A Magician’s Path Through Magica

As I started walking toward them, my mind raced with different scenarios. Should I attack immediately with a spell? Maybe land a good kick to their faces? Or… should I try talking to them first?

Mom always said that violence wasn't the answer—that problems could often be solved with words. But I couldn't help but wonder, Does that rule really apply to people like them? To me, those bullies were nothing more than brute beasts, preying on the weak, picking fights with kids who couldn't change who they were.

The sound of my footsteps echoed against the narrow alley walls, growing louder with every step. The buildings on either side loomed higher than I remembered, like silent spectators to what was about to unfold. My heart raced, and a thin sheen of sweat began to form on my brow. The weight of facing older kids—alone—pressed down on me like an invisible force.

But they're weaker than me, right? I tried to reassure myself. I had spent years training with Grandpa, sparring almost daily. I had learned spells, honed my instincts, and developed skills far beyond the average kid my age. But then a seed of doubt crept into my mind.

While they go to magic school… I don't.

A cold pit formed in my stomach as I questioned myself. What if they had learned advanced spells? What if my training wasn't enough? What if I overestimated myself?

I stopped for a moment, my fists clenched. The doubt was like a parasite, feeding off my confidence. But then I took a deep breath, forcing the thoughts aside. I couldn't back down—not when someone needed help. No matter what, I had to see this through.

I stepped forward, my resolve firm. As I approached, they noticed me. It was clear at a glance that these weren't just rowdy kids—they were bullies through and through, their demeanor as crude as their behavior.

There were four of them. One was tall and massive, built like a bear. Two others were lanky but still taller than me, their eyes glinting with mischief. The last one, clearly the leader, was short and stocky, his face twisted into a smug grin that only made him look more unpleasant.

One thing was certain—they were all bigger than me.

"Can you guys let him go?" I asked, my voice steady and my expression serious.

The leader turned to me, his tone dripping with arrogance. "What do you want? You want to get beaten up too?"

Before I could answer, the massive one grinned and slammed his fist into the elf's gut. The poor kid groaned and doubled over as the others burst into cruel laughter.

"Yeah, I don't think you want to taste my fists," the big one sneered.

My blood boiled. My face flushed red, and the fear that had gripped me earlier dissolved into a white-hot fury. All I could think about was wiping those smug looks off their faces.

"I'm not going to repeat myself," I said, my voice low and dangerous. "Let him go, or else—"

I was cut off by the sound of their laughter, loud and mocking.

"Or else what?" the leader, or better said the fatty, jeered, taking a step closer. "You gonna get on your knees and beg? Maybe lick my shoe to spare this useless elf?"

The others howled with laughter, emboldened by their leader's taunts.

"Well," I said, tightening my fists, "I warned you."

Before the words had even left my mouth, I chanted the Phantom Step. In an instant, I reappeared right in front of the fatty, catching him off guard. Before he could react, I drove my foot into his face with all the force I could muster.

He tumbled backward like a bowling ball, crashing into a garbage can with a satisfying clang.

As they saw their leader crumpled on the ground from my kick, the bullies turned their attention to me. Their faces twisted into a mix of anger and fear, and for a moment, none of them dared to move. They hesitated, realizing I wasn't just some ordinary eight-year-old. They could see it in my eyes—the burning flame of justice that wouldn't back down.

Seeing their fear, I smirked and said with a mischievous grin, "Who's laughing now? Scum like you shouldn't be allowed to roam free."

The massive one clenched his fists, his pride stung by my words. With a growl, he muttered a spell, and a thin sheet of ice coated his fists. They shimmered in the light, looking like they could crush bones.

"You'll regret this!" he roared, charging at me with heavy steps, his fists raised like battering rams.

"Make me regret it!" I taunted, my voice full of defiance.

As he barreled toward me, his movements were wild and uncoordinated. His brute strength was obvious, but his strategy—or lack of it—was laughable. He was all fists and no brain, like an empty chair where his father's guidance should have been.

The ground shook slightly with each of his steps, the distance between us closing rapidly. At the last moment, I raised my hand and cast a spell to summon sharp stones from the earth. With a flick of my wrist, I launched them at his forehead.

The rocks shot through the air, slamming into his target with pinpoint precision. He stumbled, his massive frame collapsing like a felled bear, groaning as red marks blossomed across his forehead.

For a moment, I stood there, catching my breath, watching him writhe. But as I looked down at him, I couldn't help but feel a dark satisfaction. Seeing their arrogance crumble and giving them a taste of their own medicine—it was intoxicating.

The other two bullies, seeing their companions defeated, exchanged a glance of panic before turning and bolting down the alley.

"Cowards," I muttered under my breath.

Before they could get far, I used the Phantom Step again. In an instant, I appeared right in front of them, cutting off their escape. Their faces barely had time to register shock before I swung my fists. With one swift motion, I knocked them both out cold, sending them sprawling to the ground.

As I stood over them, victorious, I took a deep breath. The rush of magic still coursed through me, but the alley was quiet now. Justice had been served, and for the first time, I understood just how satisfying it could be.

After basking in my victory for a few seconds, the rush of the fight faded, and I felt myself return to normal. The lust for battle that had flared inside me was gone, replaced by a more grounded feeling. I turned to check on the elf. Thankfully, he seemed mostly fine—his hair was a mess, and his clothes were dirty, but there were no visible injuries.

"Th-tha-thanks!" he stammered, his voice embarrassed and trembling. "I should go now. M-my mom is probably waiting for me at home."

Before I could even ask his name, he bolted, rushing away as if I were some kind of ghostbuster and he the ghost. Within moments, he disappeared down the alley, his presence as fleeting as a shadow in the sunlight.

When I turned back, I saw Oliver standing there, his face practically glowing with pride.

"I knew you were strong, but this strong!" he exclaimed, grabbing me by the shoulders and shaking me in excitement. His eyes sparkled as he looked at me, like I was some kind of hero from a storybook.

His praises didn't stop even as we left the alley and made our way back to our neighborhood. The moment we arrived, Oliver wasted no time gathering the other kids to share what had happened.

"You should've seen him!" he told them, gesturing wildly. "He beat them like it was nothing!"

The kids' reactions varied. Some bombarded me with questions about how I did it, their curiosity shining brightly. Others simply stared at me in awe, unable to find the words. A few, however, narrowed their eyes, skeptical and doubting Oliver's tale.

I didn't care much whether they believed it or not. In fact, I might have preferred if they didn't. The last thing I wanted was for this story to spread any further than it already had.

As the evening settled in and the sky darkened, I returned home for dinner. Everything felt normal again, and for a while, I let myself enjoy the peace.

But when night came, and I lay in bed staring at the flickering orange flame of the honey-wax candle, my thoughts began to creep in.

Was that the right thing to do?

The question gnawed at me, and no matter how I tried to dismiss it, my mind wouldn't let it go. I replayed the events over and over, the satisfaction of victory now tangled with uncertainty.

The flame wavered, casting restless shadows on the walls, as my doubts grew stronger in the quiet of the night.