Tech Duinn: An Ether Collapse Series (Ether Flows Book 1)

by Ryan DeBruyn

  Using a pickaxe, they were to break off a stone from the nearby crag. Carry it over to a station, and with a mallet and chisel, chip it square. Once square, it was loaded onto a transport truck and taken to be finished by laser cutting somewhere in the city. Bat had been horrible at breaking rocks from the wall, according to the batman. But had been very skilled at chipping the block square thanks to his ability to see cracks and minute details in the stone.

  Both Bat and Azrael had concluded that the group could force their way out by defeating the guards. The vast majority of the guards were near the transports, with few ranging at the edges of the compound. Azrael noticed something new in his current appraisal.

  On the shift change, the guards escorting the group Azrael’s replaced allowed them to ride on the transport. Was that just a lazy group of guards? Bat would have notified Azrael if he had been allowed to ride the transport back. Even blind, he couldn’t have missed being loaded onto the hover vehicle for a ride. Azrael hadn’t received a ride back on his last shift, that was certain. Maybe the truck was full—so the opportunity existed?

  Azrael scanned the load of the truck as it floated away. His goal for today was to test out if the transport would give his group a ride back if the truck was full. He worked at a feverish pace that day, loading what felt like half the transport by himself. Still, at the end of the shift the truck was as full as the one before.

  No group came to replace Azrael’s. Likely because of the fight that afternoon. They were all chained together again when one of the guards said, “Wow, this group filled this truck. Guess we don’t have to walk back either!”

  Another guard, some sort of Lizardfolk, blinked and his mouth broke into a huge smile. “What luck! When the lassst group took a full load, I thought we had misssed the ride back by a ssshift. Thisss group mussst have worked hard.”

  Azrael stepped onto the transport and studied the interior. His two guards were joined by two others in the back. Two more loaded into the front seats to drive. There was a door from the truck bed to the cab. This could work. He had seven obstacles, with a variable twenty-nine. How would the other slaves respond?

  The seven obstacles, not including the other slaves, were the six guards and his enchanted handcuffs. Six Master ranked fighters versus a single Apprentice were horrible odds. Add in the variable of the other slaves and his restraints and he would die, even with his sword. Could he sneak the Ether-Tech gear out in his ring?

  Maybe.

  Having his group with him would skew the odds towards his favor much more. He just needed to convince Octorian to place Dara, Verimy, Jophi, and Bat with him in this task. If Octorian survived today, they would have to come up with multiple arguments for Ogma to use.

  ***

  Azrael peered through a grated slit at sand level into the arena pit. A fight between a massive white Liger and a combatant was currently underway. Unfortunately, he had missed what challenge level this was. The levels of the combatant were clear, but the skill was severely lacking.

  He could already predict the ending of the fight. The combatant was managing to damage the Liger with very powerful and showy Class Skills. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a sound strategy. He Analyzed both again.

  Liger

  Journeyman-White Claw

  Level 44

  Health Points: 1215/1540

  --

  Jack Fan

  Master-Master Mage

  Level 15

  Health Points: 450/450

  Jack’s low health points, combined with his class, likely meant he had high Intelligence and Wisdom. Still, the massive ice spikes, fireballs, lightning storms, and other skills were failing to damage the Liger enough. Azrael predicted that the current stalemate would end shortly when Jack was forced to conserve Ether.

  Azrael shook his head; Jack chose to go big instead of conserving Ether. He summoned some sort of Area of Effect spell that pulled the Liger to the ground, almost sticking it in place. A swirling black cloud began coalescing on top of the downed white beast. Red embers flashed inside through the dark smoke and a roar sounded from within. Jack held both spells, his hands outstretched in front of him as his jaw clenched and sweat broke out on his skin. A slow count of ten seconds and Jack fell to a knee. Ether exhaustion.

