Chương 47: Berserk

"Ready?" Sass asked, holding up both fists. Hector nodded and thumped her knuckles with his, then he climbed onto the mat. The ref was standing there—a synth in a plain black jumpsuit. He was hairless and faintly blue, but his skin and facial features looked very realistic. Full synth-skin. Hector was surprised by the variety of synths working for RMC, but he supposed it had to do with them hiring them on, straight from the factory, year after year, with different model updates to differentiate them.

He tuned out the ref's pre-fight talk, nodding along as his mind ran through how he figured the fight would play out. Liquid Lee was standing in his corner, watching him from the depths of his hood—a cobra waiting to strike from the shadows. Hector figured Lee would try to finish things quickly; he'd unload on him with his aura-enhanced speed. He'd try to pummel Hector enough that he'd panic and summon his Aura Blade. If he did that too soon, it would be over.

Lee was significantly faster than he was, and he could avoid Hector's attacks long enough to burn up his aura, and then Hector would have to last long enough to regenerate aura for another attempt—not a winning proposition. If Hector held off and fought defensively, taking the pummeling without going down, Lee would try to overwhelm him enough that he could set up his lightning-charged attack.

It was a powerful ability, one that Hector had seen many variations of over the years, but Lee wasn't particularly good with it; it took him several seconds to charge it up, and it only lasted for a single discharge. If he couldn't land a solid hit in short order, Hector had a feeling the charge would dissipate, leaving him drained.

"…to the center and wait for the bell." Hector nodded and stepped forward, raising his fists and watching Lee as the other fighter took a couple of gliding steps toward him. He was smooth and fast, but he relied on his talents; he wasn't half the fighter Hector was.

"Keep it clean and remember that if you retreat from the mat, you forfeit." The ref looked at Hector as he said those words. Maybe the synth didn't want to watch Hector's eyes boil out of his skull.

"Understood?" With a grunt of acknowledgement, Hector glanced at his AUI, checking his aura report: //Aura Pool: 18/18 Aura Gain: 1. 51 units per minute. // He had six seconds of Berserk. Considering he'd never used the ability, Hector didn't know if that was a long time or woefully inadequate. He had half a mind to forget it and try to take Lee out with his Aura Blade, but he knew that would be a mistake. Lee had seen him use it twice now; he'd have a plan to deal with it.

No, it was time for the unknown—time to uncage the monster pacing around inside his skull. The ref backed off and stood watching, and Hector braced himself for the tone to sound. Lee, still staring, his voice low and smooth, crooned, "Just run, boy." Hector tilted his head, surprised by the taunt. Why he was surprised, he couldn't say. He probably should have pegged the guy for a bully. Hadn't he murdered an opponent he could have easily worn down to submission?

"Fear steal your tongue? Try that little aura knife trick on me—see what happens." Hector ignored him, exhaling the tension that had begun to build as Lee's words awakened the angry ghost who lived in his skull. He couldn't remember the last time he'd let it run wild—that old friend. An outburst here or there or an angry lashing out, sure, but the Invicti had ground the worst of it out of him; discipline of mind and body were paramount to the Doctrine.

Still, it was there, and he had a feeling his new Berserker archetype was going to make control difficult. Lee flicked his tongue, licking his lips as his neutral expression became a leer. He thought he'd spooked Hector. Hector wasn't stupid; he wasn't going to try to beat the other man in a speed contest, so when the tone sounded, he simply took a step back and threw a kick at Lee's knee as the man dove to the mat and tried to sweep Hector's legs.

The impact of his foot on the inside of the other fighter's knee resounded, and it hurt a little, but in the context of the fight, with adrenaline riding high, Hector hardly felt it. Lee looked surprised as he regained his feet and came at him, weaving like a mongoose approaching a snake. Hector felt the aura surge before Lee's arms began to glow, so he braced himself, turtling up behind his arms and fists.

Then, Lee was on him, his fists a blur as he delivered blow after blow into Hector's arms, his shoulders, the sides of his head, and his ribs. Hector felt the timing of the attacks immediately and shifted his core left and right, twisting at the hips to minimize the impacts. He could see Lee getting frustrated, despite landing more than a dozen solid hits. The simple fact was that none of them struck anything vital, and the lanky fighter knew it. He didn't back off, though; he didn't try to reassess his strategy.

In fact, he doubled down. The intensity of the yellow glow on the man's arms increased, and the blows kept raining down. Hector couldn't get in a counter-attack; Lee was too fast, and he knew that if he lowered his guard, he'd open himself up for a blow that might just stun him enough for Lee to deliver his coup de grâce. As he hunkered down, taking the assault, the thought gave him an idea.

He increased the volume of his grunts, staggering back, and then he did the unthinkable; he let his right arm fall as he unfocused his eyes and shook his head. Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. Lee came at him, a shark smelling blood, but Hector was clever in his ruse; his left arm remained in the way of a clean finishing blow.

He saw the frustration in Lee's eyes; he heard the hissing growl when Hector's arm deflected enough of the attack that it slid over the top of his sweat-soaked brow. It was enough to push the other fighter past self-control. A surge of aura tickled Hector's senses, and he knew what was coming. Still, he staggered, lowering his left arm as he stumbled back, knowing full well the other fighter wouldn't attack yet—not while his finisher was charging.

He managed another step away, putting a solid meter and a half between them before Lee's fist burst into flickering white light. The currents of electricity were small, like a cloud of static, but the overall effect was enough to give him a shot of adrenaline; he did not want to feel that fist's full effect. Hector knew one thing that most fighters Lee faced probably didn't: when his lightning fist was active, that meant his speed boost wasn't. He was fast, but he wasn't supernaturally fast, not without his aura.

