38 (I) Brawl

There is no easy way to tell truly how powerful or dangerous someone is from a glance. After years in the forces, I can tell you with certainty that the whole advancement classification we use is pretty felling flawed. Even that fancy soul-measuring thing they do at the academy these days to judge your total mana output only offers a partial picture—and let’s not even start with the damn fools who just “eyeball” things with their Analyze Skill.

The first part about being recognized as a Master is having a Master-Tier Skill. This means that a genius at Practical Physics will be regarded as a Master Pathbearer too. And that doesn’t make them a “fake” Master by any means, but their Skill Evolutions and knowledge mostly goes toward understanding how physics works on a whole other level. It lets them make cool bombs, but functionally… they’re pretty vulnerable and about as dangerous as an Initiate Pathbearer in a direct confrontation, because a lot of pure intellectuals don’t bother leveling their damn Physicality or Toughness at all.

Moving beyond that example, there are also levels to Master. Low Master to me means a few things. The first is having only one Master-Tier Skill and maybe not even being in the level threshold. Even if you’re at the threshold and have around two Master-Tier Skills, I’ll still call you a Low Master because a Mid-to-High Master can’t be a one- or two-trick pony. That’ll just get them dead without support.

Then the considerations after this are what skills they are Master-Tier in. My wife is a Master of Physicality, Reflexes, Sword Proficiency, and Blacksmithing. She’s a terror up against anyone she can see—but Master Archers and Magi can still blast her from far, far away without her being able to do much. And her Magical Resistance means that she can’t operate entirely independently without a lot of magic support of her own.

Comparatively, I have a fused Master-Skill for both Physicality and Geomancy. I also have Alchemy, Practical Metallurgy, Quakesense—which I evolved from my Awareness. I can assemble a durable fortress for an entire army in less than an hour. I can tell how many men are marching from over the horizon and what forces they’re bringing.

What I can’t do is survive a single cut from my wife without a lot of preparation. Because when it comes to Toughness, I’m just an Adept.

Master is a title worthy of respect, but we war in degrees and details. Know what you got, because no skill is truly absolute.

But Heroic-Tier Pathbearers? That’s another scale of power entirely…

-Memoirs of a Master-Tier War Mage

38 (I)

Brawl

Lightning flashed. Thunder rumbled. The ground shook. And 811 found his cruel grin once more.

The orc unleashed his full might with wild abandon as he brought his boot down on the ground. A thunderstorm exploded out from him in the same moment he unleashed a rolling landslide. Those around him were flash-fried as bolts jumped through them—before being launched off the bridge and into the rivers of molten slag below. Two bolts smashed into Shiv, but he just scoffed. Patches of his armor were now burned and blackened, but bone wasn’t much of a conductor for electricity.

The elemental golem fight prepared him pretty well for this encounter.

What concerned him more was the landslide coming his way—and how the bridge sounded like it was going to come apart at any second. Shiv moved. But he didn’t move alone. He launched his first bone drill at the orc—and found it swept away by sheer force of wind. A small, but protective hurricane was twisting around 811, keeping him shielded. Shiv grinned.

Good. He needed an easy source of momentum.

He charged 811, and the orc just barked a laugh and charged him right back. Groups of armed dimensionals rushed in to stop them. Most were electrocuted the moment they got within fifty meters of 811, others were swept back by the billowing winds gushing out from the orc’s body. But at the epicenter of elemental chaos, Shiv stomped forward like a juggernaut, ignoring the lightning, using his Biomancy to hover over bursting hands that erupted from the ground, and filling his Momentum Core with every bit of distance traveled.

And with each step, his rage only grew as the orc deliberately focused his powers on the surrounding slaves. He cooked them with his electricity—ground some to paste with rippling stone. And all the while he smiled sweetly at Shiv, taunting the Deathless with his eyes.

He knows I care, Shiv realized. Cunning, cruel monster. Cunning, cruel, dead monster. I’m going to make you regret every last godsdamned thing you ever did.

“Come on!” 811 cheered as Shiv smashed through one of his grasping hands of stone outright. Even with his full set of skills unleashed, 811 was slow—and getting slower to Shiv. His Momentum Core was half full already—and that was the beauty of fighting a big, heavy bruiser: they topped him off fast. Shiv slipped under a lance of lighting and seized both of his remaining drills. He was going to put these through the orc’s neck this time—give him a fatal wound to complete the bleeding flap on his cheek.

The bleeding flap that was already healing.

Shiv realized there was another reason the orc was committing mass murder: it nourished 811. It made him stronger and slaked his urges. And now, he had all the excuse to let loose and butcher as many people as he wanted to bring Shiv down.

Godsdamned cunning, cruel monster, Shiv thought again.

