Judgment into a low back position. “This one’s mine! Deal with the other two!”
Without stopping to question him, Vlishgnath and Thunderclese made a charge for the stairs.
Jonathan LeFay scowled, turning to Alexander. “Well?”
Alexander rolled his eyes, then uttered a few words in the arcane tongue. Immediately, he disappeared from his father’s side, reappearing in front of the set of double doors along the northern wall on the second floor. His sudden transition startled Vlishgnath and Thunderclese, the two of them pausing as they reached the top of the stairs. With a spoken word and a subtle gesture, a massive plume of flame erupted from Alexander’s hand, the two paladins diving in opposite directions to get out of the way as the massive flame erupted harmlessly between them.
As they picked themselves up quickly, Alexander laughed and shook his head. “Getting up would be unwise. You’ve only had a taste of what I am capable of.”
With a swift flourish of his blade, Thunderclese stepped towards the young wizard. “Good. I’d hate to think you’d spent all that time writing papers instead of chasing girls for nothing.”
At that, Alexander held his arms down by his sides, his palms facing forward as his hands ignited in a purple flame. The doors to the second floor ballroom flew open behind him, his feet lifting up off the ground as he slowly hovered backwards into the wide open room, his right eyebrow quirked and an amused grin prying at the corners of his mouth. “And perhaps if you’d spent more time thinking with your head rather than your groin, you’d have learned a thing or two about the dangers of University wizards…”
His shield up in front of him defensively, Thunderclese slowly advanced towards the ballroom. “I’ve got this under control. You go deal with the baron.”
Vlishgnath nodded and began his march along the eastern walkway towards the baron’s study.
Back on the main floor, Bartholomew and Maximus circled each other slowly, Bartholomew casually handling the scimitars in dazzling spins and flourishes that could only be achieved with intense practice. Maximus kept Judgment in its usual low back position, the sharpened edge of the blade pointed towards the floor.
After a moment, Bartholomew stopped, bringing the blade in his right hand up above his head with the tip pointing to his left, the blade in his left hand down by his right side with the tip pointing back in an aggressive, offensive stance. Poised on the balls of his feet, his voice was smooth and steady. “I’ve brought down giants bigger than you.”
Maximus gripped the handle of Judgment tightly, tensing for the initial impact.
“Never did have much of a constitution, those giants. Not exactly the strongest, either.” Bartholomew smirked, then abruptly leapt forward.
As Bartholomew slashed out with the blade in his left hand first, Maximus took a measured step back, aware that Bartholomew would likely know just where the vulnerable points in his armor were. When Bartholomew followed up with a sweeping horizontal slash from the right-handed blade aimed at the knee joint in Maximus’s armor, his suspicions were confirmed. Predicting the follow-up swing so he could put Bartholomew off balance, Maximus stepped in, looking to capitalize on the moment with a brutal upward vertical swing. But Bartholomew was not where Maximus expected him to be, instead continuing his momentum in a full 360 degree spin with a sidestep, and bringing the right-handed blade out. Finding the narrow gap between Maximus’s breastplate and his belt, the razor edge of the scimitar bit into Maximus’s lower back, leaving a long slice.
Maximus roared, not out of pain but of anger, spinning around and bringing Judgment in a horizontal swing aimed at waist-level. Bartholomew dove, rolling with the swing of the blade to avoid the bisecting movement, before quickly regaining his footing and spinning around. He thrust at the gap between Maximus’s helmet and visor with the tip of the left-handed blade, his right simultaneously jabbing just above Maximus’s belt, aiming for the almost impenetrable gap that led to his stomach. But Maximus continued his own motion, spinning and stepping in at the same time to push Bartholomew’s blades aside, bringing Judgment up above his head in the same movement and attempting to bring it down in a powerful vertical downswing.
Again, Bartholomew rolled out of the way, the force of Maximus’s swing lodging the end of Judgment into the floor. With a swift, deadly accurate swing of his left blade, Bartholomew found the gap between Maximus’s left bracer and couter, slicing into his arm. But when Bartholomew went to follow up with another slash, Maximus did something that Bartholomew didn’t expect.
Letting go of Judgment completely, Maximus reached out and caught Bartholomew’s right wrist. Maximus’s gigantic hands gripped down onto Bartholomew with a strength that the blonde LeFay hadn’t thought possible. Reacting quickly and utilizing the close proximity, Bartholomew guided the point of his left-handed scimitar into the small gap between Maximus’s belt and breastplate once more, the sharp blade easily sliding into the giant man’s stomach.
Smirking, Bartholomew looked up, expecting Maximus’s grip to suddenly loosen and the enormous man to slump over. Much to his horror, Maximus’s grip tightened, and with a powerful twist the loud snap of Bartholomew’s wrist breaking echoed in the main hall, the blond LeFay screaming out in pain, the sword he had held in his right hand dropping from it as he let go of the one he had stuck into Maximus.
Maximus reached up with his left hand, grasping Bartholomew by the back of his neck and head tightly. Bartholomew’s eyes widened as Maximus got close enough to lock eyes with him through his visor, his left eye a milky white sphere, having been blinded long ago, his right a dark green with a small black dot of a pupil in the center and a long scar running over it.
“Let’s see you roll away from this.” Then, drawing Bartholomew’s limp figure back and reaching out to grab ahold of Judgment in his right hand, Maximus shoved Bartholomew face first into the sharpened edge of Judgment with all his might, Bartholomew’s shrieks reverberating throughout the entire room before suddenly going silent as his skull and its contents parted along either side of the pitted blade.
Meanwhile, on the second floor, Thunderclese had stepped into the ballroom after Alexander, his shield at the ready. Alexander had come to rest at the back of the room, hovering inches above the ground.
“It’s going to take more than a few cheap magic tricks to best a paladin of Mithos, conjurer.” Thunderclese spoke confidently, continuing to inch his way towards Alexander while keeping his eyes on Alexander’s hands.
Alexander laughed lightly. “As you wish.” Speaking in a tone of mock agreeability, Alexander suddenly split, his image dividing into eight identical likenesses of him, encircling the room as a maniacal laughter emitted from each one.
Suddenly surrounded, Thunderclese looked around frantically and, at that moment, all eight Alexanders pointed at him. A large eruption of flame originating from underneath Thunderclese suddenly knocked him off his feet.
Hastily scrambling back up to a standing position, Thunderclese looked up just in time to see the Alexanders wave their hands at him again, this time calling down a pillar of flame. Quickly, Thunderclese dove out of the way, tucking his chin and going straight into a forward roll, letting the momentum carry him onto his feet. The figures of Alexander laughed wildly, spinning around the room and circling Thunderclese closely.
Undeterred, Thunderclese strode to the center of the room, looking around at the different images and studying each one.
The Alexanders shook their heads scornfully as each one spoke in unison. “I warned you, church knight. You should have stayed down.”
“You’re awfully good at running your mouth from behind the safety of your magic tricks,” Thunderclese shot back, focusing his mind and trying to concentrate. Arrogance of this caliber always ended up making a mistake, and when Alexander did, Thunderclese planned to be there to punish him for it.
“Tricks?! I can conjure flames from thin air! Were I so inclined, I could move mountains with my arcane might!”
“And yet you still follow your father around like a dog