The Forsaken Hero
Chapter 434: Bastion

Chapter 434: Bastion

"Bastion."

With that word, whispered in wonder, the spell resolved. I looked up, my fear, embarrassment, and anxiety forgotten, as mana arced from the rims of the titanic magic circles surrounding our sparring ground, converging in a small, pulsating dot five hundred feet above the earth.

The mana began to expand outward, flowing like liquid sunlight around an invisible sphere, forming shimmering curtains of golden light that extended toward the ground. Delicate arcs of energy coursed through the membrane of Protection Magic like veins, and a soft, humming resonance vibrated deep within my bones.

The barrier touched down less than a second later. It was unseen by everyone else, but Bastion extended beneath the earth as well, forming a complete sphere of protection around us. The spell typically had reflective properties, but I chose to omit those this time. The thought of something like Magma Shot ricocheting endlessly, gaining power with each bounce, until it finally struck something...it was a terrifying thought.

"So, what’s this about?" Gayron asked, eyeing the barrier with suspicion. "I half expected you to be stalling for time to cast some grand spell on me, but you’re just... making an arena? But protection only works if you’re stronger than the attack, so—" His eyes narrowed dangerously. "Are you looking down on me?"

I tilted my head, my tail twitching in confusion. "Sorry?"

Looking down on him? In truth, it was the exact opposite. I was afraid he would accidentally hurt someone, so wasn’t it natural to create a barrier to protect our audience?

"Whatever," Gayron shrugged, dismissing the barrier with a wave of his hand. "If you want to waste your mana on a seventh-circle spell, be my guest. Just don’t use it as an excuse when I overpower you."

Battle maniacs were strange creatures. I knew that, but I still couldn’t help shaking my head. Whatever he was going on about made no sense to me. Maybe that was the point, a distraction tactic to throw me off balance.

I rubbed my horn and sighed, glancing up at my wolf. He was in his condensed form, but his head towered over mine. It would be interesting to see how much his strength had grown since breaking through to seventh-level.

"Fable," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "Would you keep him busy for a moment? I need a second to rest after casting that."

His growl rumbled deep in his throat, lips curling into a toothy grin. As mana seeped from his soul, lifting his fur into shimmering silver spikes, I gave Gayron a dubious look and frowned.

"Just, um, stay the way you are. And don’t go too hard on him."

Gayron raised his sword as Fable took a step forward. "Finally ready?"

Bright licks of flame curled up the slender blade, and I frowned, staring at it closely. It wasn’t a Divine Artifact–I didn’t even think demons had something like that–but it was certainly powerful. Its enchantments were at least sixth-level, though their designs were unfamiliar to me, leaving the effects a mystery.

But that wasn’t what truly bothered me. Gayron was supposed to be a musclehead driven by anger and vengeance, wasn’t he? He seemed the type to smash through his problems with brute strength, much like how he fought in his demon form. So why did he favor a more dexterous weapon requiring finesse and skill instead of something like a broadsword or battleaxe?

If Fable cared about my concern, he certainly didn’t show it. With a fierce howl, he lunged forward, covering the five hundred feet between him and Gayron in a blur of silver. Gayron stiffened, his eyes widening in surprise, but he reacted instantly. His sword flashed into position in a streak of fire, parrying Fable’s claw, then arcing around to slash at the wolf’s muzzle as he lunged to bite.

The blade glanced off Fable’s hardened fur in a shower of sparks. It failed to draw blood, but the force of the blow diverted the attack, allowing Gayron to duck and narrowly avoid the snapping jaws. But before he could regain his footing, Fable’s other paw slammed down upon him.

Gayron managed to raise his sword in time, but at a poor angle, deflecting the attack but losing his balance. Fable pressed his advantage, lunging again, and this time, one of his claws raked across Gayron’s breastplate, sending the apostle tumbling backward with deep gouges, marring the metal.

