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My traitorous student walked into my lab, the sword of destiny in one hand, the other a fist, clenched in rage. The scowl of his face said it all, he was here to kill me.

“Hello James.”, I said causally, “something on your mind?”

“Revenge. You kicked me out of the program and now I will take your head.”, he cursed as he spun the blade in his hand.

“You think that blade will be enough to kill me? You think you have the skills and fortitude to kill me?”, I prodded him.

“This is the sword of destiny! You wielded it once, at the battle of Sonova, but it was too much for you and you gave it up. Everyone knows the story.”, he said with a smirk, “if there is a blade in the world that can kill your old ass, this is it!”

I let out a long sigh. “I am old. So very old. Everyone knows wizards live a long time. Two or three hundred years on average. What are you? Seventy years old? You are a child to me.” I sat down in my recliner chair and lit a my pipe. I took a long slow puff.

“I created a spell a long time ago that extends my life. I don’t know by how much…. The math gets a little crazy when you are dealing in that kind of power, but I am a great deal older than you think I am.”, I let out a perfect slow smoke ring and then blew a second one faster to go through the first one.

“I am eight thousand years old…. I think. We have switched calendars a couple of times and I think I might be out by a couple of years… maybe a decade… doesn’t reality matter after your first millennia”, I explained.

“That is impossible!”, James yelled, “the amount of power that would take is insane. There is no way for you to gather that much power fast enough without burning yourself out.”, he was so sure of himself.

“Power can be pulled through an amplifying artifact…. “, I said simply.

“Still not enough power.”, he said smugly.

I took another deep puff of my pipe. “Magically power is all around us. In every spec of life. In ley lines that circle the planet. In electrical storms. In earth quakes…. Everything has power. Now if someone was to absorb the power of, oh, let’s say an active volcano, through an amplifying artifact and channel it into a longevity spell…. Well… assuming you didn’t burn yourself to a crisp with the power influx, you would have enough power to create the most powerful longevity spell ever cast.”

I could see the doubt starting to take seed in young James.

“What do you do with that much life?”, I asked him

“I don’t know. It isn’t possible”, he stammered.

“It is possible. And what you do…. Is everything. I have been a tailor, a carpenter, a blacksmith, a weapons smith, a gold smith, a baker, a gigolo, a politician, a weapons master…. I have mastered every skill I ever came across. I have lived thousands of lives.”, I tapped out my pipe in the ash tray, “I created the sword of destiny almost a thousand years ago. A challenge to myself to create the most powerful sword ever created.”

“Bullshit! Merlin created the sword! Everyone knows that.”, James spat.

“You are right. Merlin created the sword. But I was Merlin… and Gerald the great… and Edouard the wise… and Stevo the whacko. I have been so many people over the centuries that I can’t even keep track of them all. But believe it or not, I created that sword. Every couple hundred years, I wield it again and remind the world of its power, make sure it is in the hands of someone worthy.”, I stood up and cracked my neck. “You aren’t worthy of that blade. I didn’t give it up because it was too much for me. I gave it up because it makes everything too easy. After eight thousand years, I do things the hard way or a different way or in a new way just to entertain myself. I am bored. Now if you are going to kill me, I suggest you get on with it. I have a 2pm class to teach.”

James gave the blade a spin and charged at me. What a predictably boring opening.

I kicked my ottoman and it him in the shins, bringing his charge to an abrupt stop. He swung the blade and I dodge it easily. I leapt to the right and kicked off the wall to get more height and then spun and kicked him across the face, landing lightly in front of him.

“You need to do better James. You have the sword, come on and use it!”, I taunted him.

I could feel him pulling in power. The air crackled and lightening jumped down the blade as it amplified the power, he swung the sword over head and unleashed a massive lightening bolt right at me with a mighty scream.

“Excellent James.”, I said as I caught the bolt. I curled the bolt and formed a ball with the electricity. All of my hair stood on end as I built the charge even bigger. “Now catch it James.”, I said as I lobbed the ball of electricity back to him.

He slashed at it with the sword. The power running back into the blade and into James. I could see the lightening dancing in his eyes. The fool of a boy had never played with even this much power before and he was coming to kill me? Stupid boy.

James was struggling to hold on to the power. All of his muscles were tense and he was fighting to keep his hands on the hilt. I fashioned another ball of lightening and lobbed it at him. And another. And another.

“How many more can you take James?”, he struggled and then dropped the sword. The power scorched the stone floor and the blade sunk half way into the floor. James fell to his knees trying to catch his breath.

