Íogair Saves Haxen From Himself

In a distant part of the schoolyard, the skinny kid was moving in circles, dragging a stick through the dirt.
Íogair didn't really know the skinny kid. Nor did she really have much interest in him on a normal day. This was consistent with her general approach to most of what structured her life as a ten-year-old girl. School definitely didn't interest her, mostly because it was useless. She was well aware of her own specific gifts, and while she did not think of herself as stupid, learning history or math were not things that were going to help her.
Now, if they taught some sort of combat, that would be different. But no one got that training from the education system at her age. You might start to get it as a teenager, and if you were lucky, you could go to Adventurers' University of Caldonia and be a part of Battle School. That seemed like a good future to Íogair.
Her usual disinterest in the skinny kid was suspended for the moment. Partially this was because even during recess, there was little to interest her at school (Íogair believed this was symptomatic of being a half-meter taller than her other classmates and easily being twice their mass). But primarily it was because somehow, she knew something was going to happen. She didn't know what was going to happen. Or if it would be good or bad. But it was going to be Something of Interest, and she felt like she could use something interesting.
After a few minutes, the skinny kid stopped moving and stared at the ground, apparently studying his handiwork. The kid wore a robe, which was not the most fashionable choice, but was also not uncommon in a city where kids grew up to be wizards or prophets or Mysterious Folk Of Enigmatic Origins. The robes did not fit the kid well; roughly ten centimeters of hemline constantly dragged the ground, making them ragged. The front of the robe often fell open to the belt, exposing the kid's skeletal torso.
It didn't take long for the Something to happen. The kid raised his arms so the hands were a little higher than his head, in a supplicating gesture. A great cylinder of air in front of him turned dark gray, sparsely speckled with thin streaks of yellow light racing from the ground to the sky.
Out of the ground a Thing began to emerge. The Thing was of colors that Íogair did not readily recognize. She settled on calling it gray-green-blue-brown-pink. The thing that the Thing most resembled was a meter-wide brain that itself resembled an apple which was squished in the shape of a crab. It also had a variety of appendages dangling below it.
Íogair would be the first to acknowledge that she was Very Bad At Describing, but she also suspected that the skinny kid had simply summoned something that was not easy to describe for anyone.
As the summoned Thing rose from the ground and floated at the level of the skinny kid's face, the Something of Interest became a Dangerous Something of Even More Interest. To wit, the kid lost control. Íogair began moving toward the skinny kid at a jog.
It will surprise no one that Íogair did not have an encyclopedic knowledge of summoning, how summoning could go wrong, or even a basic understanding of how magic worked. She knew exactly as much as someone with her skill set needed to know: "Magic Can Go Wrong. Magic Can Go Disastrously, Nightmarishly Wrong."
The Thing that had been summoned was clearly hostile. It raised a tentacle/claw/pincer at the skinny kid, but before it could do anything Threatening or Violent, Íogair punched it.
This was something the Thing clearly did not appreciate, which was good, overall, because appreciation is not what Íogair wanted from it. Instead, it pleased her by not being too squishy and returning the assault. It fell back a meter or so, grabbed a convenient metal pole lying nearby, and attacked, pounding Íogair on the side of the head.
Íogair's head titled to the side just a little bit.
The Thing tried again, striking her in the gut.
Íogair grinned.
The Thing used three different limbs at once, hitting Íogair in the face and shoulder, in addition to hitting her again in the belly.
Íogair was pushed a fraction of a footstep back. The Thing did not appear to have a recognizable face, and definitely did not have a human body. All the same, Íogair could tell it assumed a posture of Confused Frustration.
She punched it again, and again. The Thing turned and fell back as each blow landed. It raised a couple appendages to ward off blows. They didn't do the Thing any good. Íogair stepped forward and gave it one more punch, with all the strength her overly large 10-year-old body could muster. The Thing flew backward and exploded against a nearby tree. The sound was Squishy And Kind of Gross, and it was music to Íogair's ears.