Othello could barely stand when they finally reached the sand. His face was tinged green, with beads of sweat dotting his forehead. The dwarf was right; he wouldn’t last two seconds in a battle with Tarquin. Fletcher was their only hope now.
‘The rules are simple,’ Rook stated, striding between the two cadets. ‘Demons cannot attack summoners, since the barrier spell is ineffective against demonic attack. My Minotaur will be helping to keep your demons away from your opponents, in case they get overzealous.’
It was then that Fletcher noticed the bullheaded demon, lurking behind the fallen pillar. It stood at seven feet tall, with sharp, curved horns and shaggy hair as black as his own. Its cloven hooves left round imprints in the sand as it paced back and forth, as if it couldn’t keep its rage in check. Its hands would have been identical to a man’s, were it not for the thick, black claws that jutted from its fingers. A pair of red-rimmed eyes stared at him balefully, then the Minotaur turned away, misting the air with a snort of disdain.
‘Yes, he is quite the specimen isn’t he?’ Rook noticed Fletcher staring. ‘Caliban has a fulfilment level of eleven, so he should be able to handle any unruly demons with ease. You have been warned.’
The Inquisitor continued on, walking around the arena, his hands clasped behind his back.
‘If you step out of the arena, you lose. If your demon is knocked unconscious or leaves the arena, you will lose. If you kill the demon of your opponent, you will be disqualified and also expelled. We do not fight to the death here, and demons are a precious commodity. So, warn them to be cautious. They may injure, but not maim. They may hurt, but not kill.’
‘What about us, can we kill?’ Tarquin sneered from the sidelines. He was seated on one of the dismantled platforms, stroking one of Trebius’s heads.
‘No, the same rules apply as they did in your last match, Master Tarquin,’ Rook said, smiling at the young noble. ‘If you land a spell or a sword cut powerful enough to be deemed a killing blow, you win. The barrier spell will prevent you from being shocked, burned or cut, although it will hurt like hell if you’re hit. As I’m sure you are aware, Tarquin, after you finished with the elf.’
‘She did seem to be in an awful lot of pain,’ Tarquin smirked. ‘But I soon put her out of her misery. I’m sympathetic that way.’
‘Come on, let’s get this over with,’ Fletcher growled through gritted teeth. Othello was already limping to the side of the arena.
‘Begin!’ Rook shrieked.
Fletcher gave Rook a cool smile and watched as Othello clambered out of the arena and dropped on the floor.
‘Oh, no,’ Tarquin shouted with exaggerated dramatics. ‘I was so hoping to fight with the half-man. Defeating two subhumans in one day; wouldn’t that have been a treat.’
‘Shut your filthy mouth and come and fight me, Tarquin. Let’s get the final started, right now.’
Tarquin rolled his eyes and strode into the arena.
‘Oh, very well. Let’s get on with it.’
‘Are the barriers up?’ Scipio asked, holding up his hand.
‘They are, Provost,’ said a noble from the crowd.
‘In that ca—’
‘Begin!’ Rook screamed.
Tarquin was already hurling fireballs before Fletcher even heard Rook’s voice. He ducked behind a rock just in time, feeling the heat as one singed his hair.
‘Ignatius, hide!’ Fletcher whispered, sending the Salamander darting off into the jumble of rocks. Trebius was a powerful demon, but a well-placed fireball from Ignatius could end the battle there and then. Ignatius just needed to avoid his serpentine heads.
A kinetic ball slammed into the rock, crumbling the other side.
‘Come out, Fletcher, I want to play,’ Tarquin yelled.
‘I’m just getting warmed up,’ Fletcher yelled back, firing up an oval shield with a blast of mana. He could feel his reserves draining out of him. He knew from his studies that Hydras had very high mana levels. If he and Tarquin matched blow for blow, it would not end well.
He rolled out from behind the rock, sprinting for the cover of the fallen pillar. His shield crackled as a fireball slammed into it, but it was a small one, not nearly enough to knock him off his feet.
‘Try this one for size,’ Tarquin shouted, flinging a second from behind his back.
The fireball hit the shield like a battering ram, knocking Fletcher flying. As he scrambled to get up, Tarquin whipped another into the shield, blasting him back into the dirt.
‘Come on; I thought you were going to make it interesting,’ Tarquin laughed, as Fletcher huddled behind a rock. ‘At least drag it out a bit. Trebius, find the Salamander. I want to injure!’
Fletcher took the opportunity to strap on his eyeglass. Ignatius was on the other side of the arena, trying to sneak up behind Trebius. The task was near impossible, with the three heads covering all angles.