Froster seized initiative and charged forward with his sickles slicing through the air. Vays reacted casually, parrying each of the sickles efficiently, almost gently—he never used more force than was necessary and so very rarely, if ever, had to recover from overcompensating. Perhaps growing bored with pure defense, he insinuated his blade forward through the flashing sickles with grace and quiet confidence. Of all the fighters Jav had seen, Forbis Vays appeared to exert himself the least and yet his success rate was one of the highest. Vays was a big man, but by no means slow—he had shown that he could move when it was necessary. His economy of motion, Jav realized, served two purposes. One was obviously physical. With such control over one’s body, time and effort were almost never wasted. The second purpose was psychological. Having viewed the video of the preliminary match and seeing him fight Froster now, Jav could easily see how Vays’s manner would unnerve any opponent. Gast Froster was not unnerved yet, but Jav could see that it might not be too long before he was.
Froster backed away slightly and brought his arms down like a pair of great wings. Wind rushed down and he rose into the air very much like a bird. He hovered about five meters above Vays and brandished his sickles. He brought them together, causing the blades to spark when they crossed. From between the blades, a funnel of twisting, tearing wind ripped down towards Vays.
Vays didn’t break his stance, but struck the base of his own blade with the knuckles of his left fist. His sword began to vibrate so that it took on an ethereal quality and a light, weak and of indeterminate color, shone at its core all along its length.
The wind blew down on Vays, mussing his thick blond hair, but he merely carved a distinct pattern into the oncoming vortex. His blade clearly struck or blocked something invisible, producing a series of resonant tones, and finally he cut the funnel apart.
From the same position, Froster flourished his sickles into an increasingly intricate pattern, whipping up a wind between them, then bringing them together once again to launch an even more powerful tornado. Within the twisting coil of furious wind, were glints of what looked like steel. Vays and the ring floor were assailed by tiny slashes of wind, like razor edged leaves blown by a storm. His clothes being ripped ragged, Vays remained impassive, bringing his blade to bear on the elemental assault.
Froster couldn’t understand how Vays was blocking the full power Wind Fission cuts being transmitted through the tornado. Perhaps it had something to do with that Single Element Ghost Sword of his. Froster didn’t know, but he had to struggle to overcome his surprise at that fact and press on to other tactics.
Vays soon cut the new tornado apart, but before he was finished Froster created a Copy Twin beside Vays, which immediately engaged the big swordsman. Froster came down from his aerial position, charging Vays from the front.
Vays seemed as comfortable handling four sickles as he had been handling two. The curved blades flew and fell and flashed, but never made it past Vays’s singe blade. Vays appeared to be completely on the defensive, but for the first time, a grin, sharp and unfriendly, stole through his usually impassive mien.
Vays stared meaningfully at Froster before him while he stabbed the Copy Twin to his right through the right shoulder. He seemed to do this slowly and deliberately despite the speed of their uninterrupted exchange. Froster frowned as blood sprayed from two right shoulders. This time Vays’s blade stabbed imperceptibly forward, sneaking past Froster’s defense, between two ribs and coming dangerously close to a lung. Froster’s frown became a grimace of outrage, but it was already too late. Froster felt Vays strike twice almost simultaneously with such force that two things occurred. First, Froster lost his concentration and the Copy Twin winked out of existence. Second, Froster’s arms had been knocked apart leaving him wide open for the final onslaught. Froster couldn’t see the blade that followed, but he felt it. Again and again to the controlled depth of one centimeter each and every time, the sword point lanced him.
None of the spectators could see the blade, either, but a kind of pattern of perfect straight lines—always level, always parallel—became visible. Blood bloomed in a cloud before Froster, painting the pattern in various shades of red before it faded and Froster collapsed, pierced one hundred and eight times.
Block 2
Jav Holson: 18 Heavenly Claws
VS
Ren Fauer: 10,000 Paths
This was it, the last match of the Artifact Competition. The bell rang and the two friends shook hands. They backed away slowly, regarding each other briefly before Ren advanced to engage Jav.
