Though even Niall knew that at this point they were just stalling for time. Ghreziz may have been tricked, but Niall knew with certainty that an invisible Oberon was speeding off like a child with an ill-gotten prize. The demon’s attention was kept on them, and it needed to stay that way. Unfortunately, that meant Ghreziz’s rage was kept squarely on the annihilation of them both. “You lack your father’s skills, whelp! At least he knew to come at me without direct engagement. I am a Torture Savant! You think melee is my weakness?”
The breath Artorian took erupted with another strike of the bo. The Mage warrior spun it in his hands, stepping back to increase the stick’s momentum as it aimed squarely for Ghreziz’s ribs. The demon wasn’t so careless, blocking it with his arm. Concern wasn’t even a consideration for the creature of the abyss, and his grinning smirk spoke that truth in volumes. Until Artorian’s technique went off. Or rather, Mahogany’s.
Channeling the sonic voice technique that old Sultan loved to use with his claps, Artorian spun the ability into the whirling stick. Striking with reverberations that hammered the point of impact repeatedly! A hundred strikes occurred while he performed the work of one. His voice may have been silent, but Ghreziz’s bicep sounded like it had been struck a multitude of times in far less than a second. For the first time in this bout, the greater demon staggered.
The guttural reply was expectedly unappreciative. “You dare! I will possess you and show you pain a thousand-fold for this insult you level upon me. Striking a savant with a stick?”
Niall attacked again, but Ghreziz had already understood the pattern, grasping the whipping grass out of midair just to crush it in his palm. Half a spin later, and he roundhouse kicked the Wisp far out of sight. Leaving only a bleeding aquamarine light trail behind. “One less nuisance.”
So much for the wild cards. Artorian couldn’t stay here. This arena was terribly dangerous, and he called out to his old friend in the hope he’d get some good news. “Yvessa! How much longer until it’s done?”
Good news was not forthcoming. Yvessa’s tone was somber, and her reply dark. “Until it’s done.”
Until it was done? Mending some of the larger cuts had easily taken weeks. Here they needed to replace an entire branch. He was hard location-locked. Crackers. Should he abandon his human guise to gain access to his Aura and Presence toys? It was tempting… but he would revert to the noodle form, and he could control that thing about as well as he could eat actual noodles with chopsticks made from oil. No dice.
Something about the youth getting bad news made Ghreziz experience a pleasant shiver. Out of sheer curiosity, he jumped away. To the demon’s delight, it was quickly obvious that his quarry failed to follow. “Well, isn’t that just a treat.”
This was a great turn of events for the demon. Not only was this suddenly looking like an easy win, but he could play with this toy before he eventually broke it, and made it scream like the rest. The youth was so out of sorts that it was even putting on a dumb little dance for him! What were those ridiculous movements? All the wood-armored child was doing was make some leaves flutter about himself. Ha!
Ghreziz stopped laughing when Silverwood leaves tore through his legs and torso at Mach eight. The booming noise didn’t throw him off as much as the actual damage he took did. His exoshell didn’t just crack, like that stick might have if it had hit even a little harder. No, his exoshell suffered straight up cuts through it. Those leaves were sharp, and of a far more potent density than he was. Was it something about the silver? That was just a myth. Though, that dumb little stick hadn’t broken against his arm like it should have.
*Tsk*.
Artorian was pleased as punch to see Cherry’s ‘petal dance’ tear outright holes through the demon. Ghreziz healed his wounds on the spot, some of the tar expending. Well, toast. So much for that short-lived victory. The demon sent back an infernal assault of his own.
Artorian attempted to block the incoming cloud of darkness, but even spinning the staff didn’t prevent some from getting through and eating away his armor… and robe.
Instead of the psychological damage he’d hoped for, Artorian instead watched Ghreziz point, and laugh. Ha ha. Very funny. The demon must have thought it hilarious to strip him. Quite literally. Artorian just narrowed his eyes, and extended his hand in concentration. “Rosewood… this one’s for you. Flash tailoring!”
