Fan Fiction ❯ The Weaver Telarius ❯ Conflict and Aftermath ( Chapter 10 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: Sir Telarius 
The duel between Vincent and Telarius, and what occurs afterwards... how long afterwards? You'll have to wait to find out ;)
Anime/Manga: Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Supernatural / Psychological / / Fantasy | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 11.24.2002 | Pages: 2 | Words: 4.8K | Visits: 150 | Status: Work In Progress
The duel between Vincent and Telarius, and what occurs afterwards... how long afterwards? You'll have to wait to find out ;)
Anime/Manga: Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Supernatural / Psychological / / Fantasy | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 11.24.2002 | Pages: 2 | Words: 4.8K | Visits: 150 | Status: Work In Progress
Before I could protest, the duel had begun. Vincent took several steps back, then removed his wand from his robes. I responded by taking my own out, and a certain amount of tension was felt. Tension that I did not anticipate. It felt as though my wand and his were not in agreement with fighting each other directly. I aimed mine towards him, and he did the same. Our timing was synchronous, as it we both felt the same thing. Sparks now started to flow between our two wands, as if they were repelling each other.
It was at this moment that Xorlempt informed me of the principle of priori incantatem. Though the lecture was quick as thought, it still took time, and in that time, Vincent decided to act. He realized as well that our wands could not be made to duel magically, and that gave me an advantage, being ill versed in the art of magical dueling. He instead ran at me, full on, his right hand now clenched in a fist, with the wand sticking out to the right, still in his hand. Xorlempt had finished his lecture, but Vincent's fist was now too close to my face to block. I ran through what other options I knew myself to possess.
I felt my jaw go out of alignment, and a flood of pain accompanied it. My balanced was robbed from me and I spiraled to the ground, face first. I managed to breakfall, but my back was now to my opponent. He turned me over, grabbed me by the collar with his left hand, and brought his plummetting down. Still being in fencing mode, I brought my right hand up in a sort of strange quint to parry his wand, even though his hand was the threat.
His hand stopped, and the force between our two wands was immeasurable. I had to use almost every ounce of my strength just to hold it there. His frame was larger, being an older body and well beyond puberty, and he still seemed to experience the same. With a ki shout I shoved my wand forward. It only moved a fraction of an inch, but Vincent soared backwards, and had to flip in midair to recover. His acrobatics served as a crowd pleaser, who had become a little uneasy after his initial, brutal attack. I brought myself to my feet, slowly, then wiped the blood from my mouth. I reset my jaw into place, though it hurt like hell, and kept my composure. My glare could have pierced full plate armour, and yet Vincent did not flinch. In fact, his glare was just as piercing.
'Xorlempt,' I summoned him back to the realm of mental communication, 'Is that kind of behaviour typical of such wands?'
'Negative. I've never heard anything like it before, and I've been around a bit. All I know is that the heartstring in your wand and the heartstring in his are both from the same dragon,' Xorlempt's answer brought no assurance.
'Great.'
Communication was broken, and Vincent was now much closer to me. He must have walked, though, for his breath was quite even. The tension between our wands, even at this distance of three meters, was quite astonishing. He saluted me with his, and I understood what he was implying. This duel could not go on with our wands out in the open. We simultaneously put them in our respective robes and the tension was gone. Apparently it only existed when the wand was being wielded. He bowed to me in a fashion that struck me as European, and then took a fighting stance which seemed rather primitive.
I allowed myself an internal sigh of relief. If it was to be unarmed combat, he appeared not to have the skill to take me. He would have the definite strength advantage, though. I couldn't rest too comfortably in this match. I bowed to him in the style of an ancient, Japanese tradition, and took up a fifty-fifty stance, my hands taking their places of right forward and ready to parry, and left back and ready to strike. Our eyes met once more, and I could tell that he knew I had skill over him. He came in with a feint with his right, easy enough to see through due to the lack of intent in his eyes, and then the real strike from his left, an overhand haymaker. I stepped to my right to avoid his blow, and gave a quick jab to his ribs with my right. He spun about with a right hook in retaliation, but I was no longer there. I had long since danced out of his range. I then stepped in and performed a mid-level side kick with my right, aimed to the left of his solar plexus. This brought his torso back around and allowed me to step in with my backfist, which connected with one knuckle on his upper lip, directly underneath his nose. I finished my onslaught with a double open palm strike with added ki shout, directly to his center of gravity, which I deduced from those two blows to be held higher than usual, a good inch above his solar plexus. I balanced the blow such to drive him straight back, and he was indeed driven.
I had pulled those punches, hoping that he would realize that it was a no contest and forfeit. He got to his feet, glaring still, and I knew that I would have to up the stakes. My fists noticeably clenched tighter, I was told. Vincent charged me once more, hoping that a bull rush would catch me with no adequate defense.
~Telarius! He's himself right now. He's not possessed by whatever makes him want to kill you!~
~Cordelia?! Why are you telling me this?~
~You looked as though you might think it better to dispatch him quickly...~
~Well, for your information, I was merely recogn...~
Vincent's shoulder met my ribcage with astounding force and I was literally knocked into the arena wall. I felt like several of my ribs had been brused, and I couldn't get a breath. I felt blood in my lungs, but also felt unable to cough it up without my diaphragm, which seemed to have taken a vacation. I saw everyone in the arena stand, and gasps were heard all around. Rubble from the wall was falling on top of me, and soon would cover me. The expression I saw on Vincent's face was one of regret, and then I was covered completely.
