Flames of pursuit

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The sound of battle grew louder as Robert pushed forward, his breath heavy with exertion. Each step took him deeper into the forest, the cries of the fighting men in the distance guiding him like a beacon. He knew he was heading in the right direction. The darkness of the night, however, made every step treacherous. The forest floor was uneven, riddled with unseen roots and rocks that seemed eager to trip him. His heart pounded not just from exertion, but from the anger brewing within him. He wasn't just chasing the mage—he was chasing revenge.

The trees around him rustled with an eerie stillness, their twisted branches silhouetted against the faint light of the stars. For a brief moment, Robert wondered how he had ended up here, fighting battles in the night, risking his life with every step. His mind flickered back to the village, to the people relying on him to lead and protect them. But all thoughts of home vanished as the air around him thickened, the atmosphere suddenly changing. 

Robert paused, his senses on high alert. The air grew heavier, harder to breathe, and then came the heat—an unnatural, suffocating heat. His heart raced as a powerful explosion shattered the silence, the shockwave slamming into him. The trees around him ignited, flames licking the sky in a matter of seconds. The fire spread with terrifying speed, turning the forest into a blazing inferno. In the sudden light, Robert could see his surroundings for the first time—fireballs were raining down from the heavens, each one slamming into the earth with devastating force.

He didn't wait to admire the destruction. His feet moved before he had even made the decision, sprinting for cover as more fireballs descended toward him. The mage had found him. Somehow, the enemy could track him with terrifying precision, and Robert realized he was in the middle of a deadly game. A game of cat and mouse—and he was the mouse.

The flames roared, growing wilder, their heat searing his skin even from a distance. Robert dodged another fireball, but he barely saw the next one coming. With a desperate leap, he narrowly avoided it, though the impact sent him tumbling down a steep slope. He hit the ground hard, the rough earth scraping his skin as he rolled, helpless to stop himself. When he finally came to a halt, his body ached all over, his cuts stinging, but there was no time to rest. He could hear the crackling of flames drawing closer.

Forcing himself to his feet, Robert gasped for breath, his heart hammering in his chest. He was running out of time, and he needed to think. How was the mage tracking him so accurately? It was as if the mage knew his every move. Another fireball slammed into the hillside above him, spraying dirt and debris. Robert ducked, his mind racing. The bombardment resumed the moment he tried to move up the hill. Something wasn't right.

He knelt on the ground, catching his breath. The fireballs had stopped again, giving him a moment of reprieve. "What is it?" he muttered to himself. How was the mage doing this? There had to be some sort of spell or device in play. He thought of two possibilities: the first was that the mage had some kind of ability to track him directly. But that didn't make sense—Robert had been in the mage's blind spots multiple times, yet the attacks had still been frighteningly accurate.

He stared up at the hill. It was as if the entire slope was a trap—a deadly sensor rigged to detect any movement. If the mage wasn't tracking him, then it had to be the ground itself. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. The mage had laid a sophisticated trap, one that triggered the moment he set foot on the hill.

"This is bad," Robert whispered, wiping the sweat and blood from his face. He had never faced an enemy like this before, one who could outthink and outmaneuver him. For a moment, doubt crept into his mind. What if he wasn't ready for this? What if he wasn't strong enough? He shook his head. No. He couldn't afford to think like that. He had to adapt, or he'd be dead.

He glanced down at the ground, his thoughts racing. That's when he saw it—a small grasshopper, hopping from one charred patch of grass to another, avoiding the flames. The tiny creature moved with purpose, evading a predator that Robert couldn't see. It jumped from plant to plant, avoiding the dangers of the ground.

Robert's gaze shifted to the trees. Most of them were burning, their branches engulfed in flames. But some, though scorched, remained standing. The only way to cross the hill without touching the ground was through the trees. Robert wasn't much of a climber, but he had no other choice.

He approached the nearest tree, studying it. Its trunk was smooth and straight, with few branches until much higher up. Climbing it would be difficult, but he had to try. He grabbed hold of the tree, his hands slipping at first, but after several failed attempts, he found his footing. Slowly, he began to ascend, gritting his teeth against the pain of the bark scraping his skin. His fingers burned, his muscles strained, but he kept climbing, refusing to give up.

Once he reached a branch, he paused to catch his breath, wiping the blood from his hands. The next tree was about four feet away—too far to jump without help. That's when he remembered: some people used axes to climb trees in situations like this. He didn't have an axe, but he had something else—his sword.

The plan was risky, almost reckless, but he didn't have time for doubts. Robert summoned his sword with a thought, its blade gleaming in the firelight. He threw it toward the next tree, but it bounced off the bark harmlessly. Cursing under his breath, he realized his mistake. Of course, he could use his telekinesis. With a simple thought, he guided the sword into the tree, embedding it deep in the bark.

Robert smiled despite himself. It had worked. Now came the hard part. Standing on the branch, he steadied himself, eyeing the distance to the sword. He had to make the jump. "It's not too far," he whispered, trying to calm his nerves. He bent his knees, took a breath, and leaped.

His feet barely touched the sword, but it was enough. He grabbed the tree with all his strength, clinging to the rough bark as if his life depended on it—because it did. The climb was slow, agonizing even, as his fingers bled from the jagged bark. His muscles screamed for relief, but he kept going, his mind focused solely on survival.

When he finally reached a branch, he exhaled in relief. He was almost there. But just as he reached out for the next branch, his bloody hand slipped. In an instant, Robert lost his grip, and he fell.

The world spun around him as he plummeted twenty feet toward the ground. He screamed, bracing himself for impact, but just before he hit the ground, the pull of gravity stopped, and he hung mid-air, suspended by an invisible force.

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