B6 Chapter 642: The Pit, pt. 6

The experience of living as sand was a strange one. Nemtep was nothing more than the stinging bite of burning grains that slid through the greater maelstrom. He felt every eddy current as the winds of his Sandstorm clashed against his Will, urging him to join the greater flow. Yet he still felt the tacky grip of his longknife clenched tightly in his hands, the pounding of his heart, and the roaring heat of his blood.

Lacking eyes, he saw Kenva’s joints crackle and distend as she slipped past blade after blade. Without ears, he heard the roar of the raging sands, and the clenched groan of a bowstring drawn to breaking.

Charged with energy, an arrow snapped free of her bow. It shattered, spreading into a wide cone of shards. How in the hells had she noticed him?! With the sandstorm raging, he should have been all but invisible. Nemtep growled, surging upwards. Even incorporeal, the violence of her Skill could disrupt his own. He couldn’t afford the extra expenditure.

Cresting over the wave of shards, he dived towards the ranger, intent driving him forward. More knives sliced into the dance of his Glinting Deathswarm — but the damnable woman was as slippery as an eel. Four flashes of steel cut through the screaming sands. Kenva loosed another shot and disappeared in a rush of dead leaves, only to spring backwards into a tight flip as she rematerialised a heartbeat later. She fired again.

Both arrows raced directly towards him, and both exploded into a hail of ripping shards. Nemtep hissed, sliding down and forward to slip through a narrow gap in the coverage. This was ridiculous. The woman managed her resources like a century-seasoned delver. Even her own mobility skill showed it. Using it must have been ruinously expensive with his sandstorm raging, but he hadn’t seen her use it for a moment longer than she needed to slip between a gap between knives. How the hells did she do it? It was like she could track his attacks perfectly!

Kenva lept high, the light of mana erupting as she drew her bow. Her arrow screamed forth, whipping winds opening a channel in the whirling sands. She was gone a moment later, slipping past his Deathswarm.

Shock ripped through him as he realised he was pinned to the ground by the hail of shards she’d fired at him only a moment prior. Even if the lethal arrow itself missed, he’d seen the terrifying gale that followed. He raced left. The arrow slammed into the ground next to him. Ripping winds erupted, pushing back his Sandstorm. Djinnic Mantle shattered, and a mule kick of force sent him flying sideways.

What a tricky wretch! Kicking out into a tight spin, he lashed out with his longknife, deflecting an arrow. His other hand flung three knives, each accelerating with the distinctive crack of Unseen Viper-strike. Pinned between the sudden retaliation and his storm of discarded blades, she moved a hair too slow — one blade. One knife skimmed her ribs, cleaving through the hardened bark of her empowering Skill. First blood, but not a true wound. The ranger barely noticed, spinning back to him at full draw.

He got his first good look at her face since leaving the half-sight of the sands.

Cursed light, her eyes were fucking closed!

She loosed. Darting left, he gained three more steps before another shot cut him off. Just over ten remained.

Nemtep cut, spun, and darted his way through her shots. His own ripped out in retaliation. Both of them were untouchable — and he drew another step closer for his efforts. Given time, he could cut her down, and in true battle he could have gotten far more nasty with Deathswarm. But his expenditure was ruinous, and hers was measured — and gods’ knew what other steel-shredding magics she’d left untouched.

Kenva grinned. A flash of danger shot down the back of his neck.

“Left shoulder,” she whispered, barely audible over the whipping winds as she spun in an endless dance. Hostile magic ripped into him, coiling tight as a black mark snapped into place. It was twisted — and right where she’d called.

The arrogance of it was staggering.

Yet as a bonfire of mana raged through the ranger, he could not help but wonder if it was earned. He was High Gold, with over a hundred levels on her. She was an archer, fighting blind with a master duelist barely ten steps away. And he couldn’t bloody catch her!

A shining arrow tore towards him. Every bone in his body screamed it was death. Nemtep burst to the side, vanishing into the sands. An explosion knocked him right out of the Skill, sand pluming upwards with a deafening roar. He slid over the arena, hurling another knife at his foe.

He could only curse as she twisted around it — and flung another explosive arrow in his direction.

Pillars of sand erupted one after the other, every detonation rocking him as every path forward was cut off before he could take another step. It didn’t matter that his blades spun around the archer like a dervish, she simply slipped through them. Gods, he could feel each shot raging through the very ground. If one landed, it would be more than a wound — they’d blow a gods’ cursed hole right through him.

But she wasn’t quick enough to catch him, and the Skill was hideously expensive. She’d grown careless — a desperate press wouldn’t be enough to shake him. He could see the pressed frown on Kenva’s face. A bit more, and he would have her.

Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

Circling the ranger at breakneck pace, Nemtep kept as close as he could. The wall of the Pit drew close, and the next explosion was replaced by a hail of shards. Heat surged through him — she must have been running low. Heat roaring through his veins, he pushed the opening, racing in.

