My technique had to sharpen. There was no holding back anymore, this mouthy one-trick pony of a tank lost that privilege. After the disappearing tank laughed his fill at nearly having his face turned into a bloody mess, I decided to treat this like a fight, rather than a slaughter. My focus broadened, letting the information my peripheral vision captured signal my reactions rather than focus on any particular part on the tank with my center vision resting on his chest plate.
Refusing to miss a motion, I chose to ignore the obnoxious notification ding that rang through my head after my lightning technique illuminated across my weapon, killing the tanks imaginary twin. Whether it would end in overkill or not, I dug deep within my bag of tricks, sifting through every painful form and technique at my disposal. I sought to make one thing clear; this guy was not going to beat me.
This slippery, halberd wielding tank simply shouldn't be giving me this kind of trouble. Judging by his shaky stance and sweat visibly dripping out the cracks of his heavy armor after mere minutes of combat, he definitely doesn't do this very often.
Well, I do, and it was time to make that apparent. My approaching steps were concealed under a low angled lunge upward toward the tanks chin. The stab was thrown with genuine murderous intent, however it just needed to grab the tanks attention.
Catching his eyes lock onto my Wakizashi and immediately raising guard, my lead leg stepped diagonally while the rear quickly replaced it. Finding a gap in the tanks defensive pose, I fired out my heel, twisting my hips forward as I pivoted my planted foot, putting full force into a rib crunching body kick. The impact of my boot denting into his body armor shot a small pain up my knee, though the damage was a fraction of what the tank suffered.
His body flew back like he'd been shot in the chest with a cannon. His armor clanked loudly while rolling along the arena floor, spitting blood all over the beautiful oceanic artwork etched across our arena battlegrounds. The unintentional desecration of my favorite place since discovering amateur kickboxing gyms removed any ounce of remorse for this smug prick I had left. Luckily, he'd just proven himself unreasonably reactive, and therefore exploitable.
"You're over-committing, even if you don't bite on every attack. Stop relying so heavily on your reach, it got boring six sequences ago." I instructed with a raised brow. He didn't seem fond of my backhanded advice, waving his hand from his polearm with a dismissive 'pshh', but I wasn't joking. We once shared this weakness to moments of irrational certainty not long ago, but I learned what royally fucked that up through painful first hand experience; lying.
Was it ratty? Sure. But so is teleporting around at level one, who the fuck does that? If there's more of these kind of monsters around here, I have got to step it up, maybe collect a few crazy skills for myself. Even with my fighting skillset, I need more leverage.
Bursting to his feet with a series of metallic clanks, the halberd wielding tank-wizard began slowly inching closer, implying he was ready to clash once more. Of course, he didn't initiate. Not immediately at least, until I took a cheeky stab at his knee with my lead blade while diagonally Water Stepping around him, putting his newly exposed side in my range. Unfortunately, my momentum carried me across his center line too.
Which marks my second painful mistake, as I suffered his halberd's bladed, spear-tipped pommel to the stomach. A grazing blow, but it still stung to no end, as now my own blood began defacing this aquatic sanctuary's magnificent flooring. Now, I was pissed.
If Korbin saw this, I wouldn't hear the fucking end of it for the rest of my natural life.
A painful amount of pressure welled at the idea, crushing my mind enough to jar loose another technique I'd learned. A type of water step that always kept you off center from your opponent by constantly stepping back diagonally, switching stances and either keeping in your range or out of theirs if done right. It held an array of dynamically powerful options to choose from at most any position between each step, and defense was as simple as doing more of what you're already doing; move.
Using the unarmed footwork with both weapons in hand, a pleasant smile crept across my face feeling little effect on my balance holding two blades. After the tank suffered another glancing slash behind his knee while stepping away, he began putting a high value on blocking the less powerful attacks I was constantly poking with. Now, leg kicks or slashes, and arm or shoulder stabs were treated like mortal attacks. The more he frantically moved the more he bled, and I could see a hint of panic creeping in his eye.
