Flames engulfed him, tongues of fire dancing over both the archmage’s burly form and resplendent blue garb. A very strange boy had loosed them upon Quldald of the Whirlwind—an odd warrior by Earthling standards, at least. Devicer Seven, he had called himself. He was a terribly gaunt boy, but from his bony hands he could create powerful explosions, as well as waves of heat searing enough to melt iron.
They had not, however, been enough to best an archmage from the glorious land of Param.
“How odd,” the mage mused. “Yet how very much like Param’s sorcerers, the manner in which he fights. Indeed, I did spy him soar through the skies unhindered!”
He examined the radiant warrior of flame at his feet. At last, the sleeping hex had quieted the boy, though the fires he’d been dousing Quldald in yet raged, even now.
“Yes, the black and gold warrior, too, once protected himself with a very similar sort of barrier. Resilient things.” To pacify this single human, the archmage had been forced to use a spell with the potency to put to sleep a thousand men. “It truly is a shame, though, that he doesn’t share the same exquisite suit of armor. And yet, the aegis he does wield is unyielding.”
There was a belt around the boy’s waist, and a Wheel of Orison rested just around the navel. A most valuable royal artifact, capable of conjuring immense amounts of magical energy, that the Earthlings used as the power source for their so-called “Asura Frames.” Quldald, for his part, utilized his own form of arcane protection, preventing the flames engulfing him from so much as singing his clothing. Gradually, though, they died away.
“Now, what to do with this...‘seven’ something or other.”
He had a few options. He could deliver the final blow now, take the boy prisoner, or perhaps prepare an execution. In truth, however, Quldald had long decided his fate. It was why he had elected to forgo his loyal gales in favor of a sleep spell. As it happened, the boy had become necessary for a plan the mage had concocted. It was truly an inspired flash of brilliance.
The archmage grinned confidently. “My parting gift to you, young human. Bear this curse, and soon you will be of great use to me.”
Devicer Seven, his desolate eyes hidden behind closed eyelids, grimaced in his slumber as if witnessing a gruesome nightmare.
“You fought well, boy, I will admit. Though not as well as the black and gold,” Quldald said with harsh finality. “How could you compare, after all, to the wind princess’s prodigy? To the one who bends the Asura’s wrath and all its invocations to his will—not just for might’s sake, no, but with grace? With such strategic beauty, I can not help but liken it to the magnificent luster of the finest pearls!”
The sleeping Devicer said nothing.
Quldald smiled at him, almost tenderly. “Ah, but I do commend the hunger that plagues you. Your ravenous appetite for victory. Would that you and I could face each other once you had grown and matured, but that will come later. You must aid me, you see. You will help to create the ultimate stage for the ultimate battle. Between him and me.”
With a final incantation, the spell was complete. The “Mark Seventh,” or whatever those people called it, was inert, its barrier down, and the boy at his mercy.
Leo Makishima awoke with a grunt, finding himself alone. He must have lost consciousness during his battle against the archmage. His body ached, and he noted several light bruises all over. Minor damage. But still.
“I lost,” he murmured. Leo sat up surprisingly easily. He felt perfectly fine. “Why didn’t he kill me? Did something stop him? Or...”
He had failed to butcher the mage. It was a shame, but not much else. Leo wasn’t angry. Had he died, nothing of value would have really been lost. Frankly, all being alive meant was that he was forced to live and relive the archmages slipping away from him. Over and over.
“I was hardly a threat to that guy. I just have to admit it,” Leo muttered indifferently. “If I want to stand up to the archmages, I need a Replicant.”
A scarf of deep crimson was wrapped around his neck. The Asura Frame Mark VII—Agni’s onboard intelligence called it a “Holy Shroud,” and it was a vital part of his arsenal. His frustratingly limited arsenal, that is. Aside from the Shroud, Leo only had access to a measly four Gospel Codes.
“It’s not enough,” he growled. “I’ll never slaughter those bastards like this. I need to unlock more of the Mark VII’s power.”
“Leo!” a voice called. “Leo! Hey, are you all right?! Are you getting this?!”
“Shut up, Kiriko. I can hear you all the way to my bruises.”
His right palm glowed, his nanofactors activating in response to the commlink from his superior officer. The girl was military, like Leo, and her job was technically to oversee and direct him. There was a youthful energy in her voice, though it was tinged with the characteristic accent of Japan’s Kansai region, and a little bit of frantic worry.
“Oh, thank god! The commlinks stopped working, right? And we just totally lost the Mark VII, and my nanomachines couldn’t pick up a thing. Man, I was so worried!” she ranted at great speed and volume.
Leo ignored her with a short yet firm exhale from the nose. “I’m going to need some extra firepower,” he mumbled. “One of those elf-shaped living access points that can download Gospel Codes straight from Avalo. Without that, I’m stuck.”
“A what point that can download what from what? Can you repeat that?”
“I said be quiet, Kiriko,” Leo snapped at his superior. A deep pain lurked behind the boy’s eyes. “And you know I don’t take orders.”