Barry was transfixed on the rotating image projected above Pokka’s wrinkly palms.
“You’re saying this is an actual sentient alien species?”
“Indeed. A number of them still live, spread across different systems as they had to flee their home planet after an Ulm invasion.”
The being was covered in small green scales and stood on six evenly spaced limbs, all of which ended in sharp looking, dark brown curved blades. It seemed to have no head and he couldn’t spot any eyes either, though there were a number of thin tentacles protruding from what he had assumed would be its stomach. It was hard to tell which side was front or back.
“I have so many questions.” Barry spoke in a half-whisper, staring vacantly at the revolving image, mouth agape.
“I’m not showing you this for educational purposes,” The old man said, then the image moved elegantly in what looked like a series of slashing strikes, before showing a different alien creature, this one in an insectoid shape. What immediately stood out were its two oversized front limbs, ending in wicked points. It swayed from left to right, its limbs shooting forward in lightning-fast jabs.
Before Barry could process it and start bombarding Pokka with questions, the image shifted again, showing a pearly white being with many tentacles, seeming to float underwater.
After cycling through two more aliens, each looking radically different, Pokka asked Barry to choose one.
“And then? You’ll give me some red and white balls and send me out on a journey to catch the rest?” He asked with a sly grin.
“What are you talking about?”
“I forget you don’t have access to the internet. Never mind.”
“They are all strong species in their own right. I recommend you choose the one whose movements seem most appealing.”
Barry thought on it for a moment, but not having much information to go on, he eventually just went with his gut feeling.
“Let’s go with the first one then.” He shrugged.
Pokka nodded and the six-limbed creature appeared again, but this time the image moved longer, the being standing up on its hind legs as the two limbs near its center moved back slightly as a counterbalance. The massive blades somehow drew back into its limbs, until he could make out three scaly fingers.
“Is this an advanced species?” Barry asked, to which Pokka nodded.
“The Lamna communicate through dance, but over time they also developed a written form of language which started as a series of slashes made into the soil. This allowed them to better pass on detailed knowledge from generation to generation. I should add that they did have some help from the species of a neighboring planet to reach proper spacefaring technology. Now, let me show you how they fight.”
Although the being looked too squat to be flexible, all blades and short, muscled limbs, it moved with surprising grace, building up momentum in long, flowing movements. Before long, it was twirling intricately, each motion and swing seeming to take place in exactly the right way. It was mesmerizing.
“Nearly everything in Lamna society is done at least in part by some kind of dance - it is how they tell stories, how social hierarchy is determined, how they find mates. And of course, it is also how they engage in combat.”
The blades extended once more and the Lamna’s elegant movements became more erratic, swiping first high, then low as it kept moving and spinning on its limbs, bouncing and twirling around with impressive speed. Clearly, its blades were built for slashing, which matched the clean motions, not a single stab halting its ever flowing dance.
“That is just… amazing. What a beautiful species.” His voice was full of awe as he gazed at the dancing being, until he realized with a frown that Pokka must have an ulterior motive. He had a growing suspicion that this was some roundabout way to make him reconsider close combat training.
“Wait, why are you showing me this?”
Pokka showed a rare grin that reached all the way to his eyes.
“Why, isn’t that obvious? So that you may learn, of course, how to move like the deadly Lamna.”
Before Barry could protest that he was not, in fact, a six-limbed alien, the image changed again. It now showed a young man with short cut black hair, holding a curved blade in each hand.
The man began to move, swiping high, then low, building momentum as he moved smoothly from one slash to the next. The motions were less smooth and gracious than those of the alien, the momentum not quite so strong, as the possibilities of a human body were more limited. But the pattern was unmistakable; it was the same battle dance the Lamna had done before, only adjusted to work for a person.
***
Barry stood in the empty desert, moving along with the projected images with a scimitar in each hand as the last of the sun’s red glow sank below the horizon. The weapons had cost only 20 Value, not enough to make him question whether it was worth the experiment.
Given how bad he was with a spear despite frequent training, he’d decided he might as well give this a try. His initial resistance to using swords was based on a desire to keep as much distance as possible between himself and any monsters. That still seemed like a prudent approach, but given his natural agility and his investment in Speed stats, he had to admit this dance-based style of fighting was worth a shot.
