B6 Chapter 640: The Pit, pt. 4

Estevar watched the arena with a belly full of awe and dread. Twice, Angstrom had struck, and twice the greater beast Porkchop had stood strong. It seemed impossible. Doubly so because he lacked the qualifications to even follow what in the hells was happening in the sands before him.

Angstrom simply moved too fast. Worse, at no point had there been a tell. Normally, a Skill did something eye-catching — be it summon hellfire, or simply glow with the potency of the energy invested. The Platinum had only his halo of cleaving blades and clean motion. Angstrom struck, and destruction followed — breaking his enemy as his weapon.

Yet the Silver that faced him showed no hint of fear, not even after weathering two blows that would have reduced Estevar to a pink smear in the sand. By the gods, the greater beast had growled in excitement as the shattered and gushing remnants of his chest writhed back together.

Angstrom reached up behind him, wrapping a hand around the hilt of a solid steel longsword.

“Truly, the living embodiment of a wall. I don’t think your legs so much as twitched,” the Platinum said, spinning his blade.

The greater beast just huffed. Mana coursed through his body, the plate sized hole in their chest and back plates reforming with a flash of light.

Estevar swallowed, his mouth bone dry. That was what, the fourth time the Platinum had acknowledged the greater beast? What would that feel like. More importantly, how! It had to be some advantage of the creature's ancestry — no one among the higher races could be that strong.

And yet, he could not banish the memory of the last bout, when that grinning madman had gone toe to toe with Ivar the fucking Bleeding and come out on top. It was…impossible. He knew they were strong — any team with the feats the Tidebreakers had pulled off had to be. Hells, they had to be, what, thirty? And no doubt they had Honours too.

Estevar shuffled in his seat, hunched over so the broken fragments of his understanding of strength didn’t bury him alive. All the while, he watched the arena without blinking — he refused to miss a single moment of this madness.

“That was a good strike,” Porkchop said. “If you had aimed for the head, I would have died.”

“I know,” Angstrom said evenly. “But that is not the challenge, and despite blowing your spine into the ceiling, you remain standing.”

A grinding, low rumble echoed across the bloodstained stands. With the twisted snarl of their helm, it made the beast sound like a demon risen from the hells.

“I like the skill — much more precise than your Fourth Movement: Viscerectomy. What was it called, and what is next?

“It is the Fifth Movement: Pulping Ejection. Now, I will skip to the Eighth Movement: Vile Death, Internal Liquefaction. I have only two strikes left, and you have proven…annoyingly stubborn.”

Stubborn. Estevar didn’t know if he wanted to sob or throw up. The creature was an undying abomination — he just stood there and ate a Platinum blademaster’s attacks! Even if Porkchop survived, he should have been bleeding and broken — not bloody battle-ready. He was supposed to be Silver!

Another rumbling chuckle echoed from the greater beast. “That sounds horrendous! I will prepare thoroughly.”

The very names of Angstrom’s Skills made him want to curl into a ball; how in the hells was the beast amused by them

Mana burned in the creature’s chest, and Estevar watched in mute shock as the creature grew. Bones crackled, and muscles broadened as a shining apparition of antlers sprouted from the beast’s temples, interweaving with the wicked curved horns of their helm. Before, they’d been a hair taller than the Tidebreaker’s giant of a team leader . Now, they were the size of a Silver direbear. No, the creature was stockier, with far more mass than a simple bear — and every shred of it was rippling muscle.

Angstrom watched placidly. When the transformation finished, he advanced across the arena with a single twitch, so fast that Estevar could barely track the Platinum’s blur!

For the fourth time in a row, he saw nothing of the strike itself. Metal shattered with a tortured scream, a thousand shards of steel and orichalchum tearing in every direction — including through Porkchop. Estevar jolted as a chunk of metal slammed into the barrier right in front of his face, revealing the flickering ward for a single moment.

And yet, to his shock, there was no gushing crater in the creature’s side where Angstrom had struck just below Porkchop’s lowest ribs. Sure, there were weeping tears where shrapnel had punched through the beast’s body — but the hole in his armour was two strides across!

Porkchop’s leg quivered.

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The arena went silent, and Estevar leaned forward in unison with a dozen other delvers.

Red soup flowed from the reticulated jaw of Porkchop’s helm, turning into a deluge of unidentifiable chunky slop as he heaved. Estevar stared at the spreading pool. Was that a gods’ damned chunk of the beast’s spleen?

Angstrom took a calm step back, avoiding the spreading muck. Slowly, the stream tapered off. The beast shook his head — and straightened.

“I was right, that was particularly unpleasant. What’s next?”

A single, drawn-out cheer shattered the silence of the arena as the beast’s team leader beat the air with his fist.

