Chapter 4: 4. Combat

Roman had always been one to come out of the gates swinging. When the countdown timer in the corner of his vision dropped to zero, he advanced swiftly. Adrenaline rendered the world around him in perfect clarity; the endless stream of text had finally abated, allowing him to focus on the abomination in front of him.

Usually his opponents’ faces grew hesitant when they saw Roman charging forward with a savage grin on his face. The pulsating tumor of the carrion golem’s head revealed no such emotion. It must have retained some of Oscar’s training, because it had slipped into its own stance and took a few steps forward to meet him.

Just crossing the ring gave Roman some insight into how much stronger he had become. Moving forward felt effortless to his reforged body. When the carrion golem slipped within range, he unleashed a furious combo, exalting in the newfound power surging through his body.

The carrion golem, for its part, kept its guard up and withstood the blows hammering into its upraised arms. The bulky limbs felt like punching a brick wall, but Roman had hit a few of those in his time. Sharp pain flashed through his right wrist after his final hook was deflected--amateur striking technique.

Roman leapt back and shook the numbness out of his affected hand. Couldn’t let his battle rage get the best of him. For a moment he went on the defensive, focusing on his breathing.

The carrion golem leapt into the opportunity, testing him out with a swift jab. The range behind those monster arms forced Roman to stumble back in surprise, but he managed to evade it. Confident that the normal rules no longer held sway, he countered with a quick stomp to the abomination’s knee and was rewarded with a crunch.

After taking a moment to regain his balance, Roman unleashed another flurry of blows. The carrion golem paid no mind to its injury, casually deflecting his assault. There was almost an arrogance to its movements, even when Roman slipped through its guard and landed a monster uppercut. Its deformed nub of a head whipped back, but it otherwise seemed unaffected.

Roman disengaged once more, putting some distance between them to strategize. With some disgust he noted the slimy gore coating his hands.

Boosting his strength seemed to have benefited him with a linear increase of at least a third, but battering away at the golem’s limbs would accomplish nothing. That uppercut would’ve probably killed the original Oscar Martinez Garcia; the carrion golem didn’t even stumble.

[ Watcher Hanuman of the Twisted Cycle extends its Patronage to Player Roman Miller. Accept? ]

Roman bared his teeth at the intrusive text. Were they fucking with him on purpose? He spat out a mouthful of blood.

The carrion golem took advantage of his moment of hesitation. As if to rub in its unnatural resilience, it pivoted on its good leg and launched a brutal kick at his body. Roman caught it on the muscle of his forearm and looped his other hand beneath the leg to catch it by the calf.

He winced at the flash of pain as his blocking arm fractured--the bastard was far stronger than Oscar as well. Still, he managed to maintain his grip and attempted to sweep the carrion golem’s leg from underneath it. Unfortunately it also seemed to be a better fighter than the original. To Roman’s surprise it hopped over the low sweeping kick while cranking his neck downward with both hands.

Completely thrown off balance, Roman found himself thrown to the ground instead. The fuck? If he hadn’t been granted those attribute points to distribute, he would’ve been dead within the first minute. Was this how the system forced people to accept Patronage offers?

No time for thoughts. Roman scrambled back to his feet. The carrion golem hadn’t managed to follow up on knocking him off his feet. It was standing back up as well, likely having fallen after landing on its shattered kneecap.

Technique forgotten, Roman charged forward and tackled the carrion golem by the midriff. Between his prodigious strength and mass, he speared into it like a speeding truck. For a breathless moment both of them hovered in the air, caught in an awkward embrace as the carrion golem pressed down on the back of his neck with enough force to almost snap it.

Then they smashed into the floor. The world trembled. Crazily, Roman heard a man shouting in delight---John? Forcing the thought aside, he clambered on top of the carrion golem, who for once seemed stunned by the impact.

Though Roman was more of a striker than anything, Oscar had been relegated to the amateur leagues because of his nonexistent grappling abilities. The unfair system apparently drew the line here, because the carrion golem had the same weakness.

Roman found that, at least from the mount, he was actually stronger than the golem, even if it was better at taking a beating. He broke through its guard and rained punches down on that disgusting tumor of a head. Tissue squelched beneath his fists; after a few strikes he broke through the fleshy exterior and felt bone crunch.

The carrion golem shoved at his face with its flayed hands, attempted to gouge his eyes out with its thumbs. Random submission techniques floated through Roman’s head, but he doubted even snapping both arms would end the fight.

Instead he seized the carrion golem by the wrists and, gritting his teeth in a savage grin, he headbutted the bastard. Its skull caved in a little more, and putrid gore slicked the entire upper half of Roman’s face. Gagging from the stench, he launched his forehead downward once more, sure this one would crush the tumor to a pulp.

