Sometimes, the best thing to do in a battle is to run. Other times, it’s to fight and die. Depends on the person, really.

* A non-motivational motivational poster in the Multiverse

**

Brock could feel its aura pressing down on him from above, attempting to make him kneel before its majesty, to give up and grant it his death. As he stalked forward, his knees didn’t even so much as wobble. If Iz’ Takon thought she could restrain him – oppress him – then she was in for a rude awakening.

There was only one true oppressor in this world, and it was the Fetters of the Bound.

Her aura struck at his mind with fervor, the pressure increasing exponentially every second as the beast released what it had so delicately kept contained within. If not for the fact that he could sense the other warriors on the battlefield being greatly affected by the display of might, Brock would have just continued to bide time.

Instead, he grinned. Let’s do this.

The Tyrant of the Swarm almost didn’t realize he was missing as he blurred forward, his blade gleaming brightly in the blotted sunlight. Two scythes cleaved the air, then four, then six, then eight. Over and over as he approached, creating a hurricane of debris and dust, rending stone, and scathing the earth. A plume of dust over fifty meters in diameter quickly rose to obscure the monster’s position.

Still, despite the blindness, Brock ducked, dived, and dodged each and every attack, the mere air pressure they emitted beforehand enough of an indication for him to react. His own blade lashed out in turn several times, although it always skittered off harmlessly from the ivory scythes, even when imbued with either of his Augments.

His foe might have had a lower level than her tyrannous peers, but she was not at all an enemy to be underestimated. More so than that of the Alphas, Brock knew the normal rules of levels didn’t apply to this beast. But who gives a shit anyway?

He had killed those Alphas. He had killed Sky. And he would kill this one too.

Chunks of dirt scattered across him as another blade carved into the land beneath, rewarding his skin with little pricks of pain, but he ignored it. His only target was the humongous silhouette hiding within the maelstrom of particles. He could see those green eyes piercing through the smog, and although he couldn’t truly see the creature, he knew she could see him.

Unfortunately, with the advent of their battle, Iz’ Takon had been smart enough to retract her aura, making it harder to detect. Ultimately, it was a futile gesture, as he could still somewhat sense its relative location, and it freed the invisible fetters the aura had placed on the weaker fighters protecting Sanctuary.

“Oop!”

As he slid under a slash far too close to his head for comfort, Brock had to admit, he didn’t really have a plan for how to proceed with this battle, other than the usual ‘hit harder than the other guy’. Or gal, in this case. That wasn’t to say he didn’t have a few ideas, however. If he remembered correctly, he still had some useful items left in his ring.

The dodging continued, and eventually, Brock was forced to slow his advance as the Tyrant shed its intense offense and instead began to focus heavily into defense. Quickly, blobs of snot began to rain down around him, splattering across the ground and hardening rapidly. He clicked his tongue as one landed on his foot, and he was forced to melt it away. Another one slopped beside him.

I can’t even see them comin-

Brock’s spine threatened to snap as he bent backwards, just barely avoiding a blade as it struck sideways. He winced as its keen edge diced a sliver of the flesh on his chin off, and swiftly he resumed his vigilance.

He felt his body heat up as he forced himself to move faster and faster, sliding past the seemingly endless barrage of fluids and narrowly dodged the occasional slashes in between those. He was aware the monster had managed to put him on the backfoot somewhat with the dust, and he knew that if he wanted to win, he’d need to dispel it.

He found he couldn’t get closer either, as several of the beast’s scythes were pre-occupied with shredded the earth ahead of it at random in a bid to prevent his approach. It was working. Damn…

The problem was, with the rapid movement and focus needed to keep himself in one piece, Brock couldn’t find the time nor brainpower to charge up a blast of Skies powerful enough to rid the area of its obscuration. Maybe, that was even the beast’s intention.

Slowly though, it was getting frustrated, he could sense it. Brock was slipperier than an eel in butter, sliding past blow after blow by the skin of his teeth and weaving his way through the storm of attacks. Often, he was grazed and had pieces of his body shaved off, but they were superficial wounds and scabbed over in seconds.

Still fucking hurts though.

The only damage he actually took aside from that was the constant annoyance of dirt spraying onto him after each strike. Soon, however, he was going to repay all that back severalfold. Brock licked the dirt from his lips and spat it to the ground as he leaned out the way of a clumsy strike. His ring’s inventory was open and readily spread before his eyes.

If he couldn’t use his Skies to clear the area, then he just needed something that packed a punch large enough to do so. All he had to do now was wait for a chance.

Then that chance came.

He felt a powerful gust from above; an overhead strike.

