5.15

“I know I made a vow of pacifism but if someone wants to throw hands then they best expect to catch ‘em!” - Priestess Emilia the Thrice Excommunicated, moments before her first excommunication from the Church of Light due to beating three hundred and eighty-two armed men with her bare hands.

I should’ve known better than expect a quiet night.

“Little bitch you are,

Yer won’t get far.

Cuz I’m about to hand yer ass,

With my superior sass!”

The bard scoffed as he strung another random cord.

“Blithering of a fool,

You think you’ll win this duel?

You shall learn that in rhyme,

I am your superior this time!”

As the crowd cheered at the two idiots, I quietly tried to ignore them and eat my stew.

“Woo! Get that fucking asshole!” Tai yelled beside me. “Don’t fucking lose!”

“Oh please, no need to fear,

There will be ample reason to cheer!”

Should I even bother remembering how the fight started? It’s all starting to blur together. Since he was pretty passive recently, I almost forgot my friend was one of the most… rambunctious individuals I knew.

“Not that you know that many people.”

Fair, but I would like to think I have a good grasp of human beings in general.

“There will indeed by much reason to cheer,

But not any reason for you to be so cavalier!”

Noam’s smile only deepened.

When was the last time he had this much fun?

A thing he’s never tried. A partner to dance with him. A challenge to overcome.

Noam laughed, the sound bright and true, marred only by the fact his face looked like he escaped an insane asylum.

His opponent was waiting for a reply. Noam will give it to him with all the tender love of a family member gifting their beloved nephew a christmas present.

“Bard of skill, why do you carry a lute,

When I could play it better with my boot?

With my foot, a single toot,

Better than anything you’ve made with your suit!”

The bard hesitated to strike his instrument again. Indeed, he was just randomly strumming chords, but that did not stop his voice.

“Far travelled, long of step,

You think I’ll near you after that schelp?

Put myself near your shoe,

And the smell will make me blue!”

“You speak of scent,

But do not say where you went,

It's clear you’ve never felt the wrath,

Of a decent bath!” Noam yelled back.

“Your rhymes lack flow,

Thus they lack blow.

An amateur I face,

And an amateur I will mace!”

“You sing of beating and yet I speak,

Do you wish to run, are you that meek?

This battle will be settled,

By the superior mettle!”

The crowd cheered around them. Yet neither of the two saw the crowd. Only each other.

Noam briefly felt in the distance, a mushroom turning its head, but he was soon gone, forgotten as a twinge of power flitted through both of them.

In that brief moment, the world was only them two.

“A Clash you seek,” the bard spoke as if spell struck. Noam didn’t understand what powers were occurring, only that the trueness of his intention was transmitted.

The bard struck a chord, this time no longer the random stringings of a man playing.

“You are a fool, and a fool I will not critique!”

A Clash of skill, a battle between two Challengers who have recognised each other.

“Let us speak!

Let us shriek!” the bard yelled, his fingers nimble and dancing beautifully across his lute.

“If it is a Clash you want,

Then it is with Clash we’ll flaunt!”

There was a sharp stabbing pain in Noam’s arm, right where the scars of Celine’s healing still lay fresh. But he couldn’t care less as he replied.

“Come! Let us face-off,

In a battle, no one will scoff!”

Embers lit up the bard’s hair, not something given by Noam’s original skill, but a vision of the future. Of power he could obtain should he win.

The prelude was over.

“Bold you are, coming to a battle of wits completely unarmed,

It’s not too late to quit, cause you will get harmed!” the bard sang, and the world sang with him.

Droplets of blood leaked from his head, his scar cried in pain, yet they were naught but minor distractions to the pure joy Noam felt.

“If I am unarmed then you are a vegetable,

Speaking with confidence with rhymes barely presentable!

I am disarmed to make it fair,

For you are so lacking in dramatic flair!”

As Noam threw open his arms, flames burst forth from the embers, licking at the bard’s hair and stubble, yet the bard only laughed. The same insanity in Noam’s eyes reflected in his.

“Arrogant child, what are you smoking?

For no matter what, you will be left choking!”

