The man's face suddenly split open.
It wasn't because of anything Wayland had done.
A Tarot card flew out from beneath his very skin, as though it had been grafted into his flesh.
The card depicted a hermit in a long robe, leaning on a staff and carrying a lantern.
In an instant, the lantern flared with a blinding, white-hot light. A volley of ethereal swords erupted from the glow, lancing straight toward Wayland's chest.
'Crap.'
Wayland couldn't help but curse under his breath.
This was his first time encountering a magus with such a bizarre and biological approach to Mystic Codes. Embedding a card into your own face? That was a level of dedication he hadn't expected.
His expression soured. There was no question about it,his and Pascal's coordinated strike had failed to end the fight.
Throughout the battle, Wayland had been keep an eye on the time.
He knew that as soon as Pascal arrived, he would sense the disturbance. Even with the man's barrier in place, Pascal was a magus of the 'Fes' rank, and Wayland was a beacon of magical energy within the station.
Pascal's first move had been to call Wayland's phone.
Wayland hadn't answered.
That was the signal. It confirmed that Wayland was engaged with an enemy.
Pascal's second move was to activate the tracking device. Every phone issued to the Department of Policies' field agents was equipped with one, and it hadn't taken him long to lock onto Wayland's position.
He'd then cast a Presence Concealment spell and approached the battlefield in total silence.
With the battle raging and magical energy saturating the air, it had been a simple matter for Pascal to layer an illusion over the scene. He'd triggered it the moment the 'Wayland' in the illusion had his head severed, but unfortunately, the man's secondary Mystic Code had reacted faster than expected.
"Pascal!"
Wayland had no intention of dying in a mutual strike. To avoid the barrage of ethereal swords, he performed a sharp backflip, putting a comfortable distance between himself and the man in white.
The man didn't pursue. He cast a cold, lingering glare at Wayland. "I will remember your face, boy."
He grabbed the Tarot card hovering before him, and his body began to dissolve into the surrounding mist.
The moment Wayland called out his name, Pascal's magic was already in motion.
Since he'd had very little time to prepare, he'd opted for a simple, fast-acting 'Fes' rank spell.
Mist Dispersal!
A low, resonant hum filled the air as a ring of grey light expanded at incredible speed, slamming into the man in white with a sound like a physical blow.
Something within the man's magical structure audibly shattered.
The mist surrounding him instantly thinned, revealing a face twisted in a mask of absolute fury.
The goal of the spell hadn't been to clear the mist, but to disrupt the man's spatial escape.
But Wayland didn't give him a chance to recover.
He was already upon him.
The shaft of the Gae Bolg Alternative hummed as it tore through the air, creating a dense, ear-shattering cacophony of whistling sounds. A series of shockwaves rippled outward from each thrust, the fierce, overwhelming magical energy forming a lethal web of spear-glow that completely boxed the man in.
A ragged scream tore from the man's throat.
His arms, which he'd raised in a desperate, instinctive attempt to shield himself, were instantly flayed.
His white robe was reduced to tatters in a heartbeat.
The razor-sharp web of energy sliced effortlessly into his flesh. Before the droplets of blood could even fly, perfectly uniform chunks of muscle and skin began to fall away, exposing the gleaming white bone beneath.
But the spear stopped short of his vitals.
The man let out a pained, animalistic howl, his blood-red eyes fixed on Wayland with a look of pure, unadulterated hatred. If looks could kill, Wayland would have been shredded a thousand times over.
Wayland's gaze was drawn to the object that had caught the point of his spear.
A third Tarot card.
He found himself wondering if this man carried the entire Major Arcana,all twenty-two cards,embedded in his body.
The gears on the card's surface began to turn.
A sudden, violent wind erupted from nowhere, and a jagged rift,looking like a lidless eye,opened in the air and swallowed the man whole.
It happened so fast that neither Wayland nor Pascal could intervene. The man was gone, leaving behind only a spray of blood and a few scraps of cloth as proof of the conflict.
"He got away."
Wayland allowed the crimson spear to dissipate and rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling the onset of a massive headache.
He was a firm believer in the 'uproot and eliminate' philosophy.
Since the man had survived, he would almost certainly come looking for revenge. And next time, he would be prepared. He'd make sure Wayland never got close enough for a melee exchange, which meant the next fight would be infinitely more dangerous.
"Don't look so down!" Pascal appeared beside him, his expression one of genuine admiration. "Seriously, a 'Count' rank magus managing to severely injure a 'Fes' rank... that's a total violation of the Clock Tower's established hierarchy. It shouldn't be possible."
"I just took advantage of the fact that he didn't know me," Wayland said, unimpressed. "If I hadn't managed to get close, I wouldn't have stood a chance. Besides, the credit belongs as much to you as it does to me. If it wasn't for your distraction and your interruption of his escape spell, I never would have landed a hit."
"Fair enough. But still... impresionante."
"Speaking of which... what about them?" Wayland asked, pointing toward the group of civilians.
Now that the barrier had collapsed with the man's departure, a group of armed officers was timidly approaching them, their hands shaking as they aimed their pistols at the two Magi.
"Simple. I've had plenty of practice with this."
Pascal's wrist flicked, and a magical circle manifested and vanished in the blink of an eye.
[Translated and Rewritten by Shika_Kagura]