Not being able to breathe was having dizzying effects. I started to not be aware of my surroundings, and then my identity. A haze clouded over my senses. I felt a surge of energy take over my muscles, and my arms flung out in all directions, casting the debris off my body. My body stood for a moment, then fell on its knees. The force of the fall was so great that it sent a shock up my body, and I coughed up a huge gout of blood. I could breathe again, and the pressure on my chest was slightly lifted. My clothing had been torn, though, and I felt the sting of some of the dust in open scrapes, cuts, and abrasions. I imagine that I was not a pretty sight. I slowly brought myself to my feet, my entire body quaking. I planted each foot firmly, and took three calm breaths. Finally, I adjusted my head to face forward once more, tossed my hair back out of my face, and struck a cat stance.
Fear was in Vincent's eyes at that moment. I strode forward, simply walking, making no effort to prepare defense. He knew what was coming, I felt. A quick snap kick to his right thigh temporarily disabled that leg. Almost in a reflex motion, he struck at my chest. I blocked and bound his right arm with my right. I looked across this bind into his eyes, then brought my right knee forcefully into his chest. From his bent over position I brought my foot up so that the heel faced the sky and, pleased with the flexibility this body had, performed the perfect axe kick into the small of his back.
I heard him cry out in pain, quite loudly, and then his body hit the ground, face first. I stepped back for a moment, and he rolled over onto his back, his face in pain and his eyes closed. When they opened, they saw my hand extended toward him, offering to help him up.
"Can I take that cry as a concession, so that I can't do you more pain?" I used my most gentle voice for this, "I don't truly wish to hurt you, Vincent. I don't know you well enough for that."
His eyes seemed to welcome my gentleness, and he took my hand in his.
~Telarius! Watch out!~
His eyes flashed, suddenly, to a deep red, and I felt his grip tighten. I was surprised by this action, and when he flung me over behind him through just the power of his arm, I was shocked. I brought myself to my feet, only to have them swept out from under me. I had no time to wonder why, as I was confronted with a spear hand driving down towards my throat. I rolled away from it, stood, and looked to find Vincent's hand embedded slightly in the ground. His muscles seemed slightly more filled out than I remembered them being, and his expression was like that of an animal.
~It's there now, Telarius!~
~Oh, you think?!~
That remark silenced Cordelia, thankfully, for I was confronted with greater issues. Issues like a backwards spinning roundhouse kick which would have decapitated me had I not dropped to. From this position I swept, but Vincent was ready for that and jumped over my leg, thrusting his foot at my head in midair. I rolled with it as much as I could, travelling a few feet back, but it still hurt like a bastard. From my new, crouched position, I leapt into a punch aimed just below his throat, which connected and forced him back a bit as well. We both struck en guarde once more, and there was a pause in our movements.
The pause was broken as Vincent lunged forward with a right. The intent seemed good, so I blocked it, and immediately thereafter was struck to the side of my right knee by his kick. This forced me into a twisted, unbalanced posture, and he proceeded to strike me once in the kidneys with a reverse punch and then an uppercut to the jaw. I was forced back a bit, and while regaining my footing, he assaulted me once more with a flurry of punches, kicks, and various other strikes. I do not remember the exact order of events at that point, only that he ended by throwing a shoulder and knocking me back several feet and on my back.
He stopped his onslaught at that moment, and as I rose I caught his eyes. He was mocking me with laughter, and I did not take well to it. His initial right had been a feint, and I had not seen it, for it had intent. I brought myself to my feet and dusted myself off, attempting to salvage some dignity. Vincent had won that round, certainly. In response to his mocking, I extended my right arm, supenated the hand, and curled the fingers thrice in, then out, slowly. His eyes widened, and I could tell that he angered. He ran at me, and I took a horse stance, waiting for the perfect moment. Cordelia gave me knowledge of his next move. He was going for a choke hold.
When he was within range, I thrust out my right arm in an open palm strike with a loud ki shout, placed directly on his solar plexus. He could not breathe for several seconds, I knew, and I used this time to take five paces back, then resumed my stance. He charged me once more.
~Telarius, he's...~
~Stop!~ I cut her off, ~If I am to best my opponent, I wish to do it in fairness. I was unaware of your intentions before, but now I am and there is no excuse.~
I waited, looking into his eyes, hoping for a tell tale sign of his attack. It was definitely a punch, I knew, as soon as he entered within two feet. When he was on distance, I guessed that he would throw a left. I was correct, and bound his arm. He threw his right, and I bound that as well. He attempted a headbutt from that position, but I lowered my center and sat down on my legs a bit, so that his head could not contact mine. Such was the difference in height. I then used his forward motion as a helper for my arms, and slid my legs forward, my goal to by lying on my back in the end. Using these tools, I heaved him over me, keeping his arms bound in mine. From there, I jumped back to my feet and pulled my arms down. I could feel his shoulders pull out of joint. I could also hear it, and I let both of them go. I turned to face him, and found his eyes to be once more his.
