The Battlemage grunted as he was thrown from the meager safety the pillar provided.  He landed on his side which made him loose his breath but he kept on rolling and ended up in a kneeling position.  There was a split second when he thought that he would soon feel the pain of bullets tearing through his body as the machine gunner took aim for him but it seemed the jolt had affected not only him but the machine gun team too.  

Utilizing this unforeseen but welcome change of pace, the Battlemage dug deep into his connection to Gia.  While humidity and water were ever present in the air, it was harder to coalesce into usable magic which is why he used fire more often.  However, he needed enough pressure to blow the machine gun team out of the ship.  His eyes glowed as he commanded and strained for every particle of water in the immediate area to condense in his hands.

A spell’s potency depended on the duration of the cast but since he did not have enough time to gather more water he extended the radius of his magic influence which cause even more exertion.  Feeling as if he was holding back flood waters, his joints aching in the milliseconds it took for him to weave his spell, Arn finally allowed it to burst forward.  A stream of water expelled from his hands making him skid backwards until he hit against a side railing.  The other end of the potent spout slammed into the machine gun team.  With accuracy born from practice rather than actual ability, the mage managed to hit each member in a sweeping motion in either chest or face propelling them with such force that they were like rag dolls being thrown from the ship.

The last Viamesse soldier managed to straddle the railing and stay on the ship.  Arn’s spell ran out of synthesized water and spurted out of existence.  The mage slumped forward on all fours.  Holding himself up only through grit and as a veteran of many near death experiences.  His swordmaster, the one who had gifted him his Daisho, had taught him that strength was like a fire.  One needed to fan it to keep it alive.  However, just like a fire, a strong wind might put it out if it was too weak. 

Arn concentrated on fanning his flame, but he needed time.  Time that the Viamese who was crawling back into the ship side of the railing would  more than likely not give him.  The mage kept his eyes on the would be attacker.  His breath ragged as he tried to force his body to move but it seemed to be of no use.  He already felt what people called casting exhaustion starting to work on his body.  It was like lactic acid build up but much more pronounced.  Even staying on his hands and knees made him wince.  However, this was not something he had not felt before.  

The Shooting Stars often trained their mage’s to the limit.  After all, being the first one is in the battle meant that your survival depended on your skill and grit.  So he waited, conserving as much of his energy as possible until it was time to strike.  Like a snake, waiting until the last minute to sink his fangs into the prey.  This may well be the mage’s final encounter, but he would be dammed if he would go quietly.