one of his sword swings, but it did surprise me — to the extent that I dropped my weapon.

I ducked his follow-through swing, purely on instinct.

Disarmed, I rushed closer and threw myself at him, punching him with a burst of mana. He didn’t flinch at the impact. Instead, he released a hand from his greatsword to grab at my arm.

I pulled my arm back quickly enough, but that didn’t stop him from responding with a swing of his own. The punch hit me dead in the face and my vision swam.

I hit the floor, feeling something wet on my face. Had he broken my nose?

I rolled to the side, heading toward my fallen saber. I did manage to avoid a swing that way, but only as a consequence of the movement, not anything deliberate.

The Tyrant got to my sword first, kicking it further away.

I looked up at him, wiping my face with my left hand. Yep, real blood.

He raised his sword to strike — and a bolt of lightning slammed into his chest.

Oh, so that’s where the darkness was coming from.

The ceiling of the room was covered in clouds.

The Tyrant shivered as the electricity flowed through him. The next bolt struck only a moment later, then the next.

It might have been my imagination, but they seemed to be hitting a lot faster than what I’d seen Vanniv using when he’d fought against Sera and Derek.

“Enough!”

A green sphere of mana appeared around the Tyrant, blocking the next bolt. A tiny crack appeared at the impact point, but I knew barriers enough to know the damage was inconsequential.

How much mana did this thing have ?