“You were kicked out of the program because you are mentally unstable. You have minimal control of your very considerable power. And you lack the discipline to over come those things. And now you have come to kill me. Pathetic.”

I spun around an kicked him in the face causing him to fall into the blade. The sword easily took his head cleanly off.

“Such a pity. He had potential.”, I gathered my books and headed off to class. Hopefully the maid will be by to clean up while I am away.

“Why?” The young apprentice fell to his knees. Though his body raised in miniature stutters, the weight of defeat would always bring him back down. “You could have been the best. Why give it up?”

The master knelt down to his level.

“I am equally curious. What is it that you seek? Is it really to see yourself rise, or is it to see others fall?”

The student punched the ground with a desperate force, and the ground retaliated with its own. He winced in pain. “What’s the difference? The result is the same in the end.”

“Can you not see? Even the poorest of paradise live better than the kings of ruin. Fire burns no less when surrounded by a flame much bigger. Fear it, and it will burn you. Embrace it, and one day you will shine just as bright”

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Anybody know why my comment didn't work right? This was a four paragraph story

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Interesting take, but it might of been neater to see James have a redemtion arc

I do not agree, see, sometimes people are just unredeemable, and James is a lost cause, a douche and a massive prick, so good riddance James!

The archmage stood over his traitorous student, his eyes burning with anger and betrayal. "I don't think you get it," he said, his voice dripping with disdain. "I didn't give up the sword because I am only good at magic or frail and weak. In fact, I was too good at it and that bored me."

The student scoffed and crossed his arms. "You expect me to believe that? You took that hit like a bitch. You're just trying to cover up the fact that you're too afraid to fight like a man."

The archmage's eyes narrowed, and an expression halfway between confusion and amusement crossed his face. "I'm not afraid to fight. I've been fighting for decades, defending this kingdom from all sorts of otherwordly foes, including some more terrible than you could imagine. But I've come to realize that physical violence is not the only way to solve problems. Sometimes, there are other ways. Ways that don't involve killing everything in sight."

"That's a weak excuse," sneered back the student. "You're just trying to justify your cowardice."

"I am not a coward," replied the archmage, his patience visibly running thin. "I am a man whose old age has granted him greater insight into the meaning of life. And if you can't recognize and respect wisdom when you see it, then you are not ready to be my student."

The student's face contorted in rage. "How dare you speak to me like that, after having just taken an ass-whooppin'? I should have known you were too soft to be a true master."

The archmage's anger boiled over at last. As the walls of the chamber grew ominously dark, he boomed, "You are no longer my student. You are a damnable traitor that is only alive this moment thanks to nothing but my scorned mercy, and I want nothing more to do with you. Begone! Out of my sight, and never return."

The student cowered in fear before a side of his master he had never seen before. Without speaking a word, he fled out of the chambers, his heart filled with bitterness and resentment. A single tear rolled down his cheek, but he wiped it away in embarassment. He was hell bent on getting revenge. Revenge for the shame he had brought upon himself.

This is why the character development over the course of three books is so good. You dislike James initially and pardon my spoiler but eventually he gets resurrected as an undead servant of one the later antagonists. James has to do some gnarly shit but eventually he by chance loses his connection to his master and gains self control. Eventually he saves some fan favorites and joins with them for awhile before valiantly sacrificing himself to save a lot of people.

It was a sad ending to be sure, but he was deeply unsatisfied with his new undead form, so he was okay truly in the end.

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Might have

It would be wrong to call the Archmage old, admittedly, by count of years on the world, he was old, older than the kingdom he currently served, older than the school he had once founded, and yet, compared to some of the other talents out there, he was a youngster. He knew for a fact that one of the Seers was older than the world itself, and he knew of the dragons whom themselves were not from this realm, nor world, yet were ancient beyond measure. But himself, he wasn't old in the way that people of age became. His body was lithe, not muscular, but the lithe shape of a person who could run their prey down in the grasslands, and yet have the strength to carry his prey home. His hair was pale brown, his nose larger than average, and the dark eyes, set deep in his face were alert and piercing, yet even with his age, his skin was smooth, not even a trace of age wrinkling him, though his short stature and slightly alien looks definitely made him stand out.

While the fashions of society had always been changing, every few years a new fad would show, sometimes it was large embroidered sleeves, sometimes crested buttons and bright colours, and sometimes furs or jewels, even then, mages and wizards had always had a reputation of being backwards, stodgy old people. Large hats, robes and beards were part of societies ideas of the mage, and of course, their inwards looking society had seldom kept up with the times. Yet, the archmage wore simple clothes, fashioned from exquisite fabric, tailored professionally, yet always in the style of a peasant, at most that of a squire. More than once had he been ignored, turned away by a guard, or sneered at by a noble, and almost always had his reaction been distant, almost amused, as if smiling at a practical joke that was decades in the making.