Estevar looked at the man, then back at the beast that had just had its innards liquified. He slumped back into the bench, letting out a slow breath. Gods, how could he call himself a talent when monsters like this were strolling about. Maybe Guilewind was right — the Shardworld was made for a different breed. He wasn’t ready.

Not yet, at least.

If these freaks made anything clear, it was that he had a lot he could improve. He needed to get off his ass and start looking into these new Honours, yesterday.

…

Angstrom considered the behemoth in front of him. Porkchop’s body was rippling as his flesh shifted and grew to refill what had been lost. Truly, a monstrosity of the highest order. No one he had ever met would be able to just stand there and eat strikes like that, not in the second tier.

He gave the greater beast the grace of a smile — this had turned out to be more entertaining than he had feared.

Originally, when he’d stepped foot into this arena, he hadn’t dreamed he would touch a second tier. Yet, here he was. Porkchop had shrugged off the Eighth Movement like it was nothing, and the Ninth was poorly suited to a display such as this. Cutting his opponent in half was not the aim of this exercise, and delimbing the greater beast would be unsporting.

That left either the First Movement, or the Second. A choice had to be made — and he did want to bring the greater beast to his knees.

Angstrom nodded to himself. Brute force it was.

Holding out a hand, his final blade drifted free from his back to settle into his palm. It was a massive, crude thing — more a slab of iron than any real blade. Longer than even the most gratuitous greatsword, and with a body that was a handspan wide, it would be unusable to any normal swordsman.

That was not a surprise. He’d found its make in the hands of a career beast hunter, deep in the north. It was no duelist’s weapon, nor even a thing of war. No, it had been forged for one reason alone — to slay monstrosities.

A pattern perfect for the current occasion.

Mana and stamina surged through the weapon in a tight loop, allowing him to bear the weapon’s crushing weight like it was an extension of his own body. It spun with a flicker of will so that he brandished the flat of the weapon like a bludgeon. For good measure, he softened the steel, and remoulded it to blunt it’s edge.

The meles just watched, silent but for the slow rumble of anticipation in his chest. Truely, Porkchop’s aggression was boundless — the greater beast would go far. Further than he, of that he was certain. What a privilege, to welcome such a warrior to the fold. If these Tidebreakers were representative of the coming generation, then the old world had met its long-needed doom. Already, the chains rattled as Honours and Skills spread like wildfire. If he was lucky, he might live to see the day where sweat and skill was what made the man, rather than petty names and finery.

“For this, I must insist you be healed.”

Multiple fonts of life, nature, and blood mana erupted from the crowd, spells forming the second he spoke.

Porkchop flicked an ear, scanning the mages for a single second.

“Why? Though I won’t say no — I'm down to roughly a quarter.”

No doubt that was still more than most Golds had at all, but that hardly mattered. The greater beast merely had to prove he could remain standing

“I wish to show you the First Movement: The Cleaving Arc of Annihilation Most Foul.”

An amused rumble echoed through the greater beast's chest. Moments later, healing magics splashed over him, soaking into his body.

“Okay, what’s with the names? They’re all rather…dramatic.”

Angstrom sighed. There was a time where the question would have annoyed him, or even aggrieved him to the point of petty violence. Those years were long passed — he’d gotten over it after three consecutive classes of unnecessary verbosity.

“For all my class fits me like a glove, its language does not,” he explained.

An undeniable glint of amusement in his eye, Porkchop watched him for a long moment. Then, the greater beast nodded. Before long, the streams of healing magic stopped seeping into his body, and were cut off one by one. Fully recovered, Porkchop’s own energy surged and he swelled in height once more. Claws punched through the sand into the stone beneath.

“I am ready.”

Angstrom locked eyes with Porkchop and found only determination and hunger. This was a creature who relished in their unyielding defiance, and delighted in standing strong before Platinum fury. It was, perhaps, an arrogance — but certainly an earned one.

Alas, the feint was the cornerstone of good swordplay, and every blademaster was a cheat.

Angstrom dropped into his stance. Porkchop swelled with defensive magic, growing stiff and strong. A potent skill, but Angstrom could see it limited his opponent’s mobility significantly — a dangerous thing in true battle.

Leaping forward, he kicked off the ground and soared up. Bracing himself on solidified air, he cleaved down. The flat of his blade smashed into the greater beast's shoulders. Tightly coiled power exploded from the churning river that cycled within the weapon.

Transferred perfectly through Porkchop’s body, it shattered his front legs with the crack of split granite — and slammed his chest into the ground.

“Hey, that’s cheating!”

Angstrom landed lightly, his back to the greater beast. He allowed himself a slight smile as his over-sized sword dissolved into glittering dust.