The stitches holding his arm began to rip, leaving it hanging off slightly from the stump as his opponent Rhymed the damage of the past.

“From dirt and dust you came,

And dirt and dust will reclaim!”

The bard refused to let up, as the droplets of blood leaking from his head turned to a full waterfall, forcing him to blink back as his vision was stained red.

“Played the fool, lost your cool,

Ended up just a tool,

Now so many to mourn,

You are merely forsworn!”

His arm fell off completely, and Noam was thrown back, his head slamming into the packed dirt floor. He gasped, and in that brief moment his mouth opened, something flew out. A glowing orb attached to him by the barest threads, slowly it cracked and was destroyed to the barest dust.

Noam knew at that moment he had lost Biting Words, the spell and its slot forever destroyed, something that’ll never return no matter how many times he respawned.

The veil separating them and the rest of the world cracked for the briefest moment, as Dustin stepped in, his stubby hand held out to him. A plea to stop this madness before he lost something important.

Noam did not reach for the hand.

For how could one feel joy, if there was no risk?

As he staggered back up, he brought his remaining hand to his mouth, and at that moment, poured all his soul into the sounds he made. The short tune of beatboxing locked and emanated around him.

“That was a low blow,

But I shall reply with gusto.”

How the bard knew of the past did not matter. Maybe it was a skill, maybe he was stalking them. The reality was, Noam just lost an arm and something more.

“Like the boy in the mirror,

I come ever nearer.”

Yet still, he smiled as he took a step forward.

“Bitch you think I don’t know?

Speak my flaws, use em as ammo.”

Slowly, Noam regained his momentum.

“Bullet after bullet, all wound and bleed,

Doesn’t matter, I follow my own creed!”

A roar of the soul, of something great, of something unyielding, of something innocent and true.

“Even if undead hordes all come crawling,

Even if the skies are falling,

It doesn’t matter, cuz I’m still balling!”

Flames burst forth, consuming the other man fully, yet still, the bard stood his ground.

“You thought you came to win when you came to retire,

Because you faced a man who speaks straight FIRE!”

Finally, the flames turned blue and his opponent grunted and fell to a knee.

Within the flames, Noam saw it, the Path of Spitfire. Not the fake he holds and wields, but a truth he could take.

And he hesitated when he realised it could only be gained in taking. However rightfully he earned it, the man would lose in the same way he lost Biting Words. It was an equivalent exchange. A transfer from those worthy and those who weren’t.

The world said he deserved this power.

Noam let go, the flames sputtering out, revealing the heavily burned but living man underneath. His knees collapsed underneath him and Noam fell to the ground. The strange, altered world where they fought disappearing as others rushed to check their wounds.

Dustin’s cap soon loomed over him as the myconid looked down.

“What did you gain from that,” his friend calmly said, his anger impossible to notice unless you knew to look. “You permanently lost a spell, took severe damage. You got nothing.”

Noam smiled, “I got satisfaction.”

Noam was put to bed, his wounds swiftly tended and our pockets lightened as I forced several dozen gold coins onto Celine for looking after the idiot.

As I stepped out into the night, I realised I may never understand how he feels.

Doing something without gain. Purely for the satisfaction of it. For me, satisfaction only came from gain. I could understand respecting a capable opponent, but to take joy from losing this much. I couldn’t comprehend it.

There was no light outside, but I saw just as well. The outlines of buildings, the rustling trees. A bell sounded, signalling midnight. Drawn towards the sound, I saw a large church-like building, though attached to an additional building that seemed like it was meant to house a lot of people.

The bell that rang was silver, glinting beautifully in the moonlight. Yet as it stopped, I noticed a crack on the bell. Broken and tarnished, the crack seemed to gnaw at the beautiful object.

And perhaps it was the noise of the… incident. But as the night came and the residents moved to rest.

It felt like the world was silent.

I heard no noise in the night, no skittering bugs, no moving nocturnal creature, no rustling trees. As if there was a great noise that I passively blotted out, only now being silenced. It was as if the world itself had decided to just shut up.

It was a silence that felt deafening.