The Ascendant Arena. Content warning for death in an elevator.

Every wizard knows about The Ascendant Area. It’s built into our legends and our lore. Kids play their “wizard fight” games on makeshift platforms, all dreaming of the day they might find themselves on the fabled battle arena. It’s the final step in proving yourself a High Mage - fight another wizard, no holds barred, on a massive rising platform. The victor gets the title. The loser gets to nurse their wounds.

I’ve trained decades for this chance, and today is my day. My time to become a High Mage. I step on the platform to meet my opponent. It’s Orin. I should have known. He stands with a smug grin partially hidden by a long grey beard. He’s chosen to wear a classic blue wizard’s robe, decorated with an almost silly amount of stars. But I know not to underestimate him. There are deadly spells up his sleeves.

The arena starts to rise, signaling the start of the duel. Orin wastes no time and sends a wind blast meant to knock me off the platform. A dirty trick, but one I’m prepared for with a simple shield spell. I send him a torrent of ice shards in response. It’s met with flames that dance around us both. I add to the flames, fanning them back. That’s met with a conjured waterfall. It’s clear we’re both talented in elemental magic. He grudgingly gets my respect for that.

We move into bigger, darker spells as the platform keeps rising. This is why the arena ascends. The longer the battle, the higher the stakes, and with high stakes follow dangerous enchantments. Soon the onlookers below will see only vague flashes of light and other miscellaneous offshoots of magic.

Orin starts to use spells I barely recognize, mentioned in the most obscure tomes of dusty libraries. But that’s okay. I don’t need to know the spell to block it. My speciality is defensive magic, and it’s served me well. I know how to outlast my opponents, and strike when they least expect it. I do just that, garnering Orin a nasty slice across his chest with an invisible blade he failed to see coming. Orin retaliates with a cloud of talons, some of which rip into me before I can vanish them. A minor wound, comparatively. I can tell he’s getting desperate.

We do a few more volleys like this, back and forth with increasing frequency, until I sense a shift in the energy around me. Orin has a troubling smile on his face as the air crackles and warps around him. It builds as he chants under his breath. This is something big, and it’s not anything good. I throw my best distractions at him, but he has enough power to deflect them and keep casting. I’ve never seen any spell take this long. I have no idea what he’s doing.

He ends his murmuring with a shout and I see brightness rush towards me. It breaks through the first two shields I throw up but catches on the third, rebounding towards Orin. He tries his own flurry of spells, but the attack he had sent my way is too powerful.

It hits him square in the chest, and he falls to his knees. He tries to mount another attack, but his magic falters, then fades. He shouts in dismay. At that moment I understand what he’s done… what he tried to do to me. An ancient spell, thought by many -myself included- to be forgotten entirely. And with good reason.

Orin’s magic is not merely fading. His power is being bound and stripped away. It’s a cruel spell, for without access to their magic a wizard is nothing. Most would prefer death.

And death is what’s coming to Orin. He’s centuries old; his magic is what’s been keeping him alive. With that connection severed, his life itself is draining away. A younger wizard would have escaped this fate, walking away a simple mortal, but still walking away.

The Arena recognizes me as the victor, and begins its descent down. Orin looks at me a final time, speechless but with pleading eyes. I can do nothing, and anyway, if I could, I wouldn’t. He brought this on himself. A wizard despicable enough to utilize that spell deserves what it brings. He wanted me powerless. I want him gone.

Orin breathes his last before the platform reaches the ground. When it does, the crowd gasps. Deaths in the area are rare… usually surrender comes first. The council - arbiters of the arena and High Mages themselves, keep calm, but look at me with concern. I could tell them what happened. Should, even. But I see the apprehension in their eyes. If everyone thinks I killed Orin, no one will cross me. I’m still young for a wizard. Especially young for a High Mage. I need every asset I can get.

So I claim credit for his death. In a way, I’m right. It was my rebound hex that caused it. No truth spell would reveal otherwise. The council places the winner’s cloak on me, and I sense their fear.

I’m the most powerful High Mage in centuries. And no one will stand in my way.

This microsode  was written, recorded, and produced by Tal Minear.