Mark of the Fool
Chapter 593: Prime Time

The timer was ticking down.

The match was nearing its end.

And so was the time for Prime.

Professor Ram’s mana flooded into his spell like an undammed river swamping the countryside. The force construct shuddered, engulfed by its master’s power, growing to twice its original size.

Prime now loomed three times Claygon’s height, with its long tail stretching most of the length of the arena.

Roth looked like he was unable to believe his eyes.

The audience gasped.

And the announcer screamed. “What have we here? Prime has suddenly doubled in size! What a shocking turn of events! But, remember ladies and gents, size isn’t everything! Will a stronger, heavier and slower prime be able to handle Claygon’s teleportation tactics?”

“You mean stronger and faster,” Ram said.

Prime’s tail whipped out as the golem appeared behind him.

It connected, knocking Claygon to the ground with an ear-splitting boom.

“Ooooooh!” the crowd leapt to their feet, grabbing their ears.

Prime was a blur, dropping a colossal fist down on Claygon, drilling him into the ground.

“One…two…” the announcer started the countdown.

The stone golem vanished, instantly reappearing above Prime, driving his fist toward the force construct’s skull. Massive knuckles of pure force energy shot up quicker than a lightning bolt, the impact hurled Claygon against the cage bars.

The crowd roared.

Ram clenched his teeth, sucking in a breath.

‘Not good,’ he thought. ‘It’s draining too fast, even faster than when I used full power in the Cells. It’s costing me more energy to attack Claygon full force—’

“Aaaaaaaarrrgh!” A terrible burning sensation drove a scream from Ram’s throat.

His left arm felt like it was on fire, and his mana now drained even faster.

The crowd gasped.

The announcer looked at the professor with shock at the same time his young opponent asked him…

“Are you alright?” Roth called, concern in his voice.

“Fine.” Ram faced his pain with honed discipline, even as he tried to work out what had just happened.

The answer came to him.

‘I’m a fool.’ He thought. ‘By increasing Prime’s power I’ve also enhanced its size, strength and speed…which means the sensitivity of the feedback system has also increased dramatically. I expected that to happen, because it happened during testing, but not like this, not with such intensity. Nothing I hit Prime with at the time came close to the force of Roth's golem’s—no!’

He was deep in thought, analysing why he’d felt such burning in his arm, when Roth chose to capitalise on his lapse in focus, teleporting Claygon out of Prime’s reach.

A sharp pain hit Ram’s side, feeling like his flesh had been pierced; the golem appeared, stabbing his war-spear into the construct’s torso. Harsha could feel the blow that seemed to shift his organs to one side to let the tip of that terrible weapon skewer his insides.

‘If this is how it feels when Prime is protected by the arena’s magic,’ Ram thought. ‘Then how would it feel when—’

Something struck him in the side of his head; he stumbled, his vision wavering.

The golem slugged Prime’s skull with full force, whipping the construct’s head to one side.

“Sir?” the announcer called. “Sir, are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” Ram grunted.

Prime drove another blow into Claygon, sending the golem careening into the arena floor. The force construct’s and professor’s lead in points was increasing. The timer was ticking down.

If he could just keep pushing…just keep that point lead going before he ran out of mana, or some phantom impact drove him out of the fight…

Then he’d have his success.

Ram eyed Roth standing across the arena.

The young wizard continued teleporting his golem around Prime.

He showed no sign of exertion or worry. How much mana did he and that staff have, anyway?

Ram swallowed as Prime struck Claygon again.

He had to push even harder.

Or he would be in major trouble.

‘We’re in trouble,’ Alex thought.

The aeld staff’s energies had ebbed a while ago, and he’d been quietly drawing on his own mana pool for some time now. He hid that fact, keeping the movements of his lips so muted, that they appeared still from a distance, but the truth was, he couldn’t keep this up for much longer.

‘Father…!’ Claygon cried in his mind, blasting Prime with his forehead beam. ‘I cannot bring it down! The plan’s not working.’