Ghreziz’s mirth died as he dumbfoundedly watched the child condense his Mana and expend it by pulling a fully functional robe straight out from the gathered power. Slipping it on, Artorian quick-tied the belt. He rolled his shoulders as if that had been no big deal while speaking in a mocking voice. “Oh nooo, embarrassment attacks. My greatest weakness. It’s like I’ve never been around children before that haven’t done far worse. I thought you were supposed to be a big-shot demon? Three-year-olds have caused me more grief than you. In their sleep.”
Pissed and fuming, Ghreziz did not see the trap before him as he roared and charged. He would have gotten a delicious, clean hit in. Yet the robed youth plucked a mystery string that had appeared in mid-air. More lockdown techniques? Paltry! Ghreziz launched himself right through, having no idea that he’d just dashed right through a field of Hawthorne trap lines. When one of the lines broke, the rest whipped around. Unlike Niall’s grass blades, Artorian’s had the Mana density to do some actual damage. Not that Ghreziz seemed to notice or care that he’d lost both legs.
Needing to dart out of the way of the strike as the demon got cut up by wires, Artorian blocked his vision and path to Yvessa. Now that his foe was annoyingly close, he was running out of tools here. The demon had figured out Niall’s grass after… What? Two, three tries? He needed to keep his arsenal fresh, or Ghreziz was just going to get a cheap shot in on him. What did he still have? Cotton’s ‘fluff expansion’? Well, that was no good here! There weren’t any pillows to… Oho. About that.
Much like earlier, wounds and damage were more of an inconvenience for Ghreziz. More of his tar siphoned away, and his exoshell was starting to look brittle rather than goopy. “Disgusting. You fight too well for a whelp. It’s a shame that I’ve decided to consume you rather than possess you. You’re not worth the effort. I’m just going to sunder you limb from limb, and send boxes of your remains to that idiotic fluff-lover. Or wherever he’s buried.”
Artorian narrowed his eyes. “Don’t. Mock. The pillow.”
Those exact words stung a little hard for Ghreziz. They were said with the same pitch. The same tone… His frown deepened, claw rising to an accusatory point. “You…”
Ghreziz’s sudden pause was a blessing in disguise. Materializing his Soul Item on the spot, Artorian coated the plushy weapon with his Mana right away to give it extra oomph. As last time, the twelve by twelve crackled with a deep hum. One that emanated a high-pitched *wuuuu*.
Quickly trying to build momentum, he swung the pillow around by a corner as if it were a nunchuck, making further sharp noises himself while whizzing the plush weapon around and bringing it down upon Ghreziz.
To his horrified dismay, Ghreziz caught it. The sickening bastard had been hiding his power, and his pillow accomplished fluff-nothing. The coating even fizzled out entirely in the demon’s lacerating infernal grip. “You’re not the son of that Mage. You are that Mage. Scratch my prior commitment! You’ve discovered a method to become young again? A true immortal body? Oh… I am definitely going to possess you.”
His voice oozed with greed. “Until the end of time.”
Chapter Forty-Four
Ghreziz inhaled deep as his form shifted to a more beastly one. His features popped once more from within, allowing bat-like wings to stretch and twist from his back. Quills and spines rippled over his exoshell, and his teeth shone like onyx shards as he craned his neck in an elaborate side to side lull of pleasure. “Nnn. How sweet the sugary taste of your despair is.”
Tightening his claw, Artorian screamed in pain as his Soul Item popped like an overfull balloon. It for
ced the youth to suck in a heavy breath far too quickly, aches reeling across his spine. He got the energy back, but the backlash of having your Soul Item damaged hurt! Ghreziz just smiled wider. “Ah! My first scream. How I have longed for such succulent music.”
Wincing deep, the Mage shuffled through his mind for options. He needed help. With a quick feeling check for his reserves alone, he could tell that it looked dire. B-rank five levels of Mana? Crackers. He threw a quick jab at the demon’s face, but Ghreziz caught him by the wrist with all the difficulty of controlling a toddler’s tantrum. “Oh, how cute! You think your little fist is going to harm me, when even your stick had trouble? You dropped it, you know. Did you even realize both your hands are empty? No?”