  The smoke cleared to reveal nothing where the cat had been. Jack’s face sported a small smile, right before a sooty black monstrosity flashed into sight behind him. Claws raked his back as the paw holding those claws batted Jack like he was a ball of yarn. His broken body bounced over the sand, careening to a stop in a tangled jumble of blood and rags.

  Guards with bloodied slabs of meat approached the entrance gate and the Liger went to lie down in front of it. Silence stretched for a heartbeat, but then the force field fell, and the crowd’s noise roared into the space. “Live. Kill. Live. Live.”

  Something Azrael couldn’t see happened, and a mixture of jeering and polite applause echoed across the sand. “Jack Fan lives to fight another day. The healers are heading out to his mangled remains now. This is his first time failing at the ninth challenge, and we will see this Master Combatant again in four days, starting back from the first challenge. A brief intermission before the main event! Hurry back to your seats though, because you won’t want to miss the Enbarr and Octorian!” the arena announcer boomed out of speakers.

  Azrael turned away from the grate. He had never noticed the sand height grates when he was fighting in the arena. Perhaps it was his focus or the enchanted shield that sprung to life around them once combat began. From the way other combatants began talking, watching fights was common enough. Why this was his first time he wasn’t sure, but he had a suspicion. In fact, he recalled Verimy had watched his Battle Royale.

  “Verimy, were you allowed to watch fights before I arrived?” he asked.

  Verimy nodded. “Well, I was brought to your Battle Royale and saw people watching mine. I think they try to schedule important fights when all slaves can watch. We haven’t been to another Battle Royale or any other fight, though. It’s extra odd that other teams are being allowed to watch you in the tournament, but we aren’t being allowed to watch them. Someone is preventing our team from watching fights...”

  One of the other combatants turned towards Verimy. “The fact that your team is a group of people who knew each other outside the Pit is complete centaur poop. All the other teams were randomly selected, and not a single team pooled points from wins. Oberan has clearly rigged this tournament for an easy victory for you!”

  Azrael shivered—he had considered that an advantage for his team—but was it a concession? He Analyzed the adlet who had spoken.

  Rex Woofer

  Apprentice-Pit Fighter

  Level 22

  Health Points: 140/140

  An adlet was often mistaken for a beastkin. Their dog-like appearance made others assume that they were one of the tribes. adlets were far older than the moon folk though, and originated on a small Planetary God called Pluto. Rex was white-furred on his snout and his chest. The white merged into a brownish-black as it approached his eyes and his back. The eyes were an intense blue and conveyed a disdain for Verimy and Azrael.

  “We didn’t choose our team either, Rex,” Azrael commented, meeting the adlet’s icy glare.

  “You’re still far better off than the teams who choose the order through combat in their antechamber. Many of the teams initially placed their weakest combatant first, and never even sent out their strongest. That fire giant you fought lost to the fourth member of its team, and you barely survived. So, don’t go complaining about the advantages other teams are given to even out the rigged Initiate Tournament. Everyone knows Oberan favors you.”

  Verimy turned to Azrael and subtly shook his head, conveying that this conversation wasn’t worth it. This solidified the hatred from other combatants in the mess hall. When people have nothing, it was very easy to pick out someone in the same situation with a minor benefit and pin hatred on them. Azr
ael agreed with Verimy, but telling Rex that he was being set up to have a glorious death wouldn’t gain him any sympathy. Death still awaited every slave in here.

  Just because Oberan had a purpose for his death didn’t make him special. Rex continued to glare at Azrael, though, so he retorted, “What exactly makes you think extra work duty is a favor?”

  Verimy’s head dropped and Rex’s face morphed into a wolf grin. “Torin told us your whole team is allowed the use of cells reserved for Champions. You’re delivered food for breakfast and lunch, but you are all Initiate Combatants. Even if you win this tournament and advance to Combatant, you should only be moved to the second level,” Rex spoke loudly, which drew the attention of the other combatants sharing their viewing port.