Ren struck, turned, struck again, spun around, and continued. Jav met his fists, checking him each time. They were fairly evenly matched. As expected, Ren’s movement was amazing—fluid and preternaturally intuitive. But Jav’s hands were perhaps technically superior, his movements sharp, precise, and anticipating. They separated, both grinning, and began to walk a cautious circle, keeping each other at a constant distance.
As they moved, a face in the crowd caught Jav’s attention. It was Laedra Hol. Jav didn’t know how he felt about her being here, but he didn’t dwell on it. He turned his focus almost immediately back to the match.
Once again it was Ren who went on the offensive, and this time with his Crush Driver. Jav jumped high, straight up, but Ren flipped a hundred and eighty degrees twice like some miracle trapeze artist and caught Jav’s legs from below. Jav jerked one leg free and attempted a full motion AI kick. Ren flipped out of the way and instead kicked Jav in the small of the back. Jav whirled around with a backhanded claw and grazed Ren’s forehead with his knuckles. Ren was backing away, but Jav pursued. Employing AI in a fantastic burst, Jav charged forward and launched an AI roundhouse kick, but Ren was not there anymore, and Jav felt more pain explode through his back.
This time Jav did not turn around but concentrated and waited to feel any AI disturbances around him. He wouldn’t have time to affect Ren’s movement, but he should be able to sense it as Ren calculated it. And he found he could. Doing so proved far more reliable than reacting to a blow after it was delivered. Jav felt Ren coming. He turned, caught Ren’s arm before his punch could land, and front kicked him to the ring floor where he skidded and quickly regained his feet. Ren burst forward in the Crush Driver, but Jav was ready. He snatched Ren by the arm, hurling him back down to the ring floor.
Ren stood, wiping a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. “You’re good, Jav,” he said, smiling. But he was persistent and wasted no time. Again the Crush Driver came, but something was different about it this time.
As Ren approached, he seemed to fragment or multiply. Ren’s image flickered to the right, to the left, above, and below. He was using the Copy Twin, or some variation of it, and Jav could not determine which was the original. It was very much like Sheevan Siglar’s technique except that it wasn’t a trick of cunningly refracted light. AI distortions were everywhere and before Jav knew it, he had been caught in the mob-like frenzy of a successfully executed Crush Driver.
Jav had to extricate himself from the beating or he would be finished. After taking several hits, he struggled to block, wildly flailing his arms in an attempt to interrupt Ren’s rhythm. He got lucky and knocked Ren away, clipping him close to his already broken nose. Dropping down to the ring floor, Jav gathered himself quickly—that new Crush Driver was too dangerous. He could not afford to hold anything back now, and he smiled inwardly, pleased that it was Ren who had forced him to this level.
Ren came again, flickering from position to position, each time his form flipping a hundred and eighty degrees, always pressing forward—he was doing three sets of calculations at once! Jav was shocked and impressed. Admiration for Ren suffused him, but it would not change the singular outcome he envisioned. As long as Jav was ignorant of or refused to admit the possibility of life-threatening danger to himself, the displacement technique would not function. But Ren was dangerous. Jav had several developing lumps and bruises to prove it, and his body course
d with fresh adrenaline. With enough warning and the edge of that adrenaline, Jav felt that he could evade Ren, no matter how deadly he had become, or perhaps specifically because he had become so deadly.
As Ren was about to strike, Jav disappeared. Ren stumbled to a stop, surprised by Jav’s absence. He knew that Jav was capable of this, but had nearly forgotten since the technique had gone unused until now. As Ren whirled around, Jav was already upon him, clutching his head between clawed hands, one on the crown, the other cupping Ren’s jaw.
“Give up, Ren.” Jav’s tone wasn’t at all mocking or sharp, but Ren only heard condescension. Ren kicked with his knee, freed himself from Jav’s grip and attempted his new Crush Driver a third time.
Again, Jav was gone. Turning around more quickly, Ren felt himself seized far more aggressively and in the same grip as before, but pressure assailed his head from all sides. He felt that pressure build inside and around his head, like a sinus infection that exerted its own gravity. What the hell was this? This time Jav said nothing. Ren felt an irresistible pull upon his head just before Jav relaxed his hands a fraction of a bit and twisted them with practiced, perfect synchronization. The incredibly swift, powerful snap produced a sonic boom, which was accompanied by a fine spray of blood. In his own good time, Ren Fauer fell limply to the ring floor.