‘It has to work,’ Alex thought. ‘Ram’s pouring everything he’s got into Prime, and every blow you’re giving that oversized construct of his is hurting him. We’ve got to keep going.’

‘But…father…’ the golem said, right before a giant ballista bolt struck him in the chest, knocking him to the ground. ‘Father…how much longer can you last? He has…more mana than you…’

‘His energy’s fading, and mine’s still high, he’s using more mana and you’re wrecking his concentration,’ Alex thought. ‘We have to keep this up. He has to believe we’ll outlast him. If he stops pushing, we’re done. The point gap’s too wide for us catch up now. So, we have to make him drain his mana.’

‘Father…the round’s going to end soon…’ Claygon pleaded. ‘We don’t have to win…’

‘But I want to win,’ Alex thought. ‘And you deserve to win. And all those salivating bastards—looking at Ram’s incomplete prototype—need to be shown his spell’s limits.’

‘Alright, father…I will give my all…’ Claygon unleashed his fire-beams at Prime.

Ram’s growl was that of a wounded beast, but he still would not falter.

‘Come on…’ Alex thought, drawing on his reserves. ‘Come on…!’

Harsha Ram’s knees were close to buckling.

One of Claygon’s last blows had nearly knocked him unconscious. His body hadn’t been physically attacked, but his mind was convinced that he’d been stabbed, bashed in the head, and stomped.

His rigid stance was gone, replaced by a slump in his shoulders as he stood beside the cage, his body shaking and his breath ragged.

‘Just a little more, Prime…’ Ram thought. ‘A little more and we’ll have them…’

He glanced at the timer.

A little less than ten seconds remaining.

‘Run out of mana!’ he willed the towering young wizard.

But Alex would not fall. His expression never changed and his spellcasting never slowed. While Claygon teleported around the arena, Ram reacted, turning Prime into a cloud of force energy.

‘We have enough of a lead,’ he thought. ‘I’ll keep Prime moving now. Keep him out of Claygon’s reach and let the timer run out. That will guarantee me the win.’

Ram concentrated on his force construct, manoeuvring it around the arena in dizzying patterns. He thought of reducing his mana flow, but he would need all of Prime’s speed to avoid Claygon’s teleporting attacks.

He just needed to last a little longer…

The cloud of dark force energy darted around the cage, compressing in mass, shrinking to stop providing an immense target for its rival. Claygon fired his fire-beams at the retreating force construct, but Prime’s nebulous form wove through the air, escaping them.

‘Less than seven seconds,’ Ram thought.

Prime spiralled around the edge of the arena.

‘Less than fiv—’

He suddenly screamed.

While Ram had been busy staying clear of the teleporting golem’s beams, Claygon had thrown his war-spear.

The force professor was caught by surprise and—to avoid the blade—he had Prime duck and spin…right into the path of a fire-beam. Pain raged through his body…as Claygon approached, flying to the force construct’s frozen form.

Two of the golem’s fists were cocked back.

“Three…” the announcer counted.

They drove into Prime’s shapeless form.

“Two…”

It was too much.

But he just needed to last a little longer…

Ram fell to one knee.

‘Come on…’ he thought. ‘Count!’

But there was no more counting.

The announcer was silent.

The crowd was silent.

The arena was silent.

Ram looked up.

“No!” he growled.

Hovering near the arena’s dome, Claygon floated like a god of war and flame, grasping his war-spear in one hand.

Meanwhile…Prime…Prime was…

“Prime has shattered!” the announcer cried.

Then Ram saw them: dissipating wisps of force magic. There was no mana left to feed the force construct, and Claygon had at last shattered it with those final, devastating blows.

“We’re witnessing a very rare event, folks!” the announcer cried. “Prime has not been pinned nor has he surrendered, instead, he has been destroyed! Let’s turn to the judges, the decision is theirs!”

The judges were scribbling notes on their cards, looking at the cage.

