The ancient wooden pews of the cathedral had been swept aside, replaced by a makeshift arena. With the specter of war looming ever larger, Nia Tanzanight had resolved that her best contribution was to hone her fighting skills to an unyielding edge. In her corner stood Grace, a nun whose quiet demeanor belied a divine power, ready to mend any breaks should the sparring descend into true chaos. Against Nia, not one, but two mages, stood ready. Viznia and Fiamma. Twins, yet still labeled as sisterless, for they claimed no noble house. Fiamma, a gardener by trade, had always possessed a nascent connection to flame, her fickle power could barely coax a match to life. Viznia, utterly devoid of inherent magic, possessed only a determined will, a charlatan whose idea of magic had been performance, not combat.
That, however, was before Nia had befriended them. Nia had carefully tested the power of Ether on the twins, meticulously monitoring for any long-term complications. So far, they had consumed extreme amounts, emerging only stronger for it. Fused with Ether, the twins had transformed. Fiamma could now conjure flames at will, even summoning a fox of fire to dance and fight beside her. Viznia’s use of Ether was more raw, more visceral. She could push objects with her mind, levitate with a thought—simple, yet devastatingly effective. Ether had granted them both incredible speed and agility.
Nia bumped their fists with her own, a confident smile on her face, before settling into a fighting stance. She squeezed a chunk of Ether in her palm, feeling the familiar rush of power flood her body, matching their enhanced speed and agility. But Nia was no fool; she took necessary precautions. She glanced at Grace, who whispered a silent prayer, cloaking Nia in a shimmering, protective light. Invulnerable. Time to fight.
“Bring it on, girls! Don’t hold back!” Nia called out, her voice ringing with anticipation.
“Yes, boss! We will do our best!” The twins chorused, their loyalty absolute, forged not in gold, but in the intoxicating gifts of Ether. They would do anything for her, as long as the supply flowed.
Grace rang a small brass bell, and the practice fight began.
Fiamma struck first, a searing whip of flame arcing towards Nia. But Nia, now moving with Ether-enhanced speed, blurred out of its path, a mere afterimage where she had been. Viznia, eyes narrowed in fierce concentration, sent a barrage of wooden pews hurtling towards Nia with telekinetic force. Nia met them with a graceful parry, her own Ether-charged fist shattering them into splinters before they could impact her. Fiamma snarled, summoning a magnificent fox of fire, its luminous form bounding towards Nia, snapping with fiery jaws. Nia met it head-on, her movements fluid, almost mocking. She dodged the fox’s lunges, weaving through Fiamma’s renewed volleys of flame, her feet barely touching the ground. Viznia, frustrated, attempted to levitate Nia, but the protective shimmer around her held fast, defiant. With a sudden burst of speed, Nia closed the distance, a whirlwind of motion. She disarmed Fiamma with a flick of her wrist, sending her flame-whip skittering across the floor, then spun, a refined kick sending Viznia sprawling. The twins, though fighting with fierce determination, were simply outmatched, their enhanced abilities still far below Nia’s invulnerable speed and strength. Nia moved with the effortless grace of a predator, dodging, parrying, and subtly countering, never truly hurting them, but always, always dominating.
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The twins lay on the ground, exhausted, bruised, their lips split and dripping with blood. Grace knelt, placing a hand on each of them. A soft, golden light emanated from her touch, and the twins’ wounds miraculously vanished, their ragged breathing easing into steady rhythms.
Grace then turned to Nia, her golden eyes calm. “My turn?”
Nia’s grin was wide, confident. “Bring it on, Sister Grace.” She shed the shimmer of invulnerability, eager for a true challenge, certain that with Ether, her enhanced power, would carry the day.
But Grace was not what she seemed. Her movements were not fast, not powerful, but possessed an otherworldly fluidity, a foresight that anticipated Nia’s every strike. Nia launched a flurry of Ether-fueled blows, faster than the eye could follow, but Grace was simply… elsewhere. Not dodging, not parrying, but already past her, a whisper of cloth, a breath of air. Grace moved with an effortless finesse that baffled Nia, each of Nia’s attacks seemingly absorbed by the air around her, redirected, nullified. Grace never struck a blow, never touched her, yet with every evaded attack, every impossible sidestep, she dismantled Nia’s offense. Nia lunged, spun, feinted, her Ether-enhanced body a blur, but Grace was always one step ahead, one beat removed, her calm presence an unyielding wall. Finally, with a soft, almost imperceptible movement, Grace slipped behind Nia. A feather-light touch on Nia’s back, and suddenly, Nia found herself kneeling, off balance, defeated. The practice arena went utterly silent.
Nia looked up at Grace, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her confidence shattered, replaced by a profound, dawning respect. Grace, serene and unruffled, merely offered a small, knowing smile. Nia stared at her, a new, unsettling question echoing in her mind. If Grace, without a single shard of Ether, possessed such terrifying power, such impossible skill, how utterly, unimaginably formidable would she be if she too were to harness the purple glow?