The room he'd just entered was a mess off commotion, chairs thrown across, as if from explosion, two students heaped listlessly against a wall, blood seeping into their clothes, another wailing in pain, clutching their bleeding face in shock and pain, on the other side, the traitorous student stood, short sword in one hand, and the other holding an object, behind him two others, armed with the swords of nobles, dressed finely and sneering to the others.

"Took you long enough to come, asshole." The traitor said as he lobbed the object in his hand into the room, where it exploded with a sharp burst, spreading the room full of a glassy smell, and a scent of metallic fire. "Now that you're here, it's time for you to resign, and without your magic, you're nothing but a small old man."

The archmage looked around, and shook his head again. "I told you before, I will not be a weapon of mass destruction for someone who's unwilling to bear the responsibility of their own actions. As it looks now, you owe the world two living talents, two futures who would change the world for the better, and another life full of disdain, hatred and rage. How will you bear that?"

His ex-student raised his sword, "This is exactly why you need to retire, all those pointless words and worthless ancient philosophy", he charged towards the archmage, blade lifted in a lunge, only to be countered with a dash, and a punch to the ear, dazing him before feeling his sword beaten out of his grip. Disarmed, the archmage looked down at the sword, and up to the two young men standing behind the traitor, as they tried to gather themselves to attack, yet failing due to the mess in the room. The archmage smiled and gripped the sword again.

"Did you think I could do nothing without magic? That your paltry sword lessons as a young kid would let you overpower a mage just like that?" he shoved the traitor back towards the wall, clearing the way for his companions to come at him. "Now then, show the mage who's the better swordsman." It was a moment of hesitation, then one of them lifted his blade and stepped forwards between the rubble of chairs and desks, only to instantly be fought back, his blade deflected and a quick stab to each shoulder before sending him to the side.

The mage turned to the last one, and smiled wider. "Oh,it seems the air is getting better in here. " He snapped his fingers, a flame dangling between them, then went to the other youngster, grabbing his blade from his trembling hands and tossed it to the side, towards where the bleeding, but alive, student was.

"Now then. Why don't you go over there and take responsibility for your actions." He pointed as the girl gripped the sword, blood running from her face, hair burned and one eye clearly ruined, walking with fury, pain and adrenaline towards him. Instead, he turned, and ran from the hall, through the door, and the archmage let him.

The archmage turned back and walked over to the traitor. "See, I didn't give up on the sword. I'm not weak because I'm a mage. I'm a mage because I was too good with the sword" he reached down, and ran the tip of the blade straight through his student's kneecap, and down into the floor. "And you, will have neither the skill with the sword, nor with magic." He grabbed the other sword, running it down into the students other knee. Then he turned to the henchman, and smiled again. "Don't worry, she'll get to you." He stepped away, letting the wounded girl through, blade in hand.

Excellent!

Years, decades, and centuries had passed since Birlach last fought in the last great war. In fact, over a decade had passed since he had fought anyone at all. Last several years, he had solely focused on running his school, where he was teaching his many apprentices. Initially, he had intended to leave the teacher role and go deep into the mystical arts to learn as much as he could, but when he got the chance to take over the school he once studied at under the great magician Ólafur, he couldn't refuse.

This story began during the first Era, around 200 years after the battle of Kadesh, where Birlach played a central part. One sunny morning during a particularly warm spring, he was sitting in his outside office working. Suddenly a colossal crash could be heard from the castle where his school was located. Within seconds Birlach was up on his feet, running towards the school. When he approached the grand gate at the front of the school, he could see smoke coming from one of the windows on the east side and many apprentices welling out from the castle.

“What in Odin’s name was that?” Birlach asked the first apprentice he got to. “Someone managed to blow up the laboratory, sir,” the apprentice answered. “Do you know who it was?” “Sadly, I do not, but I believe I heard Babish talking about him having been on that floor when it happened,” they answered and pointed toward one of the apprentices standing in a ring closer to the school.

Birlach approached the person they had pointed out and started inquiring for more information. It turned out that the apprentice at fault was Brynjol, a student Birlach knew who had a history of messing around with stuff he shouldn't. At that exact moment, like magic, Brynjol walked out through the gates while the other apprentices looked at him. Apparently, the rumor of the source of the ruckus had spread fast. Birlach waved to him and asked him to come over.