Unfortunately, Oscar wasn’t completely helpless in these situations. At the last second, it bucked its hips, and Roman found himself headbutting the ground. Stars danced in his vision. The carrion golem attempted to worm its way free, but the missed attack only enraged Roman further. His fists and elbows rained down on his trapped opponent.

[ Watcher Surtr of the Devouring Flame… ]

[ Watcher Nuala of the Desolate Keep… ]

Roman ignored the flood of text. Once the carrion golem’s head was reduced to a mushy soup along the ground, he clasped both hands and hammered blows against its sternum until that, too, disintegrated into fragments. Even with its chest turned into a crater, the carrion golem continued to resist with feeble knees and shoves.

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Someone was roaring loud enough to hurt his head. It was him, apparently. He wanted more--to punish this abomination, to punish its makers, maybe even to punish himself. He seized one of the twitching arms. No matter how big and tough a bastard is, the proper force applied at the proper angle will break shit. He snapped both elbows backward, delighting in it like a famished man cracking open crab legs.

The roaring finally died off. He sat on top of the dismantled carrion golem, chest heaving, his windpipe narrow as a reed and burning fiercely. A cool gust washed over him, soothed a fraction of the churning anger within his heart. Finally, the opponent twitched its last.

[ Carrion golem defeated. 450 experience awarded. ]

[ Main quest completed: First Trial. 1000 experience awarded. Node system unlocked. Skill system unlocked. ]

[ Title granted: Savage Survivor. +5 free attribute points. Side quest system unlocked. ]

[ Title granted: Eligible Bachelor. +3 to Charisma. All Patron offers must be at least Silver tier. Binding oaths unlocked. ]

He struggled to make sense of the notification through the haze of his bloodlust. Right. This was all a game. Amusement for eldritch horrors. He gagged again, tried to wipe away the foul liquids congealing on his face and only succeeded in smearing it around more.

There was still a crowd of these bastards out there. Would they let him just walk out of here after all of this? He needed to distribute these free points immediately.

Base Attributes

Strength: 20
Agility: 13
Endurance: 14
Will: 14
Perception: 9
Charisma: 9

Free points: 7

Why did he have two more points than expected? He glanced at his character overview again and noticed his level had raised to 4 from the experience gain. A welcome boost.

He considered dumping more into strength so he could tear the carrion golems apart, but for now surviving was the priority. As much as he longed to kill all of these bastards--and reap the experience for doing so--he had already accumulated a score of minor injuries from this controlled bout. He had a sinking suspicion he wouldn’t lack for enemies in the future.

There was another slight concern. While Roman didn’t consider himself a paragon of virtue, he felt a twinge of discomfort at the thought of slaughtering former humans. He came to his feet shakily and looked down at the desecrated remains that had once been Oscar. It seemed to have retained some of his fighting skill; Roman could only pray that nothing of the man’s original consciousness remained.

He’d had his share of bloody brawls, but he'd never killed anyone. He spat out another mouthful of blood and glanced down at his bloody knuckles. Truthfully, he cared about it less than he thought he should. Maybe all the compounding horrors and destruction of his soul had deadened him to the situation. Either way, playing the pacifist wouldn’t return everyone else to normal. He would have to come to terms with his new reality one way or the other.

No referee or any other official entered the ring. The only sound was the steady electronic whine from the sound system. A variety of reconstituted people--no, matter to think of them as carrion golems--stood at attention. Each of them had been altered in different ways, forming a grotesquerie of fleshy mannequins. From his elevated position Roman watched as they broke into applause, slapping together bulky appendages or tentacles or whatever bizarre structure their arms had been rearranged into.

No sign of the man who had shouted earlier. It had sounded like John, though maybe that was nothing more than a desperate delusion. Roman clenched his fists, drawing strength from the pain of his fractured knuckles and forearm. These things had to die, even if his best friend was among them.

For the moment, none of them appeared hostile. Roman took the opportunity to distribute his new points: five into endurance and two into agility, bringing them up to 19 and 15 respectively.

A low groan escaped his lips as his body refashioned itself once more, though at least this transformation focused more on solidifying his existing mass instead of slapping more onto his frame. Everything itched and burned. After a few moments the sensation passed. More veins stood out along his arms, even reaching up to his shoulders and branching out onto his pecs. He felt denser, more solid, in a way he couldn’t quite define.

He strolled over his corner, trying to mask a slight limp. Some part of him hoped to see John waiting for him, but there was still no sign of his cornerman. Roman shoved the cage open with more force than intended, forcing the gate to violently rebound.

The grotesquerie continued clapping as he descended among them.

“Keep it up, then,” said Roman. He lifted his hands in the air like some miracle healer basking in the praise of his congregation. “Keep fucking clapping.”

“Well,” a familiar voice--John’s voice--whispered in his ear, “you always did love the victory almost as much as the fight.”

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