by Ryan DeBruyn
Jophi looked at Verimy and then Bat before realizing that they too hadn’t understood the word Azrael used. Azrael’s face got hot under the helmet and he closed his eyes.
That was a slip-up. Do better.
“What is a hypogeum?” Jophi asked.
Azrael didn’t even bother trying to make something up and instead boldfaced his way through it. “My apologies. A slip of the tongue. Bat, just try to find a way into the floor below this. Jophi, you stay near him too, perhaps together you can all plan a destructive way to gain access.”
Jophi looked like she wanted to pursue her initial question, but Azrael entered the smaller double gated entrance. The timer began and it saved him from her further inquiries. The gate behind him thudded into place and a trumpet assaulted his ears.
Through his Ether-Tech helmet? The animalistic horn blared for a whole ten seconds according to the timer.
What in the Sovereign Halls was that?
He looked behind him to see Bat shaking uncontrollably. Verimy stared wide-eyed, and Jophi knelt with hands over ears. It would seem the helmet had even filtered the decibels of the horn. But it had still been terrifyingly loud.
Azrael swallowed hard and got to his feet. If that was his opponent, he was in trouble. The arena shook, and he fell back to the floor but quickly sprang back up. What could cause the entire dungeon to rock—just how big was his next opponent?
He was slick from sweat when the timer reached zero. He stepped out of the entrance and watched a silhouette opposite him exit to face him. The silhouette, while large for a humanoid, wasn’t large enough to have shaken the arena. If that was his opponent—what had made the noise? A grunt and rumble turned his head slowly to the right. Caged by a gigantic square forcefield in the arena wall was a nightmare.
The creature’s skin was black, crisscrossed with red scars. Its ears were shredded skin flaps, and its tusks seemed to have holes drilled into them. The eyes of the creature bore down on the arena, red and pulsing menace with each blink. The beast rose onto its back legs and dropped its powerful front hooves onto the forcefield that separated it from the sands. The chain around its neck clanged taut and the sands quaked. Not as severely as the last rumble, though.
Is that an elephant? Could it have caused the arena to shake?
He sighed and jerked his head back to check on his opponent.
His opponent had been frozen as well, and Azrael took the opportunity to charge forward. There was no use hiding his skills now. The other teams likely already knew all about them.
His opponent was a Draugr, which was troubling. All of his teachings dictated destroying Draugr with numerical advantages. Not one on one.
Draugr were large humanoids that stood upwards of eight-feet tall. Their blue skin and awkward gait often had people compare them to shambling undead, but they were far more terrifying than a walking corpse. Draugr underwent a ritual at birth to sever all nerves in their body that conveyed pain signals. The nerve severing was likely the reason for their abnormal movement, but the benefits outweighed the consequences. If you asked them, at least.
The Draugr that faced him wore massive plate armor and shouldered a dual-headed battle-ax.
Azrael used Analyze.
Ragdulf Ironhead
Journeyman-Mountain
Level 33
Health Points: 1100/1100
Theoretically, the high health points likely meant Ragdulf was slow and tanky. However, the fire giant had possessed high stats across the board, and Azrael wasn’t sure what average starting stats would be for a Draugr. He recalled a teacher mentioning it once, but the exact lesson escaped him.
He chopped down in Headman’s Fall and connected with the armored shoulder of Ragdulf. Azrael’s sword sent a reverberation through his hands and arms. The mechanical nature of his new armor added massive power to the downswing. The sword cut deeply, then clanged and bounced back out of the wound. The sword squirmed out of his hands and vibrated through the air down to the sand.
He leaped back as the Draugr stopped staring at the elephant. Ragdulf roared while swinging the ax one-handed. It bit into the sand mere inches from Azrael’s fallen sword. Ragdulf was already injured in one arm and couldn’t pick up the weapon but noticed its advantage immediately. It entered a defensive stance while straddling the sword between its feet.
Azrael considered his options. If his hands couldn’t withstand the added strength his new equipment seemed to place on them, then martial arts were out as he would only end up with broken fists.