I felt sorry for him at that moment, and helped him put his shoulders back in place, giving them each a bit of a rub to make blood flow to them and get the endorphins pumping. The crowd was deeply confused by this, he understood as I did. It was a contest, but not a fight to the death. I think he was aware of the forces taking him over from time to time as well, but somehow couldn't do anything about it. As I was applying the finishing touches on his left shoulder, his right grabbed my collar. Vincent stood, lifted me off the ground, and threw me quite a distance. I managed to roll and return to my feet, but distance was all he needed. The eyes were back to the other form.
In a movement almost too quick for myself to see, Vincent had his wand out again. He waved it and words escaped his lips in a language that must have been at least a century dead. "Driacus lebtus."
His wand underwent a transformation at that moment. It grew in either direction, and formed a hilt, a blade, and a handle. In a matter of seconds, it became a scottish claymore. Not only was its size massive, but it radiated power beyond most understanding. The power, too, seemed rather ancient, as if it had been stored for a long time without ever being used. The blade began to glow under a crimson light that flared as the sun, only more subtley. Now both of his hands were grasping the handle, and he ran forward, ready to slice me in two.
It became a different battle at that point. I ducked to avoid his horizontal swing, then rolled to the side to avoid the downward strike which followed. The sword seemed to make the ground vibrate. I fell back quite a bit to his advancing blade. I could do nothing but retreat and occassionaly get by him to gain ground. Those moments were the most tense, and during one I felt the flesh of the left side of my chest open and burn in agony, and I cried out in pain. I rolled back several times and remained crouched, holding a hand over the open wound. When I finally looked up again, he in range. He chuckled a bit, and held his blade up for a moment, bringing it down with every intention of cutting one of my eyes.
What could I do? I hadn't the time to dodge, so I turned my face to the side, and his cut went to my left cheek, luckily not cutting too deep. I cried out again, I remember, as I felt the blood, heated from his blade, trail down my face. I remember thinking that the scar left from this wound would seem rather unordinary. My mind is a funny thing at times.
"Stop!" I heard Dumbledore shout. I looked up, and saw Vincent in the perfect position to separate my head from my shoulders. "This match is over!"
Vincent's lips twiched, as if he wanted to continue with his action, but I knew that he could not face Dumbledore. He lowered his sword and turned his back on me, walking away.
I don't know what on earth possessed me at that time. It was not pride, for I know it well, as well as I know humility. It was not conceit, nor was it anger. I stood to my feet, and shouted, "I have not conceded! This match can not be over!"
Vincent turned and looked at me, and there was an evil sort of relishing look in his eyes. I met it with a cold stare. I wanted to beat him. To destroy him for trying to destroy me. I fumbled in my mind over who exactly he was at that moment, for Vincent and this man surely were not the same, but it did not matter to me just then. What mattered was closure.
I brought out my wand as Vincent charged at me, and tried desparately to remember what he had chanted. "Dracos libtus... no. Drecus labtos. No, that's not it either..."
He was nearly upon me. A moment of inspiration graced me. "Driacus lebtus!"
I had it in time to parry high quarte in response to his downward cut. It was a bastard sword, which I currently held with both hands in order to withstand the force behind that monster. Mine was bathed in similar energy, though the colour was silver, which I enjoyed highly. The blades never actually made contact. They stopped at the point where the two bands of energy met and there was a pulse of light and a crack of sound like a quiet, single boom of thunder. Our eyes met in this stance, and I forced him back as I did before when our weapons were merely wands.
I did not entirely understand what was going on, admittedly. The bastard sword in my hands was lighter than most sabers I've used, and yet it parried and cut with the force of a claymore. I understood now why the cuts from Vincent had caused such agony, in addition to the flame. He was on my territory now, though. I was better with blades than he was, I knew. I had to be careful, for he would kill me if given the chance.
He scored another hit on my left thigh, and I cringed a bit. The weakening it caused in my posture was enough to leave me open for a telling blow, and he was more than happy to deliver toward that end. Threads of silver shot out from around my arm and grabbed his, stopping its motion. I thanked Xorlempt with all my gratitude and cut down, catching his thigh where he had caught mine. The effect of the cut was different, I noticed. It did not burn him, and did not appear to my eyes to have any other effects other than opening his flesh and causing him to bleed. There was a minute bit of light upon impact, but that was all that I noticed. The flame around his blade diminished in its aura slightly, though I knew not why. He seemed quite pained by my blow, beyond anything that he had done to me yet, and he was open for the finish.
I did not take it, but chose to retreat. After a few moments, Vincent resumed his attack, and I defended his blind assualt, for the only openings I saw were to vital areas. Killing was not an option. I got him once on the left shoulder, but he wielded the claymore with one hand after that. He scored another hit on my chest to match the one from earlier and, in my blind pain, I cut leftwards-down with all my might. My blade cut deep into his forehead at this angle, and also served to disarm him. He shrieked uncontrollably with agony. I put my sword tip close to his throat and waited for his eyes to open.
When they met mine, they were no longer red, and their original colour had lost some of its life. I realized, suddenly, what additional effect this weapon I was using had. His eyes pleaded to me many things of which I only understood a few. I raised my bastard sword high into the air.
