Fan Fiction / Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ The Order of the Purple Robe ❯ The Duel ( Chapter 3 )

The two men stood facing each other on a lone plateau. One clad in ebon, the other in violet, they stared each other down. A light wind blew, making the tall grass sway, generating a slightly mystical effect. “Well then, let's get this over with,” said Jareth.

“`The Black Wind begins to blow…'” quoted the High Mage. As he said this, Jareth felt that the Black Wind was indeed stirring on the plateau. It was as if Death itself had come to bear witness to their duel. “`OK, give me your best shot…'” the High Mage continued. “`If you're prepared for the void!'”

Both combatants sprang into action immediately. Jareth raised his hands and called down lightning from the heavens, but the High Mage blocked it with a magical shield. The High Mage then waved his hand violently at Jareth, and a sound akin to a 1000-foot tall giant cracking a whip of equal proportions resonated throughout the plateau. At the moment the blast struck, Jareth's natural defenses had risen in an attempt to protect him, but they were no match for the sheer power of the High Mage's attack. Jareth was forcibly thrown backwards, where he fell flat on his back, and the 2 foot-tall grass that covered the plateau obscured him from the High Mage's view.

A gash had been opened up on Jareth's forehead, and the blood began to trickle down his face. He ran his fingers across the gash, and looked up at the scarlet stain of blood on his fingers. Clenching his hand into a fist, he pound it into the ground, causing his body to fly up from the ground and into a standing position. As his back left the ground, he crossed his arms in an X across his chest, which was wise, because the High Mage had already sent a blue globe of energy flying at him. The moment Jareth had regained his balance, he uncrossed his arms in a rapid downwards swipe, moments before the energy blast would have hit him. Instead, the flames that Jareth had called up, and that now covered every inch of his body, instantly consumed the energy blast. He seemed as if he was a Demon from Hell, with eyes of lava glaring intently at his foe. The grass around him instantly began to shrivel up and smolder away, so that in seconds he stood upon bare, scorched earth. Giving a primordial yell, the flames surrounding him doubled in intensity, to the point where they nearly entirely obscured him from view, and his feet slowly left the ground from the sheer power of the forces at his command. Bringing his arms back, he siphoned the flames into a massive spherical conflagration, which he sent lancing in the High Mage's direction. The recoil from the fireball caused Jareth to fly backwards several feet, and the raging infernos caused the grass underneath it to shrivel and disintegrate as it carved a path straight towards the High Mage. It crashed against the translucent barrier of energy the High Mage had called up, and sparks flew everywhere. The shield began to buckle, and soon the fireball had burned a hole through it, where it continued on to catch the High Mage squarely in the chest. Pain seared through the High Mage's body, but the pain was bearable, thanks to the protective properties of his robes, as well as the fact that the shield had diffused the majority of the heat energy.

Back and forth the magi fought, each one desperately pushing their powers to the utmost limit, in the hopes of gaining some advantage over their opponent. Each combatant bore the scars of the countless gashes and lacerations they had received throughout the course of their duel. The rampant energies being expelled by each man caused these injuries to heal far faster than any normal cut would, but yet they left their telltale signs behind. A sea of blood, sprung from a hundred cuts and gashes, covered the scorched earth of the plateau, where flame and lightning had stripped the ground bare. The swirling black clouds in the skies above continued to darken, with the occasional lightning bolt, which only added further punctuation to the grand melee that ensued below.

The High Mage then sent a fist slamming into the earth, creating a miniature earthquake around Jareth's feet, causing Jareth to lose his balance. Then, the High Mage concentrated, and he began to rapidly move his arms in a curious fashion, as ripples of darkness began to spread out away from him. “The Black Wind howls… Dark Matter!” The High Mage pointed at Jareth, and immediately the scenery faded into an astral star field, twisting and turning, purely chaotic energies radiating in every direction, dark matter assailing Jareth. Then, everything froze for a split second, and Jareth was thrown forcibly backwards, where he crumpled over from the pain that was rushing through him. All new lacerations had created long furrows across Jareth's flesh, where they mingled with the pearly white scars of old cuts and burns. His face was as pale as Death from loss of blood, but despite his injuries, he still felt his legendary temper building within him.

