By Donovan Bertch
Originally Published in Unfading Daydream Vol. 2 #3
This should have been a pleasant evening.
After all, why wouldn’t it be? The Salazar International School of Magic and the Arcane’s Educational Showcase of Prestigious Talents and Marvelous Miracles (or the “Talent Show” as some of the less-professional professors called it) was a very relaxed affair. When it came to the Great Old Schools of the magical arts, most things were on the low-key side. Truly, it did the old man’s heart good to see the children on stage truly appreciating the finer elements of their craft. Watching young sorcerers perform spectacular stunts, from simple prestidigitation to complex arcane rituals, always put a smile on Professor Salazar’s face. The joy of a spell gone right, the excitement dancing in their eyes...ah, to be young again.
The Showcase made for a fantastic tool of diplomacy as well. He could spy both his own students and some of their overseas guests in the audience excitedly whispering to each other as the latest sorcerer on stage performed some kind of elemental dance. Unity and camaraderie was a key goal of the showcase, a way to inspire and bring together the world through the mutual appreciation of the magical arts.
Well, that, and a way to find the strongest mages to defeat the encroaching darkness that threatened the very existence of all.
It was a sad reality that these poor children were born into a world of not just magic, but monsters and horrific creatures beyond comprehension. Dragons were a fine example of the latter, ancient beings with abilities and powers as varied as could be. Even the weakest of them could topple cities. Many talented wizards and witches died regularly defending their homes from utter destruction. As dark as it may be, this was one of the best ways to find recruits with the best aptitude to take up their predecessors’ places.
Of course, they could reject the call to action if they so wished. Neither Salazar nor his contemporaries would institute a draft if they could help it. But sometimes, desperate measures must be taken. The least he could do in the process would be to provide them one last positive memory, of joy and wonder, before the deadly realities of the world set in. It was a kindness.
Or so he hoped.
“That was Morgana Altera, ladies and gentlemen, with her Elemental Jubilee!” The dulcet tones of the emcee rang through the crowd’s cheers and applause. “Thank you very much, Ms. Altera! Next up, we have…” The voice dropped off, as if suddenly cut. The crowd murmured as the sound of shuffling paper filled the room. “...um. Okay. It appears we have a late entrant, all the way from the M. Z. Inger School of Mechanical Wizardry. Please welcome-” A piercing screech erupted from the emcee’s microphone, splitting ears throughout the room. “Hey, what’re you-”
“Sorry, borrowing this.” A series of thumping sounds echoed through the hall. “Hello? Mic check, 1, 2. 1, 2. Can everyone hear me? Nah, of course you can,” a cheery voice rang out, smarminess dripping from every syllable.
Salazar blanched. He’d heard tell of a prodigy from one of those newer “magitech” schools (he still thought they were a terrible idea, but did anyone listen? No, of course not.). A young man with unparalleled intellect, able to weave together machinery and magical spells into all manner of contraptions. Unfortunately, Salazar had also heard that said prodigy was a bit of-
“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, wizards and witches, warlocks and... more witches!” The voice continued, as smoke began to fill the stage. A pair of shadows began to appear from the depths. Both appeared humanoid, with one clearly holding a microphone in one hand, while the other seemed to loom on like an angel from on high. “Are you ready for the show of a lifetime? Are you ready to see the pinnacle of magic, right here, right now? Are you ready for the future?”
“-an insufferable egotist,” Salazar muttered.
As the smoke dispersed, the crowd began to gasp, shout, and even scream. The larger shadow made way for what seemed to be a mechanical...Salazar couldn’t even deign to call it a person. It was far more like a golem, and a horrific one at that. The figure was almost alien in its design, with a protruding crown of spikes on its head, and a body made up of what seemed to be rectangular metallic limbs (outside of its unnervingly human-shaped hands). Its red coat shone in the light of the stage, a dark green visor protruding from its “face.” A singular black “eye” opened from within the viridian depths, almost peering into the very essence of the audience itself. It appeared even more massive than the shadow had implied; it almost reached the ceiling itself!
The figure in front of it, a man dressed in a dark purple suit adorned in star patterns, black slacks and dress shoes to boot, seemed almost tame in comparison. His hair was a stark red, a bright contrast to the more shadowy hues of his outfit, and it was styled in... a hook, Salazar wanted to say? Certainly, it was far flashier than he’d ever let his students wear.
“My fine people, allow me to introduce myself!” The man joyously shouted into the microphone. “I am Neo Arcanus! And this,” he continued, gesturing to the creature behind him, “Is my masterpiece: the Spellstriker G!”