The silhouette was slim yet domineering in the filthy clouds, and Brock knew taking it head on would result in him either being skewered like a cube of meat or pulped like some rotten fruit. Of course, for him to step aside and dodge was a matter of ease, and the ivory cleaved cleanly through the earth and down to the base of the limb.

Idly, he noticed he had stepped in a fresh glob of snot. Still, Brock smirked. Big mistake, numbnuts…

The next moment, a familiar contraption of mismatched steel flickered into existence and begun its arcing descent toward the ground, the sorry sight of a scrap-born harpoon peeking out from the top of the monstrous barrel the item boasted. All Brock needed was a light touch of his fingers to imbue it with his fiery Augment, and one more second to stomp down on the button with his free leg.

Iz’ Takon’s blade had barely begun pulling itself from the ground before a terrifying explosion blasted away all thick swathes of dust and cleared the area entirely. Brock protected his face as he was slammed by debris and molten slag, some even scoring gashes across his cheek or enhanced clothes, speaking realms of the power contained within.

The shockwave itself bowled him over, making his captured ankle groan ominously as he was slammed back into the earth. His head hit the ground hard, and he felt his brain slosh against his skull.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Through blurred sight, he watched the red-hot harpoon streak through the meters between the launcher and its target and impact into the scythe of bone. There was a single second were time seemed to stall as immense power met unbelievable durability. Then the entire appendage shattered to tumbling shards, the harpoon smushing itself into nothing more than a circular chunk of inert steel.

There was a short moment where his opponent was shocked by the development, her movements abruptly ceasing as her brain attempted to comprehend the blasphemy against her royal reign that had just occurred.

Seeing the opportunity for what it was, even as his thoughts tumbled through his skull, Brock’s foot was set ablaze with flame, charring the boot around it and melting the disgusting binding off of his limb. Rapidly, the man set himself back into motion once again, and with haste, he silently slipped beside the Tyrant.

An all-encompassing screech resounded from the beast looming far above him, and Brock restrained the urge to clasp his ears as he felt two trickles of blood dribble down the sides of his face. His rapid gait hitched but he continued, soon finding himself hidden under the monster’s fleshy abdomen.

The beast’s aura once again flared to life, although he could feel her compress its might down into the area around her instead of spreading it out over the entire battlefield like before. Absentmindedly, Brock filed the display of aura manipulation as something to try himself later, admiring the way the Tyrant’s aura increased in power severalfold from the added density. He even felt his knees buckle dangerously.

To his satisfaction, however, as another massive steel barrel appeared and thumped down onto the ground, he felt the rage in the aura waver and give way to the faintest taint of fear. He didn’t even bother to waste time to imbue the contraption, feeling the coming of a throbbing headache already, and he kicked the button, hearing the resounding click.

An explosion rocked the soil beneath it, and the harpoon was launched directly upward, blowing straight through the soft flesh of her abdomen and right out the top, showering Brock with slimy innards and bug blood. The Tyrant screeched once more and squirmed around furiously, trying to stomp him to death with her dozens of powerful legs.

That, of course, failed, simply because she struggled to even reach him, and Brock was already using his searing blade to cleave through a leg of the monster. It didn’t make it all the way through in the face of the protective chitin, but Iz’ Takon’s rabid movements were enough to let it do the rest, snapping the leg underneath it.

Brock licked his lips and decided to hit the creature with a heavy blow. Absentmindedly, he felt the attention of the strange creature beneath settle upon him. A slight trace of aura tickled his own. He could tell it was a warning.

Regardless, his Augment of Sparks roared through his pathways, building up in his palm and refusing itself release. His skin quickly reddened and began to smoke, and soon started to sizzle seconds after. He felt his pathways bulge with strain. He didn’t care, even as the stench of burnt flesh wafted up into his nostrils and pain enveloped his entire arm.

The Tyrant was grasping at straws at this point, spitting out globs of the sticky substance in every direction it saw fit, stomping and screeching and slashing at the earth. Brock was even forced to halt his painful channeling as the beast whipped around and a leg slammed down on the location he once was. He rolled along the ground and landed on his back.

As the skin of his hand began to peel and char and reveal the bone beneath, he decided it was time. Biting back a wince, Brock held his arm upwards. Then he released it.

White. Red and white. That was all he could see for a long few moments.

He couldn’t hear, only feel the raging vibrations as flame spewed from his hands and tore into the body of Iz’ Takon. He could feel the violent sizzle of chitin in the air and smell the sickly scent of charred flesh. He could even sense the monstrous vibrations as the Tyrant screamed out its agony and rage to the heavens.

As sight returned to him, Brock found himself gazing up at the blue sky through a smoldering hole of immense proportions.

