Victor of Tucson

Book 7: Chapter 44: Dungeon Friends

Dovalion straightened from his bow and stepped forward, his white-hot, flaming greatsword held up and tilted slightly back in a high guard. His voice came out of his fully enclosed helmet, echoing strangely, like a man speaking from inside a well, “So, you have a hidden ally?”

Victor ignored him, grinning, Lifedrinker held loosely before him. She was eager, tugging toward the giant warrior, hungry to test her edge against his thick plate armor. Victor often fought Lesh without Iron Berserk, so he wasn’t daunted by the man’s size. The armor-clad man wasn’t much larger than Victor, after all, and Victor was stronger than he looked, which said a lot. He quietly circled the tall warrior, his posture more like a wrestler’s than a proper duelist’s. He kept his center of gravity low, his shoulders and arms loose, leaning slightly forward in a hungry, predatory posture.

“I see you’ve dropped your rage. I salute your control. A test of skill, then?” Dovalion did something quick with his hands, and the great sword whipped through the air before him, arcing in a circle, the white flames flaring as he spun it. It was a quick movement, one meant to showcase his talent, and when his sword stopped moving, it was once again in a high guard, ready to strike or react to Victor.

For his part, Victor felt he’d been patient enough. He darted forward, thrusting out Lifedrinker, feinting a crushing blow toward the giant’s face. Dovalion tilted his blade to parry, but Victor yanked the axe back at the last second, darted past the warrior’s flank, and performed a quick, lightning hack at his torso. Dovalion was fast and nimble, but he was hampered by his thick armor, at least enough so that he failed to dodge the blow. Lifedrinker sparked and flared as she tried to dig through the heavy plate on his stomach and side, but, as far as Victor could tell, she only bit about halfway through.

“A fine axe, sir, but my armor is a relic from an ancient world, crafted from the ore of a fallen-ungh!” He choked off his impromptu lesson regarding his family heirloom as Victor launched himself into an attack, swinging Lifedrinker in a series of swooping, lightning hacks, driving the giant back, scraping and denting the armor in a shower of molten sparks. Lifedrinker’s frustration was palpable as she flared and glowed, using every bit of the edge Victor’s inspiration-attuned spirit fragment gave her.

Dovalion turned one of his heavy shoulder plates into the attack and swung his blazing sword in a great circular cleave. Victor was loathe to let up the pressure of his assault, and he decided to keep swinging, moving with the cleave, hoping to mitigate the damage. The blazing greatsword struck him in the ribs, sparking against his wyrm-scale, the edge finding purchase as it slid between two scales, ripping through the heavy wyrm-hide backing, then splitting Victor’s skin and sliding along his ribs. Dovalion channeled some Energy, whipping the sword through the arc of his cleave faster than should have been possible and transitioning into an overhead chop that Victor barely avoided by diving to the side and rolling. When he bounded to his feet, he was grinning like a madman.

“First blood, sirrah!” Dovalion’s hollow voice announced as he spun his flaming sword in another flourish, tracking Victor’s predatory circling movements. Victor grunted in response, his wound already forgotten, despite the sheeting blood running down his side beneath his armor to dribble onto the grass. He may not be berserk, but his vitality was high, his body was strong, and he wasn’t worried about a cut on his flank. Grunting in frustration, annoyed that Lifedrinker couldn’t pierce the man’s formidable armor without his berserk strength behind her, Victor determined to continue the dance, to find a gap in that armor or, failing that, beat on it long enough that it started to affect the man beneath.

So, he darted forward again, his great thighs bulging with the force of his dash. He wove his axe, his partner, through a series of hacks, feints, frenetic combinations, and parries. For every two or three swings of Lifedrinker, Dovalion only answered with one with his greatsword, choosing to use his bracers, pauldrons, and even helmet to deflect many of the blows. He was skilled with that mighty sword, but he fought a very different style of combat than Victor or, if he were honest, anyone he’d ever sparred with. He was like a juggernaut, wading through Victor’s mighty blows, trusting his armor and sturdy frame to absorb the damage while he waited to deliver decisive hacks and thrusts with that deadly, burning sword.

