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?
The Tyrant moved, faster than I’d thought him capable of, rushing toward Vanniv.
I wasn’t idle. I crawled — yes, crawled — toward my fallen weapon, picking it up with trembling hands.
As the Tyrant approached Vanniv, I felt the ground begin to tremble.
The Tyrant raised his blade, a golden glow manifesting along the surface of the weapon as the floor of the chamber began to crack. More and more bolts of lightning poured into the green shield, but even their accumulated damage barely made a dent.
Vanniv pushed out both hands, sending a wave of frost at the Tyrant, but the Tyrant cut right through the energy with an upward swing and then leapt into the air, his blade poised for a deadly thrust.
Vanniv pushed his hands outward, surrounding himself with an aura of electricity, bracing for the strike —
—but it never came.
The Tyrant, the throne, the vines — everything around us vanished.
And the room continued to shake.
Even the carpet disappeared. We were alone in a chamber of white stone, completely bare, as the tremors continued.
“Students, be advised that this test has been prematurely terminated. You will be returned to the briefing room shortly.”
It was Professor Orden’s voice, unmistakable as the real blood on my hand.
A moment later, Orden appeared at my side.
“Take my hand.”
I sheathed my weapon, following her instructions. “What’s going on?”
“I’ll explain when you’re all together. Brace yourself.”
“Spirits of wind and air, carry us beyond this place. Teleport!”
I closed my eyes. When I reopened them, I was back in the briefing room. My stomach still swam from the short-distance teleport, but it was nowhere near as bad as what I’d experienced when Orden had cast that bigger teleport spell that took me to her...safe house? Or whatever that place was.
She released my hand and disappeared again. I saw Jin and Marissa already sitting on one of the couches, looking concerned.
Marissa stood as soon as she saw me. “Corin, you’re bleeding.”
I nodded. “Took a Tyrant punch to the face.”
Jin frowned. “Harm should not be possible in the simulation.”
I’d assumed that, too. “I think we have bigger problems to worry about.”