The cheerful atmosphere Paige created vanished the moment Yulian Volkov stepped forward.
The air grew heavy again, charged with a raw, primal energy that seemed to come from the big Russian himself.
He wasn’t a scholar or a strategist. He was a former boxer. A force of nature, a walking earthquake, and he was eager to show everyone.
He walked to the center of the field. His heavy mace, Tiberius, was held loosely in one massive hand.
He cracked his neck, a loud pop that echoed in the silent courtyard. A wide, almost feral grin spread across his face.
He looked at his training dummy with pure, predatory intent, as if it had personally offended him.
In the viewing stands, the leaders leaned forward. Their expressions showed a mix of anticipation and professional analysis.
“Alright, the MAIN event,” Gendric rumbled. A deep, appreciative laugh filled his chest.
“Enough with the clever tricks and fancy gardening. Let’s see some real power.”
Damien, ever the pragmatist, made a note on his datapad.
“His energy signatures are already spiking. His control has improved over the past few months, but he still favors overwhelming force above all else.”
“This will be explosive.”
Down on the field, Yulian took his stance. It wasn’t the graceful, balanced posture of a trained swordsman. It was the low, powerful crouch of a boxer. His weight was perfectly centered, his body coiled like a spring.
He raised his mace, its heavy, flanged head gleaming in the bright, clear light. He spoke his first command. His voice was deep, a guttural roar that seemed to come from the earth beneath his feet.
“TIBERIUS! PIERCE!”
- Spell Tag On Grimoire: Tiberius + Pierce{Пробить землю шипами(base)}
- Phonetic: Tiberius (Grimoire Name) + Probit’ zemlyu shipami (base)
- Russian Base Spell Translation: “Pierce the ground with spikes/thorns”
He didn’t just swing the mace. He put his entire body into the motion. A devastating, upward arc of pure, unadulterated power. The earth responded.
With a deafening, grinding roar, a massive spike of solid, gray rock erupted from the flagstones.
It was as thick as a tree trunk and sharp as a spearhead. It punched straight through the straw-stuffed figure, lifting it ten feet into the air. Shredded material showered down.
But Yulian wasn’t finished. He began to move. His feet pounded on the stone. A relentless, rhythmic dance of destruction.
With every swing of his mace, a new earthen spike erupted from the ground. Each was perfectly timed, perfectly placed. It showed his newfound control. He wasn’t just a brawler anymore. He was a master of his element.
He turned the entire training ground into a deadly, shifting forest of stone.
The crowd was stunned into a respectful silence. The sheer, raw, overwhelming power of the display was terrifying and beautiful.
After turning the area around his target into a jagged forest of stone spikes, Yulian planted his feet. His boots ground against the flagstones. He held his mace, Tiberius, in a two-handed grip and raised it high.
A look of fierce, joyful concentration was on his face. He was in his element. A king in a court of his own making.
He let out a deep, guttural roar. He slammed the butt of his mace onto the ground. The entire training field seemed to shake from the force of the impact.
“TIBERIUS! BLOCK!”
- Spell Tag On Grimoire: Tiberius + Block{Воздвигнуть каменную стену }
- Phonetic: Tiberius (Grimoire Name) + Vozdvignut’ kamennuyu stenu (base)
- Russian Base Spell Translation: “Erect a stone wall”
With a deafening, grinding groan that seemed to shake the very foundations of the floating city, the earth obeyed. A colossal wall of solid, gray rock erupted from the ground in front of him.
It was ten feet high and four feet thick. It wasn’t a crude, uneven barrier. It was a perfectly formed fortress wall, its surface smooth and sheer. It showed his growing control. A declaration of absolute, unbreachable defense.
The audience murmured in awe. To manipulate that much raw matter, to shape it with such precision and speed, was a feat of immense power.
Carter watched. A sense of profound respect settled over him.
He’s a fucking tank, he thought. His mind replayed the effortless way the wall had risen.
In the viewing stands, the leaders were having a similar conversation.
Gendric laughed heartily. A booming, appreciative sound echoed across the courtyard.
“AHHH HAA HAA HAAAA!”
“The boy is still a hammer, but by the gods, he is a mighty one! Look at that raw power! That is the heart of a true warrior!”
“His energy expenditure is inefficient,” Damien noted. His voice was a cold, analytical counterpoint to Gendric’s enthusiasm.
“He is pulling far more power than is necessary for the effect. It is still impressive, but unsustainable in a prolonged engagement. He will burn himself out.”
“That is not good for battle, unless he has a balanced team.”
“In one on one’s it could prove to be a dangerous weakness.”
Gabriel smiled. A serene, almost paternal look was on his angelic face.
“But what a glorious display it is,” he said. His voice was a low, calm murmur.
Down on the field, Yulian was breathing heavily. His chest heaved, his face slick with sweat. The two complex spells had clearly taken a toll on him. But he wasn’t finished.