Suddenly, with a shout of effort, 811 launched his mace at Shiv. The Deathless twisted out of the way, barely letting it scrape his chest armor. Then his eyes widened as the mace detonated with lightning and stone, unleashing enough force that it tore the entire bridge asunder. The ground at their feet turned to twisted scrap and debris. The lesser Pathbearers and slaves around them became puffs of crimson mist or broken specks of machinery. But the exploding mace did one more thing.

It filled Shiv’s Momentum Core, and without anyone left alive as potential collateral damage, he didn’t hesitate to discharge.

A second blast swallowed the area. Shiv drove both of his drills into the orc’s neck as the sound barrier shattered for both of them. 811 was laughing, holding his arms out in embrace of the blow as they shot across the collapsing bridge back into the plaza they passed earlier. The screams of the wind and air turned to wails from the crowds as they approached. Through it all, 811 never stopped channeling lightning from his body—but he did stop being able to shape any stone or unleash tremors. Shiv thought he might need to be in contact with the ground to do that. Shiv then found himself updating his guess as his bone drills slipped through the initial layer of skin only to grind against a layer of dense, crystalline muscle.

As Shiv pushed, 811 gripped his body and squeezed. A shout of pain left Shiv as the ribs 811 fractured earlier broke entirely. The godsdamned big bastard was strong. He didn’t hit nearly as effectively as Harkness did, but that was a factor of her Reflexes working alongside her Physicality. 811 wasn’t fast at all, but when it came to grappling, control and strength went further than acceleration and impact.

They crashed down along the plaza and bounced several times. People splattered

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That just made Shiv attack harder. His arms turned to a blur, cuts leaving them both painted in the orc’s dark, thick blood. 811 smiled innocently as Shiv tried sawing through the wounds left along his neck. They finally came to a stop against a set of metal doors. Doors that opened to reveal a very confused Umbral staring at them. An Umbral that was promptly splattered against the ceiling—along with everyone else nearby—as rows of stone-shaped fists exploded up from the ground.

Shiv’s fury combusted. His hits got harder and quicker even as darkness crept along the edges of his vision, even as his lungs fought for air.

“You are so beautiful,” 811 sighed, even as the Deathless opened his entire cheek. “A real brawler. A real killer to the bone.”

He headbutted Shiv. Shiv’s helmet shattered. The Deathless didn’t care. He headbutted the orc right back. 811’s fangs broke. Shiv’s forehead began gushing blood. It didn’t matter—it didn’t matter that he was on the verge of passing out, that one of his drifting ribs was slicing through his insides, that 811 was just laughing. He was going to kill this orc, his Momentum Core—

811 spat blood in Shiv’s eyes. The Deathless cursed, blinded; still attacking. Then the bastard took the rest of Shiv’s useful senses away from him by clapping his massive hands against the sides of Shiv’s head. Shiv felt his left eardrum burst. His right was ringing. Equilibrium and balance became a distant memory, but he still kept ripping and slashing. He could still feel 811 with his Biomancy, taste the orc’s blood on his tongue.

He was going to kill the monster. No matter what it took. Even if he had to rip the thing’s throat out with his teeth.

Then, something gripped him. Something heavy and strong. Shiv drained whatever momentum he could from it. But soon he was being crushed again—a brief inhalation of air forced out from his chest. It was a testament to Shiv’s Physicality and Toughness that he hadn’t blacked out yet. Adrenaline, hate, and bloodlust kept him going. But the damn hand kept him in place.

Diamond Shell > 88

As he blinked the blood clear from his eyes, he realized he was being held in a massive crystal fist. 811 was approaching him with a smile on his face. And what a face that was. The orc’s face was a bloody, swollen mess, interspersed with cuts, broken teeth, and a dislodged eye. 811 laughed as he forced his left eyeball back in its socket with a finger before he came to a stop before Shiv. The Deathless struggled, stabbing, writhing, twisting against the crystal hand, taking in what little momentum he could to fuel his core. He just needed another hit. Another hit to reset the situation.

He struck out at 811 with his Biomancy. The orc barely reacted. His Magical Resistance was about as strong as his body. He advanced leisurely, ignoring the bone daggers Shiv launched into him, and chuckled at the Deathless’s feeble Pyromancy. As he got close, Shiv’s only working ear cleared, and he heard the orc speak to him.

“You are a System-sent gift, you know that? So many humans… they run from me. They are afraid of me. They do not give me the fight I want. They refuse to bleed with me, they reject what they are, what they can do. But you do not. I see it in you. I hear it in you. You are not afraid of it either. Death. You just enjoy life. You just want to fight. But…” The orc sniffled as he picked up a severed limb—a limb that belonged to a slave. “You also care. So. Not entirely like me in the end. Still human. Just enough.”

“Shut up and fight,” Shiv growled, his voice hoarse and vicious.

811 drew in a huge lungful of air—a lungful he knew Shiv couldn’t take—and nodded. “Well said. I do get a little distracted sometimes. Now. Let me show you my final Master-Tier Skill.”

