Chương 61

The Showdown – Part Two Rel struck first with a bolt of lightning, the force of the spell enough to send Malior stumbling.

"You have fought well, Commander Osian," said Rel, hovering in the air as he came to a stop beside the skeletal knight.

"I will take it from here." Commander Osian bowed, then turned and charged back into battle. He went to aid Kaelis and Voklum, who were being driven back by one of the higher-ranked Trialists. After regaining his balance, Malior turned his attention to Rel, tilting his head slightly as he studied him. The Trialist's entire body was encased in a suit of armour, the only openings being the narrow slits in the visor that covered his eyes.

"I was wondering when you'd find the courage to enter the fight," said Malior, his words muffled.

"I was starting to think you were a coward, content to float above the battle and watch your allies die one by one." Rel raised his staff, the runes along its length alighting with a pale blue glow as he fed power into it.

"That is the difference between us. You and Lokta'Inif hoard power – every decision you make serves only to make yourselves stronger, no matter the cost to those around you. Pete and I, on the other hand, see the value in elevating those who stand beside us. We train them. We equip them. We help them grow stronger." Rel gestured to the battle around them.

"Despite being outnumbered, the fight is already turning in our favour." Malior laughed, the sound a deep, rumbling echo within the confines of his helm.

"Once I've killed you, and Lokta'Inif kills Peter Brookes, we will rise to first and third place for total stat gains," he said.

"What need will we have for allies then? We will tear through what's left of your friends like a knife through warm butter." He exploded into motion, claws raised as he tore through the air. Wind erupted from the head of Rel's staff, a great gale with so much force that it stopped Malior dead in his tracks. The Trialist staggered back several steps before he managed to brace himself. He raised his arms before his face, then pushed on, leaning forward as he drove through the wind.

"Is that all you've got?" he roared, the gale making the words uneven.

"No," said Rel. The temperature plummeted, the wind taking on a deathly chill. The ground beneath and around it froze solid, a thick sheet of ice spreading across the surface. Malior slowed, the joints of his armour beginning to seize. The dark grey metal was now hidden beneath a dense white coating of frost – only the red runes on his gauntlets shone faintly through it. He stopped moving, his frozen form resembling an elaborate ice sculpture carved into the shape of a hulking warrior. Rel was not done.

The temperature of the gale suddenly soared, the air filling with hissing steam as the ice melted instantly. The warriors fighting nearby swore and stumbled away, raising their hands to protect their faces from the searing heat. Malior's armour groaned and creaked as cracks began to race along its length, the sudden shift in temperature causing the metal to warp and expand. It shattered. Rel did not relent.

In fact, he fed more power into his staff, the blue light of the runes growing in intensity until they were almost too bright to look at. The superheated air buffeted Malior's now-unarmoured form, and pained shrieks tore free from his throat as his body blistered and burned. He stumbled backward, trying to escape the unrelenting onslaught, but it had robbed him of his strength. He fell to his knees, and Rel strode toward him, staff still raised as the torrent of heat raced forth and consumed the enormous Trialist.

Malior's angry, boiling red flesh began to blacken and fall apart, becoming ash that scattered on the wind. Rel let the spell fade. He glanced around to see that the whole battlefield had fallen still and silent, over fifty pairs of wide eyes fixed on him and the crumbling form of Malior. One of Lokta'Inif's warriors dropped their weapon, raised their arms, then backed away several steps before turning and breaking into a run.

Dozens more followed suit, until only those who were outrageously loyal – or just outrageously stupid – remained. In the sudden silence, Rel heard a rasping gurgle. He turned on the spot, his eyes moving over the bodies that littered the battlefield. He found the source of the noise – a huge orc lying a dozen or so metres away. Rel recognised him from the bandit camp. What was his name again? It was Dek something…

The orc was barely clinging onto life, his chest rising and falling shallowly as blood pooled beneath him. There was a huge, gaping hole in his stomach, and Rel was both surprised and impressed he was still alive. Such tenacity deserved recognition. Three ribbons of flame burst into existence and then began to whirl around Rel's body in a mesmerising dance. He strode over to the orc, and the ribbons rose excitedly into the air and then hesitated, as if waiting for their master's approval.

"Heal him," Rel commanded. The ribbons darted forward, the sound of sizzling flesh once again filling the air. The healing magic contained within the spell set to work on the wound, the hole slowly closing as organs, skin and bone regrew and knit back together. The spell's success was clear when the orc regained enough strength to scream as heat raced through his body. Rel smirked as he watched his spell do its work. Within the space of a minute, he had both given life and taken it away. He really could do it all.