The two of them took a walk around the small lake that was situated by the school. “What exactly happened?” Birlach asked. “I am so sorry, Sir. I just wanted to test some of this new battle magic I found in an old scroll. I know I'm not supposed to.” Brynjol responded. “Most certainly, you are not. You know this. This is the 5th time you blow up a whole room because you were testing some old battle magic.” Birlach said back. “This is the last time. You knew this was your last chance.” “BUT, SIR! You have to give me another chance. Please…” Brynjol screamed back.

Birlach did not give him another chance. He packed his bags the next day and was out of the castle before lunch. From his residence in the southeast corner tower, Birlach watched as Brynjol walked down the path through the trees and away from the school. “I have a feeling… That was not the last time I saw him”.

Seasons, semesters, and decades passed. Two whole decades had passed since that spring day that Birlach expelled Brynjol. They had not met each other all that time, but they had heard of each other. Birlach had kept teaching at his school, and Brynjol had dwelled further down into the many scrolls about ancient battle magic. A morning that wasn't far from that spring morning twenty years ago that all changed.

Birlach was sitting in his new office in his school's newly created south annex. Suddenly the door to the room flew open, and in walked a face he had not seen in many years. It was Brynjol. “Hello, Brynjol. What can I do for you?” Birlach asked him. “How dare you speak to me, you old old weak sad excuse of an archmage.” was all that Brynjol said in response. “Oh… here for revenge, are we?” Birlach asked him. “You bet your arse I am. I am going to kill you.” “No… You are not.” Birlach said and stood up from his chair. With a snap of his fingers, Brynjol was now kneeling over, screaming with pain.

“BUT HOW?! All these years… how are you still stronger than me?” Brynjol asked in disbelief. “I don’t think you get it,” the archmage said to his traitorous student. “I didn’t give up the sword because I am only good at magic or frail and weak. In fact, I was too good at it, and that bored me.”

This is the first time I write something for r/writingprompts. I kinda like some of the parts of this story. Might add it to the bigger universe I am writing.

It's always good to try thing's differently

Agreed I have met people who don't want to be redeemed they are happy manipulating people and using them

Good job.

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I declare this as canon

If this is from a book. I need to know name of it.

LoL Just Sunday morning babbling.

here is something similar

I just stood there, my old master In front of me. We exchanged gazes, as if we could talk without words. I knew he was never able to handle it. The power was too much for him. The sword seeks its own wielder, not the other way around. He finally decide to speak. "So, have you decided?" he asked, a smirk across his face. "About what?". His smirk grew wider. "About how i'm going to kill you!" he lashed out as bolts of ice flew across the room, grazing my right thigh. I cried out in pain, but i couldn't let myself fall. Not in front of him. My eyes were fixed on his, my anger was burning so deeply that fires were coming out of my eyes. "You will pay for her death! It was your choice and yours only!" i screamed in anger as i blasted him with fire. Using his own magic against him. "You could've saved her! You could've saved them all!" i kept screaming as burning balls of fire were shooting out of my palms in his direction. I let out a cry, one with pain and anger and resentment. One that, in hindsight, i shouldn't have. I could feel the fire consume me. All of me. My skin burning. Then it all faded to black. Next thing i remember was his dagger on my chest, ready to kill me. "No!" was my only reaction. He flew back a few meters from the blast. I looked in the mirror at my hands, my skin, my hair. All fire. But he looked at me with awe and fear. "Impossible!". I don't know what happened next. But i remember seeing red. Fires everywhere. And an endless laughter as i see every inch of his study burning to ashes with him inside, unable to do anything but burn to a crisp.

I stormed up the stairs, my companions by my side, and the sword Of Thal, God of heroes and justice in my hand. We stopped every three floors or so to clear out the students and sellswords he had guarding each level. We still trudged ever upward. I cut down my former friends and classmates, the men who used to keep me safe. I realized it had been five years, but I had been called to this. My mother had joined the Magus Collective when she was pregnant with me. I didn't know my father, not until the day he died.

I was born a legacy, and we were forbidden from entering the top floor which consisted of the Archmage's quarters, laboratory, and sorcerous chamber. Our sworn enemies were the oathkeepers, also known as The servants of Thal. They were the various heroes and guardsmen, and footsoldiers one could find, just about everywhere.