811’s eyes crackled with electricity, and his fists hardened to dense slabs of stone and crystal.

Here come some new Diamond Shell levels, Shiv sighed internally. Better use this to charge up my Momentum Core quickly.

But the first sign that it wasn’t going to be so easy to fill Momentum Core came with 811 adopting an actual fighting stance. He brought his fists high beside his face and began to bob and weave as he approached.

Shiv blinked. Oh, shi—

And then the beating started.

Shiv twisted his body in anticipation of a jab—but then the orc disappeared as he ducked. Only to reappear right under Shiv, corkscrewing what felt like the hardest body shot in existence into Shiv’s liver. Shiv’s Biomancy gave him every last ugly detail as he felt his body go into shock. His liver was ruptured. His small intestines were shredded. Even with how thick his armor was, the orc’s blows came all the way through—passing deep, like Diamond Shell didn’t matter at all.

Is this where Master-Tier Striking Proficiency gets you? Shiv wondered, his thoughts drifting in the throes of agony. It was only thanks to the focus crystal bracelets that he managed to shape a spell with his fingers, pulling his organs and broken bones back in place to stop the damage from getting worse.

811 roared a laugh. He bounced on his feet in front of Shiv, grinning. “Look at you. Not even shaking. Are you sure you are actually a man, and not a piece of iron?”

Shiv spat blood at the orc—and got it on the insides of his mask. Oh, gods, I’m a—

That thought vanished along with 811. And then Shiv knew nothing but pain and agony as the orc reappeared at random places to drive bomb after bomb into Shiv. Momentum Core required Shiv’s focus to properly use. He managed to partially absorb one or two shots, but the orc vanished every time he dodged, only to appear somewhere behind or beside Shiv to brutalize his abdomen.

By this point, Shiv accepted himself as dead. He accelerated his healing and began to line his insides with tumors—at least the growths would keep his broken bones in place and cushion his organs. Except that didn’t happen. Every one of 811’s blows kept passing through all the way—it was like the forces of his punches had to travel straight through Shiv. If the Deathless didn’t have Diamond Shell, he suspected that his insides would resemble little more than soup right now.

Might of Mass > 77

Diamond Shell > 89

“Taking it like a true Pathbearer!” 811 cackled as he began to blink everywhere with every duck. Shiv blinked, trying to track his enemy—only to catch the worst uppercut of his life coming from an angle he just didn’t see.

Peace. Silence. Nothingness. The pain was gone. Shiv’s thoughts were settled. There was a sense of bliss, even if he wasn’t fully aware of it.

The bliss broke like a bubble as Shiv slammed against what felt like a wall. A ragged cry out of pain escaped him as his entire body felt like death—made him yearn for death. He tried to rise, but the movement nauseated him—almost making him throw up right then and there. He ripped his mask off and chucked it into his cloak before what felt like an ocean’s worth of blood spilled out from his lips and nostrils. Shiv gagged. Darkness crept around his eyes as he considered blacking out again. He decided that he really wanted to fight instead. Using his Biomancy, he wielded his broken body like a puppet. And he was broken. Most of his lower spine was cracked. One of his arms had a bone sticking out. All of his organs were bleeding.

Looking behind him, he saw that he was halted by some kind of monument he couldn’t read. As he tried to find where 811 was, he winced when he saw a trail of scratches running along the ground—running for what seemed like 200 meters. Even with Might of Mass and Diamond Shell, the orc had hit him so hard he went sliding across a good portion of the plaza. And 811 was advancing on him, a heavy fist stained red with Shiv’s blood, another clutching the head of a struggling Umbral, her shrieks the sound of absolute terror. It ended with a pop as 811 closed his hand again—an echo of the way he killed the boy.

“Godsdamnit,” Shiv hissed with seething rage, yanking himself back on his feet.

The orc’s expression, by contrast, was borderline euphoric. “Ah. Finally. You show your true face. Quite the skill, being able to disguise yourself so effectively. But an odd combination of Master Skills to have, being so brutal, so direct, so tough, yet so subtle.” 811 clicked his tongue. “Or maybe it is not your skill. Maybe it is from the mask you just took off. Right. That is it. It fits better. I think I will keep it after you are done using it. There are a few things I would like to do with a mask like that…”

Godsdamned… cunning… monster, Shiv thought again. He dragged himself forward with his Biomancy—doing his best not to pass out. This still wasn’t as bad as the teleportation anchor, but Broken Moon it was an ugly eight out of ten.

“Oh, you are still coming. Still!” 811 looked like he was in love. “You cannot even imagine running away, can you?”

“Not with you,” Shiv growled. “Not right now. Besides. I can’t beat the shit out of you without getting any closer.”

811 crooned with delight. It was such an un-orc-like thing to do that Shiv stared in disbelief. “Come on, then,” 811 said, getting into his stance again as he came at Shiv. “Let us dance until the blood runs dry.”