And promptly dropped it. "I concede!" I shouted at the top of my lungs.
* * *
We both were ushered off to the hospital wing in an awful hurry. After the adrenaline and endorphins dissipated, the pain was immeasureable, and I admit to blacking out for a long period of time. When I came to, I sat up, suddenly, as if awaking from a nightmare, though I remember no such nightmare. I looked to my left and saw Vincent in a bed on the other side of the room from me. On the right was a mirror, and I blinked a few times to make sure the image I saw was correct.
I was heavily wrapped in gauze, but they had taken it off of my face. Everything there had healed rather quickly. There was a scar, though. A line straight down my left cheek, and then it looked as if an artist had etched out to either side, getting wider and wider on the way down, until the picture resembled an anime comet heading straight down. I shuddered, happy that this was not my body. At least, I hoped that it wasn't the body I would be stuck in for the rest of my days this cycle.
I attempted to get out of my bed, and found my legs unwilling to undergo the process. Just as well, I thought. I felt quite tired and needed some more rest.
* * *
After being threatened with my own dedicated bed in the hospital wing if I ended up there once more this term, I was allowed to leave with a clean bill of health. I was informed that the match was scored in favour of Vincent, seven to one. Apparently they did not appreciate my open defiance of Dumbledore, nor the ruthlessness that both of us showed. It could not be helped, for that was the nature of the challenge. Vincent also had a scar, though his was across the forehead, where my last blow landed. It did not appear to have any special attributes at first, but refused to be illuminated by anything. His face could be lit by the sun itself and it would still appear rather dark and deep set, with no sight of grooves or whatnot.
It was now the first week of December, and finals were in two more weeks. To make matters worse, I was informed that today was one of Professor Lupin's 'sick' days. Attending classes was out of the question, for I would be teaching all day.
Dealing with class after class proved more challenging than any of the matches from the tournament. Questions came flooding in like wildfire, because exams were coming up. At first, I would rattle off quite a bit of information, to make sure it really sank in. After a while, though, I found myself naming page numbers from the book and asking students to study, sometimes entire chapters. As the day progressed, I got more and more irritated, and thus more vindictive as well. My 2:00 class had to recite the vulnerabilities of werewolves in alphabetical order, round-robin style. First person to drop the ball had to start the whole deal over again, until it went through the entire class.
The last class of the day came about, and I was far beyond exhausted, at that stage where you suddenly get a rush of energy for no apparent reason. However, I had grown so cynical towards the student body that day that I decided to make use of what priviledge I had.
"Alright, maggots!" I barked, rather harshly, "Since it's obvious that no one on this entire campus has paid attention to their studies until fear of examinations crept around, I think it's time for a pop quiz. This will be a field examination, so you'll want your wands and your wits. I hope you brought your heavy cloaks as well, because it's bloody cold outside, especially in the Dark Forest."
The class all gave me the same blank stare for a moment. One particularly annoying brat in the front raised her hand. "Yes, Ms. Watson," I called on her, for no other reason than to entertain her. I knew exactly what she was going to say.
"But, Mr. Shade... the Dark Forest is forbidden. Students aren't allowed to go in there."
I smirked a bit. "Quite right, Ms. Watson. Also of note is the fact that millions of children all around the world are starving. I could add the current economic affairs of France into the equation, as I hear they're doing quite well. Or we could say that Australia used to be an English penal colony. Now, Ms. Watson, what would these facts all have in common with what you've just told me?"
She paused for a moment. "I don't know, Mr. Shade. What do they have in common?"
"I don't give a shit!" I barked, causing her and many of her classmates to leap in astonishment, "Now gear up, class. We're gonna go hunt some nasties and see what you've really learned about defending yourselves against the Dark Arts."
* * *
At the entrance to the Dark Forest I could feel many of the students trembling. It was a bit disheartening. "Remember, class, many things live off of fear. They are things you wish not to feed. Many of you are Gryffindors, and the rest of you should stick with them. The courage of that house is exactly what this situation calls for."
"Excuse me, Mr. Shade... if I might ask... what exactly are we hunting?"
I considered the question for a moment. I used a farseeing spell to see what was in the forest, then established barriers in a large perimeter, creating a sort of maze of trees. Only one thing now in the area was of a threat to them. "Your mission is not to hunt, class. This class lasts for an hour, so you'll go in teams of seven, each for ten minutes. You have to go to the other end of the area I've sealed off, and collect a small, glowing token. There is only one entity in the forest which poses threat to you, so be on your guard."
I assigned them into teams rather quickly and sent each through. Each team returned with the token, but several were gasping for breath, and only one team actually managed to neutralize the threat, and only because Harry Potter was on that team. Yes, it was a little cruel to send a bunch of third years into an isolated area with a Dementor, but they needed a wake-up call. They were learning these things for a reason. If they could not adequately defend themselves in a pinch, all their other studies would be useless.
I am proud to say that not a single member of that class got less than a B on the final. It's amazing what a little fear can do.
* * *
Unfortunately for me, Hogwarts school policies heavily frowned upon my pop quiz. So much so, in fact, that I found myself in Dumbledore's office. I stood as an enlisted soldier would stand at attention upon receiving notice of a court marshal. The situation was strikingly similar to me, and so I figured it appropriate.