One rose and gave a signal to the announcer.

“In the event that one competitor is unable to continue due to a knockout or in this case—apparent destruction—the match is forfeit!” the announcer cried. “There we have it! At only two seconds away from the bell ringing and ensuring victory, Prime is annihilated! The winner of the Super-Heavyweight Division of the Duel by Proxy is…Claygon and his master, Alex Roth!”

An explosion of noise ripped through the stadium and beyond its walls as the audience screamed, most leaping from their seats as one.

The sound was almost deafening.

People hooted, cheered, clapped, and clasped each other’s hands. Some held up betting tickets with delighted smiles plastered across their faces, while others swore, ripping theirs to bits, their obscene curse words drowning under the crowd’s roar.

Ram paused, thinking about the match.

In the end…things had not gone the way he’d hoped, though he’d known the risks when he’d signed up for this event. Prime was powerful…but that power came at a price, one that he had been unable to pay.

“It’s not ready,” he said quietly. “Not for real combat.”

He’d grown confident after defeating the other participants in the Duel by Proxy—even the ferocious Vesuvius—but he could see now that those early results had left him arrogant and overconfident.

And revealed his spell’s greatest flaws.

Prime drew too much energy. The connection that allowed him to operate Prime so well had turned against him. A seventh-tier spell was out of reach for all save the most powerful wizards. Prime’s durability—while technically robust—drew too much from its master.

The entire fight had taken place under powerful magics that robbed blows of their most lethal capacities, yet—even then—a wizard of his power could not keep Prime in the fight.

“What would have happened if this battle was outside the arena?” he asked himself, rising to his feet. “It would have taken even more energy to keep his form intact. What would happen if an archwizard cast Prime and was ambushed by something that threw streams of blows as powerful as Claygon’s?

Then there’s the fact that I cannot cast spells on Prime…a major disadvantage.”

He squared his shoulders, looking at his former student.

It had been a clean defeat: he had stepped into the arena with a powerful weapon…but one lacking in crucial areas. And for that? He had been punished. And, if he was honest, he deserved the loss.

He had no doubt that—in time—force constructs would become a devastating tool in a powerful wizard’s arsenal, but today was too soon, there was more work to do, but, in his excitement, he’d acted prematurely.

“Perhaps I am getting old. Impatient,” he murmured, watching Alex Roth across the arena. “When a student at least a third my age can thwart me so easily…bah, well, I can’t exactly blame age for my defeat. That would take away the victory and credit from two who deserve it. Young Mr. Roth and Claygon fought a good fight…Baelin truly has created a monster, who—in turn—created another monster.”

The force professor gave Alex a deep nod of respect. “Let these young ones find their own devastating path to victory.”

He smiled. “For now. One day, it will be Prime’s time.”

Alex fought exhaustion as he waved to the crowd, his relief nearly buckling him at the knees.

“Two seconds,” he murmured. “Two more seconds and that could have been a disaster. But we did it. You did it, Claygon.”

“As…did you…father…” the golem said aloud, floating down to stand in front of Alex. “We…triumphed over a terrible…enemy.”

“Well, that’s what we do,” Alex laughed ruefully. “We meet terrible enemies, we fight them and we beat them: sometimes with consequences and sometimes without.”

He nodded to the VIP box. “And this time, it looks like it’s ‘without’.”

While a couple of Shale’s potential buyers still looked at Ram with interest, most had completely turned to face Toraka, pointing at Claygon excitedly. The golemworks master was listening intently. From his distance, Alex could almost see the sparkle in her eye.

A sparkle that Alex would recognise; the sparkle of one about to make a lot of coin. His relief was palpable. The golemworks was not about to lose its buyers to some new spell technology, so he’d have time to make his fortune.

‘This definitely tells me something, though: I’ve already got the bakery, and my deal with Lucia going, but I should diversify more in the future. But, for right now, let’s just bask in our victory.’

He looked up at the sky. ‘If only all victories could be as bloodless.’

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