He disengaged with two backward leaps, knowing he needed to draw Ragdulf off of the weapon. Ragdulf didn’t follow, and Azrael realized the rumors of Draugr stupidity were unfounded.
He began circling, trying to think of other options. Azrael could always try to throw sand and pick up the sword or release a stored skill. A notification interrupted his planning.
Timer to Musth
● Your inaction for a minute in this fight has triggered the countdown on Musth’s release. Finish the match in 5 minutes, or the Arena Boss will go on a rampage.
Time remaining: 4 minutes, 58 seconds.
Azrael’s eyes tracked over to the elephant.
Hello, Musth.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Azrael roared. What did the tortured elephant have to do with this fight? Would all tournament battles have this feature, or just his? Musth was probably one of the boss creatures from the Pit.
The red eyes of Musth created an oppressive thickness to the air. He knew instantly that if that monstrosity was released, he would die. He shook himself like a wet dog. Mentally commanding himself to ignore the pressure of the timer. The Draugr was beatable—he had to focus there.
Alright, a five stacked stored Soul Strike then. The skill would at least get the Draugr to move. He stepped forward into a palm strike. Ragdulf reacted, its ax descending. Azrael dug his toes into the sand to perform a stop. Spun, shuffled, and lunged forward with the opposite leg and palm, whispering, “Release five.”
The skill exploded from his palm and began to expand. The Draugr brought its feet together and then rolled forward, Azrael’s sword rolled with it, caught between its heels. Azrael snatched at his weapon but missed because of an upward chop of his opponent’s ax.
He followed Ragdulf’s roll, sliding over the sand with a shuffling sprint. As soon as Ragdulf gained its feet, Azrael attempted to knock it down. He shot his palms into the Mountain’s chest. They hit the armor and a bell dinged loudly over the sand. The ringing elicited an ear-shattering trumpet by Musth, and Azrael flew backwards, his own strike rebounding into him.
He landed on his butt and turned his motion into a backward roll. Coming back to his feet to find his opponent still standing above his sword. Was Ragdulf not worried about Musth? Something was off in this fight. If that nightmare was let out, they would both die. But Azrael’s opponent had just ignored an opportunity.
Oberan is up to something.
He wanted to spit but his helm enclosed his entire head. Instead, he checked Ragdulf’s health and found it was at nine-hundred and eighty, which was where it sat before this last strike. That rebound skill had transferred all damage back on Azrael. His health had dropped ten points, even with his Ether-Tech armor.
He roared again and tried to think. If he wanted to hit the Draugr, he needed to get close and attempt a blow with his trump card. But that reflect skill complicated that tactic. If his trump card reflected against him, he would die instantly.
Was there another option?
His only truly offensive skill was Soul Strike, and he had just tried using it at five stacks from his Soul Storage. He wondered why Ragdulf hadn’t reflected his initial Soul Strike? With the distance that had been between them Azrael likely would have dodged as well, he supposed. Maybe the reflection was the Draugr trump card or could only reflect non-skilled strikes?
Too risky to gamble on, right now.
Ragdulf had easily dodged the blow from range,
though. With the Draugr’s higher level, it would continue to dodge most ranged skills. If Azrael closed and used his Soul Strike, it could possibly be reflected—killing him instantly. He roared his frustration into his helmet’s interior. He had two ranged skills left. Fireball and Soul Storage—wait. He revisited martial striking as an option. He recalled his martial arts mentor cutting through thin paper with his palm. Could he charge a Soul Strike into his hand?
Azrael envisioned the edge of his palm as a blade. He had never successfully managed to cut through paper like his mentor Bee could. He had broken many boards and bricks. He pictured the edge of his palm sharp like a sword and charged it with his Soul Strike.
The Ether infused, and he did the same with his other palm. “This might actually work,” Azrael whispered as he moved his hands through the air.
