The next day, they equipped the guards with rubber vests and waited for Sayid by the town gate.

  "What in the Seven Hells is this supposed to be?" Jerome, the town’s guard, held his vest at arm's length. "Smells like a tar pit had a baby with a swamp."

  "It's rubber," Clive explained for the third time. "It'll protect you from lightning."

  A younger guard, barely out of training, poked at his vest dubiously. "Begging your pardon, Master Pictomancer, but this feels like wearing solid oil. How's this flimsy thing supposed to stop the Thunder God's bolts when proper steel can't?"

  "Because steel conducts electricity. This doesn't." Clive demonstrated by pressing on the material. "Think of it like... water flowing around a rock instead of through it."

  "More like wearing a rock," another guard muttered, struggling with the unfamiliar buckles. "Heavy as one too. And it doesn't breathe at all, I'm sweating like a priest in a brothel."

  Jerome finally pulled his vest on, grimacing at the way it clung. "I've worn a lot of strange things in my time, but this takes the cake. We look like we've been dipped in pitch."

  "Better to look foolish than be dead," Joshua said sharply, ending the complaints. "The Pictomancer's methods are unconventional, but they work."

  "Will Sayid come?" Clive asked, adjusting his own vest beneath his shirt.

  "His storm magic has dissipated. He'll need to strike directly now." Joshua's eyes never left the horizon. "Pride won't let him retreat. Not after yesterday's humiliation."

  They waited through the afternoon, tension mounting with each passing hour. Guards shifted nervously at their posts, sweat beading beneath the unfamiliar rubber protection. The sun began its descent.

  Then the wind changed.

  It started as a whisper, barely enough to stir the banners on the walls. But Clive's [Apothecary’s Nose] detected the etheric signature of two people approaching.

  "They're here," he whispered, already reaching for his sketchbook.

  A gale-force blast slammed into the guards without warning, sending them tumbling like ragdolls across the cobblestones. In that moment of chaos, lightning split the air. A spear of pure electrical fury struck the gate dead center.

  The ancient wood and iron exploded inward, splinters and molten metal spraying across the courtyard. Through the smoking ruins, two figures strolled as casually as lovers on an evening walk.

  Sayid's robes crackled with residual electricity arcing about like restless serpents. Beside him, Bernadette moved with ethereal grace, her feathered dress rippling in the winds.

  Twenty paces away, Clive and Joshua stood their ground. The Archmage stood perfectly still, his staff planted firmly against the stones. Clive's stance was deceptively casual, but his hand hovered over his paintbrush with the readiness of a gunslinger.

  "Looks like security is as lax as ever," Sayid drawled, stepping over a groaning guard. "Though I see you've dressed them in... what is this? Tar armor? How quaint."

  "And it seems like you're losing your edge," Clive said. "All that power, and you're reduced to property damage. Very theatrical, but not very smart."

  "Insolent—" Sayid raised his hand, lightning already gathering.

  But then he froze.

  The guards recovered, pushing themselves to their feet.

  "That's... that's not possible." Sayid's growled. His eyes tracked across the courtyard, counting. Eight guards. All direct hits. "That was enough voltage to stop their hearts. They shouldn't even have hearts anymore."

  "Funny thing about lightning," Clive said, enjoying the dawning horror on Sayid's face. "It's only deadly if it actually reaches you."

  "Master Pictomancer's magic tar actually works!" Jerome called out, slapping his vest with newfound appreciation. "Felt like getting kicked by a horse, but I'm not crispy!"

  Sayid's gaze snapped to the black vests. "What did you—"

  Before he could act, Bernadette raised one hand. The wind responded instantly, whirling into a mini hurricane that sent the guards flying again, this time slamming them against the walls with bone-cracking force.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  "Stay down, little beetles," she purred, her voice carrying on the wind itself. "You are insignificant."

  "Bernadette," Joshua said. "You look like you haven't aged a day."

  She laughed. "I take good care of myself, Joshua. Amazing what leaving the Arcanum's politics can do for one's complexion. You should try it—oh wait." Her smile turned cruel. "You can't. Too many chains holding you to this dying city."

  "Enough pleasantries," Sayid snarled. Lightning gathered around him, ionizing the air till the smell of ozone surrounded. "You think your little trick changes anything? I am the storm incarnate! I could turn this entire square to glass!"

  "Could you?" Clive taunted. Sayid’s outburst made him too easy to categorize. He recognized the type, quick to anger and perpetually drunk on their own power. Sayid was no different than the bandits Clive encountered when he first entered this world. Their pride was a button begging to be pushed.

  Sayid's face contorted with rage. "You dare—"

  "I dare quite a lot, actually. Like pointing out that you're not even the strongest mage here.” Clive gestured lazily toward Joshua. "That would be our dear Archmage. You know, the one who actually earned the Phoenix's blessing? You're just the loudest. There's a difference."

  "Careful, little painter," Bernadette warned. The winds around her tightened into visible streams, picking up debris and whirling it in threatening orbits. "You're playing with forces beyond your comprehension."

