Fighting A Mage
In that moment, a radiant silver glow bloomed in Gladius's palm, steadily coalescing into the shimmering outline of a blade as his entire being seemed to resonate with a terrifying presence that subjugated the very air around him into reverent submission.
"Wh–what is this?" the couple gasped, trembling in awe and fear as Gladius's aura blossomed into a yawning psychic maw that threatened to consume their meager existences.
"You..." The mage's sneer faltered, withering like a flower ensnared by night's killing frost.
His magical senses, incapable of detecting even a whisper of mana from Gladius, were now blaring increasingly strident warnings, screaming of implacable danger taking shape before his very eyes.
It was almost too ludicrous to even conceive, yet none could deny the rising sensation of something utterly lethal stirring to wakefulness, like an apex predator unfurling from its slumber to regard them as mere prey to be casually devoured at its leisure.
The cramped alleyway was cloaked in eerie shadows, a deathly silence hanging in the air like a veil.
Only the faint ethereal glow of Gladius's spirit sword pierced the gloom, casting flickering patterns of light and dark across the damp brick walls.
The young couple huddled together, their eyes wide with disbelief as they witnessed the impossible manifesting before them - a blade seemingly summoned from the void itself.
"How...how can you do that?" the mage sneered, his voice dripping with disdain as he eyed the shimmering sword. "Don't tell me you're using some weapon talisman? Hmph, mere parlor tricks!"
Though his tone exuded confidence, the mage was quick to withdraw an ornate staff from his enchanted pouch, its polished surface etched with arcane runes that seemed to pulse with latent power. There was an unsettling aura surrounding Gladius, one that set the mage's instincts on edge, warning him not to underestimate this enigmatic figure.
"If you think it's just parlor tricks, then come and strike me down," Gladius taunted, his calm eyes betraying not a shred of fear as they met the mage's gaze.
His voice was steady, assured, as if daring the mage to unleash his full might.
In this world, mages were revered as living embodiments of the arcane, their command over the fundamental forces of magic granting them power that bordered on the divine. For an ordinary mortal to challenge one was considered utter madness, a death wish born of either foolishness or bravery.
"He's insane..." the young woman whispered, her voice trembling with a mixture of awe and dread.
The couple quickly retreated deeper into the alleyway, seeking refuge behind a stack of weathered crates. They had been raised on tales of mages' incredible might, the unshakable belief that common folk were no more than ants before these wielders of the mystic arts.
Yet, in Gladius's unwavering confidence, they glimpsed a sliver of doubt, a hint that perhaps the natural order they had known was not as immutable as they had been taught.
"Tch. Die!" the mage spat, his words laced with venom as he channeled his mana, the very essence of magic that flowed through all living things.
The air around him seemed to crackle with energy, and his staff took on an ominous blue glow, the tip emitting a radiant light that forced the young couple to squint.
A sudden chill descended upon the alleyway, their breath condensing into misty puffs as the temperature plummeted. In that moment, a radiant iceball blasted from the mage's staff, surging toward Gladius with frightening speed.
As it flew, it unleashed a wave of bitter cold that engulfed Gladius's surroundings, the frigid aura designed to slow his movements and bind the area around him, limiting his chances of evasion.
But Gladius remained unfazed, his connection to the primordial sword force that permeated all creation rendering him impervious to such mundane tricks. This chilling air, the supposed might of the iceball – it was barely a tingle upon his skin.
With a casual flick of his wrist, Gladius's spirit sword lashed out, the blade shimmering with the power of sword energy he had harnessed through years of relentless training.
This was a mere casual strike, one that barely tapped into the vast reserves of power thrumming within him, yet the radiant flash that accompanied his swing unleashed a razor-sharp wave of force that sliced through everything in its path.
'Chi!'
A powerful gust of air smashed into the alleyway wall, cratering the aged bricks and mortar with a thunderous impact. Gladius's spirit sword effortlessly cleaved through the mage's chilling wave, dispersing it as if it were nothing more than a gentle zephyr.
Without breaking stride, the blade seamlessly carved its way through the iceball, bursting it apart into a shower of glittering ice particles.
The mana fueling the attack, so potent in the mage's eyes, proved as fragile as spun glass beneath the might of Gladius's casual sword strike.
"Wha-what?!?"
The mage and the young couple recoiled in unison, their minds struggling to comprehend the impossible scene unfolding before them. They had all been raised on tales of mana's supreme dominion, the unassailable force that gave life to all magic, a power that no mere mortal could ever hope to overcome.
Yet, here they witnessed that immutable truth shattered, cleaved asunder by a simple sword as if it were an illusion, a fleeting mirage dispersed by the faintest breath. It was a nightmarish paradox, a reality that should never exist, shattering the very foundations of their world.
