Wilfred was staring out the window, wondering how he would pass the day. Since he had finished preaching the word of Icarus, the god of light. He still had that appointment with the slave dealer, since the church was running low on slaves. They only had that one useless elf, who wasted the days away, under the protection of High Priest Angela. How would he appease the almighty Icarus without a sacrifice. He wouldn't. He suddenly looked up.
"Hey you! Wait up-"
The voice came from Wilfred's honorary guard outside his office, but seemed to have been cut off. The sound of something hitting the ground could be heard shortly after.
Wilfred was on edge. Very few inside the church could match his guards in strength. Was it Angela? Had she decided to take control of the church?
The door was opened.
There, bathed in the light of the sun, stood a man no older than twenty years old. It was the elven slave.
"Get out you rascal! I was just pondering when to get rid of you, and now seems just perfect!" Wilfred shouted.
He was angry.
How could elf scum, such as the one before him, take down one of his guards? He had assumed it was someone on Angela's level, but it seemed he had greatly overestimated his guards.
"I'll be having a chat with you later" He whispered. The remark was directed at the Bishop, who was in charge of administrating the town.
He had clearly been sent Wilfred incompetent people to guard him.
"How did you take down my guard before?" Wilfred asked, genuinely curious.
The slave didn't answer, but continued to walk towards Wilfred. It was like he was asking to get killed. Wilfred started a prayer. Praying was the first step in learning light magic. If you did not accept the gods of the respective elements, you wouldn't be able to lend their power. Using offensive light magic, required the person casting to unlock their power by praying.
"Icarus, god of light. Forgive me my sins, for I am about to deprive a man of his life-"
As Wilfred chanted, a runic symbol appeared on his hand.
"-Grant me the power to end his existence".
Wilfred then snapped his fingers and shouted.
"Lesser Beam of Judgement!"
A beam of light was created, and found it's way towards Wilfred's target. He had never encountered a person who could withstand the immense power, that a ⌈Lvl 3⌋ spell packed.
Wilfred's spell dissolved.
The shout came from the slave, who was steadily making his way towards Wilfred. The elf had blocked the spell with a dark mass of shadow, which had appeared in front of him.
"Taboo Magic?! I might earn myself a promotion, slaying you. Elf and heretic! Who would have thought? Icarus sure has blessed me!" Wilfred screamed, with a fanatical look on his face.
Wilfred said that, but if you were to look closely, you'd notice sweat running down his face. While Wilfred was an excellent priest and a devout follower of Icarus, he had never experienced an actual fight. Wilfred was used to ending things with just one spell.
The elf started whispering something. The word uttered was "Analysis".
"Analysis?! Just how many skills do you posses?" Wilfred said, now genuinely worried. He quickly followed up by screaming "Lesser Beam of Judgement!"
Once again, the beam dissipated, and was replaced by darkness. No - it wasn't just darkness. Wilfred could see that. It was as if it was a mirror, reflecting the darkest emotions inside of Wilfred. His fears. His regrets. Wilfred thought that, because when he looked at the mass of despair, he was reminded - no, not just reminded. He could see the night when elven outlaws had burned his village to the ground. He could see the dark thoughts, that had clouded his judgement over the years. He saw himself, reflected in this mirror of the soul.
The elf now stood before. Towering over him. Wilfred realized, that he was on the ground. He also realized that he was bleeding. The blood spilled on the marble pavement of the office, and Wilfred could see himself. The disgusting person he had become.
"Mr. Wilfred, I presume? Pleased to make your acquaintance, my name is Evitagen.
It was the elf who was speaking, but his voice was strange. It wasn't his, that was the issue. While it was his mouth moving, it was not his words coming out. Neither was it the slave's name that was stated.
"Who... are...you?" Wilfred said.
"A salesman of sorts, here to collect my pay" Evitagen said, calmly, as if talking about the weather.
It was the silky smooth voice of your average, sketchy dealer in the prime of his life. Not the defiant, boyish voice of the slave-kid.
"You're no salesman. You.. demon".
"Almost there, dear Wilfred. Now, I would love to stay and chat, but the clock is ticking. Please do not hold this against me".
Evitagen then held out his hand, and firmly said:
"Negative Surge" followed by a dark purple beam of shadows, that enveloped the screaming Wilfred.
Evitagen simply turned around, leaving the seemingly untouched corpse of Wilfred behind.
"Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Tsuga".