For the briefest of moments, the crowd was dead silent.
Perhaps, Salazar thought for just as brief a moment, things would go better than-
Then, the room erupted into noise.
“...of course.”
“People, people, please!” Arcanus pleaded, holding up a hand towards the masses, “Calm yourselves! I know this is a fantastic feat of magical engineering-”
“It’s a monster!” One soul from the crowd shrieked.
There was a gasp from onstage. Not from Arcanus, however, as his lips were (mercifully, Salazar thought) sealed shut.
Rather, it almost appeared to have come from…
“Oh no,” Salazar whispered.
“How dare you!?” An airy voice echoed from the stage, as the Spellstriker’s eye appeared to widen within its visor. “I’m no monster!”
“The monster talks!” another voice rang out, setting off another round of screams from the audience.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Arcanus muttered into the microphone. “Would all of you just pipe down and listen for two seconds before you start a riot?”
Salazar saw quite a few of their rank begin to flee into the aisles. He had to do something. Mustering all his anger, Salazar took a deep breath, and-
“Neo, tell them I’m not a monster!” The machine crossed its arms, a digital tear appearing in its visor. “That’s so rude! And after I came all the way from the realm of Fae!”
“...what?!” Salazar roared from his seat, silencing the whole of the theater. “That...thing is one of the fairy folk?!”
“Yes!” Arcanus extended his arm towards the Spellstriker, a manic grin on his face. “What you see before you is the culmination of the entire history of magic! A fusion between wizardry and machine, a titanic golem piloted by one of the strongest Fae in the known universe!”
“You flatter me, Neo!” The Spellstriker gushed, its eye lighting up (literally, as Salazar noted) as a small, nearly ethereal figure burst from the visor. “Now then: hello, everyone! I’m Iris, of the Oberon Tribe! I’ve been Neo’s partner in this little endeavor, and I couldn’t be prouder to help debut it today. It’s great to meet you!”
At this, Salazar gripped the sides of his seat. “...Oberon, you say?”
“You got it!”
Salazar’s face went pale. It wasn’t often that he heard talk of the fairy folk in general in recent times (they’d for the most part decided to keep out of “mortal affairs,” after all). But this? “H-how in the world,” he began, glancing down at Arcanus, “Did you contract with a member of one of the great five fairy tribes?”
“Simple!” Arcanus answered, pacing across the stage. “We both shared a mutual interest in one thing: the future!”
“...beg-pardon?”
“The future of magic! The future of technology! The future of the very world itself!” Arcanus snapped his fingers. Iris, as if on cue (it likely was a cue, Salazar quickly realized, for this whole song and dance) flew back into the visor of the Spellstriker. Arcanus walked backwards towards the golem, which knelt down and offered a hand for him to step onto.
As the Spellstriker lifted him closer to its chest, Arcanus bellowed, “We live in dangerous times, my friends! Grim creatures lay waste to land and citizen alike, and even our best and brightest are not enough to defeat them!” He pointed out towards the audience. “Scores of mages gone in the blink of an eye, their families torn asunder! However, we have a chance to take the fight to the dark, and truly defend our homes! Our people!”
“Too long have I seen the world of mortals ravaged by the horrors of the dark,” the Spellstriker-Iris, rather- echoed, her voice cascading across the audience like a crisp breeze. “Too long have my kin stood by and let yours be decimated! Let my word be a promise to you all-you no longer have to live in fear!”
“You no longer have to live in despair!” Arcanus added.
“You no longer have to worry,” the both said in unison, “For the future of our world stands before you now!”
There was silence yet again. Salazar scowled at the arrogance on display, his contempt just barely masked by his utter shock. This was no showcase of talent-this was a pitch for a war machine! And not even that, this was an insult flung in the faces of all those who perished trying to defend their right to perform this farce! Surely, he thought, even the youngest in attendance would see right through this nonsense-wouldn’t they?
The roar of applause that quickly erupted from the masses below quickly threw that notion aside.
Salazar couldn’t have been in a worse mood if he tried to be.
Arcanus’s grin had spread wide, like that of a cat with its quarry in sight, as he waved cheerfully towards the crowd. The Spellstriker, however, appeared to suddenly tense up, its eye darting back and forth across its visor. The machine’s head glanced up towards the ceiling of the theater. Suddenly, Iris’s voice cried out, “Everyone, scatter! Now!”
