Chapter 19: Demon Versus Goliath

  The circle around them stilled. Alex and Beithin moved at the same time, boots striking over hard-packed dirt, like two ocean currents colliding in the narrow space between. The first clash was restrained and yet direct, both fighters choosing not to prod or poke too hard from the beginning. Alex’s fist met Beithin’s forearm with a meaty crack, the sound echoing like wood splitting over the area.

  Shock rippled through the ring’s audience, a few mercenaries barking cheers, others wincing at the noise. Alex flowed with the motion, pivoting, and driving a knee into Beithin’s side. The man grunted, but stayed rooted on his feet, his body like a fortress refusing to budge.

  Alex kept the pressure up, fists moving out in quick jabs, shoulders loose and movements sharp. He was holding back his full strength on purpose. Not yet activating his martial style, no [Burning Strike], or other brutal skill meant for monsters. Just his body and his raw stats, though not his full stats, he held back even in that category. And even with those barriers in place, he could feel himself pressing Beithin backward, the edge tipping his way.

  He’s strong, but I’m stronger.

  The mercenaries saw it too. Some called out his name, others shouted Beithin’s, the sound of coin changing hands once more rattling through the crowd as new bets where placed.

  Then Beithin shifted the way he was fighting. His stance sank lower, shoulders locking like mechanical gears falling into place. A deep hum of aether thickened around him, bleeding into the dirt through his feet. With his [Aether Sight], Alex could see his skin darken as earthen hues bled outward, veins glowing faintly under the surface like molten lines in granite.

  “Style of the Deep Bastion,” Beithin whispered.

  Alex’s next strike, a clean right hook across the man’s jaw, thudded against flesh, yet the force bled away and was absorbed. The ground cracked beneath Beithin’s boots as though it had taken the blow instead. Alex eye's narrowed, withdrawing fast and circling around his foe, he had another punch already prepared.

  What the hell… he’s bleeding my strength out into the earth itself.

  He sent another jab, then another cross; each time they connected true, but the power sank away, swallowed by the soil at Beithin’s feet. Alex began to realize that Beithin’s martial style wasn’t one as simple as heightened endurance or defense, it was redirecting the full force of his attacks. His fists weren’t hammering stone, they were striking jello, each blow was absorbed and redirected, disappearing into the floor of the world.

  Obby whistled low in his head. “Oooh, tasty. He’s turning you into a jackhammer with nowhere to drill. Careful, meatboy, you’re about to find out how long you can swing before your arms give out.”

  Do you have any ideas? Or just snarky remarks?

  “You can try not fucking around, that might help. Otherwise, highlighting weak point for you won’t do anything here, they are all the same spots you’d already think.”

  Great, thanks.

  Alex drew back to get a moment of distance, chest heaving, eyes locked on the Cresselian’s skin which shown with glowing veins. His higher attribute advantage was gone, stripped from him with terrifying efficiency. It was a sobering reminder for Alex that with magic at play, higher stats could be neutralized in a myriad of ways.

  He flexed his fists, dark aura flickering faintly at his knuckles. He bgan wondering just how much strength he’d have to unleash to break through the wall in front of him, or if sheer strength could ever overcome it at all.

  Alex stopped testing and decided to get serious.

  His fists blurred into motion, strikes pouring out in a vicious cascade. He targeted various locations; jaw, temple, ribs, sternum, a hammering rain of blows, each one backed by the full weight of his physical stats. Every connection sounded like a gunshot, echoing through the gathered circle with a crack-crack-crack!, the crowd gasping at the sheer violence of it.

  And yet, Beithin didn’t fold. He didn’t even stagger. His skin and muscles quivered like struck gelatin, veins of earthen aether flaring brighter with each hit. The ground beneath his boots tore apart, spiderweb cracks racing outward as chunks of dirt and stone exploded upward under the redirected force of Alex’s assault. Dust filled the air, the earth groaning like it was being awaken from a deep slumber.

  This is insane. I’m hitting him harder than I hit that basilisk and he’s just… standing there.

  Beithin’s grin never faded. When he finally moved, it was sudden and explosive, as if the ground itself had thrown him forward to assist his assault. His fist swung in a brutal hook, a sledgehammer in motion. Alex twisted his forearm up, bracing.

  BAM!