Feeling confident the trap was set, my back foot planted hard as I sprung forward, slashing down at a small gap in the tanks bracers. Unfortunately my welling confidence was replaced with a spike of bitterness seeing the tanks hand suddenly shift out of range, indicating he'd used that bullshit movement ability again. This also meant he was probably about to launch a counterattack, finally.
Sure enough, the tank violently twisted his bulky frame throwing his patented angled-slash in retaliation. My hips whipped opened in anticipation, pushing my momentum diagonally away from his attack and carrying me straight for his exposed midsection. His armored fingers gripped firmly around his historically infamous polearm as it panged off the ground, struggling against his own heavy momentum to turn and face me. There was no way I was going to waste this opportunity, thrusting with my lead hand Wakizashi about 2 inches deep into his ribs and twisting as I yanked my blade free.
A follow up kill shot from my rear blade would have swiftly followed if not for the tanks unveiling of yet another unprecedented addition to his arsenal; a second attack. It followed only moments after the first, swinging upwards along the same path as the first slash attempt. Repeating my retreating technique, another identical gap in the tanks defenses opened as I stepped the opposite way. This time the stabbing wakizashi was in on my left hand, my strong hand.
My arm launched the weapon forward, contorting around the tanks guard while aiming for his neck. It was becoming increasingly difficult to fight off my yearning to end this song and dance now before he picks up on my patterns. The squelching shiver that shot along my blade impacting soft skin indicated my counterstrike found perfect purchase. In a blink, the tank was suddenly standing a few inches over, with a long cut dripping blood from his neck.
The clenched muscles in my jaw threatened to cramp, feeling a deep prejudice towards tanks and mages alike beginning to billow before finally dismissing it. In my mind, its probably unfair to pass judgement on all of them over this…rat. By every metric I've ever known and loved, I've killed him twice now, but apparently no one told his movement skills the rules. I refuse to let him leave an ignorant man.
Before initiating another cycle of retreat stepping and punishing his attacks, I noticed something else in the tank. Nothing he actively did per se, but rather how him being nearby effected me. It was like he carried his own subtle gravitational pull. Obviously nothing extreme or even bothersome, but an invisible pull was certainly there. My sleeve visibly wavered towards him as I lunged forward with a stab. He swung back with his halberd in response, my boots squeaking as his constant pull considerably strengthened simultaneously. My water step had plenty of force to break free with ease, but feeling myself get yanked in by nothing at all sent a chill down my spine. I glanced over the tanks shoulder, spotting a glimmer of bright green energy flash in the air like a silent firework in the distance. Then it really hit me...
These people don't really die here. Meaning there's a strong chance at fighting with or against everyone here all over again, outside of Korbin being the single ally I can count on. That means I'm going to see this asshole again too, making this a golden opportunity to rub in his lackluster skillset some more while gathering information.
"You know what?" I began, stepping forward throwing an especially quick fake stab and landing a stiff leg kick.
"You got some cool tricks, for an armored training bag. What's your name?" I asked him, but he was too preoccupied disparagingly inspecting his halberd. Whether his contorted stare was a result of a feeling relieved that I hadn't thrown the initial stab attempt or doubt setting in was hard to tell. It's also irrelevant to me, his worries aren't my problem.
The tank staggered for a few moments, struggling to reframe his stance properly. His front shoulder remained visibly higher, barely putting any pressure down on his lead leg. The same one I've been slowly tenderizing with every kick, slice, and stab that capped off each engagement.
"Oh really? Now you want to know my name?...Heh, alright sure, I'll bite. The name's Derrick. You?" His shoulders rolled back, relaxing between his heavy breaths and indicating a response wouldn't be interrupted with violence.
"I'm Tom, and I got a feeling we'll be seeing each other again someday. Please make sure you're better than this when that time comes, and make sure to study these kicks while you can." Based his grizzly voice and much thicker skin, Derrick was clearly older than me. Which was all the more reason to treat him like some squirrely pupil. To be fair, he started it by talking his trash when I was trying to conserve myself, like an asshole.