Salazar felt proud of his school’s architecture, both personally and professionally. It was reinforced against all manner of magical attack, built with the strongest steel possible, and had a nice gothic aesthetic to it.
Fancy paint and magical reinforcements, however, could not stand up to everything.
This was made evident by the enormous pillar of fire that burst through the ceiling with the force of a hurricane.
Having heeded the Spellstriker’s warning in the nick of time, most of the audience was able to dodge the searing flames (as much as not getting utterly scorched could be considered dodging, at least). A loud thud echoed through the room, and a burst of wind sent dust billowing in all directions. Salazar leapt up, intending to run to the exit just behind his box seat.
That was when the thing came tumbling down.
Salazar knew this was the end. All his work, all his hopes and dreams for the future, everything-gone in a matter of seconds.
This should have been a pleasant evening.
Then, he saw a flash of red, and darkness covered his vision.
“We got you, old man!” Iris’s voice called out.
His world shaking with every passing second, Salazar felt himself in some sort of a vice grip, unable to move. “What’s going on!?”
“I thought you of all people would know a showcase of prestigious talent and a marvelous miracle when you saw it, Professor!” Arcanus replied in a sing-song tone. The darkness subsided, only to be replaced by a blinding light. When his sight returned, Salazar found himself on the stage, surrounded by the few poor souls who were unable to escape through the other exits. It appeared that they were all staring at…
“...my word,” Salazar breathed.
A humongous dragon stood in the debris of the theater, flames bursting from its mouth with every roar it made.
In between the beast and its prey was the Spellstriker G, Arcanus perched on its shoulder. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a volunteer for the rest of our presentation, Iris.”
“That we do, Neo,” Iris replied, swiveling the Spellstriker’s head to face Arcanus, “Ladies and gentlemen,” she shouted, slipping back into the performance like a hand to a glove. “We’ve talked the talk; now it’s time to really show you what the Spellstriker G is capable of!” The chest of the Spellstriker opened, revealing a human-sized seat on the inside. The golem lifted the arm that Arcanus had been standing on, bringing it to the seat. Racing down the arm, Arcanus slipped into the seat, the chest quickly closing in on him.
“Listen well, beast,” Neo’s voice boomed from the machine. Its right arm opened up, quickly sliding out a saber’s handle into the machine’s fist. “I, Neo Arcanus-”
The hilt began to shake, a bright light building within.
“-And I, Iris of Oberon-”
In a blinding flash, a glorious golden blade erupted from the hilt. The Spellstriker trained it directly on the dragon. Both voices spoke as one:
“-will strike you down, for the future of all!”
And the battle was waged.
The dragon let loose a mighty roar, the shockwaves alone breaking the stained-glass designs on the theater walls. It charged towards the Spellstriker, clearly intent on brute-forcing it to the ground.
“Iris,” Arcanus asked, his voice reverberating through the hall, “It seems our foe is a bit hotheaded.”
“Well, then,” Iris replied, the Spellstriker’s sword turning a shade of cerulean, “Let’s see if we can’t cool him off!” The Spellstriker leapt to meet its enemy, its sword slashing clean across the creature’s chest. A loud hiss seared through the air, as sword met flesh. The dragon stumbled backwards, a snarl escaping its lips as it surveyed the scar left by the strike. It opened its maw, reared its head back-
And spat out a stream of tiny bubbles, which bounced harmlessly off the Spellstriker.
“What in the blazes?” Salazar asked, ignoring the whispers of “That was so cool!” and “This is way better than last year’s show.”
“Funny you should say that, Professor,” Arcanus replied, the Spellstriker turning around and gesturing to the dragon. “The Spellstriker G was crafted using materials that incorporate every magical element discovered, as of yet. As a result, its blade, should it come into physical contact with a particular creature or object, can-”
The dragon rushed the Spellstriker again, attempting to land a bite on the machine with its razor-sharp teeth. Almost casually, the Spellstriker’s left arm bent backwards in the dragon’s direction. It then popped the hand upwards, revealing what looked to be a series of round holes. A barrage of projectiles erupted from the arm, catapulting the dragon back as the assault continued.
“We talked about this, Neo!” Iris chided over the noise, which had Salazar and the other poor souls on stage holding their hands to their ears. “You have to pay attention when we’re fighting!”
“But the pitch was going so well!” Arcanus whined, the sword arm slumping dejectedly. “Besides, don’t you want them to know about the gatling arm, which might I add contains 100% renewable, electric-powered projectiles-”
“There won’t be anything to pitch if you turn us into dragon chow!”