So, when Lee came at him, thinking him stunned and vulnerable, Hector waited until the very last second before dropping and using Lee's own opener against him; he swept his legs. He moved swiftly and fluidly, and when Lee fell for it—literally—Hector rolled over his shoulder to put some distance between them. When he spun to face his foe, he saw more than frustration on the other man's face; he saw fury. More importantly, his fist was flickering. Lee sprinted at him pell-mell.

It was careless and clumsy, and Hector used the other man's momentum to sidestep him and, once again, flank him. By then the fist of lightning was sputtering, and Hector knew he'd done it; he'd avoided the man's instakill attack. He squared off with him, but when Lee's glowing fist flickered and died out, the man's arms almost immediately began to glow; he was powering up his speed boost again. How much damn aura does this bastard have? Liquid Lee advanced, eyes dark with anger.

"I'll just kill you slowly then." Hector squared off, his mind running down a handful of avenues. One was a contemplation about how the man could maintain his speed boost for so long. It had to be a talent that he'd improved several times. It also meant Lee was a higher level aura user than he'd thought—possibly over ten or even up to twenty. Hector shook his head. It didn't matter; he had to play his final card; if it didn't work, he'd think of something else.

He waited for Lee to commit himself; he fell into his defensive rhythm again, blocking as he twisted in time to Lee's punches. Absently, as he prepared his move, he thought about how the man never used his legs—no kicks, no knees. If he had learned to fight a little better, he might have beaten a fighter like Hector down. Refocusing, concentrating on how he needed to overcome the higher-level fighter, Hector opened the floodgates on his aura, and he activated Berserk.

The rush of hot, tingling aura that erupted through his body felt like his old Strength Boost times ten. His body stretched with it, his muscles rippling like cords of steel, his joints popping at the strain. His back sounded like firecrackers as he arched it, his mouth yawning open in a rictus snarl as he screamed his pent-up fury toward the ceiling of the convention hall. Lee's punches didn't slow, and for the split second when Hector's guard fell, he pounded his fists into his face and skull.

Hector hardly felt the blows. His mind was lost between the euphoria of aura and the murderous rage that turned his vision crimson. The world wasn't the only thing to turn red; his body erupted in a flaming aura that made him look like a human torch. His stunned state of mind was brief, and as his gaze refocused on his antagonist, Hector's angry passenger was in charge—a killer given his leash. He leaped at Liquid Lee, and the other fighter delivered two more ineffectual punches to his torso.

For the first time, Hector could track the man's fists; they were quick, but nothing he couldn't match. It didn't matter, though; he ignored them, shrugging off the damage and pain. Hector gripped the other man's shoulders with fingers like vices, and, sudden and decisive, he smashed his forehead down, crushing Lee's nose with a hollow thunk and a warm spray of blood.

Lee grunted, convulsively trying to pull away, but Hector held him as he smashed his head into his face again, this time splitting lips and dislodging teeth. Lee choked on his own blood as he tried to shout or curse, or maybe just scream. Hector released his grip on the other man's shoulders and, with the efficiency and speed of a fighting machine that had repeated the same drills a hundred-thousand times, he stepped past his foe, reached up behind himself, grasped the man's neck and then dropped.

Lee bent back, gargling, and Hector used the momentum of his downward energy to pull his neck against his shoulder, straining with the prodigious power of his Berserk boost. With a popping crackle, Lee's neck broke, and Hector roared. He threw the body aside and stood, fists up, screaming inarticulately toward the sea of potential enemies—faces screaming in a haze of red fog. When none came running, he screamed again, this time forming garbled words: " Come on!"

Someone grabbed his wrist, and Hector spun, faster than he'd moved since awakening in that new life. He gripped the arm, pulled, and threw the attacker over his hip, sending him sprawling onto the mat. Hector held up his arms and screamed again, victorious, challenging, furious. Then, with merciful grace, his aura ran out. The fire in his chest cooled, his blazing aura faded, the world regained its color, and Hector leaned forward, gasping for breath as he braced his hands on his knees.

Blinking, he saw the referee synth clambering to his feet on the other side of the mat, and then he looked down to see Liquid Lee's corpse. His ears were roaring—a rush of blood or the aftereffects of aura, he wasn't sure—but behind the sound he knew the crowd was going wild. They'd come for a show, and he and the other aura user had given them one. Perhaps when Hector threw the ref, it added something to the pandemonium, too.

As the ref, scowling, turned and stepped toward him, Hector fell to a knee and put his hand on the still-warm corpse of his opponent, triggering his system to draw in his potentia. It hit him like a truck, and he once again lost track of his surroundings. He thought maybe the ref was giving him a stern talking-to, but his voice was a buzzing drone as fireworks exploded behind Hector's eyes. //27 potentia gathered. Potentia available: 32.

// As the rush faded, Hector blinked rapidly to find the ref leaning over, eye-to-eye with him. His blue features were a mask of concern warring with irritation.

"…if you need medical—""I'm good," Hector said, grunting as he pushed himself to his feet.

"I'm sorry I put my hands on you."

"You're lucky the match was over, or I would have DQ'd your ass." Hector chuckled at the synth's ire. Though in truth, he was struggling to come to grips with what he'd just done. The whole fight felt like a dream—a blurry, foggy memory. He looked down at the body again. He hadn't had to finish him that way, had he? His introspection was interrupted as the ref got over his annoyance and, once again, grabbed Hector's wrist, hoisting it high." Winner!"