121. [COUNTERPOINT] Shrimp on the Barbie
[Designation: FURNACE]
[Instrument Class: ZEALOUS]
[Anchored Realm: PRETJORD (+1)]
[Item Description: They say you can’t fight blood. No matter how resolutely you strike your own Path, it somehow winds its way back to the same mossy rocks and blood-soaked steps your parents trod. But does that mean you should stop trying? With a spear in hand and hellfire in his heart, one warrior dared to grasp the best of both worlds—his father’s boundless zeal… and his mother’s ceaseless inferno.]
***
Rathor Tyrsen was an ant among prawns and salamanders. But that didn’t stop him from dodge-tanking with the best of them.
The first [Trueflight] strike to shoot him into the sky had been aimed at the Frostkrill’s open mouth. The giant prawn shut it in short order, however, before GUNGNIR’s spearpoints could reach it. Rathor bounced against the carapace and its ABYSSGAZER-powered shield. Which was just as well, for he now found himself in open air, with every which direction available for his next move.
The Frostkrill acted first, a spearing shot with its frontmost limb. Rathor switched his target and [True]-flew into one of the antennae, causing it to flick skyward upon impact. The recoil forced Rathor into a momentary freefall, but he had no cause to panic. He cocked his head with all the urgency of an afternoon nap, inviting his opponent to decide his flight plan for him.
Two forelimbs this time—pincers to narrow the angle. Denied a clear view of Frostkrill parts to aim for, Rathor should’ve been pancaked like the prawn food he was. Still, he refused to fret, knowing he had an outlet he could always count on.
The Prince twisted in midair and throw-canceled earthward, at the solid ice directly below him. The Frostkrill’s pincers slammed shut with a loud ‘crack!’, missing a pair of Yaksha feet by inches.
As far as Pathsight was concerned, this latest [Flight] would count as a ‘fall’, well beyond lethal distance. And unlike Rathor’s crowd-pleaser to open the Realmhunt some hours past, there was no block of ice on the end of GUNGNIR to disperse the energy. No matter, for he’d chosen a target who could break his fall—and quite willingly at that.
[179!]
GUNGNIR’s three barbed ends landed on—or rather, embedded themselves into—the flesh of the manta-ray woman that had stood to receive it.
Hilde Vindsdatter buckled under the impact and fell on her back, incurring more damage to herself. Her sacrifice allowed her Prince and hunting partner to survive the ‘fall’, with not a scratch to his HP. Still full Health, hours into the Realmhunt.
As he ‘hand-stood’ on his trident, Rathor grinned his thanks, somewhat obscured by shoulder-length hair giving way to gravity. Nevertheless, he made sure to lock eyes with the woman that had saved his life. There, written plainly upon her stunned, strained, yet smiling face was love.
[Love]. That self-made answer derived by the half-blood son of an Immortal King and a Wayfaring Quee. The proprietary resource upon which his FURNACE fed.
For what was love if not the kindling that kept lives aflame? It was the best of both worlds. An invigorating concoction of his father’s larger-than-life persona melded with his mother’s more intimate touch.
Love of his parents. Love of the Kronvakt under his command. Love of the Pretjordian people who craned their necks from their Roots and Trunks. And just earlier today, much to Rathor’s delight, he’d found a new ‘fuel source’ to add to his collection.
Speak of the devil. Presently, he looked up and shifted his gaze, onto the Rakshasa woman who stood frozen at the foot of the Frostkrill, her eyes pointed brazenly in his direction. Even across the haze of battle, he could make out the shocked horror upon her face. Horror quickly turned to raw disgust as Rathor somersaulted onto his feet, gouging out a chunk of Hilde’s chest as he did.
“Argh…!!”
A shuddering groan escaped the manta ray then, but only to reaffirm her [Love]. Rathor fed upon it gratefully, and felt the warmth churn within his chest—a sign he was ready to go on the offensive. As he took off on another [Flight], however, he made sure to flash Serac Edin a smile of invitation. Join me at my table, why don’t you? I know I can win you over yet.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
All in due time. For now, he had much BIGGER prawn to fry.
With Gulloyne out of the picture, Rathor was best-suited to be the hunting party’s main tank. He understood and accepted this, just as he’d accepted and tried to fulfill a very different ‘role’ this time ten years ago—at the last successful smite of the Frostkrill. For his King Father had shared the secret gimmick of the Realmhunt with him and him alone. And with that came the expectation—nay, responsibility—to follow through.
I’m sorry, Father. You’re not gonna like what I’m about to do next. But I do hope you’ll find it in you to [Love] it!
GUNGNIR’s magic, combined with a target of the Frostkrill’s size, allowed Rathor to defy gravity at will. And granted, [True]-zipping all over the sky and frustrating the prawn’s attempts at a quick kill perhaps was the best application of his tools and skills. But Rathor had never been one to fit himself into a neat box. Blood could mix. Rules could be broken. Round holes could make way for square pegs.
