It's Just Magic

So Much Skill

Sprinting down the corridor with adrenaline rushing through his veins Edendir laughed, dodging past other pupils. Boyd run alongside even though he could easily have gone ahead and abandoned the elf to his fate.

"Move it!" Boyd yelled, swerving out of the way of a gaggle of gossiping girls. He almost fell, lurching sideways and slamming his shoulder against the wall. He swore loudly and slowed for a second.

School prefects were running down the corridor and looking for the two boys. Edendir thought quickly and grabbed Boyd's uninjured arm, dragging him down the corridor and using air to propel him forwards.

"Start moving," Edendir hissed, releasing his hold and gaining strength to run further away from the following prefects. Boyd sighed but sprang forwards did swift handsprings down the corridor, forcing people to move from his path. Edendir could feel himself slowly changing and kept a firm grip on his magic, gaining speed instead of a narrower face.

"Come back here!" Mr Monson roared. A prefect ran out of a side corridor and Edendir dived to one side, using his hands to push his body forwards like a bounding wolf. Boyd used the wall to flip over the prefect's head, landing a few feet forwards with perfect balance.

"We're running out of corridor!" Boyd shouted. Edendir's eyes went wide and he raised his head to see a large window where the wall should be. Somewhere along their route there had been stairs and they were on the third floor with no exit. Mr Monson was stood behind them at the end of the open corridor and prefects filled every crevice. 

Suddenly a dark figure smashed through the glass and skidded along the corridor, boots scoring deep grooves into the floor. Glittering black metal armour caught the sunlight and reflected into every school pupil's eyes, blinding everyone crowding the corridor. Mr Monson roared angrily and the person echoed the noise, dark eyes sparkling through a gap in their helmet visor.

"Get out of my school!" Mr Monson screamed. 

"I claim this for my own!" a rough, Irish voice bellowed in reply. "Leave, human!"

"My school!" Mr Monson said, voice reaching an even higher pitch. "Get out!"

Vassago - that's who the armour-clad warrior was - strode down the corridor, a sword made of black fire bumping his hip with every step. 

"Listen," Vassago growled, accent getting stronger as he drew closer to the trembling headmaster. "I am claiming this building for my own, now. Either you leave or fight me for it."

"I'll call the police," Mr Monson squeaked, giving into his terror. 

"No you won't," Vassago said, barking out a laugh. He sliced his blade along the walls and sparks flew as every power line was cut simultaneously.

"Try it now, human," Vassago sneered, standing a few feet away from the headmaster, legs braced in a fighting, lunging stance. "Now fight like a man or lose your school!"

"I haven't got anything to fight with," Mr Monson protested. Vassago tossed him a short sword and flipped his own over in his palm. At a snap of his fingers both blades ignited with orange light, burning to cause even more pain.

"You bow," Vassago commanded. Mr Monson bowed to the waist whereas Vassago merely nodded his head, all he could do in the spiked helmet. Silver prongs stuck out in every direction and ensured that people kept away from him.

"Now we fight," Vassago grinned. He twirled his sword and then threw it like a dagger, pinning Mr Monson to the wall and then walking past. The headmaster whimpered and stabbed wildly, the short, stubby blade bouncing off Vassago's stomach plate.