“Try to speed up before the second slash. The high one can be considered a feint, which will likely be blocked. The lower cut is the real attack.” Pokka instructed.
He attempted the move again, starting from what he knew as ‘first position’ from ballet training, slashing out high with his right arm, then pivoting on one foot, using the momentum to spin around while ducking low to deliver a second slash with more force.
The movement of the blades followed something like a corkscrew shape, which he decided would be a fine name for it.
The next one was more challenging, to be used against downed or ducking opponents. It required him to leap while spinning on his side, the body positioning horizontally, nearly parallel to the ground. His arms would then stretch out, blades slashing downwards along with the spinning movement of his torso.
It would have been difficult to pull off before, but his jumping distance had increased along with his Stats. After only a few tries, he managed to land cleanly on his feet on the other side of the imagined target. He decided to dub this one the ‘windmill slash’.
“Good. You’re picking it up quickly. Next, let’s try a fighting retreat.”
They cycled through a series of movements, all of which Barry learned with a keen interest. At times, when the move felt somehow clunky, he would put down the blades and take a moment to find a similar dancing motion, before adjusting it slightly to fit a slashing motion.
Having gone through several repetitions of eight basic movements, the next step was then to tie them together into a continuous dance. This proved to be more difficult, Barry stumbling more than a few times.
“I think I know what the problem is,” he said, panting, after another failed transition, “there’s no rhythm to keep me on track. I need a beat. Music, Pokka. I need music.”
A search through the System Interface failed to yield any results, so Barry was left to tap his foot and hum, attempting to find an upbeat melody that suited this lethal dance. After a few attempts, he landed on the Waltz, finding the familiar melody easy to hum and suitable for these flowing, elegant moves.
The first run through revealed that the melody would have to be significantly sped up. Barry tried to move at the standard rhythm, carefully going through the motions, only to find that continued momentum was critical for this deadly dance to work.
Without the constant build-up of speed and power, he would sputter and stall like a car that had run out of fuel. The only solution was to speed things up.
Starting off in first position, standing straight with arms crossed, Barry hummed and tapped his foot, until he felt ready to start. Then, a sharp high cut followed by a spin and a heavier lower cut, flowing into a series of backwards steps accompanied by wide slashes, before he again advanced into a windmill slash.
His humming sped up, interrupted only by an occasional grunt of effort, as he flowed from one spinning move to the next, always slashing and accelerating.
Finishing with an impressive series of pirouettes that had him moving fast enough to look like a blur, he carried a satisfied smile as he wiped the sweat from his brow. Even Pokka was nodding, looking pleased with himself.
“Show me the next one.” Barry said hungrily.
***
After only a few hours of sleep that night, Barry was marching bleary-eyed across the desert again. He’d decided to cover as much distance as he could close to midnight and noon, avoiding the hours where the sun was at a stronger angle.
As soon as the speed felt somewhat comfortable, he would push it up a notch, knowing how much further he had to go. This was a form of training as well; his free manipulation of soundwaves getting ever better as he strode across the desert. Having started off at a creeping pace, he managed to get it up to a slow walk by sunrise.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Then, there was another training session, taking some time to experiment further with his manipulation of light, before another run through the bladework. The focus shifted from simply practicing the movements in a flowing dance, to training on using them in the right circumstances, which was significantly harder.
Barry refused to use the VR helmet while out in the desert, as there would be no warning if a predator wandered into the range of his Energy Shroud. So they were left to use projections; Pokka displaying large projections of various enemies to drill Barry on the right reactions.
That harsh routine continued, the days blurring together, with only an occasional Roid-Bull sighting to break up the never changing desert environment.
Those encounters got more frequent as Barry relentlessly increased his pace. After he finally transitioned into a slow jog, more accidents occurred where he would fail to have the sphere keep up with his speed and take a step outside. But his control was already good enough that he was confident to re-activate and move away before any monsters could reach him.
He’d started carrying a few small rocks in his pocket, which he would chuck into the distance as he moved on in his soundproof bubble. It was deeply satisfying to watch the oblivious monsters go chasing after the thrown rocks, like a dog playing fetch. He’d come a long way from treating them as some invincible enemy.
