Page 56 of Two Who Live On

The last spot became faint as feet reached that crossing line. He lunged forward, exhausted, broken, uncertain if he deserved scraping by after so much failure. A handful of students all crossed the finish line barreling on top of each other, making it impossible to distinguish who’d crossed first.

Fireworks exploded, and a buzzer sounded, informing everyone the final placement had been made. My heart pounded, awaiting the picture to display. It glitched, a tight freeze between explosive colors and a murky face.

Finally…

80th: Caleb Huxley

He collapsed to the ground, taking deep breaths and staring at his sweaty, red-faced image on the screens, not concerned about showing his best expression. “Now, time to win this whole damn showcase.”

ChapterTwenty

Chapter Twenty

Thanks to the wonderful responsibility of proctoring the second day’s event, I had the luxury of arriving early to scrap the obstacle course before reformatting the design for the second event. Nothing beat being voluntold to come before my contractual hours and laboriously use my telekinesis in assisting the alteration of the terrains. The cherry on top, Peterson got to dictate everything because of his primal earth magic. Fuck me. Peterson created huge stone tiles the rest of us had to set up into an arena layout. Each stone tile weighed more than five hundred pounds which proved excruciating to lift independently.

I could’ve banded in groups like the other staff members assigned to the second event, but as much as I hated the free labor, I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to finetune my root magic. Telekinesis strained a witch’s muscles when in use, and like working out, the more a witch ripped them and surpassed their limits, the stronger the ability became.

Each stone slab was about the width and height of two doors side-by-side, which made it difficult to gain a proper grasp. If I channeled too much telekinetic energy at the bottom, it’d topple over and crumble—leaving Peterson to bitch that I’d ruined his masterful work, which would be a hell of a lot more masterful if it was sturdier. Gripping telekinesis above and below mostly worked, but I continued having to shift to the sides as I moved a stone in line with the other slabs.

My arms trembled about five stone slabs in, but I shook it off, wiping the sweat from my brow, and continued. Unlike real weight with physical lifting, there was a distortional variable in the limit telekinesis could handle. If a witch could physically bench a hundred pounds, they could easily control three times that weight telekinetically. If I wanted to improve my telekinesis, I needed to draw on more than the muscles in my arms. Redistributing where I drew from when channeling telekinesis, I ensured every muscle burned and strengthened. A technique I’d taught for years but had grown lax in implementing myself.

Cheerful minds buzzed outside the auxiliary gym, half from spectators and half from eager students who’d arrived early, ready for the next competition. It was a coin toss on if they’d love or hate it once our studious host unveiled the challenge.

“Alrighty, my little helpers, let’s get this wrapped up.” Chanelle strutted across the half-created stadium, wearing a golden top hat almost as glittery as her ringleader-styled blazer. She twirled a matching cane she’d finagled her microphone onto.

“That’s a fancy outfit.” I dropped a stone slab in front of her, readjusting it so no one tripped.

“It’s called theatricality, Mr. Frost.” Chanelle beamed, her smile filled her face, and her dimples grew deeper. “You seem more frosty than usual.”

I went back to working on the arena. Once we’d finished the setup, guests filed inside. The audience had thinned some, but that was to be expected. Between the extra audience members we’d gained from the first-year students cut from round one, it almost hid the number of guild members too busy to attend a trivial competition. Either the kid they’d favored hadn’t impressed in round one, or they wanted to read our website results to see if someone of interest managed to make it to the final round. Not that it’d truly pique their curiosity, but if the magic was unique enough, they might consider early scouting to secure a talented third-year intern.

The semi-finalists entered the auxiliary gym, minds whirling at the arena setup. Many were curious what this round would entail, given the limited proximity. Our stone slabs covered a large scale, about half of a football field, but only a quarter of the auxiliary gym itself.

“Hello, everyone. Yesterday, our first-year contestants demonstrated the importance of possessing a powerful and versatile branch. Some even showcased perseverance over innate talent, which gets me fired up.” Chanelle’s voice boomed, twirling her cane for dramatic pause while the audience and contestants cheered. I huffed. Her enthusiasm was as infectious as it was irritating. “Independence was the name of the game last round, but for our semi-finals, we’re going to showcase the most important virtue of an industry witch!”

I couldn’t tell if she’d gotten louder or if standing at the sidelines as opposed to in the stands amplified her shouting.

“What’s the most important thing? Collaboration, of course. Something any skilled guild witch is capable of.” Chanelle eyed the students competing, pointing to a few fortheatricality. “And we’ll be demonstrating this with a good ole fashioned round of Warlock Wars.”

I bit back my repulsion. A barbaric name for a competition that taught young witches to dehumanize fellow unlawful citizens. Thegoal was to “arrest” the other team with enchantment bracelets laced in dampening sigils, restraining casting abilities. Most of the kids cheered, excited for the game, but a few minds understood the offensive nature. It trivialized criminal actions into a game of good versus bad. In this particular game, both sides saw themselves as the official enchanters, while the other team was the wicked opposition. Naturally, it was designed this way because the warlocks always lost in the end—a great moral for impressionable minds—so whichever team cuffed and defeated the other side first won the round.

The arena itself served as an extra burden. If a team member got knocked out of the arena, they were out of the competition, something I rather liked. It limited the students’ field of battle, which meant they needed to be more observant of their surroundings or risk an easy loss. That was definitely a pro tip everyone needed. I was glad Mrs. Whitehurst had included it in her pitch for the event.

“In years past, we’ve often partnered students in a reverse ranking system to create balance in teams,” Chanelle explained.

Kenzo glared at Caleb, annoyed he’d have to work with him to get through the round. Whether she meant their actual rankings or the place they took in the first round, as number one of both, he’d be stuck carrying the deadweight who placed last in each.

“But as any good enchanter will tell you, they don’t always get equally distributed covens. Sometimes guilds assign witches to whoever is available. And not one professional will say they’ve ever been matched against enemies based on a fair distribution of power.”

The kids stared, warily. This round would actually work against my homeroom coven, and at any second, they’d realize why.

“That’s why for this event, covens will be randomly assigned via lottery drawing,” Chanelle shouted, making her way to the referee’s chair next to a large lever.

Having taken twelve of the eighty slots available in the semi-finals, my students had a higher likelihood of working together than other kids. Great, since this was a match that relied heavily on collaboration. However, it also meant they had higher odds of being teamed against one another too.

“Let’s see who our lucky first contenders are.” Chanelle pulled the lever—completely unnecessary since the automated system was actually pushed by someone in the proctoring room. “I would also like to note that while all eighty competitors will be facing each other in four-on-four matches, that doesn’t mean we’ll have forty witches in the final round. In fact, we could have zero.”

A few students gasped or scrunched their faces.

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