  Angry muttering broke out and Rex raised his furry arms to emphasize the discontent. “You have been handed everything, Sovereign Son. But you falsely think that because you are a slave like us, that you are one of us.” The combatants began grouping up into a buzzing mob. “I think we should exact some revenge right here—boys?”

  “Behind us as well, Azrael,” Bat whispered into his ear. The batman had remained silent the entire time but warned him of the smaller group at their backs.

  Verimy entered into a ready posture and came to stand shoulder to shoulder, facing the opposite direction towards the group Bat had indicated. Azrael pulled out his sword from his Ring of Holding. With a grin on his face, he barked a laugh. “All right! I was just thinking I needed some extra Etherience. Rex, would you like to go first? You are the instigator, after all. Why don’t you lead your fellow Initiates into battle? I will show you why I am given the quarters of a champion!” Azrael infused his words with as much disdain and confidence as he could.

  The mob quieted and looked to Rex. The pup deflated and even took a step back, and just like that the tension broke. The larger group on Rex’s side muttered to themselves and moved back to the viewing grates. Azrael turned to the other group. “I think you guys had a better view than us. I think we would like to have it. Move!” he commanded.

  They didn’t have a better view, but they did have a much safer area of the small room. Azrael was now acutely aware that they were essentially in the middle of the viewing room. He vowed to never allow such a strategically disadvantageous situation to occur again. He felt his heart pounding against his sternum and tried to hide the shake in his hands. They were lucky bluster had worked to dissuade the mob. Azrael was sure he could have killed them with his Soul Strike and Soul Storage skills, but in tight confines with his own allies nearby? Those skills were essentially sealed. It would have proven difficult to fight and keep Bat and Verimy out of the line of fire. Fighting without the skills, Azrael would have killed a few of them he was sure, but they likely would have overwhelmed and killed his group in turn.

  This had almost turned into a disaster, all because he had wanted to try to find some more information. Definitely no point in looking for help from any other combatants was his conclusion.

  Never rely on the help from others.

  The announcer called, “Take your seats for the main event!”

  Thirty seconds later, Octorian strode out onto the sand. Azrael studied his gear. He wasn’t bare-chested anymore, and instead wore a suit of studded leather armor, a Pteruges skirt of leather, gloves, bracers, and even leather sandals. He almost appeared to be themed, all of his armor chosen partly because of how it looked together, rather than for strength.

  “I stand before you yet again to face the terrible Enbarr! Is the equine nightmare invincible? Today I will prove to you that together, you and I can beat a creature of any strength!” Octorian shouted to the crowd.

  The stands erupted with noise. Most of it was raucous cheering but mixed in were some jeers and catcalls. “You have failed eight times… today is your last… your blood will stain the sands…”

  Azrael cataloged the interaction as a charismatic appeal to the crowd for their support. The sounds of the masses were silenced by an echoing whinny. A horse the size of a transport truck slowly rose into the cage that Musth had occupied during Azrael’s last tournament battle.

  Enbarr

  Master-Flowing Mane

  Level 88

  Health Points: 11500/11500

  The horse was large, but it was the long mane of hair that drew Azrael’s eyes. It seemed to slither and move as if it were a pile of snakes. Groupings and strands of the hair moved in all directions, coiling and whipping about.

  The protective dome enchantment sprung up and muffled all noises from inside the arena. Azrael took a quick glance around and found all the combatants in his cage glued to the bars. “Warn me if anyone gets closer,” he whispered to Bat.

  A fight between two Master ranks was fast enough that any distraction could mean you missed something. Octorian began to glow. Subtle but noticeable as an outline of brighter yellow surrounded him. He spun his gladius in his hand, and it split in two. He brought the two together in a clash of sparks just as the cage released the Enbarr.

  The horse shot forward, running a foot above the ground. At first, Azrael thought it was running on the air but then realized it was just moving so fast that he couldn’t see its hooves hit the sand. The spray of the sand behind it assured Azrael that the creature was touching down though. All of its mane reared up like a cobra ready to strike as the distance closed.

