No matter how hard he tugged or pounded, Fenn’s foot remained stubbornly stuck within the ice. From within his illusion, the world outside had a tint to it, as if Fenn was peering out of a tent of sheer gauze. What he saw was not good.
He thought he might have detected a glimmer of something warm in Shinsou’s gaze. Whatever it had been, it was overshadowed by the eager smile that shot across the approaching warrior’s lips. It made Fenn stiffen. Not scared by the dragon? Shit, he IS a legend, isn’t he? What’s he doing now- oh fuck. A purple… circle-y blob thing scratched into behind behind Shinsou, radiating magic potent enough for Fenn to feel its magic brightness even from as far away as he was. The whole thing cast the area in an unholy purple glow. From the rift, fifteen slender bolts of similar appearance slid into view. Fenn flattened himself to the ground with a squeak. The Glamour responded by imitating his fright, jerking back with wide eyes and flared nostrils.
Thirteen of the lances whizzed just over Fenn’s head, aimed for the center and head of the dragon-guise rather than its base where he lay. They pierced the thin threading of the rearing illusion as a needle might cloth. It tore and flailed, disintegrating around the holes. Fenn could feel the keen spark of lightning as they passed, his hair standing up on end. A sharp and sulfurous taste hung in the air even after they the forest behind.
The other two were less luckily aimed. One pierced the ice just before Fenn, partially freeing him from the prison that hindered him. It also pierced his big toe.
The pain was as if a lightning bolt had just lodged itself into his foot and shot a thousand searing volts into him. Fenn jerked into a sitting position from the shock of it, the last of his Glamour torn asunder by the blow. A split second later, the last energy javlin speared into his leg with such force as to shatter him out of the ice completely. The light little Fae was blown completely off his feet. Frozen, acrid-smelling air stung his raw skin as he was thrown across the battlefield. Branches snapped, Shinsou abruptly fell into the distance behind the cover of trees, of which he smacked against like a pinball during his flight. Little cushioned Fenn from the hits he took as he tumbled about except the moss and his arms flung over his head. Eventually, he came to a rolling stop on the cold, hard ground, still spasming from the pain. His momentum had propelled him all the way to the other side of the island.
He let out a deep gasp, small hands curled into fists. Sharp pain stabbed his chest at each inward breath.
Note to self; oppoment is not easily startled. That dragon… maybe just made him eager to hit harder.
Fenn took a moment to hunch over and bleed out into the snow, hugging his arms to his chest. His leg was seared and shredded pretty badly. Tears blurred his vision as much as faintness did. Who was he kidding with this? There had never been a chance for someone so underwhelming as he to come out triumphant in the proud walls of the Citadel. His initial burst of battle lust had petered out. Coughing sprayed sour blood from his mouth. He was in pain. He was out of shiny new tricks. And his mobility was crippled to shit right now. As much as he wanted to win this and prove himself to… well, himself, Fenn couldn’t quite bring himself to raise his head from the snow and rock. Halfheartedly, the boy took mental score of the fight so far.
His own injuries: A broken nose, infinite bruises, a more-or-less useless leg, a hurting chest, and he supposed that “still spitting up blood” meant something unfortunate had happened to his internal organs after landing. He was very bad at dying.
Shinsou’s injuries: Maybe a headache? He was much worse at dying, a very impressive man indeed.
A spark of anger lit up inside the boy’s chest as he took another harsh breath. What would Daugi think of this? Scared for him, probably. His mind reeled back to the times she had come forth to protect him from danger. Fenn pushed himself into a semi-sitting position, his jaw clenched and his eyes smoldering. He came here to prove that he could protect himself for once. That he wasn’t always going to be the one to get kidnapped, or thrown across the room like a rag doll, or incapacitated. So that maybe next time he would be the one protecting her. Regardless of the strength of his enemy, was he just going to give up after the second attack?
No. Ooze was wiped from the corner of his mouth. If Fenn was going to come out of this the winner, he would have to do it very quickly. Otherwise, he was going to be blasted into gooey chunks by that shadow-electric-energy-whateverthefuckitwas magic.
With his leg in the state it was, standing up was probably not an option. Fenn didn't even want to try putting weight on it. Instead, he wriggled out of his shirt -- the cold didn’t bug him anyway -- and hastily wrapped it around his leg in a way that could only loosely be called a bandage. It hurt like hell, sending shudders and gasps through him, but it was necessary. Even if he lost, he didn't want to to be by anything so mundane as blood loss! The once white fabric rapidly soaked ebony with his blood. Soon as his excruciating makeshift medical care was complete, he painstakingly crawled to the very edge of the island. Nothing but the hard rock underneath the soil and the unyielding abyss greeted his eye when he peered over as he had done when he had first entered the arena.
Would tricking someone into the deep do the job? It was all he had. Heaven help him if one of Shin’s magics enabled him to fly...
Once more, Fenn dug inwards for his magic. It was ailing alongside his mental and physical exhastion, but it was still there. Snow frothed itself into existence again. It swirled across the ground and wove through the trees like searching tendrils. In all likelihood, Shin would be able to use it as a guess as to where Fenn was -- but only a rough guess. A pair of ice chunks reluctantly materialized over his bloody frostbitten hands. They hovered with what little energy he had left to maintain them.
All he had was what little determination held his tiny body into a sitting position. He wasn’t sure what he would do with them. Cast them against the rocks for misdirection and lead the man the wrong way, off the cliffs? Pelt the man so that he’d fall off entirely? Miss and give away his position, incurring Shinsou’s swift wrath?
Only one way to find out...
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