In hindsight, I should've been taking these fights at a global tournament to the death more seriously from the get-go, especially after watching thousands of people get teleported in from afar between matches. They'd later wander to some random fighting arena where the few I could track met their respective dooms, but there were bound to be outliers. Now, I'd need to step up my attention to detail to insure nobody can counter my style at the start of the fight like this guy.
Speaking of, Derrick was red-faced livid after my last jeering comment, to the point he began actually charging at me. His bloodshot eyes were bulging with rage as he drew nearer, causing the light from above to flicker across his blood soaked chest-plate.
Got him.
Derrick switching from selective to complete aggression opens up an ocean of opportunities for me to strike at will, with the effort of greedy hands around wrapped presents. Initially I was apprehensive to trust his emotional state given how calm he'd remained up to this point. That is until I felt the familiar pull from the tanks small atmosphere amplify again. The enraged look in his eye was the last straw for me to believe he was solely focused on landing this attack.
Dipping low, my feet hastily twisted building the flow in my back hip. A crackling whip echoed through my ears feeling my momentum rocketing again. Within two steps I shuffled even further off his chests center line, aiming my lead blade up higher than the prior ones. He clearly expected the blow to hurtle toward his head, and technically it did, only it came from my rear hand looping under his raised guard.
The problem with being tall is, 'down' is a relatively longer distance to travel for you than your opponent. Meaning, they could sneak shots under your vision way faster than you could them, at least without compromising too much defensive integrity from the hips down. Especially if they fake a horizontal stab, forcing you to duck or, in his case teleport down and away to dodge. I never got to utilize this advantage before, instead having succumbed to Korbin using my own height against me as his fist would appear at my chin from under my guard. Now it was finally my turn to be on the enjoyable short-end and boy, did I make it count.
Blood poured from the Wakizashi pierced under his chin and buried deep into Derrick's skull, clamping his bottom jaw shut. His halberd clanked to the ground at his side as his eyes and eyelids convulsed wildly. The initial blood splatter halted my train of thought entirely, only realizing the Wakizashi emitted a hot white glow along it's sharp steel after stabbing Derrick. Yet the heat didn't really seem to bother me. If anything it felt cozy, like the white hot air was leaping around, hugging at my skin. The same energy that also exploded into his jaw, dispersing all at once blasting a wave of bone shrapnel. One fragment nicked my arm, hitting hard enough to draw blood that began to soak under my light armor.
This...is much grosser than I thought it'd be.
After some considerable difficulty yanking my blade free from Derricks skull, I finally heaved the blade from his head. Short after a final wretched spray of blood and other gelatinous fluids spewed at my feet sending my stomach in knots, Derrick's body disappeared, and I was teleported right outside of the arena. My palm clamped against my mouth fighting back the urge to release a stream stomach bile across the marble floor, standing in fresh, cleaned attire.
It only took a glance to spot the other fighters horrified glares. Normally, it genuinely would bother me being judged so openly and audaciously. But they couldn't piss me if they tried to kill me right now. A massive warmth had filled my chest realizing that finally, fucking finally, I got to let loose.
I shuffled through the crowd toward to the corner closest to the waterfall flowing off the arena's larges rock formation. I sat down beside the pair of gloves the system offered me because, well, they were free. My hands are plenty calloused already however, and I have no intention of pampering them now. Though, after that drawn out fight, I wondered if they'd ever be necessary when I'm being fully healed after every victory.
Because after inspecting my hands, they looked just as clean as they had been when I arrived here.
Hell yeah, auto-healing is SO overpowered.
My excitement continued compounding while nestling into my meditation spot, crossing my legs and closing my eyes. Images from the fight replayed through my mind, making sure to study while the memory was fresh. Of course, I made a note to leave Derrick's gore covering my shoe out of my study.