Struggling against the significantly higher-ranked grip, Artorian was confused that the tier difference wasn’t being as helpful as it should be. He winced hard, but his strained face only brought the demon bliss. “What’s wrong? I can tell you’re higher ranked than you used to be, and that your available Mana is even higher than it was the last time I saw you. Yet you’re having so. Much. Trouble!”
The demon pursed his lips, and for a moment Artorian feared the ugly thing was going to kiss him. Now that would be an awful fate. Ghreziz just savored the victory, his guttural voice sweet, yet crass. “Can’t figure it out? Look down.”
Artorian frowned. Look down? Not having many better options unless he wanted to risk pulling an actual destructive Essence technique out, and risk damaging the tree, he glanced. His struggle stopped cold. “Oh…”
Ghreziz nodded, glad to point out the obvious so his prey would give off more of that delightful panic. “Oh, indeed! Look at that lovely Mana-shaped branch. I considered punting that little green ball that’s clearly so important. Yet in your haste to defend it, you scarcely noticed that killing it would have given you a fighting chance. That green little monster has been siphoning Mana from you at a pace that even I find impressive. All in order to… get this. Make a branch!”
Artorian winced deeply, but cracked the faint edge of a smile on his lips. Ghreziz may have pointed it out, but he saw what the demon didn’t. “I suppose we can go ahead and call her a branch manager!”
Ghreziz smirked. “That would have been amusing, my old foe. Sadly, I’m aware you’re stalling. Did you think it was you I was laughing at when I destroyed your attire? I noticed what I seek didn’t fall from your pocket. Do you truly believe I didn’t notice one of those light balls escape for dear life? That squire-blue one also didn’t return. My punting may be perfect, but that was insufficient for it to be knocked out of the fight. I merely wished to induce pain.”
His expression widened. Gaining teeth when the gnawing understanding dawned on his captive’s face. Yes. He had indeed used Artorian as a plaything. The clear difference in fighting style between now and then was obvious. This version had limitations, where the person going after them in the Ziggurat had nothing but options and bright ideas. Speaking of. “What’s wrong, pillow boy? Out of options?”
Artorian just smiled, and wriggled his wrist. Still stuck? Still stuck. Good. Ghreziz may have been talking, but he hadn’t been paying that much attention. Artorian was in other conversations, though his falling facial expression did denote things weren’t going so well on their end either. When he’d first started the chat, he’d known right away something was awry.
Immediately after the arboreal joke, he’d thrown open a connection with his chosen, though only one managed to connect.
*Ooof*.
Artorian felt the gut punch as Zelia received it.
Another punch to Zelia’s ribs made him grit his teeth, forcing a gnawed facial expression to wrench over his features.
The connection winked out in time for Artorian to notice he’d been called pillow boy. Hel was vacant? Good. His eyes locked with Yvessa’s exhausted light, the Wisp form of his ancient friend bobbing above the very end of the branch. She gave him the first piece of good news that had come this entire fight. Her voice may have been tired, but it held the fire he relished and knew. “Done.”
Yvessa hadn’t been idle. The only way she was going to manage to get out of this fight and stop the brawl from happening here, was if the bout could be elsewhere to begin with. That wasn’t happening so long as the fighter of their duo was Mana tethered. The only way to end the tether, was if all the Essence it would take for the branch to reform had been invested. Not finished! Invested. She was responsible for turning it into Silverwood matter, but she could do that anytime, so long as the energy was present and available. It was easier if Artorian funneled the energy in slowly, but she’d make do. On finishing this endpoint, that part of the task was finished.
The tether ceased, and Artorian was released. “Pillow boy? Well, if you’re going to flirt with me, then allow me to indulge you in the ziggurat zoom!”
Ghreziz had ignored the green ball’s comment. What did it matter if she was done? The victim in his hand was weak and drained all the same. “What might that be? Another version of the derby dance you performed last time?”