  The block rattled Alex down to his bones, a shockwave screaming through marrow and muscle. Alex’s vitality stat soaked the worst of it, but pain still pulsed white-hot up his arm.

  Another blow, another block. Each time he took Beithin’s strikes, it was like holding back a landslide with nothing but his forearms. The impact tested the limits of his hardened skeleton and full extent of his Enduring Vitality, the strikes just daring him to break. Alex dodged the next swing, ducking just in time for a haymaker to tear through the air above his head.

  He countered, snapping a kick into Beithin’s ribs. The hit landed solidly, a real connection that shoved the man back a half-step. For a flicker of a moment, Alex thought he’d broken through the Cresselian’s defense, until the Deep Bastion reasserted itself. The energy of his strike then flowed away, swallowed by the style’s redirection, the ground at Beithin’s feet splitting deeper as if Alex had just kicked the dirt instead.

  Alex narrowed his eyes. Wait…

  When Beithin attacked, his aura had thinned, the redirection becoming weaker. When Alex’s counter-attack had come, it had cost Beithin. With this in mind, Alex was able to figure out more of how the man used his martial style. He couldn’t do both offense, and defense, at once, he couldn’t attack and fully divert strikes at the same time.

  There. That’s the crack. His wall isn’t absolute.

  But even with that knowledge, Alex could feel the truth of the situation in his muscles, in his lungs burning for air: as he was now, just relying on raw attributes and baseline combat ability, he wasn’t fast enough or strong enough to break through. A grapple or pressure hold might work, but he couldn’t be certain of that either. He needed to try something else.

  His hands clenched, breath slowing, until he made a decision, his resolve clicking into place. For the first time in the fight, Alex let the floodgate open. The [Demon Asura Style] snapped into being.

  A film of dark blue-violet aura bled across his skin, wrapping him in its sinister light, tendrils of warped energy licking outward from his body like hungry flames. The crowd’s noise faltered, voices dipping low as the presence of the [Demon Asura Style] pressed out over them, its effect heavy and feral, almost unnatural.

  “Yeeessss! Show them the monster, meatboy! Let them see what’s really under your skin!” Obby shrieked with delight inside his mind.

  Alex lowered into the third path; Titan’s Wrath, aether aura flashing. Every path of the Asura had a specialty. The third path was best suited for heavy two-handed weapon use, but by design every stance was compatible with unarmed combat, and the third stance dealt the heaviest blows. He would need it to break the Cresselian.

  His gaze locked on Beithin, every nerve in his body singing with battle lust.

  The ring erupted again as the two crashed back together, no more testing, or more half-measures.

  Alex lunged first, blue-purple aura of the [Demon Asura Style] flowing tight around his limbs, and every strike a heavy blur of feral precision. His fists hammered out, snapping against Beithin’s jaw, collarbone, stomach, each hit laced with that corrosive, corrupted aether of the [Burning Strike].

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  Beithin’s Bastion style caught and redirected them all, his body thrumming like a tuning fork under the abuse. Veins of earthen light spiderwebbed over his skin as his aura absorbed the punishment and bled the power down into the ground. Dirt cracked and buckled under his boots, dust shooting upward like geysers, but Beithin himself didn’t budge.

  Then his counterattack came.

  His fist slammed into Alex’s guard, rattling bone and sending a shockwave down his spine. Alex’s forearms burned from the impact, his reinforced bones creaking in their fleshy containers, but not breaking. The next blow was a straight punch to his chest, Alex twisted with it, but the contact still sent a thunderous reverberation through his ribcage. His lungs seized up, and a grunt ripped its way out of him as he staggered back, aura flickering.

  But he didn’t fall. His grin widened instead, breath hissing out as he charged again. Beithin’s blows were heavy and unrelenting, but Alex’s vitality and powerful body were nothing to scoff at. Every strike that would’ve splintered apart another Adept mage, only pushed him harder, set his muscles screaming louder.

  And through it all, the [Burning Strike] corruption seeped in.

  Thin lines of violet-black corrosion began to creep across Beithin’s body, faint at first, then spreading slowly, growing thicker and more prominent. The film of earth-attuned aura resisted at first, doing its best to weather it all, but it wasn’t perfect. Each strike Alex landed left a stain behind, a brand of wrathful energy that clung to Beithin’s body like smoldering coal ash.

