Chapter 22
"Do I need to go down there and heal him between rounds?" Pierce asked Grok, concern etched on his face.
"There are healers on staff who will take care of him," Grok assured him. "In most cases, they are fast enough to save a combatant from death. Being a single combatant helps, as the fight would continue if one member of a team died, and the rest continued. But in a solo match, the fight can be stopped, and healing magic applied quickly." Grok explained, his gaze fixed on the fierce Orc below who was battling a large, avian creature. The bird utilized wind magic, creating a whirlwind of feathers and air currents that made it incredibly difficult to hit with ranged attacks.
"That's a relief, I guess. All I've seen are beasts. Do they have sentient battles?" Pierce inquired.
"On occasion, there are tournaments where death disqualifies the offending combatant," Grok explained, "but Dunblag's main export is live beasts, so here we use what we have." The Orc below took a particularly vicious wind attack to the legs, sending him tumbling across the sand, a cloud of red dust erupting with each impact.
"You being a Beastmaster and all, do you have an instinctive insight into a beast's capabilities, or is it something you have learned?" Pierce continued his questioning while the group enjoyed a brief respite.
"Most experienced fighters have some idea of what a beast can do," Grok acknowledged, "but you are correct, beastmasters seem to have a much more tangible understanding of the strengths and weaknesses of monsters. Take this bird, for example. You can easily see it uses wind for attacks, but I knew it before the first attack was launched. I also knew that physical attacks were its bane, if you could land them. I can also discern weaknesses that others often miss. Much of it is learned through study, of course, but there are so many beasts in the wild, only a fraction of which are documented. Through crossbreeding, naturally, new variants and skill combinations are constantly emerging." Grok observed as the Orc, playing dead, lured the bird closer. The creature landed cautiously, pecking at the Orc's seemingly lifeless form. In a sudden, explosive movement, the Orc sprang to his feet, landing a devastating punch to the large bird's chest. The bird crumpled to the sand, lifeless. The fight was over.
"Would it be within the rules to share that information over the group chat for Flint to hear?" Pierce asked the Orc.
With a grin, Grok nodded. "There is a spell barrier around the battlefield, but it is often weak to telepathic spells. Communication spells fall within this field and are quite difficult to detect. Information is not seen as a weapon, and most seasoned warriors in the Arena would rarely be caught off guard by a beast's abilities like young Flint here would. I will agree to this, but we must keep the communication brief and sparse to remain undetected."
An announcer, an imposing Orc with a long grey robe, strode out to the center of the Red Sands.
"Citizens of Dunblag, Warriors, Men, Women, and Sentients of all types and sizes, give a hearty round of applause for Krablock the brawler!" The charismatic Orc announced, pausing for the cacophony of cheers to subside. "Our next round of battles features a fresh combatant never before seen here in the Red Sands. Hailing from a planet called Azgard, we have THOR THE CRUSHER!" The Orc lifted one arm towards the side entrance of the oval, where a short, powerfully built human with a long red beard emerged, surveying the crowd with a look of astonishment.
"Thor, you will be given three increasingly challenging battles to prove yourself. Your options are to yield, defeat the enemies, or die. Upon yielding, you may not enter the Red Sands for at least one month, and upon dying, one year. If you are found to be unconscious and require healing, that is ruled as yielding. If you requested a revive when registering, upon death, you are charged 100 gold for the ritual. Do you agree to these terms before these witnesses?" The Orc inquired with a wave of seriousness.
"OOH YEAH! The Crusher is here! Feel the ground tremble! I'm gonna smash, bash, and gash my way to victory! The crowd is gonna dig it!" Flint boomed, his voice echoing through the arena in a dramatic imitation of Macho Man Randy Savage.
The announcer, clearly taken aback by the human's boisterous introduction, quickly regained his composure. "Do you feel prepared for your first opponent, a deadly Whispering Bloom?" he asked.