He struck using the Shuto Uchi method, in a martial style called Balanced Top. The first blow was rebounded by the Draugr’s skill. This was why Azrael had chosen Balanced Top. He lifted his front foot and allowed the strike to spin him. Halfway through the dizzying move, he planted that front foot again and switched his planted leg. The spin continued on the new leg. Effectively moving Azrael away and reducing the rebounded damage. Blood flew from his hand onto the sand, though, telling him his strategy was only partially effective at dumping the rebounded skill’s damage.
His opponent’s ax cut through the air, just missing him as he spun away. Seeing the strike miss, Azrael dragged his raised foot to dump the momentum. And waded back into battle.
The spinning was his best option to dump rebounded strikes. Azrael just hoped that the Ether from his skill infusing his hands would help protect them enough to keep them functioning.
This was a duel of Ether pools, now. Azrael gambled on his being higher, due to the high health of Ragdulf.
Again and again, he struck, and Ragdulf began to reflect random strikes, attempting to catch Azrael off guard. None of Azrael’s Shuto Uchi strikes budged the eight-foot-tall massive Draugr, but they began to tear his skin and armor apart. Azrael checked his Ether pool and found it to be falling from fifty percent.
I have lost all feeling in my hands too.
He ignored that tidbit with force of will and Analyzed Ragdulf. The Draugr’s health ticked down from five hundred. He blinked. He hadn’t hit his opponent, so why was its health dropping?
Azrael disengaged, trying to understand what was causing Ragdulf’s health to decline so rapidly. Azrael noticed the puddle of blue blood on the ground and the massive rivers of more that continued to flow.
Right! Azrael’s Bloodletter skill was stacking.
Four hundred health remaining.
Azrael waded back in, wanting to ensure that any debuffs for bleeding that fell off the Draugr got replaced with a new one. He checked the timer. Just over a minute left before Musth would be released.
One of his strikes staggered Ragdulf, which allowed Azrael to pick up his sword. Or attempt to. His hand refused to close onto the hilt. He forced his hand to obey and cried out when it creaked around his sword hilt. He forced worry about his hands to the back of his mind.
I will deal with it later.
Azrael’s Ether was only thirty percent, and he dismissed his Soul Strike skills to regain approximately thirteen percent of his Ether. He began striking lightly with his blade. Attempting to stack more bleed debuffs and not jar his unprotected hands more. The armor’s damage assisted him as he layered cut after cut on Ragdulf.
The timer counted down, and just as it reached twenty seconds, Ragdulf fell to the ground motionless in a puddle of its own blood.
Healers rushed onto the sands as the domed protective enchantment fell. “Death. Death. Death,” the crowd chanted. And the countdown timer vanished.
I left it up to the crowd. I wasn’t supposed to do that.
The crowd cheered louder when the jumbotron flashed “Death” in oscillating rainbow-colored strobe lights. Azrael felt sick to his stomach.
The healers let the final health points of his opponent vanish. He wondered if he was supposed to have decapitated the Draugr for sport. He surveyed the crowd as he looted the corpse, placing its gear into his ring. He would drop the gear in the antechamber for the others to study. The crowd didn’t seem upset with the lack of showmanship.
Best to keep them on your side from now on. Either kill your opponent outright or give them a spectacle at the end.
His shoulders slumped but he built up the resolve to look at his hands. He almost threw up. There was practically no skin visible under the blood. He took in a deep stuttering breath. He had a grip of his sword and he could move his fingers. That was good news. Likely he sustained multiple fractures but no breaks. His muscles still worked as well. That was something at least.
He received a notification to return to his starting zone. Azrael made a slight detour and Analyzed Musth.
Musth
Epic-Raging Bull Mammoth
Level 71
Health Points: 23000/26000
Boss
Correction, that is the final boss of this place!
The crowd continued to cheer, and the announcer broadcast the intermission. He entered the waiting area.
“Show me your hands!” Jophi practically screamed at him.
Azrael ignored her. He wasn’t sure he could close them onto the sword again if he let go. Instead he turned to Verimy, “Do you have any bandages or cloth to wrap my hands?”
