My stomach twisted as the time approached. My opponent stood tall, their battle wand gripped at the ready, and a fire set their gaze toward me. Our fellow students sat around us, their stretching shadows flickering upon the walls. At the end of them, a grizzled old mage stood, the flowing braids of his beard coming down to his waist as his wrinkle-embedded eyes watched with judgment.
I swallowed at the lump in my throat.
I was an artist. A creator. Magic was deep in my family's blood, and while I always understood the importance of self-defense - whether by another magic user, or the occasional well-meaning hero, the magic in my hands was meant for creation. For painting. For sculpting. For leathercrafting and woodworking and needlework. For creating beautiful works that glittered and took the breath of those who saw them in a way that wasn't lethal.
So it was only fitting that I eschewed my wand, choosing only my hands.
I could never wrap my head around combat spells. I inhaled sharply as the tip of my opponent's wand lit up, tongues of winding fire bursting toward me in a spiral. I jumped aside, our fellow students watching, my opponent puffing their chest out with a smirk as the fire followed me, putting me on the defense. My hands glowed in response.
I was an artist. I was creative by my very nature. And I knew the tools of my trade.
Perhaps I couldn't summon fire more than to light a candle or heat a soldering iron, and the lightning I made did little more than to power the batteries of small toys.
But man. I could summon a fuckton of glitter.
Muffled giggles echoed in the chamber as a firework of multicolored sparkles shot from my fingertips, illuminated by my opponent's fire. Even the grizzled old mage who had seen it all quirked a brow in interest. The only one who wasn't bemused by my unconventional self-defense.. was my opponent.
No, my opponent was screaming as I engulfed them in a rainbow swarm. The giggles ceased, replaced by confused murmurings. My opponent's wand clattered to the floor and they battled around themself in futility. When I finally released my control of the possessed crafting supplies, all that was left of them was no longer recognizable as having been a person.
You see, I know the tools of my trade. And while most people will scoff, I know all too well that glitter is made of millions of tiny shards of glass and metal.
And it is never coming out.