Kapitel 6: Power of the Staff!
Leonard's gaze settled on the staff in his hand. At its tip, a faint purple glow pulsed gently, casting eerie reflections in the dim light.
"The built-in glow… really?" Leonard muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "Who designs a staff that lights up like a torch? Subtlety, anyone?"
He sighed, resolving that if he ever had the chance to craft his own staff, it would conceal all magic fluctuations and flashy effects. No self-respecting wizard would march into battle carrying a glowing beacon advertising their position.
Taking a couple of quiet steps back from the window, Leonard melted into the shadows. His sharp eyes scanned the yard, locking onto the group near the gate. Adjusting his stance, he raised the staff and took careful aim, its glowing tip now a necessary nuisance. With a deep breath, he let the spell flow.
A burst of purple light erupted from the staff's tip, illuminating the yard briefly. The magic condensed rapidly, drawing in ambient energy. A sphere of purple-black liquid began forming mid-air, its surface swirling ominously.
Leonard blinked in surprise. "This is supposed to be a zero-ring spell?" he whispered to himself. The acid missile was massive, easily the size of a basketball. He had expected something small, perhaps the size of an apple or a bullet. The sheer scale was both impressive and alarming.
With a silent command, the sphere shot forward. It moved with incredible speed, slicing through the air like a well-aimed arrow. Leonard's aim, however, was not perfect. The missile veered slightly, grazing the knight's arm rather than striking him directly.
The knight, Matthew, reacted instantly. Years of rigorous training had honed his reflexes to a razor's edge. He drew his greatsword with a practiced motion, swinging it with the ease of someone swatting a fly. The blade cut through the acid missile cleanly, splitting it in two.
"Whatever this is, it ends now," Matthew growled, his voice cold with authority.
But as the acid missile ruptured, Matthew realized his mistake. The sphere exploded violently, sending a rain of acid droplets in every direction. It was like popping a balloon filled with liquid death.
The knight barely had time to shield his face with his sword. Around him, the scene devolved into chaos. Acid rained down on the group, sizzling as it struck leather armor, weapons, and bare skin alike. A white, acrid smoke rose where the droplets landed, accompanied by a gut-wrenching hissing sound.
Matthew's instincts saved him, but his comrades were not so fortunate. The acid chewed through leather and steel, leaving armor riddled with holes. Where it touched flesh, the effect was far worse. Agonized screams pierced the night as the acid ate away at skin and muscle, exposing raw, oozing wounds.
One man, standing just a few feet from Matthew, took a splash directly to the face. The acid spread like ink on paper, dissolving skin and bone alike. Within moments, his features were gone, replaced by a gaping black void. He collapsed, twitching, his life slipping away in agonized jerks.
Matthew's own greatsword didn't escape unscathed. A loud 'clang' drew his attention to the blade. The entire front half had corroded away, leaving him holding little more than the hilt and a jagged stub of steel.
He stared at the ruined weapon, his jaw tightening. "What the hell is this stuff?" he muttered, his voice tinged with both anger and unease.
The air was thick with the stench of burnt flesh and metal, a choking reminder of the acid's devastating power. The yard, moments ago tense but controlled, was now a scene of horror and disarray.
Matthew's face darkened further. His mind raced to reassess the situation. This wasn't just magic, it was a weapon of terrifying precision and cruelty. Whoever had cast it was far from ordinary.
In the shadows, Leonard watched the carnage unfold, his grip on the staff tightening. The acid missile had been more effective than he anticipated, but the knight still stood, battered but unbroken.
"Next time," Leonard muttered under his breath, "I aim better."
Matthew stood in the clearing, his face grim as he reviewed the intelligence reports. A wizard might be hiding here, they had said. But he had dealt with so-called wizards before, a ragtag bunch of charlatans who relied on cheap tricks and superstitious fear. Their "magic" was little more than carnival sleight-of-hand, the kind of thing you'd find at a traveling circus.
"Probably another fraud," he muttered to himself. The acid attack earlier? Alchemy, perhaps. Some new concoction devised by overzealous alchemists.
But as he pondered this, his thoughts were interrupted. A sudden, crushing pain smashed into his skull as if struck by an invisible sledgehammer. His vision swam, the world spinning in chaotic circles. His legs wobbled, and he struggled to keep himself upright. His broad sword slipped from his hand, its dull clatter lost in the confusion.
"Ambush!" The word screamed in his mind, but it was too late. Matthew hadn't even sensed it coming.
From a darkened window on the second floor, Leonard observed the knight with a mix of satisfaction and surprise. Matthew was staggering like a drunk, clutching at empty air in a desperate bid to stay standing.
Leonard smirked, though he remained cautious. "The mental shock worked better than expected. Even for a zero-ring spell, this... this is potent." He had underestimated the raw force of wizardry and, apparently, overestimated the knight's resilience.
With steady hands, Leonard raised his staff again. Magic pulsed faintly at its tip, a purple-black glow swirling as he focused. Another acid missile began to take shape, its ominous form condensing in the dark air. Leonard's eyes narrowed, his target clear.
The missile launched with a sharp hiss, streaking toward the staggering knight. This time, Leonard's aim was flawless. The sphere struck Matthew directly in the head.
The knight let out a guttural cry as the acid splashed across his helmet and face. He dropped to the ground, writhing in agony. His movements became jerky, frantic, and then slowed. The acid worked quickly, corroding his armor and eating into his flesh. Within moments, he was still, his once-formidable body reduced to a grotesque, pitted mass.
Leonard lowered the staff, his chest heaving slightly from the exertion. Three spells in rapid succession, he could feel the strain pressing down on him. His legs wobbled faintly. "I need to pace myself," he muttered, shaking his head to clear it. His mental reserves were almost spent; one more spell was all he could manage.
He turned his attention to the yard. Most of the intruders lay motionless, consumed by acid or immobilized by earlier traps. But four remained standing, their faces pale with fear. The survivors hesitated for a moment, glancing at each other. Then, as if reaching a silent consensus, they broke into a sprint, scattering in different directions as they fled down the mountain.
Leonard clenched his jaw, debating whether to pursue. He could probably take out one more, maybe two if his aim was perfect. But he doubted he'd have the energy to fend off retaliation if they regrouped. Letting out a resigned sigh, he let them go. "They're scared enough," he thought. "Let the mountain itself deal with them."
But one remained. The hunter, the man who had led the group into the yard, stood frozen, his back pressed against a tree. His bow hung limply at his side, his face pale and drenched in sweat. He didn't dare look toward the house, as if it would devour him whole.
Leonard's sharp gaze fell on the man. "You're not getting away," he murmured coldly. He raised his staff once more, his last spell coiling into life.
The hunter, sensing the shift, bolted; but it was too late. The acid missile streaked forward, an unstoppable force. It struck him squarely in the chest, exploding on impact. The hunter screamed, a sound that echoed briefly in the night before fading into silence. The acid consumed him entirely, leaving nothing behind, not even bones.
Leonard leaned heavily against the window frame, exhaustion washing over him. The once-bustling yard was now silent, filled only with the smell of burnt flesh and the faint, acrid tang of acid lingering in the air.
He took a deep breath, steadying himself. "Never underestimate the cost of magic," he reminded himself. But in the back of his mind, there was a flicker of triumph. He had survived.
Wöchentlicher Energiestatus
-- Power-
Rangliste 
-- Power-
Stein