Chapter 14: 14. Dance Macabre

Inhaling a deep breath, the catboy rocked his head and smiled. A moment later, Ode’go had adopted his stance.

Hips down, knees a tad bent, and hands up. 

It was called 'The Vrilaka'. A specific posture common in the Crilandese martial art of 'Leriet', emphasising attacks from the fists first and foremost. Naturally, being gifted with catlike nails, Ode'go had tweaked it slightly, incorporating his own idiosyncrasies into the mix.

Oftentimes, he would aim for vulnerable areas, such as that of the solar plexus, throat, or eyes.

Though maybe not this time.

However, against an enemy that was experienced or durable, Ode’go still preferred to use his knuckles instead.

Were he to attack wrongly or strike someone reinforced with magic or Resolve, it was possible for his nails to shatter and be ripped from his very flesh. Azama, who by all means should’ve been reinforced by Resolve, was probably one of those he didn’t want to use it against. Once battered and weakened by continuous battle, certainly, but as an opener, he found the idea foolish.

Therefore, on the fly, Ode’go chose to send out two jabs instead, each flying towards Azama’s face.

Without failure, the mercenary then proceeded to dodge each one, swivelling his head from side to side.

While he was known to be an incredibly potent mercenary, Azama's raw display of agility impressed Ode'go all the same.

Let's ramp it up a notch, shall we?

This time, he shot out seven strikes with his right in quick succession.

Without failure, the mercenary dodged each one again. His body acted as a pendulum, moving right, left and right in a successful dodging motion. Only this time, the mercenary struck back.

Upon the seventh thrust, Azama retaliated with a left straight aimed at his opponent's head.

Ode'go instinctively jerked his head backwards.

Not bad.

Azama's fist had been like a needle, only barely scraping the thread that was his face. Yet, it may not have been the case for the proceeding attack. Within a single exchange, the boy had assessed the general skill of his opponent.

As it seemed now, his speed and reflex were perhaps on par with his. Or, in a worst-case scenario…

Superior.

Good, I like that.

Time may have dulled his fangs. But Ode'go's heart pumped the blood of a warrior all the same. His bemused smile grew with each coming second. Wondering how his opponent would proceed, he lent their fight to a few seconds of pause.

It was then that a most bizarre sight came to be.

In the following seconds, Azama began to move.

Bringing both hands just above chin height, extending his right foot instead of his left and lowering his head ever so slightly gave the once stanceless Azama a foundation.

My my.

The shift in stance was borderline palpable. So much so that it was as if it had a taste. An sensation so distasteful that one could only conceptualize it as 'vulgar'. The reason being was simple. Azama had adopted the exact same stance Ode'go had.

Splendid, good Azama, good. Let me see that attitude of yours.

Of course, such an act did not necessarily suggest anything just yet. It may very well have been a coincidence that Azama studied the Crilandese art of Leriet. That it just so happened that he fought like Ode’go himself did, mimicking his dominant hand, even.

Haha. If only such miracles were possible.

Ode’go may have been a romantic, but some realities were impossible to escape from. 

A few seconds later, Ode’go received his answer. Azama, who all but confirmed his suspicions, struck out seven jabs from his right hand.

Using Ode'go’s own dominant hand, Azama attacked where Ode'go himself had struck. 

Right, left, and right.

Likewise, Ode’go dodged to the left, right and left in a similar vein to how the mercenary had done before.

Regardless of how he felt prior, Ode'go now impressed upon himself a civic duty to crush his opponent. Even though Azama was a foreigner, some human of the Aoelian origins, he still chose to contest Ode'go on his own grounds.

Fighting him with the traditional moves and techniques of his own country.

Fighting him with disciplines Ode'go himself had cultivated over countless years of training.

This, he found terribly interesting. So much so that the catboy intended to put it to the test, as if attempting to judge whether Azama was ‘worthy’.

Let’s see how you handle this, Mr. Azama.

He wanted to crush his opponent’s smug superiority. And did so by striking again. One, two, three, four, the jabs piled on and on and on and eventually amounted to thirteen.

Yet not a single one landed. Each strike was accompanied by the same swivel as before. The same dodge. Almost as if intentionally degrading Ode’go’s lack of creativity.

Upon the thirteenth strike, however, there appeared a change of rhythm. Blood rushed to Ode'go's right leg. In a second, he had raised his knee by a hands' length. At first impression, it seemed like he was going to kick, having changed his routine.

This, however, was nothing short of a lie. An intentional misdirect.

Snapping his leg back like a rubber band, Ode’go feinted with his knee and thrust his right hand for a jab again.

This might've ended it right there and then. With every ounce of strength in that blow, Ode'go had far exceeded a normal human's capacity.