  "Am I?" Clive's hand moved to his palette. "Because from where I'm standing, I see two bitter exiles who couldn't handle rejection. One who thought raw power entitled him to leadership, and another who chose to follow madness rather than face her own mediocrity."

  "Mediocrity?" Bernadette’s voice became the howl of a winter gale. "I was the youngest First-Class Mage in three centuries! I revolutionized atmospheric manipulation. My techniques are still taught—"

  "Were taught," Joshua corrected quietly. "Past tense."

  "Shut up!" Sayid roared. "Fulmen Caelestis Eradico!" The air split with a deafening crack as blue lightning erupted from his fingertips.

  The bolt struck Clive square in the chest. The cobblestones beneath Clive's feet cracked from the sheer force. Steam rose from his rubber vest, filling the air with an acrid stench.

  But when the afterimage faded, Clive stood unharmed, not even singed.

  [You are immune to lightning]

  "Impossible." Sayid's voice cracked. "That was tier four positive lightning. Over a billion volts. Nothing can survive that. NOTHING!"

  Bernadette responded with a battering ram of atmospheric pressure aimed at Clive.

  The Archmage's staff swept up, and a ribbon of superheated air erupted from the staff's tip, creating a sudden thermal column between Bernadette's attack and its target. The compressed air hit the temperature differential like a ramp, deflecting sharply upward. Windows in the surrounding buildings rattled as the redirected pressure wave dissipated harmlessly into the evening sky.

  "Elementary heat dynamics, Bernadette." Joshua lectured. "Cold dense air meets a thermal updraft; it has nowhere to go but up. Did you forget your basic atmospheric principles, or has exile dulled more than just your ethics?"

  In that moment of distraction, Clive moved. He charged at Sayid and swung his sword at him.

  "Fool!" Sayid barked. "Did you forget what happened last time?" Sayid spread his arm. A magnetic field bloomed outward, creating a sovereign domain where metal became Sayid's plaything. The molten fragments of the destroyed gate began rolling across the stones toward Sayid's outstretched hand.

  Clive smirked. His sword didn't even twitch. It was disappointing that Sayid was still using all these same old moves.

  The realization dawned on Sayid's face a split second before the blade found flesh. He twisted desperately, but the sword still carved a line across his ribs, adding another scar to his chest.

  "How?" Sayid gasped, stumbling back, one hand pressed to his bleeding side.

  Clive raised his blade to admire it. "Titanium. Completely non-ferrous. Your magnetism can't touch it any more than it could touch a wooden stick. Your magnetic field caught me off-guard last time, I'll admit. But did you really think I'd walk into the same trap twice? It took me a few tries to get it right, but I managed to sketch one this morning. Just for you."

  He shifted his stance, blade ready for the next exchange. "That's the difference between us, Sayid. You're still fighting yesterday's battle. I'm already three moves ahead."

  Clive exploded forward again, titanium blade whistling through the air in a diagonal cut aimed at Sayid's shoulder. But this time, Sayid was ready.

  The Thunder Mage's form dissolved into pure electricity. The blade met no more resistance as lightning streaked passed him, reforming ten feet behind with a thunderous crack.

  "Big talk," Sayid spat. Blood still seeped from the cut on his ribs, but his confidence had returned. "All your preparation, all your clever metals, and you still can't touch me when I don't want to be touched. You can sketch all the exotic materials you want, you'll never be fast enough to hit lightning itself."

  Clive turned slowly, keeping Sayid in sight, but his smirk only widened. "You're absolutely right. I can't hit lightning.” His free hand moved to the satchel at his side. "Which is why," Clive continued, pulling out a rolled canvas. "I won't be trying to hit you at all."

  "What are you—"

  Clive unfurled the Canvas of Reality in one smooth motion. On the surface was a painting of a cage covered in meticulous copper wire patterns.

  [Background Change: Faraday Cage]

  Reality twisted. The painted pattern erupted from the canvas.

  Bars of gleaming copper burst from the cobblestones, shooting upward twenty feet before bending inward to form a domed ceiling.

  Sayid spun in place, his head snapping up to track the cage's formation. His face went pale beneath his beard. "What is this?" His hands erupted with electricity. But when he tried to dissolve into his elemental form, nothing happened. The energy flickered and sputtered, unable to maintain coherence within the cage's electromagnetic field.

  "You see," Clive explained, "a Faraday cage creates an interesting phenomenon. Any electrical charge inside gets distributed along the exterior surface. The interior becomes a dead zone, electrically speaking. You can throw all the lightning you want at me, but transforming into electricity yourself?" He shook his head. "That would be like trying to become water while sealed in a sponge."

  Sayid backed away, his eyes darting between Clive and the copper bars.

  "Your move," Clive said softly. "Or are you all out of the same old tricks?"

  The enemy who repeats himself has already lost. He fights the last battle while you prepare the next cage.

  — Huntmaster Kell's Third Principle of Adaptive Combat