Not for nothing was Jareth the most powerful mage in the entire Order of the Purple Robe. Spitting out a mouthful of blood, he mentally blocked the pain, made a few quick hand signals, and wrapped a streamer of magic around the High Mage's legs, yanking them out from under him. Jareth then called down another lightning bolt, this time scoring a direct hit. Springing up, he summoned gale force winds to pick up the High Mage's inert body and begin twirling it around like a rag doll. But also not for nothing did many people consider him to be the “High Mage”. He braced himself against the wind, grounded himself, and broke the spell that generated the winds, causing them to cease. Falling to the ground, he sent a white-hot ray of magic lancing in Jareth's direction, which Jareth barely managed to sidestep.

Jareth countered with a fireball, which the High Mage caught, and absorbed into himself to help recharge his mana reserves. The High Mage chanced a quick healing spell on himself, but the lapse in his attention proved to be a mistake. Jareth seized the opportunity and rushed forward, and sent his fist laden with potent magical energies slamming into the High Mage's chest, sending him flying head-over-heels. Landing hard, the High Mage waved his hand and yanked Jareth's legs out from under him as well. Springing to his feet, he brought his hand around in a slow arc, chanting furiously. The words of power began to echo around the expanse of the plateau, and lightning bolts began to strike all around them in a furious staccato of heat and light and sound. Jareth forced his body to stand once more, his limbs visibly quaking from the rampant pummeling they had received throughout the duel. But now, instead of blocking the pain, he focused on it. He let his very essence become consumed by it. Pure madness ran rampant throughout his mind, as his consciousness was consumed by the very essence of insanity. The very wind around him began to shriek in agony. Spirits of the dead began to wail their unholy discord at the sheer magnitude of the Pain that flowed through every particle of his body. Focusing still more, he brought his arms around to face the High Mage, and he released the Pain in one massive burst, where it rocketed towards the High Mage with alarming speed, while at the same time the High Mage shot a blast of energy that was so darkly purple that it was nearly black. The two attacks struck each other in mid-air, and for both magi, time seemed to stand still, and that single instant seemed to stretch on for an eternity… A wall of force shot out from the collision of the two blasts, causing the High Mage to fall to his knees, and Jareth to fly backwards. In the aftermath of the shockwave, both magi saw a spirit army rise up from the ground, their blood-chilling moans echoing around them. They then heard the sound of hooves, and turned to see four horsemen galloping around and between the spectral army that had risen. Jareth shakily got up on one knee, but had to lean against it for support. Then, as suddenly as the vision had appeared, they all vanished into mist. The High Mage turned again to face Jareth, and seizing the opportunity, he sprang back onto his feet and began to rapidly close the distance between them. Jareth watched in slow motion as the High Mage approached. His magical reserves depleted, he watched in silent agony, as Fate loomed nearer. With almost a casual flick of his wrist, the High Mage formed a soul blade the color of blood. Desperately raising both hands, Jareth formed a shield around himself in a vain attempt at protection. The soul blade crashed against the shield, and for an instant, the attack faltered. Then, slowly, the shield began to fold in on itself, as the soul blade pressed nearer to Jareth. Sparks were flying everywhere, as the High Mage threw every ounce of power he possessed into his attack. Soon, Jareth's head was exposed to the scorching energy of the soul blade. Jareth unleashed a scream from the very depths of his soul. Suddenly, everything went black for Jareth, as he felt Death's purging scythe rip through his fragile mortality, and in the next instant, his soul was soaring away, through the clouds and the sky and the empty void of space, leaving reality behind and entering into the realm of the great beyond…

Gasping for breath, the High Mage stood over Jareth, surveying his handiwork. A ghastly moan seemed to echo through the air, forcing the High Mage to cover his ears with both hands. Feeling faint from loss of blood, he realized that he needed immediate medical attention, but he needed medical care that no hospital could provide. His wounds required a healer, and fast. It was a stroke of dumb luck that he knew where to find one. Reaching down to the final drops of magic that he still retained, he teleported away from the plateau and onto the front porch of the “healer's” house that he had managed to discover not so much as a week ago. Collapsing where he stood, he managed to knock twice on the door, and waited. Soon, the door opened, and the High Mage found himself looking up into the face of none other than Crystal Summers.