The bell sounded and nothing could be heard over crowd. Both Block winners had been determined.
• • •
Jav dropped down to one knee and examined his friend. He daubed at the blood seeping from Ren’s ears with a handkerchief.
“I’m sorry, Ren,” Jav said. “You didn’t give me any other choice.”
The emergency medical personnel were hurrying into the ring and opening their cases. Some worked on Jav, applying salves and bandages to bruises and cuts. Some tended to Ren and were surprised when he started to come around, responding to their checking and prodding.
“Wh-what happened?” Ren said groggily.
“Sorry, Ren,” Jav said again, with more compassion this time now that he could see the affects of his loose, non-fatal dragon’s head claw.
Ren glared at Jav for a moment, then put a hand to his forehead. “It’s over, huh?”
“Yeah, it’s over.”
Ren closed one eye and stared piercingly at Jav with the other. “What the hell was that? Did you have to leave me with such a headache?”
Jav cocked his head. “It does beat the alternative,” he said under his breath.
“I guess it could have been worse.” Ren was smiling now as he got up on his elbows and reached for Jav’s hand to help him up. Once standing, he held on to Jav’s hand firmly and shook it. “Congratulations, Jav.”
Jav put his other hand over Ren’s. “Thanks.”
• • •
After some preparation, the focal point was shifted from the rings to the façade of the Root Palace proper where Witchlan waited with the Artifacts for presentation. Above him, the effigy of the Viscain Emperor spoke, and his voice rolled like subdued thunder.
“Elza Steinz, Forbis Vays, Jav Holson. Step forward.”
The three did so and were directed further by a small attendant to ascend a stage upon which three Artifacts in their raw states awaited. Elza Steinz stopped before the first, Forbis Vays the next, and Jav the last.
Each Artifact was still attached to an umbilical stem, connected at some point to the Vine itself. The stem of the first came alive, placing its terminating tangle of compressed, tightly knit greenish reeds beside Steinz.
“Observe! The Bridle Reeds,” Witchlan said. He pulled at the mass of reeds, snapping it from its stalk, and in his hands they knitted more tightly, constricting and reducing into a cube that looked more and more like a bizarre pseudo-machine with dials and readouts and switches.
“Elza Steinz,” the Emperor said, “top graduate of the Locsard Psychic Academy, I bestow upon you the Crush Box. Accept your prize and be transformed.”
“Yes, Lord Emperor,” she said, taking the Artifact from Witchlan.
She held the Crush Box to her breast, and it began to glow. Her whole body flared with a blinding flash. When everyone could see again, they witnessed Elza Steinz’s immensely powerful Shade form. With one colossal, sparkling foot on either side of the stage, Steinz stood forty meters tall. Though Steinz was a young woman, the towering figure that now stood in her place was decidedly masculine. It appeared to be made of pure energy, yellow like a sun and crackling with something like electricity. Red-orange lines of coursing power up the legs and arms and across the chest formed a simple pattern giving the figure its only definition save its gross outline.
Witchlan stepped over, regarded the silvery flower, as big as a spread-open hand, reaching out for Forbis Vays, and plucked it.
“Observe! The Titanium Flower,” Witchlan cried.
In his dark, fibrous hand, the flower shrunk and thickened and its lines became sharper, more distinct until it took up only half of his palm. It was almost like a brilliant, shining coin with a five-pointed star in thick relief.
“Forbis Vays,” the Emperor called, “student of Isker Vays, I bestow upon you the Titan Star. Accept your prize and be transformed.”
“Yes, Lord Emperor.”
Vays took the Titan Star from Witchlan and placed it upon his breast, over his heart. There was another flash of blinding light as the Star burned through his shirt, touched his skin, and merged with his being. When the light faded, Forbis Vays was changed. Every inch of his body was covered in seamless plates of glittering titanium. His slit eyes glowed red, and the angles of his body reflected the dull artificial sunlight, making it dazzling. From the top of his forehead stretched a bent, angular horn, which Vays promptly gripped and pulled free. The horn was in fact the hilt of a long thin sword, which he now examined.
