A Bored Lich

Steady hands placed a sack of black powder and dragged its fuse to the edge of the table's shadow before moving on to the next. The enemy was not the hoard of demons on the other side of the shoddy wall which Thomas crept along nor the volatile nature of black powder - it was mistakes. In training, both Alexander and Jameson had been merciless in reminding the naive youth verbally and physically. The summation of those harsh times boiled down to two minutes and thirty-three seconds. It felt like an eternity.

The unlit match - if by chance he were to scrape it against something - would blow up the first line of defense, not to mention kill him. If his rigid body creaked and gave his position away, the demons would kill him. Worst of all, a mistake could prove how useless he was to the rest...again. He shivered at the thought of Frey's vein-filled face. Despite the pressure bearing down upon him, his heart rate was normal. It did not beat a single time.

'Halfway across,' he thought. 'Almost done.'

He had been so careful doing a job only he could do, and doing it right to boot.

Alas, luck was not a matter of skill. A clawed hand gripped the top of the wall and its owner leaned over. The shadow of Zolgon's crown encroached upon the light.

"I said hold your fire. That is an order," Thomas could hear Lance screaming to the students in the distance.

"Hello there," Thomas said as he struck the match, illuminating the demon's surprised expression. Blue life essence exploded from Thomas's body. Flame and black powder combined. Nothing happened.

"How noble of you," Zolgon said while rolling his eyes.

In Thomas's confusion, he pulled his hand out of the black powder to find that the match was gone. "What?" he asked aloud.

A faintly colored, copper mist radiated from the slight gaps in Zolgon's armor. He raised his tail, displaying the still-burning match held by the barbed tip. "Looking for this, would-be-assassin?" The tail swayed back and forth like a snake ready to strike.

Thomas reached for the match and Zolgon pulled back, just as predicted. Faints only worked if they were convincing. He threw the black powder into the king's face and ducked too late. A blind tail stab scraped against his skull, sending a wave of pain through Thomas's numb body. Blue life essence couldn't compare to copper life essence but he was used to being the weaker opponent.

Thomas's eyes turned obsidian black and the pain subsided. He dove forward, extending his clawed hands. He could not kill Zolgon but nothing stopped him from blinding the mighty king, except a wall.

His claws shattered as if he had run into a boulder. The floor embraced him upon his sudden return with a dull, painful slap to his flailing body. The black powder drifted down to reveal one of the shields that bore an outline of Thomas's smushed face.

'Woah,' Thomas thought, mind nearly blanking as he stared up at a blurry sky. 'That is a ceiling.'

"Get up Thomas," Elero's voice snapped him out of his concussive state.

Zolgon chuckled as Thomas scrambled to his feet. "I laughed so I will make it quick."

Blur. Blood. Black.

The next Thomas realized he was floating in the air, blood dripping out of a gaping hole in his chest. No, he wasn't floating because he was not dead yet. Zolgon's tail held him aloft.

Blur. Floor. Pain.

All-encompassing darkness emerged from the corners of Thomas's vision like thousands of bugs. Just as he shut his eyes, a black thread stretched out from his chest. 'Sorry to bother you, Doevm.'

"Don't  think I could not smell the stench of the Forbidden one's influence," Zolgon added.

Blood pooled around Thomas's body. 'Is all that...mine?' Everything went hazy. 'I was halfway done. So close. Damn...it...'

"No!" A familiar voice was muffled.

Death came a second time for Thomas Virility, taking its sweet time just like the first instance. If Thomas didn't know any better he would have thought death to be mocking him.

A flash illuminated the blurry visage Zolgon one last time as a spell flew towards him. It was dispersed by a shield of course.

"I said to hold!" Thomas couldn't tell the voices apart anymore, just that there were things being said.

"I am sorry but-" another besides Thomas fell dead, a student with a gash across his chest. Thomas could infer as to what happened. He just knew death by instinct.

"Good, Lance."

"Just do what I tell you to! Listen! This doesn't have to happen to the rest."

'So many voices,' Thomas kept thinking.  'Too loud.'

Laughter rang out. "What's wrong, too scared? I'll kill you all. Come on, I'm wide open. Fire! Let your hate out! I'll make you people beg for death if I get my hands on you."

'Shut up.'

"Then do something about it!" Thomas blinked and everything became clear. He sat up. The mess hall, and everyone in it, was nowhere to be seen.

"Stop falling for it and take him down," Frey pulled Thomas up by his bloody collar and brushed the Pit's sand off his sweaty back.

"They got you too, Frey?" Thomas asked.

Frey cocked his head to the side. "Doevm, can you please hold back more? I think you hit him too hard. Take this and pay your opponent back twice what you recieved." He shoved a training spear in Thomas's arms and shoved him towards a younger Doevm, who had taken a stance. In his hands was an old, worn practice spear.

"He will try to," Doevm chuckled. "But he should really be tired by now. Maybe he should try a more suitable activity, like picking flowers." He gestured to the fields of roses outside the hollowed out hill. "Just relax, young master. You can just chug down your family's potions all your life and become strong like that."