Of course, as befitting of a Tyrant, the beast was still alive and kicking. Its aura had reached the point of intensity that Brock felt sweat pool on his back as he struggled to resist it. Despite being level 41, he knew his resistance to aura was not of someone of his level, thanks to his abnormally high Wisdom. If it was anyone else, he knew they’d be struggling not to fall unconscious.

Brock knew that after that attack, he was fully drained for the time being, although he was aware his opponent was in a boat far worse than him, spewing torrents of blood down the hole like a raging waterfall of green. Brock still didn’t know why his Augment refused to cauterize the wounds it made without his input, but he would take the added bleeding it afforded any day of the week.

Slowly, as his pounding headache threatened to make him tear up, Brock crept out from underneath the monster, finding it barely managing to prop itself up with the help of its now seven scythes. As he weaved around each once and began to bolt out of its range, he was surprised the beast didn’t attack him. Not that he really assumed it could at this point.

Honestly, if it wanted to give him an opening to land his final blow, he was all too happy to take it.

Although…

Why’re its eyes closed?

They weren’t actually closed per se, but the emerald glow had left them and made them appear lifeless. To Brock, he felt it kind of seemed like it had shut its eyes. Outwardly, it seemed unreactive. Its aura continued to climb in intensity, and its legs still occasionally twitched and stomped the earth, but that seemed entirely unintentional.

No matter what it was planning, it was time he ended thi-

Brock’s eyes sharpened and he froze midstep, “…Are you fucking joking?!”

Deep within the walls of Sanctuary, he felt an aura reach out and touch upon his own. It was one he recognized. One that was not supposed to be here. If his memory served him correctly, it belonged to that shadow operative from Genesis. As to why they were here, he had no idea.

Then came a second aura grasping desperately onto his. It was feeble and weak. Afraid, he could feel.

Margo.

Brock felt rage bubbling within his gut. Gritting his teeth, he glanced between the wounded monster and the town, conflicted. The beast was weakened, and so was he. This might be the only chance he had to finish it off. It was faint, but he was even able to detect the monster’s aura burrowing deep down into the earth. It was concerning, although he had no idea what it was planning. But… Margo. She was a person, and she was scared, hoping for him to come save her. He could sense resolve in the aura of the intruder, and usually, that meant willingness to kill…

Oh, fuck me.

Snarling furiously, Brock launched a powerful fireball at the monster’s eyes. The barest sounds of them popping and bubbling under the heat came to him as his hearing slowly returned. The monster didn’t even react, let alone screech. He didn’t bother to give her the finger as he sped back toward the town, crossing the distance rapidly.

A Guard smashed its shield down overhead to Brock’s left, smearing a warrior over the ground. A Hunter bisected another, the woman’s organs splattering over her companion as he watched on in horror. Brock’s blade found itself cutting the insect’s head off the next second, saving the other man’s life. One of his other companions ran to over him and snapped him out of his stupor.

Brock’s powerful thighs let him crest the wall as he came upon it, Skies giving him the extra boost he needed to make the rest of the way. His booted feet smacked down onto the concrete on the other side, and he immediately sprinted away, much to the surprise of the archers and mages on the wall. His headache grew.

He could sense the operative’s aura hiding within the town hall, as well as Margo herself and what appeared to be two others. Although, from the way their auras twitched, they seemed to have been rendered unconscious.

“Maxwell,” Brock felt searing anger lying within his words. He had just about had enough of that self-righteous motherfucker, even if he’d only met him once before, “If anything happens to Margo…”

He hissed out a breath, “you’re going to die.”

Brock knew the man wouldn’t have heard his words, but he didn’t care. Finality resided within his voice. A promise.

As he arrived and crested the doorway, he eyed the door to the town hall. It had been kicked from it resting place and scattered across the floor in messy chunks. The faint scent of melted candle wax filled the room, although none of the candles seemed to be lit. Anymore, at least. He assumed they had been blown out.

But what was most noticeable was the perpetrator’s aura. Or more accurately the lack thereof. He could feel Margo’s aura off to the right of the door, yet the person that had done this had disappeared entirely during his rush there.

Or so he thought.

The air made barest of whispers as a small projectile flew toward his neck, and Brock immediately moved to catch it. Unfortunately, the weapon simply punctured straight through the flesh of his palm, missing his neck by only a centimeter. He felt the tiny wound left behind with his fingers and looked to the shadows. They warped and bulged, and a figure stepped out.

“I’m impressed you saw that coming,” It was clearly the voice of a female, and in the greyness of the dark, Brock could make out the well-defined features of her face, “Unfortunately, my admiration is worthless. You’ll be coming with me.”

She brandished a trio of needles, “Now.”