  Beithin’s expression tightened, his face flashing with the first hints of discomfort as the corruption gnawed at him beneath his skin.

  Alex felt the sting of the corrupted aura too, but differently than his opponent.

  Where as before the Demon Asura’s caustic wrath had always bitten heavily at him, carving fire into his sinews, gnawing on the edges of his lungs and gut the longer he held the combat style active, now… it was less potent. He could still feel it there, an itch, a sting along the bone marrow, but not the gnashing teeth that used to try tearing him apart from the inside.

  His muscles burned, yes. His heart pounded, as always. But it was bearable. He could carry the burden more easily now.

  The [Aether Resilience] imprint, he realized, a spark of clarity cutting through the battle haze. The meridian imprint he’d unlocked wasn’t just a reward of attribute experience, nor was it just toughness or vitality. It was this, some sort of added unique endurance, bolstering his body’s ability to stand in the inferno and not melt under the heat.

  As he realized this, his grin stretched wider, lips pulling back into something feral. The crowd’s cheers dimmed in his ears, drowned out by the thunder of his own pulse, the way his blood sang with savage joy for the fight. For the first time, Alex laughed in the middle of the brawl. A pure sound that came from deep in his chest.

  He rolled his shoulders, aura blazing brighter, and stepped in close to Beithin again with eyes alight. “Let’s keep going.”

  Beithin shifted on his feet, that mountain-solid stance wavering for the first time. Alex watched his eyes flicker, blue stone-bright one heartbeat, then edged with a hint of worry the next. He flexed his hands as if to shake something loose, but the corruption of Alex's [Burning Strike] gnawed deeper in his flesh, clinging like oil-fire beneath the skin of his Bastion Style enhanced body.

  Alex saw it, he felt it. His win coming closer. The thin grin on his face cracked wider, splitting into something hungry. His laugh spilled out again, carrying across the circle of watching mercs.

  “Something wrong, stone-man?” he taunted. The words came out rough with exertion but alive with joy. Alex’s exhilaration had his mind running rapidly, thoughts and emotions firing in his brain in rapid succession. “You feel it yet? The burn?”

  “Uh, Alex, you feeling okay? It feels like you’re being a little, well me, actually.”

  Oh yeah, I’m good.

  Alex surged forward with new enthusiasm. His body blurred, Demon Asura aura compressing tight as he unleashed another storm of strikes. A fist to the jaw, then an elbow to sternum, a knee driving into the Cresselian’s ribs. Every impact splashed more corrupted aether across Beithin’s defenses, staining it darker and chewing in deeper.

  The ground yet further cracked beneath Beithin’s feet, every redirected blow splintering stone and soil, but even as he stood his ground, his breath grew heavier, his guard a fraction slower. Alex leaned close between strikes, eyes blazing, lips peeled back in a feral grin.

  “You can’t hold it back, doesn’t matter how deep your roots go, I’ll burn through them.” He said.

  He hammered a hook into Beithin’s side, a backfist across his temple, then drove his shoulder into the man’s chest, shoving him half a step back. The Bastion absorbed and redirected, cracking the earth again, but the corruption of his [Burning Strike] crept further with each touch, each taste of wrath seared into flesh and spirit alike.

  Beithin’s eyes widened. Alex saw that bead of doubt form on his face, that first edge of fear breaking through the discipline of the veteran tank.

  “Worried, are you?” he hissed, sliding back into a ready stance. His aura erupted like fire along his limbs, caustic aether licking at his skin. “Good. Be worried.”

  Beithin’s eyes darted toward his hammer and shield, still lying where he had dropped them, the dirt around them cracked from the force of earlier steps. His jaw tightened. Alex knew what the man was thinking, the Bastion wouldn’t hold much longer.

  Alex caught the look and smiled, choosing not to even try stopping him. If the man needed steel to face him, let him have it. He wanted the clash. He needed it.

  The Cresselian stepped backward, heavy strides sounding out over the field as he stooped, one hand closing around the haft of his warhammer, the other sliding his shield back into place. The crowd roared approval at the sight, jeers and coin-wagers rattling, but Alex only tilted his head, eyes locked.

  He rolled his shoulders, and closed in.

  Beithin braced behind his shield just as Alex’s leg came up in a brutal kick. The impact cracked like thunder over the metal surface, but the shield drank it, harmless, the force shunted into the earth with another spray of broken dirt. Beithin answered instantly, hammer whistling in a brutal swing. Alex brought his arm up in a desperate guard—

  The world exploded.