We had a long, drawn out chat, Dumbledore and I. He layed out the school policies, I promptly told him my reasonings. He agreed with my motivation and not my methods, and then we had lunch. I was given a reprimand and my privelidge to student teach was revoked for the rest of the school year. It was a major blow to my reputation, but I had students from that class thanking me after finals, I remember. It was worth it, though I felt rather horrible at the time. I wasn't at my best that day. We all do things we are ashamed of, I guess.
It was at this moment that Xorlempt informed me of the principle of priori incantatem. Though the lecture was quick as thought, it still took time, and in that time, Vincent decided to act. He realized as well that our wands could not be made to duel magically, and that gave me an advantage, being ill versed in the art of magical dueling. He instead ran at me, full on, his right hand now clenched in a fist, with the wand sticking out to the right, still in his hand. Xorlempt had finished his lecture, but Vincent's fist was now too close to my face to block. I ran through what other options I knew myself to possess.
I felt my jaw go out of alignment, and a flood of pain accompanied it. My balanced was robbed from me and I spiraled to the ground, face first. I managed to breakfall, but my back was now to my opponent. He turned me over, grabbed me by the collar with his left hand, and brought his plummetting down. Still being in fencing mode, I brought my right hand up in a sort of strange quint to parry his wand, even though his hand was the threat.
His hand stopped, and the force between our two wands was immeasurable. I had to use almost every ounce of my strength just to hold it there. His frame was larger, being an older body and well beyond puberty, and he still seemed to experience the same. With a ki shout I shoved my wand forward. It only moved a fraction of an inch, but Vincent soared backwards, and had to flip in midair to recover. His acrobatics served as a crowd pleaser, who had become a little uneasy after his initial, brutal attack. I brought myself to my feet, slowly, then wiped the blood from my mouth. I reset my jaw into place, though it hurt like hell, and kept my composure. My glare could have pierced full plate armour, and yet Vincent did not flinch. In fact, his glare was just as piercing.
'Xorlempt,' I summoned him back to the realm of mental communication, 'Is that kind of behaviour typical of such wands?'
'Negative. I've never heard anything like it before, and I've been around a bit. All I know is that the heartstring in your wand and the heartstring in his are both from the same dragon,' Xorlempt's answer brought no assurance.
'Great.'
Communication was broken, and Vincent was now much closer to me. He must have walked, though, for his breath was quite even. The tension between our wands, even at this distance of three meters, was quite astonishing. He saluted me with his, and I understood what he was implying. This duel could not go on with our wands out in the open. We simultaneously put them in our respective robes and the tension was gone. Apparently it only existed when the wand was being wielded. He bowed to me in a fashion that struck me as European, and then took a fighting stance which seemed rather primitive.
I allowed myself an internal sigh of relief. If it was to be unarmed combat, he appeared not to have the skill to take me. He would have the definite strength advantage, though. I couldn't rest too comfortably in this match. I bowed to him in the style of an ancient, Japanese tradition, and took up a fifty-fifty stance, my hands taking their places of right forward and ready to parry, and left back and ready to strike. Our eyes met once more, and I could tell that he knew I had skill over him. He came in with a feint with his right, easy enough to see through due to the lack of intent in his eyes, and then the real strike from his left, an overhand haymaker. I stepped to my right to avoid his blow, and gave a quick jab to his ribs with my right. He spun about with a right hook in retaliation, but I was no longer there. I had long since danced out of his range. I then stepped in and performed a mid-level side kick with my right, aimed to the left of his solar plexus. This brought his torso back around and allowed me to step in with my backfist, which connected with one knuckle on his upper lip, directly underneath his nose. I finished my onslaught with a double open palm strike with added ki shout, directly to his center of gravity, which I deduced from those two blows to be held higher than usual, a good inch above his solar plexus. I balanced the blow such to drive him straight back, and he was indeed driven.
I had pulled those punches, hoping that he would realize that it was a no contest and forfeit. He got to his feet, glaring still, and I knew that I would have to up the stakes. My fists noticeably clenched tighter, I was told. Vincent charged me once more, hoping that a bull rush would catch me with no adequate defense.
~Telarius! He's himself right now. He's not possessed by whatever makes him want to kill you!~
~Cordelia?! Why are you telling me this?~
~You looked as though you might think it better to dispatch him quickly...~
~Well, for your information, I was merely recogn...~
Vincent's shoulder met my ribcage with astounding force and I was literally knocked into the arena wall. I felt like several of my ribs had been brused, and I couldn't get a breath. I felt blood in my lungs, but also felt unable to cough it up without my diaphragm, which seemed to have taken a vacation. I saw everyone in the arena stand, and gasps were heard all around. Rubble from the wall was falling on top of me, and soon would cover me. The expression I saw on Vincent's face was one of regret, and then I was covered completely.
