Crossed Blades III – Flowers Against Black Magic

The glow from the magical and swift movement, the sideways dash, hung in the air for a moment. And then it evaporated. The movement was lightning-fast. Like lightning. Fast. And like a spark in the eyes. Even the glow lingered. But it was gone. Everything was back to normal. Dry earth. A desert landscape. Black stones. And the sky. A hot day.

Elf in Black. He is dressed in black. He is pale. His eyes glow red. He is clearly a black elf or a dark elf. A necromancer. He uses black magic. He throws his blade at the enemy. The blade flies a few meters. Like a well-placed arrow. Or a shard of ice from a magic spell.

Green elf. From the plains or the forest. Ranger. He relies more on his skills and equipment. He also has magic. He masters forest spells. Water spells. Stream spells. And he has excellent hiking boots. Of which he is proud. It didn't take much effort for him to dodge the thrown blade.

This was a very abrupt, careless move from the black elf. As if he could no longer restrain himself. The blade was thrown well. With force and malice. But the green elf, in addition to dodging, managed to use his protective amulet. The one hanging on him. And added even more deflection. Using magic, he deflected the blade an arm's length in the other direction. A wind blew. And the blade missed even further. It would have missed anyway. But the green elf didn't take any chances.

The black elf fell to his knees. Now everything became clear to the green elf. The black elf was indeed strong. Even stronger. But he was overwhelmed by dark magic. Dark magic was draining his strength. Taking his life. A temporary advantage. And it was already passing. The elf in the black robe must win to live. He was taking a very high risk. And he could not win this fight. The black magic is wearing thin, and the life force is ebbing.

The green-robed elf can now be calmer. And more thoughtful. He no longer needs to watch his opponent closely. It's just time to take out the magic book. A green book. It's beautiful and green. As if woven from flowers and grasses from the meadow.

The ranger reads the spell from the book. It must be read at a certain speed. And the right moment has come right now. He has that time. To read the spells. Yes, memorizing them is good—but it's difficult. Reading from a book is easier, but it takes longer.

The wind begins to blow toward the almost defeated black elf. He had been standing motionless for a full minute. Yes, he was standing. But he did nothing and said nothing. He stood there deathly. All in black. With red eyes and very pale.

The ranger finished reading the spell. His face was a pleasant color. Filled with the colors of life. And he was already smiling. The deed is done. Evil is defeated. The eyes were green.

Just then, the breeze picked up. A summer breeze. It blew toward the elf in black. And colors appeared. Colors, like tiny wildflowers. Appearing straight out of the ether. They enveloped the enemy like a hurricane. Like branches or ropes swirling around him.

They were already swirling around him like a small hurricane. Of beautiful wildflowers. Red, green, blue, purple, orange. All sorts of colors. It was a beautiful sight. A triumph of meadow and forest. All the colors of summer.

The elf in the black robe collapses. He can no longer stand.

Meanwhile, the ranger hurries to leave this place. All he needed was to catch his breath for half a minute. Stand. And he's already walking into the distance.

Now is daytime. The hottest part of a summer day. Blue sky. Almost no clouds. The elf in green is leaving.