Arcanus groaned. “Fine, fine. I swear, you’re such a downer.” The gatling arm crawled to a stop, latching the hand back onto the arm. The Spellstriker glanced over to the dragon. It was still standing, but it was covered in puncture wounds and looked considerably worse for wear. “Besides, it looks like our friend here’s just about done.” The sword began to glow once more, this time a strange mix of purple and pink.
“Eyes on the prize, Neo.”
“When are they not, Iris?”
In one last-ditch effort, the dragon-battered as it was-grabbed for the floor of the theater. Salazar gazed in horror as it lifted a large, boulder-sized chunk of the floor, forcing itself into the air with what little strength it had left. It raised the rock up into the air, aiming it squarely at the Spellstriker-and the stage behind it.
“Looking to take as many people out with its death as possible. What a sore loser,” Iris groaned. “Seems like it’s time for the curtain call.”
“Couldn’t have said it better myself!” The glow from the Spellstriker’s sword intensified, a sphere appearing at its tip. Just as the dragon hurled the stone towards the Spellstriker, the machine slashed at the air, creating a star in between itself and the dragon. The instant the stone hit the star, it froze in place, shaking as if being forced still. The Spellstriker turned back towards the stage, holding up three “fingers” with its left hand. “Say it with us, ladies and gentlemen,” Arcanus instructed. “Three....”
A whirring noise began to emanate from the star.
“Two,” Iris continued, with some of the crowd echoing her.
The dragon appeared very, very confused.
“...one,” Salazar grumbled.
Within the machine, both Arcanus and Iris beamed.
“Zero!”
The star glowed bright, and with a thunderous crack, the stone lurched backwards towards the dragon. It tore through the creature’s chest, hurtling out the other side before flying out the hole in the ceiling that the creature itself had made.
The dragon glanced down at its chest, shock evident on its face.
Then, like the very stone that just flew through it, the dragon fell, hitting the ground with a mighty crash.
A hush fell over the room.
“...so, can I tell them about the Gatling gun now?”
---
“We…” Salazar sighed, his face scrunching as he spoke. Did he really have to do this?
He glanced towards the dragon’s corpse, currently surrounded by all manner of magical authority. “...we owe you our lives,” he admitted.
“Saving lives is kind of what the Spellstriker G was designed to do!” Iris replied, flitting around Salazar. “No thanks needed.”
“I beg to differ,” Arcanus retorted, a smirk glued to his face. “We did steal the show, after all.”
“…don’t you mean ‘we did save the show,’ Arcanus?” Salazar asked.
“That’s what I said.”
“...right, of course.” It wasn’t worth the effort to argue, Salazar reasoned. “You’ve certainly shown the worth of your project in your deeds. We at the Salazar International School of Magic would be honored to allow you within our-”
“Pass.” Arcanus replied, earning him a glare from Iris.
“You didn’t even let him finish!”
“Don’t need to. Either he wanted me to be in his school, or work for him, or something I don’t feel like doing.” Arcanus glanced at Salazar. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
Salazar frowned. “I can’t.”
“Exactly.”
“What do you intend to do, then? None of the other Great Schools would allow something this dangerous outside of their control. The only reason I deign to do so is due to the kindness you’ve done this institution, and its students.” Salazar glanced over at a group of wizened professors and administrators off in some corner, all eyeing Arcanus and Iris with piercing stares. “I can’t say that the others will feel the same.”
“You’re forgetting where we come from, Professor.” Iris landed on Arcanus’ shoulder, crossing her arms. “The M. Z. Inger School of Mechanical Wizardry has a very advanced security system on its hands. You’d be hard pressed to get past it.”
“Oh?” Salazar raised an eyebrow. “And just what might that be?”
Arcanus merely pointed with his thumb towards the Spellstriker G. With that, he turned to the machine, climbing back onto its outstretched arm. Iris flew into the visor, raising the hand to bring Arcanus back to the cockpit.
“...why am I not surprised,” Salazar muttered. “One last question, before you go. What does the “G” in “Spellstriker G” stand for? Golem? Giant?”
Arcanus chuckled as he took as seat in the machine. “Nothing so clear. It stands for “Greatest,” and why wouldn’t it?”
Salazar watched in silence as the cockpit closed, with the golem launching out of the hole in the ceiling, off into the night sky.
He sighed. This was supposed to be a pleasant evening.
It really wasn’t, in the end.
He couldn’t say it wasn’t interesting all the same.