Not being able to breathe was having dizzying effects. I started to not be aware of my surroundings, and then my identity. A haze clouded over my senses. I felt a surge of energy take over my muscles, and my arms flung out in all directions, casting the debris off my body. My body stood for a moment, then fell on its knees. The force of the fall was so great that it sent a shock up my body, and I coughed up a huge gout of blood. I could breathe again, and the pressure on my chest was slightly lifted. My clothing had been torn, though, and I felt the sting of some of the dust in open scrapes, cuts, and abrasions. I imagine that I was not a pretty sight. I slowly brought myself to my feet, my entire body quaking. I planted each foot firmly, and took three calm breaths. Finally, I adjusted my head to face forward once more, tossed my hair back out of my face, and struck a cat stance.
Fear was in Vincent's eyes at that moment. I strode forward, simply walking, making no effort to prepare defense. He knew what was coming, I felt. A quick snap kick to his right thigh temporarily disabled that leg. Almost in a reflex motion, he struck at my chest. I blocked and bound his right arm with my right. I looked across this bind into his eyes, then brought my right knee forcefully into his chest. From his bent over position I brought my foot up so that the heel faced the sky and, pleased with the flexibility this body had, performed the perfect axe kick into the small of his back.
I heard him cry out in pain, quite loudly, and then his body hit the ground, face first. I stepped back for a moment, and he rolled over onto his back, his face in pain and his eyes closed. When they opened, they saw my hand extended toward him, offering to help him up.
"Can I take that cry as a concession, so that I can't do you more pain?" I used my most gentle voice for this, "I don't truly wish to hurt you, Vincent. I don't know you well enough for that."
His eyes seemed to welcome my gentleness, and he took my hand in his.
~Telarius! Watch out!~
His eyes flashed, suddenly, to a deep red, and I felt his grip tighten. I was surprised by this action, and when he flung me over behind him through just the power of his arm, I was shocked. I brought myself to my feet, only to have them swept out from under me. I had no time to wonder why, as I was confronted with a spear hand driving down towards my throat. I rolled away from it, stood, and looked to find Vincent's hand embedded slightly in the ground. His muscles seemed slightly more filled out than I remembered them being, and his expression was like that of an animal.
~It's there now, Telarius!~
~Oh, you think?!~
That remark silenced Cordelia, thankfully, for I was confronted with greater issues. Issues like a backwards spinning roundhouse kick which would have decapitated me had I not dropped to. From this position I swept, but Vincent was ready for that and jumped over my leg, thrusting his foot at my head in midair. I rolled with it as much as I could, travelling a few feet back, but it still hurt like a bastard. From my new, crouched position, I leapt into a punch aimed just below his throat, which connected and forced him back a bit as well. We both struck en guarde once more, and there was a pause in our movements.
The pause was broken as Vincent lunged forward with a right. The intent seemed good, so I blocked it, and immediately thereafter was struck to the side of my right knee by his kick. This forced me into a twisted, unbalanced posture, and he proceeded to strike me once in the kidneys with a reverse punch and then an uppercut to the jaw. I was forced back a bit, and while regaining my footing, he assaulted me once more with a flurry of punches, kicks, and various other strikes. I do not remember the exact order of events at that point, only that he ended by throwing a shoulder and knocking me back several feet and on my back.
He stopped his onslaught at that moment, and as I rose I caught his eyes. He was mocking me with laughter, and I did not take well to it. His initial right had been a feint, and I had not seen it, for it had intent. I brought myself to my feet and dusted myself off, attempting to salvage some dignity. Vincent had won that round, certainly. In response to his mocking, I extended my right arm, supenated the hand, and curled the fingers thrice in, then out, slowly. His eyes widened, and I could tell that he angered. He ran at me, and I took a horse stance, waiting for the perfect moment. Cordelia gave me knowledge of his next move. He was going for a choke hold.
When he was within range, I thrust out my right arm in an open palm strike with a loud ki shout, placed directly on his solar plexus. He could not breathe for several seconds, I knew, and I used this time to take five paces back, then resumed my stance. He charged me once more.
~Telarius, he's...~
~Stop!~ I cut her off, ~If I am to best my opponent, I wish to do it in fairness. I was unaware of your intentions before, but now I am and there is no excuse.~
I waited, looking into his eyes, hoping for a tell tale sign of his attack. It was definitely a punch, I knew, as soon as he entered within two feet. When he was on distance, I guessed that he would throw a left. I was correct, and bound his arm. He threw his right, and I bound that as well. He attempted a headbutt from that position, but I lowered my center and sat down on my legs a bit, so that his head could not contact mine. Such was the difference in height. I then used his forward motion as a helper for my arms, and slid my legs forward, my goal to by lying on my back in the end. Using these tools, I heaved him over me, keeping his arms bound in mine. From there, I jumped back to my feet and pulled my arms down. I could feel his shoulders pull out of joint. I could also hear it, and I let both of them go. I turned to face him, and found his eyes to be once more his.
I felt sorry for him at that moment, and helped him put his shoulders back in place, giving them each a bit of a rub to make blood flow to them and get the endorphins pumping. The crowd was deeply confused by this, he understood as I did. It was a contest, but not a fight to the death. I think he was aware of the forces taking him over from time to time as well, but somehow couldn't do anything about it. As I was applying the finishing touches on his left shoulder, his right grabbed my collar. Vincent stood, lifted me off the ground, and threw me quite a distance. I managed to roll and return to my feet, but distance was all he needed. The eyes were back to the other form.
