Legend of Ransera

122 Searing 30th

Ivar was walking down the alley. Ivar preferred it to the bustling main roads. It was quieter here, peaceful given you were able to avoid the danger that was always present with alleyways.

He walked with a slouched posture, his mind elsewhere. He was thinking about the scrivening he had left unfinished. He wanted to make a scroll containing a more complex spell than usual involving the manipulation of a dragon shard. Doing so took a lot of time and mental willpower and had already taken up several days of his time.

Suddenly, a sound made him stop. He heard voices from further down the alley. Ivar squinted, his eyes catching sight of two figures at the end of the alley. A big man was looming over someone smaller, pushing them against the wall.

For a moment, Ivar considered just walking away. He was lawful neutral in alignment so he was willing to overlook evil acts in most cases. However he recognized the smaller figure and made him feel compelled to act.

Ivar had actually traded information with the man before. He couldn’t remember his name but he remembered liking him. He was a quiet, unassuming man who usually kept to himself. Seeing him like this, cornered and scared, something inside Ivar stirred.

He blinked, using his magic, and found himself next to the towering figure. The man turned in surprise, his eyes going wide when he saw Ivar.

“What’s going on here? Leave him alone.”

Ivar tried to sound as intimidating as possible.

The man let out a loud laugh.

“And who's going to make me? You? I think I'll have a bit of fun first, then deal with you.”

Ivar’s mind was spinning. He hadn't thought this far ahead. He wasn’t used to direct confrontation that didn’t end in blinking away before things escalated further.

“Last chance. Back off, or face the consequences.”

The big man laughed again, a cruel sound that echoed in the narrow alley.

"Alright then, let's see what you got."

The situation had escalated far beyond what Ivar had expected. But he knew he couldn't back down now. So, Ivar stood there, waiting for what was to come. The man was huge, his muscles bulging through his shirt. Ivar was smaller, thinner.

Ivar blinked closer and threw a punch at the man’s stomach which did absolutely nothing. He was so focused on making contact that he didn’t realize the big man's fist was hurtling towards him. It all happened so fast, Ivar didn't have time to teleport away. The punch landed on his jaw with a force that sent him sprawling onto the cold ground.

He lay there for a while, dazed. The world around him was spinning, the alleyway a blur of greys and browns. He tried to sit up, but nausea hit him. It took all his strength not to throw up. Instead, he rolled onto his side, panting heavily, his hand clutching his throbbing jaw. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d gotten punched.

A faint laughter reached his ears. The big man was standing over him, smirking down at his prone form. He sneered, turning his attention back to the man against the wall.

"Didn't stand a chance."

Ivar’s vision started to clear up. He could make out a terrified face. That sight fueled his determination. He wasn’t going to let this brute terrorize his friend. He wasn't going to let him win.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Ivar slowly pushed himself up to a sitting position. He took a moment to steady himself, then forced himself onto his feet. He was a bit unsteady, his body still reeling from the punch, but he managed to stand tall.

Then, with a deep breath, he prepared to use his magic again. His mind was still foggy from the blow, making it hard to focus. But he had to try. He closed his eyes, focused on the feeling of the magic coursing through him, and blinked.

Just like that, he was standing behind the big man. Then, using all the strength he could muster, he tried to hit the man. His punch was weak, barely making the man stumble. But it was enough to get his attention.

Ivar punched again and again, blinking each time around the man. Blinking so rapidly drained him magically and unsurprisingly after a handful of punches he was physically tired too. The brute laughed, not even bothered by Ivar's attacks. He pushed Ivar back down and pulled out a knife.

“Last warning. Stay down if you know what’s good for you.”

He slung a bag over his back after yanking it away from the man Ivar tried to save. He then walked off without a care in the word.

Ivar’s body ached from the effort. He had an urge to keep fighting.

“Just let it go. Ivar right? I’m Seto. We’ve met before.”

Ivar nodded and sighed.

“Yeah, I recognized you and thought I’d jump in and give it a go. Sorry he got away with your stuff.”

Seto gave a grim smirk. He helped Ivar up to his feet.

“Sorry you got punched. He’s been an annoyance for several weeks now. He’ll get what’s coming to him. He doesn’t know it but what he stole actually belongs to someone else. A certain someone with more than enough manpower to deal with him.”

Ivar groaned and massaged his jaw. He didn’t think anything was broken but he could already fell the swelling.

“Fuck him. I hope he gets what’s coming to him. If I had a knife I’d have half a mind to shove it in his neck.”

“You don’t carry a waeapon?”

Ivar shook his head.

“I never need one. I just zip away if danger strikes. I was stepping outside my comfort zone by trying to assist you.”

Seto’s expression softened a little.

“Ah that makes sense. Anyways I’ve got to go report this theft to my boss. Be seein’ you.”

Nursing a bruised ego, and a face to match, Ivar walked around the city for a good half hour before turning into another alley away from prying eyes. The stark memory of the incident… the punch, the humiliating fall, and the man's ugly laugh llingered like a bad aftertaste.

“I’ll be damned if I ever look that big a fool again. All this time in school and I still couldn’t win a simple fight.”

He wasn't the brawling type. He'd always been the quiet observer, the sneaky eavesdropper. But today's events had triggered a need in him. A need to stand his ground, to fight. So, he decided to take action to change things. He was going to train physically for once.

The alley seemed like a good enough place to start. He blinked then started throwing punches, practicing how to land them precisely after each blink. He imagined the man's face, the surprised look he'd have when Ivar managed to land a punch.

He punched harder with only minimal focus on his form. Every punch he threw was a masterpiece in his rage fueled mind. The strain of continuous blinking and punching soon began to show. His movements started to slow, his breath came out in harsh gasps. The world seemed to sway, a clear sign of exhaustion.

He let his head tilt back, resting against the wall as he closed his eyes, the sensation of the rough surface against his scalp oddly comforting. The alley, previously filled with the harsh sounds of grunts, gasps, etc was now eerily silent. He was alone with his thoughts.

The realization that he hadn't really improved in fighting was a bitter pill to swallow. Yes, he had picked up a better blink-punch rhythm, but that was about it. The real world was different from a secluded alley. The real world had opponents that hit back, opponents who were probably much stronger than he was.

With a sigh, he finally pushed himself to his feet. His body protested, but he forced himself to straighten up, to take the first step, and then the next. Before he knew it, he was making his way out of the alley and onto the familiar streets of his city.

As he walked, he realized how close he was to his parents' house. He considered going back to his own place or the College, but the thought of the long walk made him grimace. Besides, he hadn't visited his parents in a while, and their place had always been a safe haven for him, a place to recharge.

With that in mind, he turned his steps towards his childhood home. The thought of a warm meal and a soft bed was the only thing driving him forward now. He could almost taste his mother's stew, feel the soft sheets of his old bed. He didn't know how his parents would react to his bruised face, but that was a bridge he'd cross when he got to it. For now, the prospect of rest was the only thing that mattered.