Vikas Prius exhaled slowly, his breath visible even within the haze. Ice crystals laced the air around him, swirling gently like frost-kissed fireflies. His calm eyes darted through the fog, assessing, waiting.
Across from him, Chip Dew stepped lightly on the cracked tiles. His leather boots made no sound, but the faint shimmer of his force field flickered whenever the smoke got too thick. He smirked.
"Nice analogy," Chip said, voice echoing faintly in the ruined stalls.
"I hope your mana doesn't disappoint," Vikas replied evenly, raising his hand just slightly, enough for a trace of cold air to form into a dagger of frost.
Suddenly, Chip lunged forward—not at Vikas, but toward a side wall. A red glimmer pulsed beneath his feet, a trap rune Vikas had silently set. Chip's force field absorbed the blast just in time, but it cracked faintly on the left side.
"You rely on tricks?" Chip scoffed.
Vikas didn't answer. Instead, he stepped backward and swept his foot across the cobblestone, raising a wall of jagged ice between them. But Chip didn't aim for a direct clash. With a flick of his fingers, his force field curved—not around himself, but launched forward like a shielded blade. It sliced through the ice wall with stunning momentum.
Vikas shifted. The icy shards scattered through the fog like razors, some redirected by his magic to form needles in the air. He clicked his fingers.
The needles flew.
Chip's force field flashed—stronger now, covering his whole body. The needles shattered harmlessly.
But then his foot slipped—just slightly. The fog wasn't natural anymore. The ground beneath him froze in rings, subtle and nearly invisible in the smoke. He growled and pushed himself backward with a shockwave, force magic propelling him like a missile across the alley.
Vikas moved like a ghost. He didn't chase. He waited.
Behind him, ice began to form shapes—spires, pillars, a field of terrain only he could control. The fog made it hard to see, but Vikas didn't need vision. He felt everything through the thin trails of moisture in the air, weaving a web of awareness.
Chip leapt above one of the ice towers and struck downward, both fists encased in glowing mana. His force field crashed into the ice, but as he struck, the pillar exploded—not outward, but inward. A trap again. Ice shot up his arms, locking them briefly.
Vikas appeared like a wraith in the fog and punched him square in the gut. It wasn't strong, but it mattered—because Chip's mana flickered again.
"You're trying to exhaust me," Chip growled, breaking the ice off his arms.
"You catch on slow," Vikas replied.
Then came a shift. Chip changed his strategy. He stopped attacking blindly. Instead, he bounced his force field off the nearby buildings, using reflective surfaces to create ricochets. A trickster's move—hard to predict.
One deflection slammed into Vikas's shoulder, cracking the ice armor around it. Another nearly hit his temple, but he ducked and countered with a burst of sleet that clouded even the smoke.
The battlefield became chaos.
Ice spikes rose. Force pulses shattered the air. The fog boiled under the heat of their clashing powers, and yet the battle kept its rhythm—measured, calculated, strategic. Neither of them wanted to lose. Both knew one mistake meant defeat.
At last, Chip growled in frustration. His force field surged again, but the glow dimmed slightly. He had used too much.
Vikas stood in the open now, no cover, just his hand raised.
"I know your limit now," he said quietly.
A giant spear of ice formed behind him, hovering like a blade of judgment.
Chip prepared his final charge, but Vikas was already in motion, his calm breaking for the first time into something else—focus, not rage, but resolve.
As their powers clashed again—force against frost, strategy against pride. The air trembled, thick with mana residue and collapsing heat. Chip roared, hurtling forward with one last concentrated blast. His force field ignited into a brilliant dome, rotating faster than before, becoming nearly impenetrable. The very fog seemed to bend around it.
Vikas didn't flinch.
He'd been waiting for this.
His fingers twitched in a slow, practiced motion. It wasn't an attack—but a calculation. Every time Chip activated that barrier, it displaced the air. And inside that distortion, Vikas had planted something subtle—something cold.
A shimmer flickered deep inside the dome.
"What…?" Chip blinked, his barrier still spinning.
And then it happened.
From within the very center of Chip's own force field, a jagged block of ice burst upward—summoned not outside, but inside his mana space. The ice didn't need to pierce him. It crashed violently upward, slamming into his back like a wall erupting from nowhere. His breath vanished in a single gasp.
Chip's eyes widened.
He stumbled.
The force field shattered with a sound like breaking glass, flickering out entirely.
And then—he fell.
His body hit the cracked stones with a heavy thud, limbs limp, unconscious before he even hit the ground.
The fog curled gently around his collapsed figure.
Vikas stood still, watching silently, breath steady. The battlefield was quiet now—except for the low hum of fading mana.
He turned, walking away as his icy spear melted behind him, vanishing into the mist.