While our fight ended less than 30 seconds ago, I simply didn't want to forget a thing. There were just too many lessons sprinkled throughout this surprisingly difficult fight, the kind that could hint at areas of potential growth as a fighter. Or even better, an inclination of weakness I didn't even know about. These moments have been essential for years now, long before the stakes were this high, putting them on a premium that far surpassed any desires for riches and comfort. I mean, how else could you even get there in the first place? Other than being lucky, but that's nothing to be proud of. Only thankful for.
The first glaring opportunity for growth was in the lightning strike form I'd managed to use against Derrick...affectively. Which reminded me, I had gotten a notification after I threw it the first time, but chose to ignore it and focus on killing Derrick instead. Opening the tab in my head, a mix of pride and elation washed over me at discovering my years of discipline was already translating into some returns.
*Skill Acquired* -> Lightning Strike (common) - Wielder is able to infuse Lightning mana into an attack, amplifying its speed depending on the total mana spent while using it. User gets a +4 agility when using this strike.
Now THAT is what the fuck I'm talking about.
Reading the skill caused my brain to buzz with anticipation, feeling more inclined than ever to focus on picking apart every aspect of my form and fights from now on. Clearly, it yielded valuable lessons I'd be an utter fucking moron to let fall to the wayside. The first step was to settle down my nerves, so I refrained from checking my full status just yet. If I were able to get a few more skills, or, something more to show for this violence before then, it would make the review all the sweeter.
Finally calming myself, my focus shifted to channeling Flow into my head. Well, to be more specific, and don't laugh, something I referred to as my third-eye. Look, it's a belief I had developed this year, and it really felt like something in the literal center of my forehead opened on command when I got 'good' at it. Often what followed was an absolute cacophony of vastly differing concepts, emotions and ideas flowing freely like a storm gusting through my thoughts. Compared to the normal quiet breeze of ideas, that is.
Sometimes, I managed mentally placing myself in the most serene locations my imagination could think of, my favorite being a deserted beach in the middle of summer. Soft, smooth sand sifting between my toes, the cool salty breeze keeping the heat from the sun's powerful rays at bay. The relaxing chorus of waves crashing across the shoreline would serve as my sense of peace while pondering things as trivial as budgeting at times, but it always helped me think all the same.
Putting myself back into the fight, I did my best to just ignore that Derrick-guy's abilities. It felt fruitless considering it was probably something stupidly broken and complicated that made zero sense to me now, and that I'd have plenty chances to learn about it with experience later. After playing back the actual sequences a few times in my mind, I made note of how often I was using my water step form. Wondering if it played into my Water Stance skill based on how effective it had been, I decided to do some testing.
Rising to my feet with closed eyes, I began water stepping about in my immediate area. Ignoring a few annoyed sighs as people shuffled away, I focused intently on if and when my speed altered, figuring my agility was boosted from my stance skill while using my water step form. The skill hadn't mentioned it explicitly or anything but, flow was flow. There's big and small flow. Small keeps you quick and alive, while big flow breaks and kills, normally. It's always been a mountain of contradicting fuckery, and it felt more so now than ever. Even still both the skill and my form are based in water concepts almost exclusively. So, why shouldn't they overlap?
Continuing my shuffling study, I began imagining a laundry list of badass skills with high rarities, accidentally pulling up my status screen in the process.
Wait…I'm not getting boosted?
That couldn't be right. I was clearly faster, like, considerably faster utilizing my water step form than any other movements. Yet, when I did it with my status open, no boosts from my stance skill triggered. Bouncing in my fighter stance normally however, low and behold; +3 agility, +3% endurance. Looks like flow will indeed be that much more bullshit to try and get a grasp of now. There was an initial surge of unbridled frustration at the idea, only to be replaced by a flicker of excitement at the opportunity.
If there isn't one yet...then maybe I could MAKE a skill out of this.
Sadly, before I had the chance to start my mental water step training session, I was blipped once again into the arena.