“You imbecile,” Jophi shouted, holding up a roll of white linen.
He looked at her. She probably couldn’t see his face behind the helmet, but he scrutinized her severely. He still wasn’t sure if she was an ally, but they had come too far together. “Fine. But I need the sword wrapped in my hands. Can you do that?”
Jophi clenched her jaw and her eyes began to water. Were those tears for me? He let her do the wrapping while still watching her. “Bat, any luck with the air vent?”
Verimy looked backwards at a seated Bat. “He has been meditating since we arrived. I think he is using his ability to look deeper into the tunnels.”
Azrael nodded. They could discuss it later at dinner in that case.
Time for the next round. Jophi finished wrapping his hands and he checked his Ether pool. It was above fifty percent, which meant he could recharge his Soul Storage. But that would start the next round with a near empty pool.
He decided quickly that his Soul Storage was too useful. He recharged it with a five stacked Soul Strike. Then sat down. The others left him alone, knowing that this was increasing his Ether regeneration. He began to meditate and even picked up the Meditation skill. Meditation was a skill that was taught at the Sovereign Halls, which also made the skill acquisition and levels go faster now.
I probably should put some time into increasing its level, if I can find some.
He stood back up when the timer reached ten seconds and moved through the door, this time consciously thinking about how to moderate his striking strength so as to not lose his sword. Or further damage his hands.
It turned out that he needn’t have worried. The next two rounds were against fast-moving, leather armor wearing fighters. Azrael, with Ether-Tech gear, easily kept up with them despite both being Journeyman rank. His sword strikes, with the added penetration, parted their armor with little effort.
Azrael made short work of them both and never triggered Musth’s timer. He used showmanship whenever possible, ensuring that the kills were bloody. That they were spectacular.
Each time the protective dome came down, the crowd chanted, “Sovereign! Sovereign! Sovereign!” and Azrael raised his sword. Oberan was getting exactly what he wanted from him. But Azrael also needed the crowd on his side.
Just in case…
He only hoped Bat had gathered enough information during these short contests.
He dismissed his sword. And the others helped him remove his equipment at the behest of the guards. The gear was left in one of the lockers for the roo
m. He checked his quest as the guard collared him. His hands were rewrapped in fresh bandages in front of him. He hoped there wouldn’t be any permanent damage and his debuff bar seemed to confirm the lack of it.
Congratulations! You have completed a quest.
Arena Chain Quest
Single Elimination Tournament
Win the Round of 32
● You have won the round of 32 with a solo combatant. This earns your team 6 points and 4 times the Etherience.
Congratulations!
Rewards:
4,000,000 Etherience
Six points to spend in the Tournament Shop – Click for Access
5,797,712 Etherience remaining to level 20.
Azrael purchased the gloves for the Ether-Tech set as he walked back towards the stairs. With the full set, they likely had a real chance to win this tournament—if he lived that long.
After reviewing his most recent battle, he was convinced no other team would share points like his did. So, that full set was a huge advantage. At most, another fighter would have two strong pieces or many weaker ones. Still, his timeline to escape needed to stay based on the arena challenges, because he couldn’t wear this gear in them.
He started to turn off on the second level and was jerked back onto the stairs to continue upward. His brow furrowed. He glanced back to see his group collared and also marching up to the higher level. Where were they being taken?
Any noise would get them disciplined; even though Torin wasn’t in this group of guards, they were still vicious if combatants began to converse outside of the cells, the mess hall, or the arena waiting rooms.
Azrael climbed past the third level and was led into a posh meeting room on the fourth. His noose was removed, under the eyes of Gyr and Yonel. The two powerful guards caused him to swallow hard as he took a seat. The others followed, huddling near him at the end of the table.
Bat turned his head in every direction, probably trying to hear sounds from every angle. To get a better ‘look’ at the room. Jophi looked at Azrael, and Verimy stared at the table in front of him. Azrael looked at his bound and bandaged hands and chose to hide them under the table.
