The sorcerer leaned forward on his old oaken staff, his entire body racked with pain. He felt the sting of age, as he imagined he would, and forced his eyes open– to close them could mean his demise. He wasn't about to shuffle off of the mortal coil, not on the day that he finally bested his hated enemy. He coughed into his hand and examined the crimson liquid that filled the newly formed wrinkles.

Perhaps the ravages of age had been greater than he anticipated.

He wiped the blood away on his robe and rose to full height. His chin would be held high this day. It was the culmination of all he'd worked for, and although his body burned, his mind danced; a gleeful giddy dance, as he strode through the gates and glimpsed the still-life he'd painted with his own two hands and all the magic that his body could endure.

Inside the gates of the gleaming marble city, the populace stood still, captured in the very moment they'd been living just seconds ago. The eerie silence was music to the sorcerer's ears as he passed through the town groping women, taking what he pleased from the fruit carts, and singing like no one was listening– because they weren't. Nor would they ever again if it so pleased him. He took a leisurely stroll up the castle steps, tipping the still bodies of the guards over as he made his way up to the main gate. He waltzed through without a hint of resistance, pausing to admire a bird that had been stopped in mid-flight. Finally, he stood before the great doors to his new castle and thrust them open.

It had been a long time since he'd seen the royal blue carpet that stretched all the way across the great hall. Six massive columns lined his path on both sides and he marched betwixt them on his way up the throne room. He made faces at all the snooty nobles who had been stopped mid-negotiation as he passed them by, and after ascending the steps, he breezed past both guards and threw the ornate wooden doors open. He passed under the magnificent golden archway and gazed up the final set of carpeted stairs where his eyes landed on his target.

The king had lifted to his feet in his final free moments and bore a look of distress that was just delicious. The sorcerer made his way up the steps and smiled inches from the king's face.

"Hm. Seems that the spell wasn't instant," he spoke to himself as he took in every detail of the king's frozen expression. "I suspected that the magic might have rolled across the kingdom like a wave, but until now I wasn't certain. But to see your face all furrowed with worry as you watched your subjects stop in place– oh! I just couldn't ask for more."

He reached up and lifted the crown from the king's head, situating it atop his own. Pleased with the fit, he took a step past the king and gazed upon his new throne. He let out a contented sigh before turning around and falling into the chair. He placed his left leg over his right knee and rested his head against his knuckles as his lips curled up into a satisfied grin. His smile faded as he readjusted his weight, and then dropped into a frown as he looked down at the throne.

"I always assumed this thing was more comfortable," he grumbled before returning his eyes to the king. "Just another reason the crown was wasted on you, Rupert!" He kicked the king's backside, sending him down the stairs. The monarch remained in his rigid pose as he tumbled down the steps, and when he reached the bottom, he landed at the feet of a figure that the sorcerer could swear hadn't been there a moment ago. He blinked twice and leaned forward to get a better look at the man. He was adorned in armor that bore intricate designs of bears, lions, and dragons. He was cleanly shaven and had piercing blue eyes that met the sorcerers in a fashion that made him uncomfortable. The man remained as still as those around him as he glared up the stairs at the magician in the chair.

"Ahem," called the sorcerer. "I know not why I even ask thee, for I know in my heart the answer. But art thou of thy own free will?"

"You are not from around here, are you?" came the man's reply causing the sorcerer to recoil in place out of sheer surprise.

"Wha- but..." he stammered. "How- how are you–"

"So it was you," the man interrupted. "You're the one responsible for this." His tone was filled with flames of condemnation.

"Fool!" shouted the sorcerer as he rose from his throne. "Dost thou not know who thy speaketh to? I am none other than your new king and master! Ko-oh the Great! No! Ko-oh the Cruel!" he corrected himself. "Kneel! Kneel before me lest ye be turned to ash!" his shoulders rose and fell after his dramatic outburst. He had tired faster than he had expected.

"You're the fool, old man," spoke the gleaming knight as he pulled his longsword from its scabbard.

"Wha- old man?" cried the sorcerer. "Thou art older than I!"

"Well, then you look terrible," responded the knight. "Ko-oh the Cruel was it? I am Daunte the Indomitable, blade of the third mountain, and the end of your pitiful existence should you fail to undo your wicked sorcery this instant."

The sorcerer was taken aback. Those sounded like some serious accolades. Furthermore, he had used his entire pool of magic to freeze the kingdom in time. There was nothing left to draw upon with which to fight against the man.

"Ah. Well. T'is unfortunate for thee that... shalt I be touched, the kingdom shall explode!" He lifted his hands and wiggled his fingers for dramatic effect.

"Demon!" Daunte shouted, gritting his teeth.

"Uhh, yes. Well," Ko-oh cleared his throat. "Now that we have sorted out that business, you may commence the groveling."

The knight reluctantly dropped to a knee and laid his sword out in front of him.

"Yes," the sorcerer smiled. "That's good."

Daunte closed his eyes and clasped his hands together.

"Oh, thou art praying to me! Even better! I shalt not interrupt. Please, go on. Loud enough that I might hear your words of worship."

After a few moments, he watched as the knight wrapped his fingers around the grip of his longsword and rose to his feet, a twinkle of determination in his eyes.

"You, uhh... won't actually be needing that anymore," said Ko-oh, his brow wrinkling with worry.

"I have communed with the magic that permeates these halls," Daunte growled as he ascended the steps. "I am one with this world. The grass is my flesh and the soil is my blood."

"Ew."

"There is no such combustion weaved into your spellwork you lying worm."

"Let us, uhh... not resort to our baser instincts, Daunte," the sorcerer spoke as he began to backpedal past the throne. "We are civilized, wouldn't you agree?"

"The safety switch you imbued into the spell," Daunte said as he reached the top of the steps. "Now would be a good time to activate that."

Ko-oh was visibly shocked that the knight knew as much as he did. He couldn't believe such a man existed in all the realms. It wasn't fair. The knight was a meathead, handsome, and somehow understood the intricacies of temporal spellcraft on a level that Ko-oh himself had spent his entire life unraveling. He looked left and then right; there was no escape. He truly had only one option left to him if he wished to live and exact his revenge another day.

"Daunte, the Indomitable..." murmured the sorcerer. "I shall remember thee... for next time."

He exhaled deeply and spoke the single word of power that would undo the spell– and the event altogether. Time unwound itself, pooling at the sorcerer's feet like a whelming wave before the very laws of nature broke themselves. The world began to spin around him as he, for the second time this day, spat in the face of the gods and their rules. When he awakened back at the front gate, he looked down at his young hands and tightened them into fists. His rage overflowed within him, for how could he have prepared for such a variable as Daunte? What was he? How was he so capable? The sorcerer turned and started down the road out of town.

He had math to do.

r/A15MinuteMythos