Victor began to amass cuts on his arms that smoked as the sword boiled his blood but failed to ignite his flesh. His wyrm-scale armor deflected indirect hits but parted beneath cleaves or stabs. Still, it held well enough for Victor to roll away from those hits, taking only minor wounds. Part of Victor grew increasingly irritated, yearning to unleash more of his abilities. His mind was distracted, debating with itself. If he didn’t want to cast Iron Berserk, fine, then why not unleash his Aspect of Terror? If not that, then how would Dovalion fare against the Inevitable Huntsman? Why not some Energy Charges? Dovalion was burning Energy to speed his movements; wouldn’t that, at least, be fair? Perhaps some coyotes or his bear would enjoy mixing things up with the giant warrior.

Victor gritted his teeth and growled through his internal debate, trying to focus on his axe work. He wanted to give his ancestors a show. He wanted to keep his other, darker aspects a secret for now. More than any of that, though, he wanted to enjoy a good, hard fight, one where he didn’t have to pull any punches. As Dovalion surged with golden Energy and some of the crumpled dents in his armor popped out and smoothed over, Victor frowned and gave in just a little, casting Inspiration of the Quinametzin. As the white-gold light of inspiration merged with the golden, sparkling glory of his banner, Victor smiled and laughed.

As he ducked, weaved, parried, and hacked, he began to see patterns in Dovalion’s movements. He was skilled, sure, but he was just a man, and he relied on his armor a great deal. Victor knew he would have won the fight a dozen times over if not for that man’s skilled use of his nigh-indestructible metal shell. He wondered if he could call forth the Paragon of the Axe. Would that give his hacks enough bite to cleave that metal? He was reasonably sure it would, but the problem was that Dovalion didn’t use his weapon like a master. He didn’t push Victor’s axe work to the limits.

As he dodged back, avoiding another cleave, Victor shook his head. That was an excuse. Hadn’t he seen glimpses of the ghostly Paragon edge when he’d fought the reaver army? He’d been pushed to his limits, but not because those reavers were exceptionally skilled with their weapons. No, Victor had let his mind relax, he’d stopped worrying about nonsense, and he’d embraced the battle. With that thought, Victor endeavored to cease all further thinking. He inhaled deeply and felt the magma in his chest surge but savored the warmth rather than thinking about using it. As he exhaled with a clear mind, he went to work.

#

“Bah!” Lesh growled, thumping his massive fist on the thick wooden table, jostling the empty cups and mugs. “Why does he toy with that man?”

Valla looked away from the battle depicted through the magical window and offered him a pained smile. “He . . . I don’t know, Lesh. He gets strange ideas in his head. You saw him fight the reavers. You saw . . .”

“Aye. I’ve seen enough. Some point of pride won’t let him use his berserking rage.” Lesh clenched and unclenched his fist. “If he doesn’t, though, he might lose. Look at the wounds he’s amassed. He has the wrong weapon to fight a man with armor like that!”

“Look closer.” Valla nodded toward the view window. “His wounds are all but closed, and he’s not taken one in a while. Can’t you see a difference? Perhaps he’d been distracted, or perhaps he was getting a feel for this armored warrior, but don’t you see how he dances around him?”

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Lesh narrowed his eyes and stared for a while, watching the fight. Valla saw understanding start to dawn as the dragonkin watched. She knew she was right. She could see the metal-clad giant burning Energy more and more frequently, trying to speed his greatsword’s cleaves, repairing his armor as it more and more rapidly amassed dents and blackened score marks from Lifedrinker’s hungry, burning edge. Even as his burning greatsword moved in nearly invisible blurs, Victor was never there to feel its fiery edge. Was he reacting too fast? Was he thinking ahead, aware of what the warrior would do before he did it? Valla didn’t know, but she felt her heart swelling with pride. The crowd hadn’t realized it yet, but Victor was making a fool of the giant.

“He doesn’t burn Energy,” Lesh said after staring for a long while. His tone had gone from frustrated to amused or, perhaps, amazed. “He’ll wear the giant down? How long can they battle like this?”

Valla didn’t answer as she watched Victor glide around the warrior’s flank, hack Lifedrinker against his side and back in three lightning chops, then roll away as the greatsword split the air where he’d been standing like a thunderbolt. The spy stones projected sound as well as images, and the grunts and heavy breaths of the metal-bound warrior were starting to grow loud and strained. Conversely, Victor looked fresh and hadn’t stopped smiling in a long while.

