04. call a storm warning, but not for me
feat. altair and eli
your uncle Eli is not easy to find.
typically, he avoids you, and when you happen to be in the same place together, he has little to say. but you've picked up some information here and there, from your parents and from patient observation, and today is the day you finally decide to confront him.
he's sitting on the couch, watching the weather report. you hesitate, insecure, waiting for the appropriate moment to speak, waiting for him to take a break. you realize he's noticed you for a while now when he unexpectedly speaks. "What."
his eyes are still glued to the TV.
"I was wondering, Uncle... would you do me the honor of sparring sometime? I'm sorry if I'm bothering you... but neither of my parents uses knives."
"When?"
"Ah..." you don't have an answer prepared. you didn't expect him to say 'yes' so easily.
"Tomorrow? S'posed to be a hard rain."
your lip curls into a frown. you know he's well aware of your magical abilities. "Are you mocking m--"
you didn't even notice the moment he sprang at you, placed the knife against your throat.
"I win."
"You don't win," you say, the disdain evident on your face. "At most, it's a draw."
without moving his head, his eyes flicker down. in the span of time you had to react on instinct, you've conjured up an ice knife, pressed it against his ribs.
he smirks infuriatingly. "Think I'll live. How 'bout you?"
you concede the point.
"Come back to me when you've named your terms. I got only one: I don't hafta listen to your parents bitch at me for what I'm gonna do to you."
"So you'll use your knife and your wings, and I'll use my daggers and my magic, and we'll have a medic on hand, fight until unable to continue or a killing blow is acknowledged." you draw your knives from their sheaths, enter a fighting stance. "Begin."
he nods, draws, and slowly circles you. staying mobile, but staying patient, opportunistic.
this is good.
you let out a deep breath, engage your magic. a chilling aura slowly spreads out from your position, and as he's assessing this newest development, you charge in. step forward, release a sheet of ice over the ground, and slide. his face is unchanged as he lightly hops up, lands back on the ice sheet, then--
he takes the fight to you.
Fast!
it's all you can do to dodge and occasionally parry as his aggression strains at your concentration. you strive to keep your distance, waiting for him to slip - to trip up - but it's only after you conjure a massive stalactite, forcing him to break away, that you see it. four of his wings are wrapped tightly around his chest and arms, keeping them insulated against your cold - and as he's gliding across the ice, his forewings extend occasionally - helping keep his balance as he weaves into turns with grace.
Bastard, you realize. He's done this before.
you extend your arm, fling a handful of ice shards in his direction. he dodges with infuriating ease.
you repeat the motion with your other arm. this time there's a second of momentary hesitation before he backpedals away from a hail of ice shards crashing down from above. you note with grim satisfaction a small cut just above his knee. First blood.
there's no time to rest on your laurels, though. as he pauses to catch his breath, you grow your ice - sliding over your opponent's foot - you aren't prepared when he turns the knife upward, smashes down with a fist, shattering it as he leaps into the sky.
even with only two wings out, he easily clears your aura's radius, rotates the knife again as he prepares to dive. on instinct, you summon an array of shards to defend.
then... he stops.
hovers, and smirks.
from where he is, you can't attack him in more than one direction - and it seems he's realized this. you continue your assault, sending knife after knife lancing through the air, but he's spread all his wings now, and his movements are precise, controlled, never more than he needs to evade.
you grit your teeth. "You can't stay up there forever!"
he cocks his head. "Can't I?"
you realize then, you never put a time limit on this battle. and now you've trapped yourself in a prison of your own making.
drop your defenses, and he'll slaughter you before you can resummon them again. keep them up, and you'll eventually run dry of either magic or willpower, and be a sitting duck for his next strike.
you pull your aura back, but he doesn't take the bait. he's measured your area of control - leisurely drifting through the air in time with your own movements, always just outside your reach. the trickle of blood running down his leg has already slowed to a stop.
you continue to attack. you need to keep him busy while you think up your next move - because what else can you do?
eventually, you have to stop to catch your breath. when you next blink, he disappears.
you strain into the sun, and a shadow crashes down on you, knocking you to the dirt. your ribs ache. there's a blade at your throat again.
"I yield," you gasp.
he gets up and walks off without another word.
over the weeks that follow, you challenge Eli again and again, each time trying new iterations on your strategy. each time you fail.
your parents offer to help, but you wave them off. no, this is something you've got to do yourself. begging assistance would be a defeat. modifying the ruleset would be a defeat. you may not have been the cleverest, the most self-assured of your blood siblings - but here and now, there is one determination that drives you: you will not rest until you, alone, are enough.
you may not be able to contend directly with his inhuman speed and endurance, but at long last, you find something you can exploit: once Eli thinks he has found a method to victory, he will rely on it, every time, until a variable changes. you spend long nights, practicing in your room, recalling all of the duels you witnessed at the University, searching for every edge you can use.
you can't bring out any of them, until you're certain you've enough of them to succeed.
you no longer begin by bringing out your aura or ice field. he's too fast, and too prepared. this time, you simply go on the attack. massive columns of ice rain down from the sky above, and you retreat, retreat ever further, even as he dodges every one.
proceeding as planned.
back into the field of ice columns you go, conjuring thin rails of ice for bursts of speed to keep pace with him, dissipating them in your wake. you slide up a tilted column to gain the high ground, even as you fling a small rain of shards in his direction. he spreads his wings, leaps up to a column, prepares to kick off for an aerial lunge. just as he does, you collapse the column into liquid water. he catches himself and glides to the ground easily.
right where you need him.
pulling moisture from the air, manifesting it into solid form by your will alone, requires immense amounts of magical power and concentration. but manipulation of existing ice? substantially swifter.
a column reforms into a chain, and you wrap it around his arm. without missing a beat, he stabs downward at it, snapping it, readying his knife to strike at you again, but your plan is in full swing now, and reforged chain after chain are lashing at his wings, his legs, his throat. Grip. Crush. Pull. there's a sickness rising in your throat, thinking of what a horrible way it would be to go, being literally torn apart, but you remind yourself this is Eli you are dealing with, and in your shared line of work, quarter is neither asked nor given.
he readies his knife to throw. you preempt him, pulling a spear from the ice and sliding up to his weak side, pressing it up under his chin.
"Yield, or die."
"Tap," he chokes out bitterly, a raspy whisper.
you don't know if you're more impressed to have won the fight, or to have finally gotten an emotion out of him. you release your magic. the ice dissipates in a shower of sparkles.
and you collapse onto the ground.
frustratingly, Eli gets up before you do. he offers his off-hand, your strong hand, to pull you up, and you're honestly grateful as you accept.
"How long'd it take you to learn that?"
you gasp. "Long enough."
"You look fine, but I'd check with the doc in any case. Fun fight. Let's do it again sometime."
you can't hide your exasperation as you level your eyes at him. "You call that fun?"
"In a real fight, I'd have shot you dead from a hundred meters away."
you concede the point.
"You're right, Uncle," you say with a smile. "So would I."
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