* My body dug a nice little trench as I skidded across the ground. When I came to a stop, I blinked up at the sky, then reached up to give my jaw a tentative wiggle. It hurt. Damn, she was strong. The twisted, stat-obsessed side of me couldn't help but wonder how much durability I'd gain if I kept letting her smack the shit out of me. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. However, part of me was a little disappointed. Sure, she was strong… but honestly?

I'd expected more from the second-ranked Trialist. I supposed it was possible she was holding back, but based on that punch alone, I'd have put her on a similar level to the draeven. I guessed there was only one way to find out. I stayed where I was. Based on our brief interaction, she struck me as the egotistical, comic-book-villain sort of bad guy.

I had no doubt she'd be along shortly to deliver some long, self-aggrandising monologue about how powerful she was, how my death was inevitable, and how her destiny was too great for a simpleton like me to comprehend. She didn't disappoint. A few moments later, a very large shadow fell over me, and I ended my examination of the sky to meet her bulging eyes. She fixed me with a look that was equal parts self-importance and cold amusement. Here we go…

"I have no doubt that you think me a bad person – and I wouldn't blame you if you did. After all, I have committed truly awful acts in the pursuit of power. I could say I regret what I've done… but I would not dishonour you by lying to you in the moments before your death. You see, Peter Brookes, I have come to realise that there is an undeniable, fundamental truth in life… power is everything. Morals will not protect you. Ideals will not protect you. Good intentions will not protect you.

The only thing that will keep you safe is the strength to crush anyone who would do you harm." Jeez, it was even worse than I'd expected.

"Damn, lady. I don't even know what to say to that," I said, shaking my head.

"Actually… I know exactly what to say. Either your home planet is an absolute shitshow full of colossal assholes, or you had one hell of a fucked-up childhood to be so jaded. You really should try speaking to somebody. In fact, it just so happens I'm something of a therapist myself. I'd be happy to work with you. Perhaps we can do a little digging and unpack whatever's gone so catastrophically wrong in your life." I expected her to lash out, to lose her temper and maybe try and stomp on me a few times.

But to my complete and utter surprise, she laughed. It was actually a pleasant sound – a deep rumble like distant thunder.

"You probably think I hate you," she said.

"Truthfully? That is not at all the case. I respect what you've accomplished. You've done well to make it this far – most would have died long before now. In many ways, I am a little sad that this is where your journey ends, but that is the nature of things. This is the moment everything changes. The moment the galaxy recognises what I have always known – that I was destined to rise above all others. Don't fear though, you will not be forgotten.

Indeed, in years to come, when tales of my deeds are told, your death will be recorded in the footnotes of my rise to greatness." If it wasn't for the fact she was a psychotic mass-murderer responsible for the deaths of hundreds of Trialists – some of whom might not actually have been douchebags – and god knows how many innocent locals, I might have felt a little sorry for her. She must have had one hell of a life to end up such a twisted, callous thing.

Alas, as the saying goes, sometimes you've gotta do what you've gotta do.

"I'll end up being mentioned in a footnote somewhere?" I replied.

"Well, damn. That's one hell of an honour. You know what? I don't even care that you're going to murder me anymore. I do have one request, though… I glanced sheepishly left and right, as if embarrassed that someone might overhear, then gestured for her to come closer. She stared at me for a few moments, eyes narrowed. I gave her my most piteous look, and she sighed, shrugged, then knelt and leaned over me.

"Seeing as your death will be so monumental in ensuring my utter domination of this Trial Division, I suppose I can grant you this one last request." I kicked her in the chest. Hard. In fact, my kick carried so much force that the ground beneath me crumpled, and I left a nice Pete-shaped hole in the ground. Damn you, Newton, and your equal-and-opposite-reaction bullshit. The results, however, made it more than worthwhile…

I would be lying if I said it wasn't a little satisfying to see her rocketing through the air like she'd been fired from a cannon. If I'd done the same thing to almost anybody else in the Trial, the force of the kick would have been enough to obliterate their entire torso. Lokta'Inif? She took it like a champ. I just hoped she wasn't afraid of heights… she'd be pretty pissed if she was. I rose to my feet and tracked her shrinking form as it soared higher and higher into the sky.

I briefly considered the maths involved in jumping after her, then realised that at that speed, trying to meet her mid-air would be… optimistic. I had no doubt it involved all sorts of fancy calculations factoring in things like trajectory, relative velocity, and intercept vectors. You know, shit I knew absolutely nothing about. Fortunately, I had access to a magical cheat code: agility. I did my best to clear my head, trusting my body's newly acquired instincts to take care of business for me.