Witchlan moved next to Jav and bent over the oblong box at the end of its animate stem. The box was about a meter in length, and its top was decorated with a crude deadwood cross, an alien symbol meaning nothing to the people of Viscain. Witchlan pushed the lid open, letting it hang on the springy fibers on its right side, which were very much like hinges. He reached into the box, his hands making wet, squishing sounds, and pulled out a cluster of albino shapes sheathed in a clear, gelatinous residue.
“Observe! The seeds of the Coffin Fruit!” Witchlan shouted.
It was impossible to tell if the shapes were held together by the residue or something else unseen, but in Witchlan’s hands the shapes elongated and dried, their color softening to a dull ivory.
The Emperor’s voice boomed again. “Jav Holson, student of Laedra Hol, I bestow upon you the Kaiser Bones. Accept your prize and be transformed!”
“Yes, Lord Emperor,” Jav said, accepting the parcel of bones from Witchlan.
Jav held the bones before him and they jerked free of his hands, separating, growing, curling into new shapes until they surrounded his body and snapped into place about his arms, his legs, his chest and finally his head. Light flashed as the Kaiser Bones bonded to Jav and when the light had dimmed, a Darkened Shade stood in Jav’s place, his body inky black where the Bones were absent.
Jav examined the bone segments that encircled each of his finger joints and then looked down at himself. He almost stumbled backwards when his vision fell upon the ground beneath his feet, for deep below he saw, or rather sensed, stratified ranks of countless bones. Skeletons, partial and whole, representing all manner of life—humanoid, quadruped, avian, and even, way down deep, marine—were arrayed in the depths of the ground below him. Jav yanked his gaze upward and sensed, within everyone that possessed them, bones. It was disconcerting—disturbing even—but he was already beginning to understand what kind of boon this might be. Within Forbis Vays’s shell, he could discern the faint pattern of a skeleton, and similarly, high up in the breast of Elza Steinz’s towering construct, he could see a huddled knot of what he knew to be her bones. He noted with interest that within Witchlan he saw nothing.
> “Behold!” the Emperor cried out to the audience. “Three newborn Shades stand before you. Do not fail to recognize them for their words are law.
“Wheeler Barson, Tia Winn. Come forth. Mefis Abanastar, Lor Kalkin. Come forth.” The four Shades did as bidden and lined up at the foot of the stage, facing the three new Shades. The veterans bowed formally to their new fellows who then bowed in return.
For several moments, the Emperor didn’t speak. The crowd responded with perfect quiet, knowing that something of import was about to be communicated. “We stand at the threshold of great change,” the Emperor said. “I seek a place with many doors. For thousands of years I sought without realizing, simply taking our Empire to sustenance, before a vague and indeterminate need began to take shape in the back of my mind. Then over another thousand years, listening to the silent call, reading the subtle clues spread across myriad worlds, I realized that there was something definite, something greater than myself that I must possess, that we must possess. This is the place with many doors. It has eluded us for over 10,000 years, but no more. On Planet 1398 the way was revealed to me. Now the Viscain Empire is complete once again! Now nothing can stay our advance. In one week, we will take the first step towards destiny.
“But today, now, we revel!”
The Emperor’s words were swallowed by the crowd’s thunder. Cheers and cries of glory and shouts of praise rose up from the bowl of the Root Palace courtyard and could be heard high up the length of the Vine where, sequestered within, in the currently vacant offices of the Astrophysics Division, automated alarms had been wailing for several minutes.
• • •
Returning to their posts from the break room where they, as a group, had been watching a broadcast of the ceremony below, the duty crew rushed to investigate the source of the alarms. Silowan Haspel’s gaunt, white face went a degree whiter and he suddenly felt very uncomfortable in his clothes as he broke out in a cold sweat. This could be bad.
The Artifact Competition (Approaching Infinity Book 1) Page 24
