Curse Uncurse - ONC 2020 [Completed]

Chapter 1: Flame of Conquest

The Test is a rite of passage.
No matter the death toll.

Plamen pushes the bright green leaves away to see a youngster from another clan falling under an enchanted boulder in the distance.

That fool! 

Vid has never been the sharpest tool in the shed but rushing in to get himself incapacitated is something not even Plamen could predict.

He rolls his eyes at the whimpering cries for help coming from under the boulder. At least it didn't crush Vid, he thinks as he sizes it up, his mind working out the calculations. 

Hardening the skin of his right hand, Plamen waits for a perfect moment and then he's off, legs slapping over the gravel, taking him faster and faster through the small clearing encircled by the treeline and toward a steep ridge ahead until the ancient inscription carved into the grayish stone meets his eyes. Red on gray, the symbols are incomprehensible for him.

Ah, that's what Yana's been nagging him about - the ancient magic of gods.

Rubbish.

Every kind of magic can be dismantled, and Plamen specializes in dismantling things. Well, destroying, but who cares about semantics.

The skin of his coiled fist has already sprouted pinkish scales, though he keeps the claws in, not letting them out even though they try to.

Just before he hits the big blob of stone, the inscription twists and twirls, turning into the blackest of blacks, eerie and cold, until his whole body shudders and he almost falters. The feeling it evokes is something he should've expected. He's been forewarned of it, how it sucks out the will to fight, yet it managed to seep into his mind with a saccharine whisper of persuasion.

This is how you want to play, huh? 

The time slows to almost nothing. He sees the darkness of that archaic enchantment pulling into one spot, a spot where his punch will land, and thinks, perfect!

With a grin spreading over his face and fist closing in toward his target, Plamen lets the control over his magic loose and a burning-bright fire engulfs his body. 

Flame of Conquest.

A resulting explosion after his fist's met the enchantment is deafening. Small rocks fly in all directions, a few catching on his face and clothes, and dust rises all around from the gravel.

The echo of a crunch rings in his ears, the destruction of the spell still vivid in his mind's eye, but it barely keeps his attention.

As his awareness spreads, Plamen notes the lack of nature sounds in the perimeter, all except harsh breathing behind him. It seems Vid has been knocked back from the collision. Turning his head in the direction of the only vibrant life in the span of kilometers, Plamen surveys the black-haired youth slinking on the ground.

Vid is covered in so much dirt that the ostentatious blue of his apparel is almost unnoticeable. Blood trickles down his left brow and over the closed eyelid which hides a deep blue iris, different from the other yellow one looking up at Plamen.

The wound seems to be somewhere in his hairline, so with a roll of his eyes, Plamen steps closer.

"Hey! You alive?"

Vid's mouth falls open and what comes out is definitely something Plamen will use in the future to poke fun at the idiot. Because, honestly, such a pathetic moan is unbecoming of any Dragon Heir, much less the Heir of the 'Oracle' clan.