I snuck up into his sorcerous chamber on a dare, from my upperclassmen when I was fifteen. I found a man, locked behind wards, in a cage, chained to the bars. He was alive, but being taken over by hellspawn. It was if, someone had been channeling the dark magics of the 9 hells, and forcing them into him. He looked up at me, and in a deep, and distorted voice he said two words that made me freeze.

"My... Son..."

His blackened eyes filled with tears.

"You...must escape... find your... uncle in... Tevaria... He is the head oathkeeper now..."

I began to cry. I had never seen the man, but I knew it had to be true. I could feel it to be true. I turned to take a look at the mirror in front of his cage. It showed me approaching him. All this time he had watched me grow up, a form of torture devised by the Archmage no doubt.

I tried to dispel the ward, but couldn't. He begged me to touch it and free him of his pain. I touched it, and he died. The wards killed him.

So I escaped. I found my uncle, trained to use magic and the sword, met my brave companions, Hjalmarr the Dwarven warrior, with a warhammer made of dragon bone and gold, Tehras, the elven ranger, with a magic bow, and arrows of all kinds in his quiver, and finally Galen, the sorceress of the oathkeepers.

There was a demon on the floor below the top, so they stayed behind to fight him. I breeches the Archmage's door, and there he was, Korvak, head of the magus circle. He smirked at me. I fired spell after spell off, but he deflected. I swung the sword all the ways I had been taught, but he dodged. I had to use the secret sword technique, taught to me by my uncle, and as I drove my sword ever closer to his heart, he pulled out his own sword, and deflected my ultimate attack. I wound up on the floor, his blade at my throat.

"I don't think you get it" He sneered "I didn't give up the sword because I am only good at magic, or I am frail or weak, In fact I was too good, and it bored me."

My companions burst through the door. He shot Hjalmarr with some dark bolt of lightning from his sword, killing him on impact. He caught the arrow Tehras shot, and threw it back so hard it sailed through his throat. As for Galen, he lifted his staff, and a pale mist flew from it, through her ward, and she bleed from her orifices and died.

"It's time you knew the truth, legacy." He growled. "I am a lot older than I let on. I was born in the first age, when magic was raw and primal. I mastered it, and it gave me life eternal. That was long forgotten magic I used on them, magic no one but me knew."

He grabbed me by the throat.

"I learned to fight from my father, who commanded the kings armies. When I mastered all forms of combat I moved to magic, and then I went to serve the gods, only, the-"

"They didn't want you, so you planned revenge, right?" I cut him off. He slammed me into the cage wall.

"NO YOU ARROGANT BOY! I BROKE THROUGH THEIR REALM, AND I SAW SOMETHING NOBODY SHOULD SEE. I SAW THE THRONE OF THE GODS, AND IT WAS EMPTY!"

I froze up.

"Empty? H-how?"

"Empty, except for Thal. The God of heroes and justice killed his peers, so he could be the God of all."

He chained me in the cage.

"I fled, and vowed to go back, to gain the power to kill Thal, and claim the throne for myself. He locked up the ways to their realm, but, if I could corrupt, one of his blood, one who could wield his sword, with hellspawn magic, I could use him to open my own way. Your father was his great grandson. And so devoted to him too."

"I don't believe you!" I screamed

"Believe or not, it doesn't matter, you killed him. So close to the end, but... You have Thal's blood. You can wield his sword, that is proof. So, I have a new vessel, a new key to power."

My eyes widened in horror.

"You don't mean..."

He said nothing. He just turned to me, and held up an ancient book, and his staff. He said some spell in a language I didn't recognize, and black mist and Foul fire poured into my eyes, my nose, and my mouth.

It's been that way for the past twenty years. Tomorrow, he will breach the palace of the gods...

And it will be all my fault.

It's not so much that people are irredeemable, as people failing to recognise redemption has a cost in time and energy. Lots of people don't have enough lifespan or effort left for redemption to be a realistic option.

There is also the opportunity cost. Sure, the world is richer when we turn enemies into friends, but there's always the risk of further harm when someone on the path of redemption decides to inflict pain instead of continuing to rebuild. It's a cost/benefit analysis written in blood and suffering.

Clumsy title but this general idea is done really well in The Thief by Megan Whalen Turner. The titular character is a world-class thief but, >!after killing rather a lot of soldiers with a borrowed practice sword!<, reveals that his father really wanted him to be a fighter.

Excellent characterisation.

Bullshit there's no way in hell that's babbling that's better than half the books I've read and it wouldn't even fill two pages maybe not even one

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Two pages is kinda the problem. I kinda hit a wall around two pages. Not sure how to get a long story than that….

Two pages or not you are an amazing writer you just gotta find something you love to write about