In a movement almost too quick for myself to see, Vincent had his wand out again. He waved it and words escaped his lips in a language that must have been at least a century dead. "Driacus lebtus."
His wand underwent a transformation at that moment. It grew in either direction, and formed a hilt, a blade, and a handle. In a matter of seconds, it became a scottish claymore. Not only was its size massive, but it radiated power beyond most understanding. The power, too, seemed rather ancient, as if it had been stored for a long time without ever being used. The blade began to glow under a crimson light that flared as the sun, only more subtley. Now both of his hands were grasping the handle, and he ran forward, ready to slice me in two.
It became a different battle at that point. I ducked to avoid his horizontal swing, then rolled to the side to avoid the downward strike which followed. The sword seemed to make the ground vibrate. I fell back quite a bit to his advancing blade. I could do nothing but retreat and occassionaly get by him to gain ground. Those moments were the most tense, and during one I felt the flesh of the left side of my chest open and burn in agony, and I cried out in pain. I rolled back several times and remained crouched, holding a hand over the open wound. When I finally looked up again, he in range. He chuckled a bit, and held his blade up for a moment, bringing it down with every intention of cutting one of my eyes.
What could I do? I hadn't the time to dodge, so I turned my face to the side, and his cut went to my left cheek, luckily not cutting too deep. I cried out again, I remember, as I felt the blood, heated from his blade, trail down my face. I remember thinking that the scar left from this wound would seem rather unordinary. My mind is a funny thing at times.
"Stop!" I heard Dumbledore shout. I looked up, and saw Vincent in the perfect position to separate my head from my shoulders. "This match is over!"
Vincent's lips twiched, as if he wanted to continue with his action, but I knew that he could not face Dumbledore. He lowered his sword and turned his back on me, walking away.
I don't know what on earth possessed me at that time. It was not pride, for I know it well, as well as I know humility. It was not conceit, nor was it anger. I stood to my feet, and shouted, "I have not conceded! This match can not be over!"
Vincent turned and looked at me, and there was an evil sort of relishing look in his eyes. I met it with a cold stare. I wanted to beat him. To destroy him for trying to destroy me. I fumbled in my mind over who exactly he was at that moment, for Vincent and this man surely were not the same, but it did not matter to me just then. What mattered was closure.
I brought out my wand as Vincent charged at me, and tried desparately to remember what he had chanted. "Dracos libtus... no. Drecus labtos. No, that's not it either..."
He was nearly upon me. A moment of inspiration graced me. "Driacus lebtus!"
I had it in time to parry high quarte in response to his downward cut. It was a bastard sword, which I currently held with both hands in order to withstand the force behind that monster. Mine was bathed in similar energy, though the colour was silver, which I enjoyed highly. The blades never actually made contact. They stopped at the point where the two bands of energy met and there was a pulse of light and a crack of sound like a quiet, single boom of thunder. Our eyes met in this stance, and I forced him back as I did before when our weapons were merely wands.
I did not entirely understand what was going on, admittedly. The bastard sword in my hands was lighter than most sabers I've used, and yet it parried and cut with the force of a claymore. I understood now why the cuts from Vincent had caused such agony, in addition to the flame. He was on my territory now, though. I was better with blades than he was, I knew. I had to be careful, for he would kill me if given the chance.
He scored another hit on my left thigh, and I cringed a bit. The weakening it caused in my posture was enough to leave me open for a telling blow, and he was more than happy to deliver toward that end. Threads of silver shot out from around my arm and grabbed his, stopping its motion. I thanked Xorlempt with all my gratitude and cut down, catching his thigh where he had caught mine. The effect of the cut was different, I noticed. It did not burn him, and did not appear to my eyes to have any other effects other than opening his flesh and causing him to bleed. There was a minute bit of light upon impact, but that was all that I noticed. The flame around his blade diminished in its aura slightly, though I knew not why. He seemed quite pained by my blow, beyond anything that he had done to me yet, and he was open for the finish.
I did not take it, but chose to retreat. After a few moments, Vincent resumed his attack, and I defended his blind assualt, for the only openings I saw were to vital areas. Killing was not an option. I got him once on the left shoulder, but he wielded the claymore with one hand after that. He scored another hit on my chest to match the one from earlier and, in my blind pain, I cut leftwards-down with all my might. My blade cut deep into his forehead at this angle, and also served to disarm him. He shrieked uncontrollably with agony. I put my sword tip close to his throat and waited for his eyes to open.
When they met mine, they were no longer red, and their original colour had lost some of its life. I realized, suddenly, what additional effect this weapon I was using had. His eyes pleaded to me many things of which I only understood a few. I raised my bastard sword high into the air.
And promptly dropped it. "I concede!" I shouted at the top of my lungs.
* * *
We both were ushered off to the hospital wing in an awful hurry. After the adrenaline and endorphins dissipated, the pain was immeasureable, and I admit to blacking out for a long period of time. When I came to, I sat up, suddenly, as if awaking from a nightmare, though I remember no such nightmare. I looked to my left and saw Vincent in a bed on the other side of the room from me. On the right was a mirror, and I blinked a few times to make sure the image I saw was correct.
