Magic.
Archer ducked and covered his head with his arms as the top of the boulder he was hiding behind exploded in a flash of purple light and shards of sharp stone rained down on him for a moment or two. ‘Damn, that was too close!’, he thought. He stretched his right hand out behind him as he peeked around the boulder to try and spot his adversary, he quickly withdrew his head as a bolt of purple lightning shot passed, missing him by inches and struck the ground. His hand ignited in red flame, a colour quite suitable for the rage he felt inside himself, as he made a claw with his fingers, the light condensed into a spinning sphere.
‘Come out, come out wherever you are’, said a voice, ‘you are only prolonging your fate!’
Archer growled slightly under his breath, his anger reaching a boiling point. His mentor’s voice telling him to calm down and concentrated as he always did when Archer’s studies failed him and he would lose his temper all those years ago. With a grunt, he leapt up and ran towards the relative safety of the trees, he brought his right hand around and threw the sphere towards the direction of the voice. He was thrown the rest of the way towards the trees by the force of the explosion caused when his sphere connected with a purple bolt from his tormentor. The glade where they were fighting suddenly filled with a red mist as Archer hit the ground hard, he shook his head and tried to clear it. He tried to stand as his attacker laughed at what he thought was a feeble attempt as a diversion, suddenly the fog was lit up with a flash, then another and another and then man’s laughter turned into cries of pain as the mist started to attack him.
‘What is this?’, cried the voice quickly followed by another flash and a yell.
‘The mist can only be activated by the touch of another person’s magic, once touched it will seek out that person and with each movement it will attack you and drain your strength. One of my better inventions, I think, but if you do not struggle, it will stop attacking you!’ shouted Archer as he stood, leaning against a tree to steady himself. ’You know who I am and that I’m not so easily beaten so why did you attack me and what have you done with my friends?’
‘Please, Lord..’, cried the man feebly as the mist took his strength, ‘Please, release me and I shall tell you everything’.
Archer, Leader of the Guardian of Magic, walked back into the glade and as he approached his attacker, who had been driven to his knees by the mist, the mist itself dissipated.
‘You were no match for me, my friend..’, Archer began but stopped suddenly as he realised his mistake. This man wasn’t canon-fodder, he was a trap, a diversion. The hairs on the back of his head suddenly stood up and he barely had time to grab his attacker’s shoulder and raise his free hand as the glade was suddenly filled with a rain of magic. Lightning bolts, fireballs, the very roots of the trees around suddenly flared into life and repeatedly struck the spot where Archer and his attacker stood.
…