"Whispering Bloom? More like Whispering Doom! I'm gonna crush it like garlic! This ain't no garden party!" Flint declared, waving his hands in a theatrical manner, inciting the crowd to cheer even louder.
The Orcish announcer, realizing this was not going to be a typical round, quickly exited the sand through the same side door Thor had entered.
"Whispering Bloom uses light wind magic to blow their pollen at enemies, which enchants their prey into becoming docile, then follow up with vines to crush and eat said prey. They are strong against earth, water, and wind magic, but weak to fire, ice, and acidic magic. Stronger wind spells can also be used to redirect their pollen." Grok explained over the mental chat, though Flint seemed oblivious, caught up in the roar of the crowd.
A door on the long side of the oval creaked open, but no beast emerged. Flint, sensing the tension, remained vigilant, his hammer poised. Suddenly, a probing attack struck from directly in front of him. A green, barbed vine shot from the sand, narrowly missing his legs and disappearing back into the ground before he could react. At the same time, a six-foot-tall blue flower erupted from the sand directly behind him, releasing a cloud of yellow dust into the air. Flint, unfazed, calmly turned to face the flower, a mischievous glint in his eye. He raised his hand and cast a spell, a faint yellow aura shimmering around his body. Then, with a confident grin, he calmly motioned to the crowd to cheer him on, ignoring the incoming cloud of pollen. Soon after he is surrounded by yellow pollen dust that seemingly has no effect on him, at the same time his large hammer disappears, a smaller crude smithy hammer appearing in his hand is hurled powerfully at the plant, landing a glancing blow with enough force to spin the flower around twice dazing the plant beast. As soon as the small hammer left his hand Flint summons his normal hammer and charges at the plant, rearing back and landing a devastating blow on the center of the flower crushing it flat, with a trickle of flames and ice intertwined flowing through the internals of the beast, slaying it instantly into a small pile of frozen ash.
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"And the winner, by a stunning defeat, is the THOR THE CRUSHER!" the announcer roared, his voice echoing through the reverberating arena as he walked towards Thor.
"OOH YEAH! The Crusher reigns supreme! That wasn't even a snack! I'm still hungry! Who's next on the menu?!" Flint boomed, playing to the delirious crowd, flexing his muscles and flashing a mischievous grin.
The announcer's face made a dramatic shift. "Indeed, the Crusher has proven his dominance! Your power is undeniable." He paused, a serious tone creeping into his voice. "Next up, facing the mighty Crusher, a creature of shadows and stealth, the Shadow Stalker! Tell me, how do you think you'll stack up against such a cunning opponent?"
"Shadow Stalker? He's gonna disappear faster than a fart in a storm! I'm gonna find him, and I'm gonna crush him! OOH YEAH!" Flint declared, his voice booming with confidence. He then proceeded to demonstrate his hunting prowess, slowly circling the arena, swinging his hammer in wide arcs, sending sprays of sand flying with each powerful swing as the crowd roared in approval.
The announcer, seemingly overwhelmed by Flint's display, simply nodded and exited the arena through a side door.
"Be careful, Shadow Stalkers are pack hunters," Grok cautioned over the mental chat. "The announcer is trying to trick you into believing it is a single foe, but there are at least two, as many as four. They are completely invisible, leaving no trace in the sand, and emitting no discernible scent. Their defense, however, is laughable. They die with a single well-placed hit, but their brethren use that momentary distraction to attack simultaneously, hoping to overwhelm their prey with numbers and sneak attacks."
Flint, taking his position in the center of the arena, faced the door where the Whispering Bloom had emerged, his senses heightened. He heard a faint whisper of movement behind him and spun around, his hammer raised defensively. The other door at the far end of the oval creaked open, but nothing emerged.
Refreshed his shield spell, Flint stood alert, his hammer held above him with two hands, shield slung across his back. Suddenly, a scraping sensation brushed against his armor, the metal absorbing the impact of an unseen blow. He instantly repositioned his hammer, swinging to the right, but found nothing. Changing tactics, Flint grabbed his shield and made a series of feinting movements, pivoting and shifting his weight, testing the air for any sign of the invisible predators.