He looked at the massive wall he had created. Then he looked at the impaled remains of the first dummy. A wide, almost manic grin spread across his face. He was caught up in the moment, in the intoxicating rush of his own power.
He was going to give them a finale they would never forget.
Yulian raised his mace high above his head. His knuckles were white, his massive frame trembling with the sheer amount of magical energy he was gathering. The air around him grew thick and heavy. The light seemed to dim as he drew power from the very stone beneath his feet.
He was pushing himself to his absolute limit, and beyond.
He let out a final, deafening roar. It wasn’t just a battle cry. It was a primal, elemental invocation.
“TIBERIUS! RISE EARTH GOD!”
- Spell Tag On Grimoire: Tiberius + Rise Earth God{Создайте земляного голема из магмы + da ei perceptionem motuum meorum}
- Phonetic: Tiberius (Grimoire Name) + Sozdayte zemlyanogo golema iz magmy (base) + Da ei perceptionem motuum meorum (effect)
- Russian Base Spell Translation: “Create an earth golem of magma”
- Latin Effect Spell Translation: “Grant him the perception of my movements”
The massive stone wall he created shuddered. With a deep, groaning sound that seemed to come from the heart of the world, it began to move. The stone liquefied.
It wasn’t into water, but into a thick, glowing, molten magma. The magma flowed together, coalescing in the center of the field, rising up, taking shape.
It formed a hulking, humanoid figure. A golem of molten rock and raw, untamed power. It stood easily twenty feet tall.
Its body was a swirling mass of black, cooling rock and brilliant, orange-hot magma.
Its eyes were two pools of pure, white hot fire. In its hand, it carried a massive, brutal mace made of the same molten earth.
The crowd was stunned into a terrified, awestruck silence. This was more than a spell. It was almost like he summoned a magical creature from nothing. The earthen god.
Yulian, his face a mask of pure, ecstatic exhaustion, began to move. He swung his own mace in a wide, powerful arc. The magma golem, its movements a perfect, synchronized mirror of his own, did the same.
It swung its massive, molten mace. The weapon whistled through the air with a sound like a volcano erupting. It smashed into the last remaining training dummy.
The dummy did not just break. It vaporized. Its form was instantly consumed by the sheer, unadulterated power of the blow. The golem raised its mace to the sky.
It let out a silent, roaring challenge. Its molten body glowed with a triumphant, terrible light.
In the viewing stands, the leaders were speechless. The sheer, raw, overwhelming power of the display was beyond anything they had expected.
But the price for such power is always high.
On the training field, Yulian stood triumphant for a single, glorious moment.
His creation was a towering effigy of his own immense power.
But the strain of the high dissonance Mixed Spell, the sheer, overwhelming cost of channeling a Latin effect through his Russian affinity, was too much.
The ecstatic grin on his face faltered. His eyes, which had been blazing with a fierce, joyful light, suddenly went wide with pure, unadulterated agony. A single, thick drop of blood dripped from his nose.
Then another. The veins on his temples bulged, turning a dark, ugly purple.
He let out a sharp, choked gasp. His body began to convulse violently.
The magnificent magma golem shuddered. The brilliant, white hot light in its eyes flickered and died.
Its molten form cooled and hardened. The vibrant orange glow faded to a dull, lifeless black.
Cracks began to snake across its surface. With a final, mournful groan, the earthen god crumbled.
It collapsed into a massive, smoking pile of inert, black rock.
Yulian’s mace, Tiberius, clattered to the flagstones. His eyes rolled back in his head. He collapsed to the ground, unconscious. His massive frame was limp, like a puppet with its strings cut.
The demonstration was over.
“Medics!”
Seraphina’s voice was a sharp, commanding cry. It cut through the stunned silence of the crowd.
She and Anansi were already moving. They leaped from the viewing platform and rushed to Yulian’s side before he had even fully hit the ground.
Anansi knelt beside the fallen giant. His hands glowed with a soft, emerald-green light as he began to assess the damage. Seraphina looked up at the other recruits. Her expression was a mask of calm, professional urgency.
“The backlash is severe,” she announced.
Her voice was clear and steady.
“He has suffered internal hemorrhaging and a significant spiritual shock. He will live, but he will be in the infirmary for the rest of the day.”
The other recruits stared at Yulian’s unconscious form. Their faces were pale with a new, more profound understanding of the dangers they now faced.
The awe and excitement from the earlier demonstrations were gone. A cold, sobering fear had replaced them.
They had just witnessed the true price of power.
Sir Agamor stepped forward. His expression was grave. “Let this be a lesson to all of you,” he said. His voice was a low, solemn rumble that echoed across the silent courtyard.
“Power without discipline is a blade with no handle. It is as dangerous to the wielder as it is to the enemy.”
Seraphina and Anansi carefully levitated Yulian’s unconscious form onto a floating stretcher of pure, turquoise light.
Their faces showed a mask of professional focus as they carried him away.
Carter looked at Yula being carried out for a few moments. Then he looked at his own grimoires.
They radiated with violence, begging to be unleashed.