The rangers scowl deepened, she fired another arrow at a low angle, cutting off his advance. Nemtep raced in. The shot had nowhere near enough mana for it to be her more lethal explosive shot. Every shardburst she’d fired expanded in a cone, and this close, he could slip past it. Then she’d be in his reach.

He spun, feeling the wind as the arrow ripped past. Just three more steps!

Vines erupted, coiling around his legs and waist like questing tendrils. Nemtep’s eyes went wide.

Each one was weak, snapping like threads as they hauled against his speed. He was still slowed by a hair. A distinctive snap sounded before he could reach for DjinnicMantle. Pain bloomed and blood sprayed as quivering fletching sprouted from the centre of the black mark on his left shoulder.

Nemtep halted immediately and sighed, dropping Leashed Sandstorm. One more step and he would have had her.

No longer fueled by his Skill, the wind died, and the sand fell back to the arena floor. Kenva opened her eyes and winked. Gods’ damn her, that was embarrassing. It seemed the entire damned team was cut from the same cloth.

….

Ianmus watched the sandstorm fade. Kenva stood there, triumphant as blood slowly dripped from the hole in Nemtep’s shoulder. The Gold muttered something inaudible, before he reached up and yanked the arrow out of his shoulder. Kenva just laughed.

A grin slid across Ianmus’s face. She did it! He’d been clawing at his robes for the entirety of the battle. With the sandstorm whipping its way through the arena, he’d barely been able to see more than the odd flash of steel and blurring motion. Mana sight had barely helped, considering how much of it the pair had pumped out during their brawl. Even with Kaius giving them a play by play, he couldn’t help but feel nervous for his friend.

That coiling tightness in his belly only grew more intense as Kenva and Nemptep walked towards them. The entire crowd was cheering, yet he couldn’t help but think about the fact that he was next. Every single one of his teammates had passed their challenges. Well, Porkchop technically lost — but the simple fact a damned Platinum had been forced to win on a technicality was a win all on its own.

He was the last one left. What if he lost?

A mage was the most vulnerable class possible. He might have been fast, but he had none of Kenva’s agility. In the few flashes of the battle he’d caught, she’d flowed with liquid grace to slip through an endless deluge of cutting knives. Spires light, how much more effective would she be in their battles if she didn’t have to stick around keeping him safe?

He needed more mobility — evolving Starlit Alacrity couldn’t come quicker. The less his friends had to defend him, the more attention they could put on poking holes in their enemies.

Kenva and Nemtep hopped over the railing.

“That was fun! We should do that again some time.” Kenva said.

Nemtep just grunted and slid back into his seat next to his team. “No we shouldn’t, I looked like a damn fool. How in the hells did you even see me?”

A wide grin spread over Kenva’s face. “Your soul. You would have had me dead to rights if you’d kept your distance.”

Nemtep scowled at her answer, though it seemed more playful than anything else.

“It was a damn fun show, that’s for sure,” Kaius said, clapping their friend on the shoulder as she sat down. “That play with Ensnaring Seedburst at the end was masterful.”

Nemtep looked at their team leader in shock. “You could see too! Hells, you are a rogue's worst damned nightmare.”

Despite the man’s guarded exterior, Ianmus did note that he was rather more talkative than he was before his brawl. That was always the way of it, though. It was hard to treat someone like a stranger when you'd just sparred with them. That was the point of this whole exercise.

“So,” Helena said, leaning forward to look him in the eyes. “You’re next.”

He sighed and nodded. “I’m next. I know it’s all in good fun, but I can’t deny there’s a bit of pressure in being the last when everyone else did so well. I’ll look like a fool if I mess up.”

“Bah, you’ll do fine. Which mage in this room can claim to have pioneered new magic, other than you and Kaius?”

Ianmus grinned — that was true. Still, he had his misgivings.

“How am I even supposed to show off? Throw me down there with anyone who isn’t a mage and I'll be mincemeat before I get off a single spell. Fighting another mage would be boring, too. What would we show off, who can channel the fastest?”

Persellia burst out laughing, before she clapped a hand over her mouth. Ianmus looked at the woman, surprised by the outburst — he’d barely heard her say ten words.

“Sorry,” she said, shaking her head slightly. “You’ve got plenty to show off. Seeing keyseals alone would be enough for any mage in this room, but I think you’ll find you’ll have a bit more on your hands than a simple demonstration.

“Oh?”

His fellow mage grinned, nodding to the stands on the other side of the arena. Ianmus followed the motion, and locked eyes with a man who was staring dead at him. Low Gold, the man’s sandy-blonde hair was almost entirely hidden in the folds of his deep hood. A fascinated hunger burned in the man's eyes, his fingers drumming along the side of a lacquered black staff.

“He’s been staring at you like a prime steak since we got here, I'm surprised you didn’t notice,” Persellia explained.

Ianmus tilted his head, curious. The man mirrored him, a slight smile widening on his lips.

“Who is he?” Kaius asked.

“Weavebane,” Helena replied. “He’s an arcane mage known for his counterspelling.”