Artorian shot a wink at Yvessa, and set his plan in motion. “Of a sort. You never did see what happened after you checked out of the party. So I doubt you’d know this was a thing.”
*Fuff*.
The teleportation trip to Hel may have taken only a moment, but Ghreziz screamed the entire way. Those lessons from Zelia were worth their weight in gold. The thing about teleportation was that it didn’t happen instantaneously, so much as the wavelength of the trick allowed you to go… elsewhere. In that elsewhere, the properties of that place reigned supreme. Certain places, such as the one described as slipspace, were more of a smooth, single, condensed point that was, in a way, everywhere at once.
Using that place to teleport was one of utter convenience, in addition to how pleasantly gentle and swift the ride was. If Artorian had to describe these somewheres, he likened it to… well, layers. S-ranked cultivators moved between these layers freely. Or at least, he was convinced this involved the layers. Whether the layers were the old idea of ‘heavens,’ or something else entirely, wasn’t that important yet.
What was important was that the teleportation Law essentially allowed you to skirt the edges of those layers. Not breaching through, but more of an effort in skating upon their icy surfaces. When you did so, you came into contact with that place’s… properties.
Slipspace? No side effects. Clean, easy, near-instant *vwipping*. Was that a word? Eh, it was now. Didn’t feel like anything. Fuff space? That was like being hugged by a thousand blankets. Abyss space? Felt like your soul was being torn out through your rear. Celestial space? Felt like you just woke from a nap, wildly invigorated.
It was that last one he’d skirted with this particular trip, and since touch was all that was required to haul Ghreziz along for the ride, what amounted to a pleasant, restorative journey for him was a keelhauling for his travel buddy. To the demon, the trip was akin to being dragged along a cheese grater as the overbearing affinity of the place caused rampant havoc to the infernal creature’s well-being.
Ghreziz was a smoking wreck when the remnants of his tar-bleeding body slopped onto Hel’s surface. Artorian just got to his feet and savored the triumph with a good stretch. Now that he wasn’t on Niflheim anymore, he didn’t need to limit himself
to things he was terrible at. As he raised a palm, a radiant solar fireball sprung to life above it. “Round two.”
A lime green line shot through his tiny sun. Much like his pillow, it too popped like an overinflated balloon. The Mana returned to his hand, but his attention shot towards what should have been a mostly defeated writhing demon puddle. Which was instead pulsing with lime-green light from within, looking stronger than before as Ghreziz got up. “Ahh. Gifts from the Patron, delivered at last. Praise to the devourer! May his hunger find slaking.”
Well, crackers. Artorian was toast. He’d gambled on the teleportation trip to do most of the heavy lifting, since his reserves weren’t looking too good. He really needed some abyss-blasted help. He formed a hat using Rosewood’s technique, just to throw it upon the sooty ground. “Are you kidding me? Do you know how difficult it was to pull that off? Then you just… get up. Like it was nothing!”
Ghreziz bellowed with laughter befitting an amused sewer, watching the youth repeatedly stomp his foot on the hat. His foe was flustered! Luck was on the demon’s side as Barry’s gifts coursed through new-formed veins. It felt abysmally good. His mirth only grew, and sharpened teeth revealed themselves as he heard the ridiculous idea currently spouting from Artorian. “Are all demons like this? I am going to summon some of my own just to kick your ass!”
“Bwahahaha!” Ghreziz needed to hold his stomach. What a twist! What an absurd notion. Both that any demon would be willing to take up arms against him, and that the youth could pull such a feat off in the first place. “Ha! You? Summon one of my kind? Do you even know how?”
Artorian dismissed the hat, as it was thoroughly covered in soot. His heavy footfalls had even caused earthquake-quality thrums to vibrate throughout the landscape. The world didn’t really shake, but the impacts were obnoxious and obvious. “I will figure it out. Just to spite you! It can’t be that hard. I may not be a necromancer, but if those C-ranked boys can pull it off, I certainly can as well. I will just… throw my hands in the air and call loudly! They’ll come!”
Anima: A Divine Dungeon Series (Artorian's Archives Book 6) Page 35