The next [Trueflight] strike to shoot him into the sky was aimed at a joint in the Frostkrill’s neck, away from the main point of attack. An unorthodox choice, perhaps, if a tank’s main goal were to sustain a boss’s aggro. But the Frostkrill itself wasn’t exactly an orthodox boss.
For ABYSSGAZER wasn’t just the Frostkrill’s myriad eyes or even its all-knowing feelers. It was the totality of its [Hunger], in both its passive and proactive forms. A push-pull between a scavenger’s instincts to lurk in the deep and a predator’s need to hunt the biggest prey. An equilibrium to maintain perfect defense while going for the kill.
Yet perhaps, if said prey presented enough of a challenge, it could tempt the predator into tipping the balance…
The first [Flight] in the sequence brought Rathor to the base of the Frostkrill’s neck, where he promptly bounced off into another freefall, giving himself an unrestricted view of prawn parts to aim for next. The impact had also macerated the stuck chunk of Hilde’s flesh into nothing. Good. He’d need a clean blade for what he was about to do next.
A forelimb flew in from the side, a giant’s petulant attempt at swatting a buzzing fly. Rathor snapped into action, aiming his second [Flight] at a bend upon the topmost antenna, so chosen for the course it took him through—across the tapered end of the Frostkrill’s head, in view of its entire array of ocular globes.
Spear into invisible shields. Another flick of an antenna. The Prince fell, straight down the middle, presenting himself as easy prey. The Frostkrill took the bait. Two forelimbs in a pincer to pancake an impudent ant. But now, with heart full and burning with [Love], the ant was ready to fight back.
[FURNACE: ON]
[Auxiliary Technique: TRUEFLIGHT—KALASUTRA]
A flash of black-melding-with-green. GUNGNIR set Rathor’s whole body aflame, along with obligatory ticks of self-damage.
[33!], [37!], [39!], …
The force of the combustion transformed what would’ve been a freefall into a powerful spin. Rathor hadn’t chosen a new target, but his [Flight] charted a new course all the same, first ducking underneath the Frostkrill’s pincer before skittering across its surface—a wheel of flame set loose upon a circular track.
The flames ate away at Rathor’s own HP but made no dent in the Frostkrill’s jade-plated Health bar. The technique had nevertheless achieved its purpose, which was to give the Prince of Pretjord a platform. His wheel of flame spun all the way around and onto the top of the closed pincers. Just enough solid ‘ground’ for Rathor to stand on his own two feet.
[FURNACE: OFF]
Rathor channeled off [Kalasutra], then acted with swift purpose, knowing he only had but a Ksana to put his newfound platform to use. He squared his bare shoulders, pointed GUNGNIR’s blade in the Frostkrill’s face, and winked.
His were the same come-hither eyes that had charmed a whole Realm. The Prince now turned them toward the BIGGEST Wildspawn in the land, inviting—urging—it to reciprocate. For he was a firm believer in his self-professed adage: if you hit the Abyss with enough charms, the Abyss would fall for you, head over heels.
Come on, you big shrimp, [Love] me. [Love me] so much that you want me. Fill me with your fire, and I promise I’ll return it a thousandfold!
And the Abyss did fall… by opening its jaws. The Frostkrill’s spiral mandibles unclenched to reveal an open gullet, still slick and glistening with the blood and Dust of its most recent victims. They shot toward Rathor in an instant, but the ant was ready. The ant had been [Hungering] for this exact moment.
[Auxiliary Technique: TRUEFLIGHT]
Rathor [Flew], charting a course for the roof of the Frostkrill’s mouth. And this time, GUNGNIR’s blade found purchase. For even a carapaced scavenger wouldn’t dream of coating its own gullet with defensive magic. No, this was a sacred organ, reserved for savoring its prey. Eat or be eaten.
Rathor knew he had but a Ksana to put his newfound access point to use. Yet he spent a split half of that Ksana to savor his meal. For this was Rathor Tyrsen at his truest and freest self.
Others can have their hunting, gathering, stockpiling, trading, scheming, and even assassinating (yes, Team Serac, don’t think I didn’t notice), but this was him. Caught in the maw of an all-powerful beast that [Loved] and wanted him enough to make itself vulnerable. Hanging on a trident’s edge as he teetered between life or death, victory or defeat, eat or be eaten.
This was his happy place. And it was from a chest full of [Love] and happiness that Rathor Tyrsen summoned a fresh surge of destructive magic.
[FURNACE: ON]
[Auxiliary Technique: TRUEFLIGHT—TAPANA]
[FROSTKRILL Status Effect: HELLFIRE]
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