“Old Gods!” a stooped, white-haired, bear-like man hissed at a nearby table. “They’ve been fighting for nigh-on twenty minutes!” he thumped a younger, black-haired individual on the back. “You’ll learn about this in your training, Goja! Even a couple of minutes is exhausting!” Valla smiled, looking around the public house. The tables had grown silent as they watched the deadly dance playing out.

Earlier, when Victor had dropped his rage and reduced his size, the bet-takers had gone wild, crying out new odds, and there’d been a frenzy of noise and activity as money changed hands and people speculated about there being something wrong with Victor: Was he out of Energy? Was Dovalion working some magic to cancel his Berserk? Would he run? Then, as the fight drew out, with both men trading blows, things had begun to get quiet, and now she was confident she’d hear a whisper in the place. Everyone’s eyes were glued to the contest. Valla almost chuckled at the irony of her thoughts when several people gasped, and a loud, strident voice cried out, “Look!”

She followed the man’s pointing claw and saw what had gotten the crowd talking again—a ghostly extra edge had begun to flicker in the air around Lifedrinker. Valla took a breath and held it while she watched Victor swing his axe, watched as that shimmering glass-like edge moved with the smoldering metal one, and split Dovalion’s armor with a terrible ringing eruption of gasses and flaring Energy.

#

Victor knew it when the Paragon of the Axe appeared; he could feel it. His movements took on a new level of perfection. It was the difference between a student who knew the keys of the piano and how to read music and put the notes together and a master playing from inspiration and intuition. He’d stopped diving and rolling around, and now he shifted just a hair, this way and that, letting Dovalion’s blade carve the air inches from his flesh and armor. He moved with the giant, Lifedrinker like a rudder in a storm, guiding Victor away from the monstrous swings with a tap against the fiery blade.

When Victor felt the Paragon, when he felt the ghostly specter of the perfect axe, he stepped back, parried, and when Dovalion was extended, he hacked Lifedrinker against the hard, magical armor of the giant’s right arm. The ghostly edge wreathing Lifedrinker’s fiery axe head split that metal like a steel chisel through a soda can. As a can might spew its carbonated contents, the armor vented gas, heat, and Energy as though it had been under pressure. Dovalion cried out, stumbling forward as his right arm fell to the bloody grass. He fought to hold onto his swinging sword with his left hand, but the momentum and weight of it were too much, and its fiery tip sank into the soil. He kept his hand on the hilt, but he slumped as steam and blood spewed from the truncated armor of his right arm.

All his life, Victor had trained to finish. He’d never been taught to stop when his opponent was on his heels. It didn’t even cross his mind to stop; this wasn’t wrestling, but Victor aimed for the equivalent of a pin, not a draw. He was on Dovalion in an instant, gliding like a leopard over the grass. He held Lifedrinker high, her blade wreathed with the ghostly edge of the Paragon, as he swung her like a falling star at the spot where Dovalion’s neck met his shoulder. She bit into the metal, and he heard that awful, splitting sound again. Then, Dovalion was gone; there was nothing but a cloud of blue smoke where he’d stood.

***Dovalion Boarheart has been rescued from certain death and removed from the dungeon. Eight entrants remain. Prepare for an Energy infusion.***

Victor grunted in frustration as Lifedrinker hacked through the smoke. He’d won, and he’d done it cleanly, but the victory felt hollow. He felt robbed. He stood there, letting the smoke of Dovalion’s rescue drift into nothing, contemplating the battle and his win. He lifted Lifedrinker and looked at her smoldering blade, seeing no sign of the Paragon. He’d lost the battle trance that had summoned it. Footsteps alerted him to Sora’s approach, and he turned to regard her.

“An amazing battle, Victor. I can’t believe you took all three of them.” She held her bow loosely in one hand by her side. Victor nodded, offering her a half smile. His frustration was fading, and he knew they’d be hit with some Energy at any moment.

“Thanks for watching my back.” He had no idea if she’d done so. For all he knew, she’d been training her arrows on him, waiting for the perfect moment to betray him. He supposed he could probably count on her loyalty now; she’d have to be stupid to want to earn him as an enemy, and she seemed bright enough.