Then, with a chilling speed, a black, panther-like creature materialized beside him, its claws raking across his armor. Flint reacted with lightning speed, swinging his shield with incredible force. The Shadow Stalker was sent flying back, its skull exploding in a shower of gore upon impact. A concussive force, amplified by Flint's own shockwave spell, erupted outwards, knocking the two remaining Shadow Stalkers off their feet. Approaching the two stunned beasts, Flint used one single swing of his hammer each to end their lives in a shower of blood and gore. Flint, covered in a fine mist of blood and feline remains, surveyed the scene with a triumphant grin.
To the cacophony of cheers, Flint stowed his hammer and shield, wiping the blood from his face with a flourish. "OOH YEAH! The Crusher reigns supreme! Those shadows thought they could hide from me? Hah! I crushed them into itty bitty bits!" he roared, his voice echoing through the arena.
"Indeed, the Crusher has proven his dominance! Your power is undeniable!" the announcer declared, walking towards the blood-soaked combatant, his voice awestruck. "But your next opponent will be your final battle of the night, a true test of your stamina surely not yielding to a single blow… I present to you, the Magma Crawler!"
"Magma Crawler? Sounds like a fancy name for a cooked lizard! I'll crush him faster than you can burn the popcorn!" Flint declared, his voice booming through the arena, eliciting a roar of approval from the crowd.
"Magma Crawler is an armored fire-breathing lizard," Grok explained over the mental chat. "Extremely hard to defeat. Your hammer might not be the most effective weapon against its thick hide, and I don't think I have to tell you to prepare for flames."
Chants of "THOR! THOR! THOR!" erupted as the final door at the far end of the arena swung open. A fearsome sight awaited him: a massive, twenty-foot-long lizard, resembling a monstrous cross between a horny toad and an armadillo, emerged. It stood five feet tall at the shoulder, its scales shimmering with an inner heat. A torrent of flame erupted from its maw, engulfing the area in a wave of searing heat.
"You picked the wrong guy to mess with," Flint roared, a mischievous glint in his eye. "I've been forged in the flame all my life!" He added his leather metalsmith's apron, gloves, and helmet, protecting himself from flames. With a confident stride, he approached the Magma Crawler, shield raised and hammer poised.
The lizard, sensing its prey, lunged forward with surprising speed. Its jaws, lined with razor-sharp teeth, snapped shut on Flint's shield with a deafening clang. Undeterred, he unleashed a powerful hammer blow against the side of the lizard's armored head. The creature, seemingly unfazed, spat out the shield, a torrent of flames erupting from its mouth, engulfing Flint in a wall of fire.
But Flint was prepared. He had anticipated the attack, his armor absorbing the initial heat. With a roar, he pivoted, swinging his hammer with the force of a thunderbolt. The pickaxe end of the hammer found its mark, piercing the thick armor plates and shattering the skull beneath. A wave of crushing force, infused with ice and fire magic, surged through the creature, instantly liquifying its internal organs. The Magma Crawler, once a fearsome beast, now stood frozen in a grotesque, icy statue.
"And the winner, by a chilling defeat, is the THOR THE CRUSHER!" the announcer roared, his voice echoing through the reverberating arena as he walked towards Flint.
“The Crusher reigns supreme! You could say I gave him the cold shoulder!” Flint says, working the crowd, motioning to his ear in each of the four directions as if they are not cheering loud enough.
"You certainly gave him a frosty reception!" the announcer exclaimed, shaking his head in disbelief. "You are done for the day, Crusher. You've earned a well-deserved rest, but I have to ask, will you be returning to the Red Sands?"
"Rest? I'm just getting warmed up!" Flint declared. "But if the crowd wants a break, I suppose the Crusher can cool off for a bit. But mark my words, I'll be back! And I'll be ready to crush anything that dares to stand in my way!" Flint declared, arms outstretched, basking in the thunderous cheers of the crowd.