Chương 67: Chapter 67

I blink, staring at the screen. Randy vs. Marika?? Oh, this isn’t good! Marika’s a spellcaster; she doesn’t have a hope against Randy in a 1v1!

The girl on the display before doesn’t seem to be that phased, though. She looks… relaxed? She’s holding her staff loosely, her robes billowing slightly. Randy, on the other hand, has that customary smirk on his narrow face.

The speakers can pick up every bit of dialogue between the two, as well.

“So, you’ve been making friends with the bimbo titty-streamer and her pet pigeon, huh?”

Wow, rude!

Marika’s response is curt. “Yes. I am. They’ve been good enough to give me a second chance after I was a heinous bitch to them, and I’m grateful for that. Anyway, can we get this over with? I want to get back to my… my girlfriend.”

I squeal, probably loud enough to break something fragile. Girlfriend?! Does that mean her and Sionnach…?

Randy snorts. “Oh, so you’re a dyke, too? Figures, after all that BS about how ‘the gays are evil’ you spouted!”

Marika shrugs. “Yeah. I did. And I was wrong. My mistakes are mine to atone for. Now, are you going to come at me, or do I have to come to you?”

Randy laughs, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. “If you think your magic’s gonna save you, then go ahead-”

His words are choked off as Marika’s fist slams into his face. Dropping her staff, she’d hauled ass across the arena and landed a full-force blow straight to the mouth, her robes coming loose to reveal a martial-arts outfit, her hands and forearms bound in compression bindings.

Randy scrambles up, eyes blazing. “Bitch! The hell was that about?! What kind of mage just HITS people?!”

Marika shrugs. “True, mages aren’t known for their punching skills. But, there’s something you didn’t take into account.”

When Randy stares at her blankly, she grins. “I changed my class to Pugilist.” In a flash, she’s behind Randy, and he turns just in time to catch a roundhouse kick to the side. That motivates him enough to draw his sword, and Marika backflips to avoid a wild slash from the weapon.

“Stay! Fuckin’! Still!” Randy barks, as Marika dodges and flips elegantly out of the way of his furious swings, her robes showing slices from where Randy’s sword has been ripping through the fabric. She launches a ferocious kick into his chest, sending him back a pace or two, her face a calm mask of concentration. As she hops back, Randy lunges, grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her in to deliver a punch of his own, straight across her jaw. Marika reels, and Randy goes in for a second crack. Marika’s arm comes up to block, she twists her hand out his grasp, and claps her hands over both his ears.

Randy drops like a sack of rocks, and the pink-haired girl steps back, waiting for his next move. It comes in the form of a large, boulder-like creature spinning in from behind. With a cartwheel, Marika avoids the impact, and the creature extends four legs and a head. It’s a… really big tortoise?

Randy spits, “Tank, get her!”

The giant tortoise looks back at its master, and seems to huff grumpily, before retreating into its shell and catapulting itself forward with a blast of pressurized air. My chat goes wild, laughing at the creature’s unorthodox movement. Apparently, it’s a type of land-creature called a Turbotortoise. Marika chirps, and a massive claw descends, pinning Tank to the ground. It simply rocks slightly, before giving up and extending its head to grumble at the Steelwing Griffon restricting its motion.

Marika raises an eyebrow. “Anything else to try, Ricardo?”

Spitting the kind of language that would get someone banned from every public park or school in a twenty-mile radius, Randy hauls himself up and throws his sword at Marika. She sidesteps it, and her other eyebrow joins the first somewhere in her hairline.

Randy opens his inventory and equips a new weapon. It’s big, brutal, a hefty, long-handled mace with a gnarled, spiked head. “Okay, I’mma beat you into a fucking PULP!”

Marika’s right hand comes up as she draws her left into a clenched fist and pulls it to her waist. She folds her right-hand fingers in a beckoning motion.

Incensed, Randy charges, swinging his morningstar in scything arcs as he rushes the girl, his roars filling the arena. Marika sways like a reed in a breeze, Randy’s wild attacks missing, seemingly without effort. As he draws back for another attempt, Marika kicks her staff up from the ground and catches it, before throwing it like a spear. As Randy bats it away, Marika’s fist follows, and Randy’s head whips back, a spray of dark red spattering over the sandy floor, his nose bleeding profusely as he staggers back a couple of paces. Marika darts round, and, with a swift, brutally-forceful jab, she strikes Randy at the base of his skull.

A loud, grating crackle fills the air, and Randy sags, his face slackening. Even as he goes down, he manages, against all reason and sense, to turn and deliver a final swing with his morningstar. Marika crashes onto her back, her arm hanging limp as she shrieks. Unlike Randy, though, she picks herself up, cradling her swinging, obviously broken arm.

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The announcer bellows, “What! A! KNOCKOUT! With a savage rabbit punch, Marika takes out her opponent! When he respawns, he’ll think twice about making assumptions about someone’s class! And with that, we’re heading towards the last of the qualifiers for the top ten! With only a few more matches, we’ll be seeing even better and bloodier bouts as we enjoy the rest of the tourney!”

I send a congratulatory message to Marika, and pass on my congratulations to her and Sionnach’s dating. The keysmash I get in response brings a smile to my face, as the current match-up starts.

Genevieve appears, facing off against a cloaked figure with a helm that looks almost like a bucket on their head. The announcer yells, “Alright folks, a match that has the potential to go either way, a female samurai vs a mystery challenger! This round is between Genevieve, the Onna-bugeisha! VS! BONEYYYYY! BEGIN!”