Twentyfold, to be precise.

Got you.

Ode'go blinked. There was no contact yet. 

The reason was simple. Under the unrelenting pressure of his attacks, Azama, too, had adapted yet again.

It was a simple gesture. Just before Ode'go's punch hit, Azama had defended. Moving in a perfect diagonal line, the mercenary's arm had shot out, his elbow facing outwards.

Crack.

The catboy felt his punch collide against the strengthened surface. A feeling not unlike attempting to pummel a diamond wall. 

Ah, Resolve, how you save my hands from breaking.

Ode’go felt the pain and snap of the bones in his hand. He was left relatively unscathed, but the feeling was still there. Like an untouchable itch beneath one's skin. 

"Bravo Ode'go, it seems I'll need more than my head to beat you!" Azama replied eagerly.

He was eager to respond. "Not just a head Azama," Ode'go said. "Everything. I'll make you use everything to beat me."

Ode'go's heart pumped feverish blood.  Battling against such a formidable foe who could keep up with him was something else.

Everything from the pain. To the tension. To the raw personality presented was new.

It was a trifecta of experience.

A combination of all that was loveable and an experience that brought with it everything an earnest fighter could ever hope for. 

Where were the men as interesting as you, Azama?

Ode’go grinned. In doing so, he almost chuckled. The unusual break in rhythm was fun. He was far too used to less capable opponents. More along the lines of the ‘non-Resolved’, so to speak.

Those he could easily annihilate with the impact of his fist alone.

Those, he would leave dead and sullen.

Those, he would forget in a matter of time.

Ode’go licked his lips.

Of course, that was but one factor in his excitement. Another was the as-of-yet intact smugness of Azama, who he just yearned to destroy. Likewise, the heritage of his animalistic counterpart also played a role in his desires. Beneath his mostly human appearance was a bestial longing for battle. The cumulative effort of countless generations of breeding, each one made to create the most effective soldier.

And yet, despite all those reasons.

There was one more.

Most of all, Ode'go was also a devotee to the Crilandese philosophy of life.

Subscribing himself to the idea that one should always strive and achieve their destiny.

Therefore, it was thricefold a simultaneous instinct to fight, a desire to win over Azama and an objective philosophy that guided him.

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With an exhalation of breath, Ode’go contemplated his situation.

Now that Azama had been forced to block, a spot of weakness and imperfection manifested. It showed the mercenary wasn’t indomitable. It showed that a spark of hope could still be lit. It showed, above all else, that victory was still within reach.

Were Azama forced to rely on a defensive measure, he could definitely be forced to another.

Until it proved necessary, though, Ode'go was determined to use punches alone to defeat him.

Right hand, right foot forward.

He stepped forward. A brutal left hook. Tucking his body, Ode'go aimed for the mercenary's kidney. 

He missed. Azama dodged to the right. Using his momentum, the mercenary jumped atop a table.

Oh? Thought Ode’go, a crease of his eyebrows now in effect.

The mercenary’s agile movement both impressed and confused the catboy. 

To dodge was natural. To dodge and jump aboard a table was another matter.

It was possible Azama wanted to gain the high ground. But that didn't seem right. To Ode'go, Azama was far too unpredictable to aim for such a thing. Watching with deep fascination, the catboy saw Azama give a wink. That was when the mercenary did a standing split. With his right leg held to his head, Azama proceeded to touch his toes and crack his fingers. Then, as a finisher, began to run in place.

Ode'go watched this idly. Making no motion to attack, the catboy instead brought his hands together and clapped.

"Hahahaha." He grinned up at the man. "Do continue!"

His words were an equal mix of excitement and curiosity. Full of questioning, Ode'go stared keenly at Azama. Only to then see something most strange. Out of nowhere, the mercenary had begun to sprint. Running atop the table, Azama had passed over six students.

Devoid of any target, in particular, the man simply seemed to run.

As if for the sole purpose of it.

Attracting unwanted attention all the while.

My my.

Ode'go thought that strange. He assumed Azama to be a man of frivolous, albeit intact, honour. But this action seemed to suggest otherwise.

Why else would he bring others into it?

Maybe he misinterpreted his character. Or maybe, there was a detail he didn’t understand just yet.

It didn’t matter, though. Running or not, the outcome would end in a fight all the same.

Ode'go cracked his fingers. He had decided to play along. His back straightened up, his lungs exhaled a breath, and his legs pushed off the ground. He was in the air before he landed with an almost ceremonious thud.

Let's see who's the fastest of us two, then, shall we?

Azama’s distant figure drew his ire. A wave of energy was brought forth in Ode’go’s legs. His next step instantaneously converted into a sprint. Blurring at a speed of around 12m/s, the catboy almost instantly crossed from his current table to the other.