Naturally, none present could fathom the true nature of Gladius's attunement to the sword force, his connection to that worldly energy that flowed through all creation like a ceaseless river. And he had no intention of enlightening a dead man.
"Ah-ah!" The mage couldn't stifle the pathetic scream that tore from his lips, his bravado crumbling like the shattered ice at his feet.
In desperation, he slammed his staff against the cobblestones, channeling his ice mana to surge through the ground itself. A chilling wave of blue spread outward, rapidly encasing the alleyway floor in a thick layer of frost that crept ever closer to Gladius, seeking to ensnare him in its frigid grip.
"This seems more like parlor tricks than anything else," Gladius chuckled, his calm demeanor unfazed by the mage's increasingly frantic efforts.
With another sweep of his blade, the spirit sword unleashed a brilliant silver glow that overpowered the pale radiance of the encroaching ice.
Another thunderous crack echoed through the alley as Gladius's strike shattered the icy advance, scattering shards of frozen shrapnel in all directions. The sheer ease with which he dispelled the mage's magic was almost casual, as if he were swatting away an errant insect rather than the product of a mage's art.
But the mage refused to relent, his brow furrowed in concentration as ice mana continued to flow unceasingly through his staff. One might expect such a devastating rebuttal to leave him reeling, his guard dropped in the face of Gladius's inexplicable power.
Yet Gladius's sword sense remained hyper-aware, his attunement to the sword force granting him a preternatural perception that extended far beyond mere sight or sound.
He could sense the faint vibrations rippling through those scattered shards of ice, the telltale signs of the mage's next desperate gambit.
Sure enough, the shards suddenly sparked with ethereal glows before erupting into a barrage of razor-sharp ice rays, their harrowing frigid momentum propelling them towards Gladius in a last-ditch effort to catch him unawares.
But Gladius was no mere amateur to be felled by such tricks. His sword lashed out in a blur of motion, each strike unleashing a blinding radiant flare as the spirit blade tore through the ice rays with surgical precision.
His perfect sword slashes rent the barrage asunder, reducing it to a harmless shower of melting ice particles that pattered against the cobblestones.
As the last mote of ice dissipated, Gladius turned his gaze upon the mage.
The man's face was slick with beads of sweat, his features twisted into a rictus of exertion and sheer terror. With only three pitiful attacks, this so-called wielder of the mystic arts appeared utterly spent, his mana reserves drained by the feeble displays Gladius had so easily dispelled.
Perhaps it was a matter of the mage's lack of talent when compared to those trained within the vaunted halls of EmberForge Academy, whose prodigies were exposed to a far more rigorous curriculum. Or perhaps it was simply a reflection of the vast gulf between Gladius's command of the sword force and this mage's rudimentary grasp of magic.
Either way, there was no point in lingering.
Gladius could sense the depth of his own power, the sharpened edge to which he had honed the manifestation of his soul. This confrontation had proved enlightening, a reassuring affirmation that even the mighty mages of EmberForge and Gale Academy would pose little threat should their paths cross.
"Just die," Gladius uttered, his words carrying a calm finality, as if passing judgment upon the mage's worthless existence.
His spirit sword arced through the air once more, this strike imbued with greater speed and power as he poured a more substantial portion of his sword energy into the blow.
A searing glow filled the alley, the flash of Gladius's blade leaving afterimages burned into the retinas of those who witnessed it.
The slash was terrifyingly swift, a blur of motion that seemed to defy the laws of physics, as if the blade had transcended the boundaries of the material world.
"Ahh!!" The mage's composure shattered like brittle ice, his hands shaking violently as cracks spiderwebbed across the length of his staff.
He poured every last remnant of his mana into a final, desperate blast of ice energy that erupted from the staff's focus, a freezing wave that sought to consume Gladius's body and soul within its numbing embrace.
The surrounding walls and cobblestones were rapidly encased in thick layers of ice, blasts of bitter cold air transforming the alleyway into the heart of an arctic tundra.
But it was a futile gesture, one easily sundered by a single decisive stroke of Gladius's blade.
The spirit sword's radiant silver glow blazed forth, overpowering the pale luminescence of the ice mana as the razor-sharp edge cut through the freezing wave, dispersing it into a flurry of dissolving ice particles.
The mana had been slashed apart, its potency rendered insignificant before Gladius's might. But the lethal arc of his strike did not end there. For this was no mere casual blow, but a life-reaping slash, an unstoppable force that could not be avoided or withstood.
'Chi!'
Blood exploded outward in a grotesque crimson spray, painting the alleyway walls in a macabre fresco of viscera.
Gladius's spirit sword tore through the mage's neck with horrifying ease, severing flesh and bone in one smooth, decisive stroke.
With a sickening splat, the mage's decapitated corpse and head smashed against the frosted cobblestones, the life fleeing from his eyes even as they remained frozen wide in an eternal expression of terror.