  The hammer landed like a meteor, the shockwave rippling through Alex’s body as he was hurled backward, dirt and dust trailing as he skid back. He hit the ground hard, his breath ragged, every nerve screaming down his left side. His arm pulsed with pain, bones creaking with hairline cracks spidering up and down the length of his bones. The arm wasn’t broken, at least not yet. But it was close.

  Beyond the ringing tone in his ears, Alex heard the mercs shouting Beithin’s name, the air thick with the roar of the crowd. But, Beithin didn’t smile. His frown deepened as Alex rose, shaking out his arm, bending his knees, forcing life back into numbed muscles. The Cresselian had seen his hammer strike land, and any Adept, human or otherwise, would’ve been crushed by that hit. But, Alex wasn’t crushed, he was standing.

  “Not bad,” Alex sighed as an ache throbbed up and down his arm. He felt his muscles begin to stretch and bulge as his [Asura’s Bloodwrath] passive reacted to the injuries he had sustained. The [Demon Asura Style] didn’t just dish out heavy damage, it welcomed it in return and used it to boost its user, and Alex was feeling that heightened physical boost now. “But I told you, I’m not normal.” He straightened, staring across the ring, his aura gathering. “You ready to end it? Use whatever you have. I’m serious.”

  Beithin’s eyes narrowed. His shield lowered an inch and he nodded in acknowledgment, green veins of aether beginning to crawl over his skin in a new pattern, a reinforcing Augmentor Spell wrapping him up like ivy.

  But Alex was already gone.

  A flash of azure-blue lit the ring from his spell, his body consumed by the radiant blaze of the [Vita-Surge Cloak]. The world bent as his muscles ignited, pain drowned beneath pure energy and vitality. His figure blurred into a streak, dirt bursting in his wake as he moved faster than eyes could follow.

  Beithin’s guard shot up almost instinctively to brace his shield in his left hand, in the right, his hammer prepared for a counter—

  And Alex was already there.

  Then Alex hit him.

  The first strike came down like a bolt of lightning. His fist slammed into the shield, and Beithin’s guard shattered with it. The steel buckled inward with a scream of bending metal, the Cresselian staggering backward, his arm rattling with the shock.

  The second blow came before Beithin could recover, Alex stepping in, knuckles colliding with Beithin’s chestplate in a vicious cross. The green threads of the man's augmentor spell flashed desperately, earth-aether knitting across his torso. But, it wasn’t enough to hold against Alex’s strike. The earthen aura cracked like brittle glass, the Martial Style’s redirection folding, as it was overwhelmed. Beithin’s body jolted, armor caving inward, his breath stolen from his lungs.

  The third attack landed as Beithin blindly swung his hammer up in desperate defiance, Alex’s knee drove into Beithin’s ribs with a crack that carried across the ring. Before he could finish his hammer swing his body buckled, blood flecking his lips as he coughed. His armor warped and mangled around his torso. Alex watched him with cold eyes as he hit the dirt hard, wheezing and dazed.

  The crowd erupted in chaos, cheers and disbelief mixing into a roar that seemed to shake the sky.

  Alex didn’t stop. He stepped forward, aura blazing, fist raised high. His eyes locked on Beithin’s prone form. The blow came down—

  —but not on his opponent.

  His fist struck the earth just beside Beithin’s head. The impact detonated like a cannon blast. Stone and soil erupted outward in a geyser, the entire ring quaking as the ground beneath them collapsed inward. Rock and dust swallowed both of them as a twenty-foot crater ripped open, a gaping wound in the solid rock.

  Shocked silence followed.

  When the dirty haze settled, Alex stood over Beithin, his fist buried in fractured stone. The earth was split, veins of dust smoking in the sunlight. The meaning of Alex’s attack was clear. With his strength, he could’ve ended the fight in a single strike. Had he wanted, but he hadn’t.

  Alex straightened slowly, pulling his hand free of the broken earth, his aura finally dimming. He looked down at Beithin, who stared up with wide eyes, chest rising and falling quickly, and blood staining his chin.

  And then, despite the ruin of his armor, and the wreckage of his body, the Cresselian laughed. A hoarse, broken laugh carried with grim amusement, and a hint of pride.