“It was nothing. Honestly, I was dumbstruck while you faced Strista and the other two; I couldn’t believe you walked out there like that.”

Victor chuckled and started to respond, but then swirling, potent balls of Energy streaked through the jungle canopy and struck both of them in the chest. It was a massive infusion, enough to blast all thought from Victor’s mind as weird rainbows and strange alien vistas passed before his mind’s eye. He saw purple plains, heaving, swelling red-frothed seas, and bizarre, gigantic, naked, fur-covered people. Some had two eyes, and some had one, and more than a few wore great racks of horns like crowns. They toiled to climb a steep, rocky mountainside.

Victor tried to make sense of the vision, but then the euphoric rush of Energy faded, and he saw his surroundings again. Sora was sprawled out on the grass before him, and a System message obscured his view:

***Congratulations! You have achieved level 65 Herald of the Mountain’s Wrath and gained 12 strength, 17 vitality, and 12 will.***

***Congratulations! You have earned a Class spell: Roots of the Mountain – Basic.***

***Roots of the Mountain – Basic: A mountain weathers all storms. A mountain isn’t moved. The mountain moves the earth. With this spell active, only the force of a true cataclysm can uproot or shift you. Energy Cost: 100 per second of active use. Cooldown: Minimal.***

***Congratulations! Your Imbue Spirit – Basic has become Imbue Spirit – Improved.***

***Imbue Spirit – Improved: You are able to imbue an object or individual with a shard of your own spirit, granting some of your own power and will to the recipient. At the improved level, the granted boons are larger. This effect will last until you recall your spirit shard. Energy Cost: Variable. Cooldown: Long***

“Badass,” Victor said softly, sitting up in the grass.

Sora blinked rapidly and looked at him. “That was quite a lot of Energy. There are some very unhappy iron rankers sitting around Sojourn watching us right now.”

“Yep.” Victor stood up, grunting as he did so. He hung Lifedrinker in her harness, then stood there, rubbing the soot and blood on his arms as though he had any chance of getting clean without a bath. The Energy had fully healed him; not even a scab remained of the many cuts Dovalion had given him. While Sora scanned the edges of the clearing, Victor summoned his coyotes, this time using inspiration-attuned Energy. They yapped, yipped, and whined as they circled him, and Victor laughed. “Go find the stairs going up, hermanos.”

“Why are they sometimes evil and dark and sometimes bright and full of exuberance?”

Victor looked at her and narrowed his eyes. She was ever asking questions. When she looked back at him without a touch of animosity, he shrugged, relenting. “Sometimes I want them to be quiet hunters, and sometimes I want them to be clever scouts.”

“I’m sorry to ask so much. I know how it feels when strangers want to know your business. May I ask you one more, though?”

Victor’s lips curled into a smile as he tried out the annoying line he’d heard from so many coaches over the years, “You just did.”

She groaned and apparently decided just to forge ahead. “Why didn’t you keep your giant size when you fought Dovalion? I mean, I know you’re quite large as you are, but you were . . . much larger before.”

“I don’t know. I wanted a good fight, and I knew my ancestors would have more fun watching a battle like that.”

“They’re watching?” Sora looked around, squinting with suspicion.

“Not always. If I want them to watch, I have to give them something worthwhile to see.” Victor could feel his coyotes covering ground, could feel their excitement as they hunted for the goal he’d given them. So far, they hadn’t run into anything to worry about, so he sat down in the grass.

“But,” Sora winced, shrugging as if to apologize for asking yet another question, “why do you want them to watch?”

“How will I earn their favor if they don’t see the glory I achieve? I have to earn my place among them, you know. I don’t want to show up like a weakling with no great story to tell, begging to carry water. I want to show up and be celebrated. I want to earn a good place among them, and I want other titans to cry my name when they go into battle.”

“Ah!” Sora sat down in front of him, leaning closer. “So, you have a clan to make proud? Titans who follow you? Children?”

Victor sighed and leaned back, waiting for word from one of his scouts. He closed his eyes and let the heat from the incongruous dungeon jungle bring a sheen of sweat to his golden-brown skin. It felt good—right. Somehow, he missed the jungle even though he’d never visited one in his life. “Enough questions, Sora. We’re dungeon friends; if we stay friends afterward, we can learn more about each other.”

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