What had been but a duel then transformed into a chase.

Cries and yells of rage accompanied. Students, desperate to save their food, withdrew it from tables, shouting curses all the while. One even shuddered. Unfortunate was his situation. Before he could even take a bite, a still-moving had Azama snatched a sandwich out of their hand. 

Consequently, chaos followed.

Many were simply left wordless at this whole ordeal.

Some, though, gave queries about what was happening.

What is that Ode'go doing?

Who is the guy he's chasing?

Were among the thoughts that crossed their minds.

Even so, none chose to interfere. Battles were sanctified in their mind. Held only between students who chose to participate of their own volition. Not the result of unprecedented violence or discrimination, which would be easily stopped by a Crown. That and, well, Ode’go was infamously powerful and Ceylica’s friend simultaneously.

Two factors that rendered them more than cautious of approaching.

"AZAMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

Adrenaline pushed Ode’go to a consistent speed, never declining in spite of his continued exertion of energy. He had crossed over twelve tables at that point, going in what seemed to be an endless loop. His eyes saw Azama slowing on the other hand, no doubt losing in terms of stamina and endurance.

Then, Azama's feet skidded to a sudden halt. He stopped just short of a ledge. His right arm then shot out, intending to use the still-moving catboy’s momentum against him.

"NOT ENOUGH AZAMA!"

In his instinct, Ode’ge only saw it fitting to respond with a punch in turn. Only by the time he figured out how to, the opportunity had already left. Azama’s stomp crushed into the table’s ledge. The platform, about two-person length, had tilted 45 degrees. The sudden force from his momentum and table combined sent Ode’go into the air. 

The catboy hurried for an idea. Azama had closed the distance, and a right straight was about to be shot out. His time was shortening, and if he didn’t act soon…

"Not so fast!"

Ode’go pressed the palms of both hands behind him. Using the table as a springboard, Ode’go angled towards Azama. Then with a push, sent himself flying. His intent was to intercept the right straight, grapple Azama’s arm with his legs, and break it.

What happened, though, was a different story.

Azama evaded his kick. Not only that, but had done so with an additional caveat. 

Changing midway, Azama’s punch unfurled into an open palm. And in an instant, had grabbed onto Ode’go’s ankle.

The catboy's brows raised in surprise. It was too late to retaliate. All of a sudden, he felt a force. The wind against his side, and his body thrown to gods know where.

“Arg.”

A high-pitched wail of a sound. The feeling of jagged edges tore at the catboys’ back. 

It was glass.

Glass had shattered into a dozen pieces, a litter of them lying at the catboys' feet.

He opened his eyes to his surroundings. The scenery had shifted to an open variety. A slew of trees swayed in the background while their orange leaves drifted gently in the wind. Select students, who ate at outside tables, also backed off as a result. In understanding, Ode'go's gaze then moved to his body.

He was slumped against a tree. Over the course of the last second, Azama had thrown him out the cafeteria window into a hard wood tree.

Ode'go could feel a bubble of energy from within. He felt no anger. No pain. In light of what happened, there existed only an unyielding appreciation for the fight and its joys.

"Meow."

He wasn’t thinking completely straight at that moment. Thoughts and pains invaded his mind, their origin: fear, excitement, and lack of control. Everything was out of order. Nothing seemed to be right. Until all of a sudden, they simply were.

The catboy eyes went out of focus. Strong as the thoughts were, he had destroyed them.

He would be victorious. Propelled by determination, Ode’go focused all his attention on what was at hand.

He would not be halted by such a mere injury. Years and years of training had made him strong. Developed his tenacity. Made even the most grievous of wounds a minor setback.

The moment he felt his mind focus, Ode'go inhaled a deep breath. He set his mind on any potential setbacks. In this case, it was injury.

Despite his resilience being dramatically enhanced by his Resolve, Ode'go nonetheless felt what seemed to be damage to his ribs.

Managing to deduce as much from the prick that came with each breath and spasm of his chest muscles. 

"Meow, I really did take damage, huh?"

So I really have been hurt.

The sheer incredulity of that fact made him laugh. 

He was always conscious of that possibility, and yet it humoured him all the same.

Perhaps it had been too long since the last time he was hurt, or perhaps he was just looking for an excuse to laugh; either way, it made little difference. At the heart of it, Ode'go had fundamentally changed.

The pain had awakened something inside of him.

The once dormant side of his character, only experienced on the brink, had now crept its way to the surface.

Ode'go, whose eyes dilated to the point of almost being a black void, found himself smiling with anticipation.

"Okay then, let's dance. Meow."

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