Art of Blade
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They had come out of nowhere, as though punched through the air with the fist of a most pissed off god. Globules of lava, two to be exact, struck Arikard with (to put it mildly) uncomfortable ferocity. The first, as small as a fist, hit him at his right shoulder. This did not do much, except eat at his sleeve and slowly extinguish itself against the magic of his right arm and the rock that covered it. His sleeve, having suffered far too much damage, slid off into the winds and stuck into the Ice Pillar, leaving Arikard's fake arm for all to see. That, however, did not matter much to Arikard compared to the other blob of lava, which hit the entirety of the left side of his face.
It took him a second to realize what happened, and another second to scream.
The lava burned at his face, ate at it, melting and tearing at his face ate the same time. Arikard made to grab at it, only to burn his left fingers. He continued screaming as he fell back into the ground, rolling around in desperation to get the lava off his face. He grit his teeth as he rolled on to his knees and crawled away, avoiding the ones that came by random chance, clamping his teeth whenever the urge to scream forced its way out of his mouth. When he reached the back of the Ice Pillar, he continued clawing at the lava, and finally managed it when the earth slipped under it and flipped it off like a spatula. It hit the ground with a small, sizzling sound, as if it were asking, 'What did I do?' But when he did so, the pain simply increased as the wind blew gently past, making it seem as if someone were stabbing him repeatedly. His left eye, which was open all this time, was wide open, unable to close. It was the only part of his face that precisely felt like it was on fire, no more, no less. And it was horrible. Arikard tried to blink, but he couldn't. And when he couldn't blink, couldn't close his left eye, he realized the horror of what happened. He glared at the lava on the ground, which was slowly turning into stone.
Somewhere in there, there was an eyelid.
Hands shaking, Arikard stared, in complete silence, this small deformation enough to grab his attention, enough to grab it beyond his pink face, enough beyond the blood that seeped down his cheek and falling to the ground with a loud, singular splatter. Arikard breathed, slowly, letting the air come in and the air flow out. And as he breathed, as he continued his attempts to calm himself down, he found himself failing. In fact, it brought about the opposite effect, his anger rising with every moment. It was not, however, a fiery anger. That one had burned itself out in the Spike Arena. Instead, he felt a cold ripple through the tip of his fingers and down his nerves. A cold anger. An icy anger. One that did not cause himself to spread madly, no, that was for the sake of his beloved left arm. But this, his face... no normal human can forgive such a deforming of their face, not like this. Slowly, he formed a curved shape of earth on his right hand and moved it towards the Ice Pillar, far enough for a thin sheet of ice to spread over it. He then placed that curved shape, quite simply, over the left side of his face. As he did so, in the final second before the stone covered his left eye, he could see his reflection. His face had been split into two colours, brown and pink; his eyes, white and red. The moment he saw it, it disappeared from his sight as the ice-covered earth became a half-mask. This, too, was painful. It was like burning, only magnified through the touch of the cold. But Arikard endured it, he grit his teeth, and he held his knuckles so tightly that their joints cracked and his fingernails drew blood.
Another act of magic, and a hole in the mask appeared, just for his bloodshot eye. He turned around, facing the Ice Pillar, and walked around it. There was some lava, yes, but- like the myth about lightening- none of them hit the same place twice. At least, not from where he was standing. And from where he was standing, he could see his foe, all the way at the other side of the arena. Solemnly, he untied the jacket that hung around his waist, straightened it out, and put it on, moving only to step away from a lava globule that was going for his chest. It was more of a coat than a jacket. As the sleeves, which before were tied around his waist, covered his arms, Arikard continued staring at the Fire Champion. Finally, his hands rose up and, out of the many buttons, fastened only the one on top. The rest of the coat flowed behind him as he took an experimental step forward, and returned obediently into position when he stopped, making it seem as if he had put the effort into buttoning the entire affair.
There was nothing special about the jacket, of course. It was merely a piece of clothing that meant only one thing to Arikard. Wearing this meant that this was business. Serious business. And although he may have recognized it as such before, wearing this coat properly meant that he was going to conduct business seriously.
He coughed and raised his hands, as though he were talking to a large audience. And then he dropped them when he saw the Fire Champion crawling away, as he had done just moments a go. Fist shaking in anger, anger at how the person who had just destroyed his face could move in such a cowardly manner, no matter how justified it was, Arikard screamed and raised his arm. In his hand, the earth moved, and formed a gigantic curve that was a long as a man was tall, edged with the special iced-lava from before. In his other hand, his old fashioned umbrella, and here he used the rest of his special earth to form the very base of its wide center, the bullseye in which nothing could pass, and the tip- a tip that appears when the umbrella is closed- that could penetrate many, many things.
"I have given these two weapons... ridiculous names," Arikard said, slowly, pausing between every word, articulating each syllable as correctly as he could. "The first, the giant... boomerang, is the Toenail of the Lord. One might laugh at it. He would die laughing." He paused again, forming the sentence in his mind. He could imagine this sort of thing coming naturally to the educated, but for him, he needed a bit of time. It was only fair. "This other is an umbrella. I need... not introduce it to everyone. It is my... faithful weapon." It was possible that nobody heard, and that, to Arikard, was fine. He did not say this to intimidate any one. He said this to focus. "You have destroyed my face," he continued. "I can never... forgive you for that."
With a thought, the boomerang pulsed with earth magic. The tornado, which had been spinning for so long, will not affect its flight now. Wind and Earth, of course, were opposing forces, but the wind will never tear away that which is part of the ground. With this temporary surge of magic, Arikard thought, the boomerang can at least pretend it is part of the ground. With a grunt, he spun and threw the weapon. It spun through the air, diagonally, curving around the center of the arena and aiming straight for the Fire Champion, whether he be hiding behind the Fire Pillar or not. And if it missed, well; you know what they say about boomerangs.
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