Chapter 111: Enter the Clown
The Archmage moved first, a massive wooden wand materializing in his hand with a shimmer of gold light.
For such a kind-looking old man, he sure didn’t waste time on pleasantries.
With a swift, practiced sweep of his wand, a ring of runes ignited behind him—each one flaring to life in a blaze of elemental color: fiery crimson, icy blue, crackling violet, and more. They hung in the air like celestial sigils, spinning slowly, pulsing with contained power.
The air warped under their pressure—heat shimmered, frost slithered across the stone, and static snapped at the ends of the Archmage’s beard. The runes beat in steady rhythm, like the breath of something ancient and divine drawn into waking.
"Arrogant child," he muttered, almost amused.
Then the runes responded in kind, releasing streams of elemental lasers—fire, ice, lightning, and wind—each one twisting through the air like serpents of pure force. It was the Archmage’s signature style: a fusion of raw elemental manipulation with refined rune artistry.
Unlike most spellcasters Marcus had seen, the Archmage didn’t finesse his magic—he overpowered reality with it.
Marcus, Cynthia, and Victoria reacted instantly, their bodies flickering with arcane light as they blinked across the chamber, landing beside the Archmage and the massive dragon’s looming form. Coordination was key—they couldn’t afford to be split up.
But the masked figure didn’t just stand still.
He moved—and not like a man, but like a puppet unhinged, limbs flailing with strange precision. He darted across the vast stone arena, his footsteps light, almost playful. The lasers homed in on him, relentless and hungry.
They struck inches away—stone shattered, steam hissed—but not a single shot hit its mark.