  Octorian stowed his swords and moved his hands in seals. Azrael tried to discern what skill was being used but couldn’t see anything except the continued glow around the man. A single stride of the horse later and a massive glyph formed in front of Octorian. It hung suspended for a split second before the Enbarr crashed into an invisible wall. The whole arena vibrated, and the creature’s hair attempted to strike at a foe that wasn’t there.

  Where the coiled mane hit, the air seemed to crack. Spider web fractures appeared and highlighted the invisible wall, which was moving forward. A mound of sand built in front of it and because of that effect Azrael noticed three other walls closing in on the Enbarr. It was a box of some sort. Was Octorian attempting to crush the Enbarr, like a garbage truck?

  Octorian shook from the effort and the sun glinted off a clear sheen of sweat that broke out on his skin. Azrael tilted his head; if the hair had cracked the rectangle already, the chance of this construct holding the Enbarr wasn’t good. Wait—where had the cracks gone?

  The spider web cracks had vanished, which meant that this spell could repair itself. That gave Octorian a small hope. But Azrael would never have gambled in such a way. Octorian’s trembling intensified as the invisible box-pressed in on the Enbarr. The black hair of the horse had formed five pillars and fought back. The hooves of the Enbarr sunk into the sand. A knee collapsed. Maybe Octorian could—the entire mane of hair joined together and formed a huge battering ram, which punched forward.

  Two things happened in near unison. The invisible wall in front of the horse and nearest Octorian exploded. But the other four walls crashed down, pinning the Enbarr to the sand. Azrael followed the massive mane as it lashed out at the gladiator. Octorian made some hand motions as he ducked and dodged the strikes from the beast. He clapped his hands together and placed his palms on the ground. The arena lit up with a glowing glyph that formed on the sand, centered on the man’s touch.

  He pulled out his swords again and waded forward, deflecting blows from the mane of hair as he walked. The gladiator’s skill with the swords was phenomenal. Azrael would rank him near a Swordmaster. The mane split into smaller sections and began striking faster. Still, Octorian waded forward, almost arrogantly approaching his trapped foe.

  “Is he going to be able to damage it?” one of the slaves in Azrael’s nook exclaimed.

  “What was his last record? He got it to ninety percent health, right? At least he has already beat that number and reduced its health to eighty-five percent. But he has no chance of winning,” another slave replied, his voice filled with a tone that turned Azrael’s stomach.r />
  Azrael glanced over to find the owner of the voice. A whip-thin fae sneered out between the bars, its mouth forming a delighted smile.

  Azrael turned back to the fight. Octorian parried each strike from the Enbarr and continued to close the distance. Ten feet. The strikes were coming faster than Azrael could track but Octorian had no problem. Perhaps he was at the level of a true Swordmaster after all.

  Once in melee range, the glow around Octorian pulsed, growing brighter until it eclipsed the sunlight and forced Azrael to look away. He blinked spots out of his eyes and turned back, trying to figure out what had happened. The golden glow was fading, but in its place a fiery blue shimmer was growing. Octorian stepped back slowly from the burning body on the ground. Had the Champion won?

  The fire stood up and through the enchantment, a muffled, angry whinny sounded. Azrael Analyzed the blue flickering flames.

  Enbarr

  Master-Flowing Mane

  Level 88

  Health Points: 3750/11500

  Boss

  In one strike, Octorian had dealt more than fifty percent damage to the creature’s health. The airborne sand settled, and the view resolved itself. Octorian was stumbling away from the Enbarr. The four-sided box that trapped it moments ago was gone, and the Enbarr was on fire all across its body. The mane was a bright blue, which ebbed and flared in the wind, like the hottest of fires.

  In a blink, the hair and hooves of the horse lashed out and Octorian vanished from view. The crater that formed sprayed more sand into the air, but the Enbarr kept stomping down. Its mane kept flinging strands like a thousand whips. Octorian never had a chance.