The Apostle twisted mid-air, landing nimbly on his feet. His momentum hadn’t faded, though, and he drove his sword into the ground to anchor himself, carving a deep scar in the earth as he slid to a stop. As he regained his balance, he touched the shallow gouges on his breastplate and looked up, eyes gleaming with a newfound respect.

"Not bad," he conceded, shifting back into a fighting stance. "But how about this?"

His soul blazed with light, feeding mana into his sword. He swept the blade in a horizontal cut about chest level, releasing an arc of fire that sped through the air toward Fable. It was a sixth-level magical technique, but Fable didn’t even flinch, staring imperiously at Gayron as he took it head-on.

Gayron’s smile faltered when the flames dissipated harmlessly against Fable’s chest. "What the hell?" his tail flicked once in confusion before his eyes narrowed, and he turned to glare at Korra, who stood grinning on the other side of the barrier. "You said it only worked to the fifth level!"

I watched Korra closely, not because I was upset she’d revealed my secrets, but because I was curious if Bastion allowed sound through. It wasn’t a detail I’d paid attention to when studying the spell.

His voice seemed to carry clearly, as Korra promptly stuck her tongue out at him. Gayron huffed and rolled his eyes, his tail twitching in annoyance. Interesting. Perhaps I should modify a version to block sound, just in case an enemy attempted sonic attacks. Or maybe I could apply the principle of proportion I’d invented for Sound Ward, which only blocked noise above a certain, uncomfortable threshold.

My eyes glazed over as I fell into the problem, mentally tracing the magic circles, searching for the best place to make the modification. It wasn’t until a shockwave rippled against my wards that I snapped back to reality, a faint blush creeping onto my cheeks. Glancing around, it seemed everyone was fixated on the ongoing duel between Fable and Gayron, oblivious to my momentary lapse. I pressed a hand to my chest, releasing a small sigh of relief. The last thing I needed was Korra teasing me about spacing out in a duel.

Gayron was an impressive fighter, of that there was no doubt, but as I watched him engage with Fable, my tail began to twitch uneasily. He was slower than he should have been, his attacks lacking the expected explosive force for a champion of fire, and his soul seemed inefficient in channeling mana for both offense and defense. If Fable hadn’t been holding back and matching his strength, the battle would have ended within the first ten moves.

Had he always been this weak? I hadn’t had the chance to observe him fight an opponent of similar strength before, but the disparity was rapidly becoming apparent. Fable lacked the nimble, responsive attacks a sword was capable of, not to mention he was nearly twice Gayron’s size, yet the difference between them was stark. Gayron seemed... amateurish.

Korra should be able to defeat Fable. They hadn’t sparred to my knowledge, but with her arts and incredible dexterity and skill, she could likely wear down his defenses before he landed a solid hit on her. So how in the world had Gayron managed to defeat her just as much as she had him?

Again, I found myself glancing at Gayron’s sword. Why did he keep trying to compete with Fable’s claws directly? It wasn’t big enough, or heavy enough. While those factors seemed minimal compared to the power of the magical techniques flowing through it, Fyren had taught me the weapon makes a big difference.

Gayron hadn’t spoken in a while. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and after one particularly violent clash, he used the impact of Fable’s claws to leap backward, creating a hundred-foot gap. His eyes slid past Fable, focusing on a place behind the wolf. I followed his gaze and found the plume of smoke created from where the remnants of his initial arc of fire had landed against the Bastion.

I almost looked away, but a flicker of light in my peripheral vision snagged my attention. Was that...no, it couldn’t be possible. How could there be a soul there? But the sensation tugged at my mind, nagging at me until I realized what had been bothering me all along.

It wasn’t right. Adaptive resistance should have completely nullified the arc of fire, and there shouldn’t have been any ricochet or residual effect. So how did some of it end up exploding over there?

I waved my hand, casting a Gust of Wind to clear the smoke. My lips parted in a gasp, my tail stiffening, as a hulking silhouette emerged from the haze. A demon. Or rather, more specifically, Gayron’s demon form.