She was so high now that she looked like little more than a speck, and I assumed that gravity would soon again wrest control, and she'd begin to plummet back to the ground. I fixed her in my sights, took a deep breath, bent my legs, then pushed off with every ounce of force I could muster. The ground beneath my feet exploded, sending a great shockwave of dirt racing out in all directions. Then I was hurtling through the air, soaring upward, until suddenly Lokta'Inif was no longer just a speck.

She grew larger and larger by the second, and for the briefest of moments, I felt a flicker of smug satisfaction as her eyes widened. Surprise, motherfucker… And then we collided. I struck her shoulder-first, and despite the violent rush of air around us, I felt and heard her ribs crumple beneath the force of the blow. I wrapped an arm around her and carried her upward with me, my momentum vastly overpowering that of her descent. As we tore through the clouds, she seemed to overcome her shock and began to struggle.

She fought like a wild beast backed into a corner. Her fists crashed against my body, her jagged nails attempted to tear chunks from my back, her teeth sank into my shoulder, and she twisted her head wildly in an attempt to tear flesh. Do you know the only thought that passed through my mind in that moment? Thank you very much, Armour Enhancement – Superior.

I had no doubt there'd be some pretty damn impressive bruising all over my body when all was said and done, but not a single one of her attacks penetrated the protective enhancement on my peasant garb. It was my turn. Our ascent slowed… I readjusted my grip, digging my fingers into the links in her chainmail under each armpit. I pushed her away until she was at arm's length. We made eye contact for a moment, and hers were wild things – full of panic, fear and fury.

I yanked her towards me and drove my forehead into her face. Teeth exploded. Bone shattered. Blood sprayed into the air. You have gained 1 strength. Current strength: 54 Our descent began… A feral roar tore free of her throat, the sound distorted and snatched away by the rushing wind. She extended her right arm, and a long, bladed weapon appeared in her hand, the edge of the metal coated in flickering shadow. It was a foolish move driven by desperation.

There was no room to swing it, and my hand shot out to grab her wrist. I squeezed and twisted. Bones crumpled as my fingers dug into her flesh. Her grip slackened and the weapon fell from her hand, joining us on our wild fall. I glanced down and saw the ground was fast approaching. I drove an elbow into her face – what was left of her jaw crumpling – then twisted around to position her body beneath mine.

She struggled furiously, but it was now abundantly clear that she didn't have what it took to go head-to-head with good ol' Peter Brookes. Perhaps if she'd spent more time training and less time playing the bloodthirsty dictator, she'd have been able to throw me off. Riding Lokta'Inif like an ogre battering ram, we crashed into the ground with the force of a falling meteor. The ground exploded, and the world was suddenly a storm of dirt and dust and noise.

I couldn't see shit, and it took me a few moments to realise that Lokta'Inif had stopped struggling. The force of the impact had driven my knee into her spine, and I supposed it was one injury too many for her already broken body. I rose a little unsteadily to my feet, studying the hazy outline of her corpse through the thick dust. She may have been a colossal piece of shit, but I had to give it to her. That'd been one hell of a fight. I sat down and waited for the dust to clear.

* It turned out that I didn't have to wait long. A great wind washed over me, sending the dust on its way. I looked around, a little confused when all I could see was earth. It took me a few moments to realise I was sitting in the centre of a crater. I glanced up to see Rel standing at the edge, staring down the length of a particularly impressive staff. Okay, that phrasing was a bit off. He was holding a staff. An actual staff. It was not a euphemism.

"Well, if you were going for a dramatic entrance, you nailed it," he said. He floated down to hover beside me, staring at Lokta'Inif's mangled corpse.

"If you think that looks bad, you should see Malior. Well… what's left of him anyway." Oh, shit. In all the excitement of my battle with Lotka'Inif, I'd completely forgotten that there were another eighty or so people involved in the fighting. I cleared my throat.

"So… how'd it go up there?"

"I could tell you how it went," he said, grinning, "but I think I'd rather show you." He rose into the air and flew out of the crater. I took one last look at Lokta'Inif's corpse, then followed. A crowd had gathered. There were thousands of people – mostly orcs, many wearing simple peasant garb. Trialists and other species were dotted among them. I stared dumbly at them for a few moments. And then they cheered. A great, thunderous noise that rose up and swallowed everything else.