I was heavily wrapped in gauze, but they had taken it off of my face. Everything there had healed rather quickly. There was a scar, though. A line straight down my left cheek, and then it looked as if an artist had etched out to either side, getting wider and wider on the way down, until the picture resembled an anime comet heading straight down. I shuddered, happy that this was not my body. At least, I hoped that it wasn't the body I would be stuck in for the rest of my days this cycle.
I attempted to get out of my bed, and found my legs unwilling to undergo the process. Just as well, I thought. I felt quite tired and needed some more rest.
* * *
After being threatened with my own dedicated bed in the hospital wing if I ended up there once more this term, I was allowed to leave with a clean bill of health. I was informed that the match was scored in favour of Vincent, seven to one. Apparently they did not appreciate my open defiance of Dumbledore, nor the ruthlessness that both of us showed. It could not be helped, for that was the nature of the challenge. Vincent also had a scar, though his was across the forehead, where my last blow landed. It did not appear to have any special attributes at first, but refused to be illuminated by anything. His face could be lit by the sun itself and it would still appear rather dark and deep set, with no sight of grooves or whatnot.
It was now the first week of December, and finals were in two more weeks. To make matters worse, I was informed that today was one of Professor Lupin's 'sick' days. Attending classes was out of the question, for I would be teaching all day.
Dealing with class after class proved more challenging than any of the matches from the tournament. Questions came flooding in like wildfire, because exams were coming up. At first, I would rattle off quite a bit of information, to make sure it really sank in. After a while, though, I found myself naming page numbers from the book and asking students to study, sometimes entire chapters. As the day progressed, I got more and more irritated, and thus more vindictive as well. My 2:00 class had to recite the vulnerabilities of werewolves in alphabetical order, round-robin style. First person to drop the ball had to start the whole deal over again, until it went through the entire class.
The last class of the day came about, and I was far beyond exhausted, at that stage where you suddenly get a rush of energy for no apparent reason. However, I had grown so cynical towards the student body that day that I decided to make use of what priviledge I had.
"Alright, maggots!" I barked, rather harshly, "Since it's obvious that no one on this entire campus has paid attention to their studies until fear of examinations crept around, I think it's time for a pop quiz. This will be a field examination, so you'll want your wands and your wits. I hope you brought your heavy cloaks as well, because it's bloody cold outside, especially in the Dark Forest."
The class all gave me the same blank stare for a moment. One particularly annoying brat in the front raised her hand. "Yes, Ms. Watson," I called on her, for no other reason than to entertain her. I knew exactly what she was going to say.
"But, Mr. Shade... the Dark Forest is forbidden. Students aren't allowed to go in there."
I smirked a bit. "Quite right, Ms. Watson. Also of note is the fact that millions of children all around the world are starving. I could add the current economic affairs of France into the equation, as I hear they're doing quite well. Or we could say that Australia used to be an English penal colony. Now, Ms. Watson, what would these facts all have in common with what you've just told me?"
She paused for a moment. "I don't know, Mr. Shade. What do they have in common?"
"I don't give a shit!" I barked, causing her and many of her classmates to leap in astonishment, "Now gear up, class. We're gonna go hunt some nasties and see what you've really learned about defending yourselves against the Dark Arts."
* * *
At the entrance to the Dark Forest I could feel many of the students trembling. It was a bit disheartening. "Remember, class, many things live off of fear. They are things you wish not to feed. Many of you are Gryffindors, and the rest of you should stick with them. The courage of that house is exactly what this situation calls for."
"Excuse me, Mr. Shade... if I might ask... what exactly are we hunting?"
I considered the question for a moment. I used a farseeing spell to see what was in the forest, then established barriers in a large perimeter, creating a sort of maze of trees. Only one thing now in the area was of a threat to them. "Your mission is not to hunt, class. This class lasts for an hour, so you'll go in teams of seven, each for ten minutes. You have to go to the other end of the area I've sealed off, and collect a small, glowing token. There is only one entity in the forest which poses threat to you, so be on your guard."
I assigned them into teams rather quickly and sent each through. Each team returned with the token, but several were gasping for breath, and only one team actually managed to neutralize the threat, and only because Harry Potter was on that team. Yes, it was a little cruel to send a bunch of third years into an isolated area with a Dementor, but they needed a wake-up call. They were learning these things for a reason. If they could not adequately defend themselves in a pinch, all their other studies would be useless.
I am proud to say that not a single member of that class got less than a B on the final. It's amazing what a little fear can do.
* * *
Unfortunately for me, Hogwarts school policies heavily frowned upon my pop quiz. So much so, in fact, that I found myself in Dumbledore's office. I stood as an enlisted soldier would stand at attention upon receiving notice of a court marshal. The situation was strikingly similar to me, and so I figured it appropriate.
We had a long, drawn out chat, Dumbledore and I. He layed out the school policies, I promptly told him my reasonings. He agreed with my motivation and not my methods, and then we had lunch. I was given a reprimand and my privelidge to student teach was revoked for the rest of the school year. It was a major blow to my reputation, but I had students from that class thanking me after finals, I remember. It was worth it, though I felt rather horrible at the time. I wasn't at my best that day. We all do things we are ashamed of, I guess.