Genevieve’s opening gambit is a dashing thrust, and her katana erupts out of the back of Boney’s cloak. The look on her face screams that something isn’t right, and she leaps back, her blade sliding free, unmarred by blood. She takes a more defensive stance, and her opponent sprints forwards, the bucket helm shaking around wildly. When it falls, a roar of disbelief fills the stadium. Underneath the rusted, worn helmet, a pale white cranium, clacking teeth, and empty sockets flickering with small deadlights.

“Boney’s a skeleton?!” I yelp, and my chat starts up with the ‘spooky scary skeletons’ meme-ing, just like they did during the dungeon crawl against the Ancient Lich King Jemistra’s forces. I roll my eyes, seeing Ravi and Mia at work keeping them relatively under control.

I watch, fascinated. Judging from Genevieve’s reactions, it seems like she’s having a bad match-up. Swords don’t really work against skeletal enemies. No flesh to cut, no blood to spill. Boney, on the other hand, is having a blast. At least, I THINK he is. His skull is difficult to read, since he just looks like he’s grinning.

He’s lashing out with some type of magic, tongues of flame and waves of icicles, forcing Genevieve to go on the defensive, as she dodges and tries to go in with her sword whenever possible. Unfortunately for her, it doesn’t take long before the Onna-bugeisha has to admit defeat, and, in a final charge, she’s cut down. Boney clacks his jaw and bows, picking up his helm and jamming it back on his skull.

I blink. “Weird character, but hey, skellies are cool. He’s pretty good at this game, too.”

I check for my next match, and make note of who I’m going up against. Bassan! Oh, man, I don’t really like the idea of fighting people I know.  The buff Lizzara isn’t a bad guy, I can only hope this won’t cause our acquaintance to turn sour.

When I appear in the arena, I find Bassan waiting for me. I smile. “Hey, big guy. Look, I hope we can just treat this as a sparring match? No hard feelings, whatever the outcome?”

The muscular reptilian humanoid nods, rasping, “Of course. I have fought you, and I have fought alongside you. I relish this chance to cross blades again, and I promise I will not hold a grudge. Let us treat this as nothing more than a friendly sparring match. Good enough?”

 I smile and nod. “That’s more than good enough for me. Shall we start?”

As if on cue, the announcer breaks the silence. “What a surprise, folks! It looks like these two know each other as well! I can’t wait to see them clash! We’ve already seen the ‘Voltaic Angel’, Sky-Queen Kettrin, in action! We’ve also seen the bestial hunter, Bassan of the Wildmarsh, as he dispatched his quarry with animalistic efficiency! Now, let’s throw these two in the arena and see what they’re really made of! AAAAND… FIGHT!”

I bring my swordspear round, shield forward, to meet Bassan’s lunge, his axes screeching down the metal plate of my greatshield, my wings helping to buffer me against the impact, as I slash, his armoured tail crashing against my blade as we move apart, diving back in for another ferocious engagement, my foot lashing out in a kick, my taloned boot raking bloody gouges down Bassan’s arm as he hisses, his grip on his left-hand axe not slacking in the least as he hacks at me in a series of overlapping strikes, weaving each blow into a pattern that I can barely defend myself from, cuts and scrapes opening up as my armour is rent and torn.

It’s not all one-sided, thankfully. Despite Bassan’s benefits in speed, his weapons aren’t biting deep enough to more than inflict shallow wounds, and my greatshield and swordspear give the advantage of reach and defence to me, plus, I have one form of mobility he can’t mimic, as I hurl myself into the air, ascending as rapidly as I can. I’m not going to let him drag me out of the sky like he did to the other Skyborne he duelled!

Bassan reaches for his waist, pulling something free. Attaching it to the end of one axe-handle, he lets it rattle through his clawed fingers. A chain. Whirling it, he begins spinning the axe, round and round, not staying in one spot in case I make some kind of ranged attack. When he hurls it, I find myself having to sacrifice my swordspear in order to maintain altitude. I counter with a Sky Hammer, using the sheer force of the impact to catapult myself back aloft.

I focus on my available skills, before using the Recall ability. Hurling my greatshield like a monstrous chakram, I watch as Bassan dodges, but activate Recall, causing the slab of metal to whirl back and deck him from behind, catching it as it returns to me.

Snarling, Bassan hauls himself to his feet, footclaws digging into the sand as he lashes his tail. A feral grin is on his face as he calls up, “Good! T’was a masterful strike! Now, let us settle this!” he coils his tail around the haft of my swordspear. Flipping it into his grasp, he lets an axe fall, rotating my weapon so the butt is aimed towards me, then throws it up, bending to pick up his own armament.

Neither of us has struck a truly decisive blow, and I can’t help but admire the Lizzara’s chivalrous gesture in returning my weapon to me. Readying myself, I begin charging a Thunder Cannon into the blade of my swordspear, the metal wreathed in roiling electrical vines.

Bassan, on the other hand, discards his axes. His lithe body grows bigger and corded with thick ropes of muscle. His tail thickens, and a ridge of spikes runs up his back as his head becomes larger and more draconic. His claws become longer and hooked. His voice is much deeper. “Draconic Destiny!”

I grin, and throw my greatshield aside, taking my swordspear in both hands. “So, you have a power like this, huh? Impressive, Bassan! Now, here I come!”

My wings flare out as I leap, turning a long jump into a super-low-altitude flight, my lightning-cloaked swordspear flickering and snarling with power. Bassan roars and charges towards me, the arena’s floor shaking with each step. Our clash, the moment we meet in our final moment of battle… is glorious!

 

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