The two spells screamed through the air, colliding mid-field with a thunderclap so violent it rattled bones.
The detonation tore the ground apart, flames bursting outward in a storm of heat and light that swallowed the space between them, turning dirt to ash and filling the air with choking smoke.
Neither shaman looked away.
Their gazes locked across the boiling haze, almost as if they were competing to see which would falter first.
When the smoke began to thin, Amon shifted suddenly to the side, his pendant flaring as one of the jade talismans lit with an eerie glow. He thrust his staff forward, and from its tip erupted a volley of crackling black lightning. The bolts split the air with a sound like tearing metal, jagged tendrils lashing out toward Narg with lethal speed.
But Narg, without the faintest change in expression, lifted his staff and summoned a shimmering shield of mana.
The first wave of black lightning slammed into it with a hiss like steel doused in water, and the shimmering mana shield fractured, scattering into a lattice of hexagonal disks that hovered in the air like shards of glass.
But this wasn’t the result of strain or damage, it was deliberate, a calculated maneuver.
Narg twirled his staff once, and with that motion the formation shifted. The disks reoriented themselves, some settling flat against the ground in a protective layer while others hovered loosely in the air, waiting like pieces on a board to be moved at his command.
Amon’s snarl deepened. He thrust his staff forward again, the talisman on his chest pulsing as another salvo of dark lightning tore through the battlefield, each bolt screaming toward Narg with murderous intent.
But this time Narg didn’t bother to raise the full shield. Instead, he flicked his staff subtly, and only a handful of the disks responded, sliding into place with surgical precision. Each hexagon shifted just far enough to intercept the line of fire aimed at his body.
The bolts slammed into the conjured barriers, erupting in violent bursts of smoke and sparks.
The air rippled with the force of the impacts, dust scattering as the crackle of mana fought against the bite of dark lightning. Yet when the haze cleared, the disks remained intact, their surfaces scorched but unbroken, anchored firmly in the air like unyielding plates of steel.
Amon’s eyes narrowed, his grip tightening on his staff. Every bolt he fired had been countered with almost insulting efficiency, as though Narg were dismantling his attacks piece by piece, reducing them to nothing more than wasted effort.
Narg exhaled slowly, his breath calm, his expression unreadable. This method was efficient, more than efficient. By breaking his defense into smaller, controlled segments, he not only directed the force where it was needed most, but also conserved mana.
Each disk demanded only a fraction of what a full barrier required, allowing him to sustain the duel without draining himself dry.
Another bolt of dark lightning shrieked across the battlefield. Narg shifted his staff, a single disk sliding upward to meet it. The impact crackled violently, but the barrier held.
In the same motion, he retaliated, launching a volley of fireballs, each one sharp, deliberate, and fast. Check latest chapters at ⓝovelFire.net
Amon’s pendant flared in response. One of the jade talismans embedded in the chain at his throat lit with an angry glow, and a barrier materialized in front of him. The fireballs struck it in rapid succession, detonating against the shield with bursts of flame, but the wall of magic absorbed the worst of it, leaving Amon standing unharmed behind the smoke.
Narg’s brow creased as he studied the rhythm of Amon’s pendant. The talisman that flared whenever a bolt of dark lightning was unleashed was not the same as the one that blazed when Amon conjured a shield.
Each glow corresponded to a different effect, each one tied to a single fragment of power.
That realization gave Narg an edge. If he could track which talisman flared, he could predict Amon’s moves even before the spell was cast. Anticipation was often the difference between victory and being burned alive.
But he chose not to lean too heavily on the discovery. Overconfidence was dangerous, especially now.
Two more talismans still hung from the pendant, their functions unknown. They had yet to glow, and that made them the most dangerous of all. Narg knew better than to gamble blindly against a desperate shaman, especially one willing to burn through resources so recklessly.
He would have to watch, learn, and be ready when those other talismans finally came into play.
For now, he fought with measured calm. His staff moved with steady rhythm, hexagonal disks rising and shifting to intercept each blast of dark lightning, their surfaces hissing with smoke but holding firm. Between each parry he retaliated, sending clean, sharp firebolts cutting across the field.
His movements were fluid, economical, no wasted effort, no unnecessary flourish. Every strike was calculated, every defense precise.
Narg continued to parry and retaliate with unnerving ease, his staff guiding the hexagonal shields into place with the precision of a craftsman. Each time Amon hurled another bolt of dark lightning, it was as though Narg had already seen the attack before it left his hand.
The disks slid into position a heartbeat early, intercepting the strike cleanly, while his counterfire followed in smooth, efficient rhythm.
Amon’s frustration mounted with every failed attempt. His jaw tightened, tusks grinding audibly as he poured more mana into his spells, launching them faster, harder, more erratic.
But no matter the variation, Narg’s responses were exact, almost mechanical.
It wasn’t chance. It wasn’t luck. It was control.
Amon gritted his teeth in frustration:
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
He had expected to overwhelm him, some inexperienced whelp clinging to a borrowed staff, someone who had no business standing in the path of a true shaman.
In his mind, Narg should have already been ash by now.