I Became A Zompirewolf

The days changed, but Ashton’s losing streak remained the same. Had his goal been to defeat Mazton, his losing streak would have made some sense. But he couldn’t even land a single hit on him.

Sometimes Flintmace would join them as a spectator, and every time he did, Mazton would go extra hard to cut the spar short. Ashton used every trick in his book to help make Mazton falter, but every time he would lose.

“Got your answer yet?” Mazton mocked Ashton before offering him a hand, “That aside, you are slowly getting better. At least you can block my jabs.”

“Want some more salt to rub on my wounded ego?” Ashton smiled and massaged his blackened cheek.

Mazton slowly increased his power levels throughout the week to keep Ashton at bay. However, he would probably never admit to it. Therefore, it showed that Ashton had progressed through their short but fruitful spars.

That said, Ashton still needs to figure out how Mazton was able to hit him in his Grim Reaper state. Even after spending countless nights reading the skill description repeatedly, he had no idea why Mazton was an exception to the Scythe’s innate ability.

The description read:

‘After equipping the Scythe, the user could phase through any attack directed at them. This ability can be triggered once every three minutes.’

Unless Mazton’s attacks were literal attacks, which they were, Ashton’s body should have no problem phasing through his menacing punch.

‘If only I can dodge him once, I might be able to sweep him.’ Ashton thought while assuming a fighting position.

As usual, Mazton wished for his ancestral god’s blessing before engaging in combat. At first, Ashton thought it was a bit weird, but he soon realised a man like Mazton could draw strength from any medium he deemed fit, even devotion.

Before he knew it, Ashton began admiring Mazton’s battle rituals, but unfortunately, he didn’t know of a god who would hear his pleas. After all, the gods he grew up learning about turned out to be space pirates and a bunch of intergalactic genocidal dictators.

[Refering to Xyrans as intergalactic genocidal dictators, I like that thought! As for your Progenitors well-]

‘Stop yapping, and let me focus.’

Just then, Mazton rushed at him; his fingers clenched in a fist. Usually, Ashton would have his mind occupied by the thought of defending himself. But after trying that method for a week, Ashton knew it was time to change tactics.

If he would get hit by the punch either way, it’d be better to learn a thing or two about Mazton’s attack technique in the process.

Within moments, Ashton felt a familiar sensation spread throughout his body. Pain wrapped its tentacles around him, embracing him like a long-lost twin. But even in pain, Ashton was smiling.

“I told you not to hit him in the face,” Flintmace chuckled, “Now look at him! He’s lost his mind!”

“Shush it, drama queen.” Mazton covered his mouth, trying his best not to laugh, “He’s fine. He’s laughing because he finally found the answer he had been looking for all this time.”

With that, Mazton walked up to his ‘apprentice’, offering him a hand, “So, what is it?”

“The blurriness around your fists…” Ashton softly spoke, “it’s space manipulation, isn’t it?”

Mazton smiled and snapped his fingers, and just then, the space around his finger distorted. It almost appeared as if someone had grabbed the area around the finger and twisted everything like a sheet of paper.

Ashton’s guess was correct. It wasn’t that the Scythe was failing him, but Mazton’s ability to manipulate space. Essentially, the Scythe could only protect its user’s body as long as it was in its original state.

However, whenever Mazton’s fist was about to connect to Ashton’s phased physique, the strong aura around Mazton’s punch would distort his body in a way so that the Scythe won’t be able to continue phasing his ‘new’ morphed body anymore without sacrificing the safety of the rest of his torso.

In other words, one could think of Ashton’s body as a lake. When the tiniest of nails is vertically put into the lake, it won’t create a ripple effect; hence, the lake would remain undisturbed. Therefore, Ashton would be able to phase through the attack. ．

However, when a stone is thrown into the lake, it creates ripple effects. In order to contain the ripple effect and not cause damage to Ashton’s entire body, the Scythe forced itself to sustain the ripples in a tiny portion.

Mazton’s space manipulation technique was the ripples the Scythe had to contain, which could have two outcomes.

One, do not block the strike and let Ashton’s entire body bear the pain and potentially damage him irrecoverably. Or two, contain the attack force in a small portion, leaving the rest of the body unaffected.

The Scythe chose the latter option as it had a higher survival rate for its owner.

“Impressive,” Flintmace applauded a mummified Ashton, “Despite being a Xyran, it took me a day to reveal the secret of Mazton’s ability, yet you managed to accomplish it in a week! It would seem General Astaroth did not make a mistake after all.”

[Oi! I might not be your general anymore, but show some respect to your elders!]

“Hm… I would’ve if Xyrans abided by such pre-historic norms.” Flintmace smirked before turning his attention to Ashton, “As for you, Reaper, although you have figured out Mazton’s ability, you still need to knock him off his legs.”

“One step at a time,” Ashton mumbled while struggling to get back on his feet, “Uncovering your secret took precedence over knocking you down. Now that it’s been taken care of, the second half of your ‘test’ will be cleared soon.”

“Overconfidence-”

“No, it ain’t overconfidence, but dedication.” Ashton smirked, staring at Mazton, “I won’t stop trying till I take you down, my good sir. It might not be today, tomorrow or within a month, but I will get what I set my eyes on one day, and that’s inevitable.”