 

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“My lord,” said a violet-clad mage to the Overlord, “we have just received word that Jareth is dead.” The mage stood there for several moments in silence, staring unblinkingly at the Overlord. Sighing deeply, Kajaren ordered the man out. Once he had left, the Overlord reached out and touched a small, reddish rune on his desk. The rune flashed white for a second, and then returned to its original hue. Without even thinking about it, Kajaren could feel the spell engraved into the rune mentally notifying each of his 11 councilmen that he was calling a meeting. With merely a thought, the room grew fuzzy and faded entirely; a moment later, he was sitting in his chair at the head of the council table. In seconds, the other 11 seats were occupied. Kajaren then stood up, and began to explain their predicament as he paced around the room.

“I will be brief about this. Needless to say, we have gone over this before. Jareth is dead, and with it went our last plan to turn this situation around. The Order is in disarray. We are already having problems with deserters. And on top of all that, we still haven't been able to get that damn `High Mage' out of the picture. And the Guardian Angels aren't helping, either. So, any ideas?” He walked around for a few seconds, waiting for a reply.

“Sir, maybe if we lured him here, we might be able to overpower him.”

“No, Kinison. It sounds like a good idea, but what if we couldn't overpower him. His power is not of this world…”

“Not to mention that there is a good chance that he would bring the Guardian Angels with him. We don't know for sure if they are working together or not.”

“Well, we've never seen the Guardian Angels and the High Mage together at the same time, so it's impossible to say for sure.”

“What if we tried taking hostages?”

“No, we've already tried that before.”

“What happened?”

“The High Mage made a huge flash of light, and by the time it had cleared, the men holding the hostages were dead, along with half of the other people.”

While the heated debate continued, Boreas sat silently in his seat, trying to decide something. Finally making up his mind, he started, “What if we appealed to-”

“Don't even think about mentioning that again!” said Kajaren angrily. “We already went over that, and I for one know full well that my father would never return, even if we got down and begged him. Are you so cowardly that you believe that we do not have the strength to win this war?”

Boreas turned pale at this. The truth, as far as he could see it, was that there was no other alternative than to appeal to those who were once their brethren. But Kajaren wouldn't hear of it. In a desperate attempt to change the subject, he blurted, “What if we could find a way to track him?” What exactly Kajaren had against his father had always been a mystery to him. “Maybe we could kill him in his sleep?” he continued, hardly paying attention to what he was saying. Suddenly, Boreas noticed that everybody was now staring at him.

“That may be an idea…” Kajaren said, calming down. “However, how would we track him? I'm sure he would notice if we put a bug on him.”

“Yeah, and he would kill anyone who was following him,” Kinison remarked. Kajaren sighed deeply, and then walked over to his chair and sat down.

“All right, this is what we're going to do. We will search our archives every day, and we will hold regular meetings from now on starting at the third epox, until we can find ourselves a solution. We have more books held in the libraries in Garon Drimm and the Citadel than we have room for; plenty of them haven't been touched in over a century. I'm sure we can find something in them. I would find it hard to believe that in two millennia, someone hadn't uncovered an efficient way of killing just one man. We just need to find what it is.”

Kajaren's tone indicated that the meeting was over. Slowly, all of the assembled councilmen stood, and filed out. As Boreas was leaving, however, Kinison pulled him aside.

“Listen, I know how you feel, but it would be best if you did not mention `them' to Kajaren ever again. He will never forgive Aeolius, and in all honesty, we can't be sure if he is even still alive.”

“But surely you can see that they would be a valuable asset in defeating the High Mage,” Boreas countered. Kinison sighed, and shook his head. “I am sure they know of what's been going on recently. If they'd wanted to return, they would have done so by now.”

“No, they wouldn't have, because Kajaren would have put a death sentence on all of their heads!” Boreas was feeling very irked with Kinison; he had always assumed that his fellow councilor was a reasonable man.

“Technically, Kajaren already has put a death sentence on all of their heads. But do you think anyone would try to carry it out? Haven't you heard the stories of what happened 25 years ago?” Kinison could tell by the look in Boreas's eyes that he still wasn't convinced. “Listen, Kajaren will never change his mind on this matter. Bringing it up again would only mean risking your life. His patience is gone, and he will not tolerate disobedience. Do yourself a favor, and let it drop.” Boreas stared at Kinison in silence a few seconds, before silently walking away. Kinison, now alone, let his thoughts wander back to the time when Gaspar was Overlord, and all was right with the world. But Gaspar was gone, and the remaining heir was unable to ascend to the throne. Granted, Kajaren was an improvement over Ogdaren, Gaspar's second son. Ogdaren's blindness had been his own undoing. Walking silently down the now deserted corridor, Kinison began to wonder if the war would ever end.