It was on the fifth day that he finally saw a change on the horizon. Touching his thumbs and index fingers together to create a circle, it now took him only ten seconds to manipulate the light into the intended effect. By forcing the light to refract through the shape of a convex lens, he created the effect of a basic kind of telescope.
Adjusting it to the right magnification, he then moved the image until it showed a distant forest. There was no transition, the desert suddenly giving way to a line of trees which looked entirely straight. It reminded him of the dead, black trees that lined the ravine. They were also inexplicably evenly spaced, looking almost symmetrical.
He had known from his map that there would be a forest zone coming up, but he’d incorrectly assumed that the trees would be green. These hulking trees had dark red leaves on their long, wicked branches, contrasting against the milky white of their bark.
Despite how ominous the forest looked, he couldn’t wait to get there, thrilled at the change of scenery. The threat level would also reduce slightly, moving to a lighter shade of orange. Still, whatever monsters lived there would certainly be deadly.
Glancing up at the angle of the sun, he considered whether to push on. It would be safer to take a break now and only go on after dark. But then, it would be harder to investigate the dangers of the forest during dark.
It was only a short distance, perhaps an hour if he hurried. Better get a move on now then, and finally move out of this godforsaken desert.
“Finally.” He said with a wide grin as he picked up his pace, moving at a steady jog, deftly manipulating [Halt Wave - Sphere] to follow along. Looking around, he absently noticed that Pokka wasn’t here, but the old AI disappeared often enough these days.
“No more sand in my shoes or constant sun in my eyes. No more sleeping out in the open. Today is a good day.”
He let out a satisfied sigh, gaze fixed on the tree line that was ever growing as he got closer. Only about forty minutes left, by his estimate.
His thoughts turned to what was next. Once he got in, he’d have to move slowly and carefully at first. Scout out the terrain, but more importantly, find out what predators lived there. He could only hope that they’d be as blind as the Roid-Bulls, but odds were that he’d have to change up his tactics. Especially in case they-
The only warning was a growing sound. He only felt it with the imaginary tendrils he held outside of his bubble. The shape of the soundwave was erratic, sharp and round shapes interspersed, but the size was huge and only got larger-
A humongous shadow flitting underneath him, too fast to react, and then it was already too late.
He dove forward but his head and arms snapped back from the impact. There was a jolt of pain in his neck and a crushing weight around his shoulders. He screamed, but it was swallowed by the air whipping around him.
A rush of air tore at his clothes and blasted him in the face, blinding him. Then, a terrible sound that drowned out even the deafening roar of air. It was like the distorted honk of a seal that didn’t stop, only so much louder, it was too much-
Dazed and disoriented, he activated [Halt Waves - Sphere] and there was a blink of blessed silence. Then it was gone again, replaced by that unbearable blaring, like a foghorn from hell. His whole body vibrated, teeth rattling.
Desperate, he brought his bubble back but he flew right out again-
PAAAAAAAA-
It pushed at him, squeezed and wrung him like a rag. He blinked through the air, caught a glimpse of the desert rushing by, of claws around his arms. Only then did he realize what was happening. Only he couldn’t think, it was crushing everything, even his thoughts-
His sphere, he needed the sphere, needed to move it faster.
He stopped fighting for focus then, allowing the stunned, half-conscious state to envelop his mind as he moved [Halt Waves - Sphere] faster than he ever did. Blessed instants of silence allowed him to be whole again. Until the bubble popped and there was a wave of urgent desperation, he had to bring it back, bring it back now. He was surrounded by an ocean of sound, pressing down on him, grinding his organs and bones into mush and dust and-
Another moment of silence allowed him to breathe. They were slowing down slightly, it must have reached the peak of its dive, only a few seconds having passed. There was no need to come with a plan, he’d had days of endless walking during which he’d contemplated this very scenario.
A wash of calm came over him then. He was already doomed, dead and buried, now all that was left was to thread the needles and follow that thin string back to the world of the living. There would be two needles to thread - first, to get free.
Squinting against the assault of the wind, he focused on his MAFT as he held his right hand out, struggling against the crushing pressure of a massive claw. His left arm was stuck, pressed against his body with unyielding strength, one giant claw digging into his skin next to his ribs.
With a flash, his spear appeared and he closed his fingers just in time, holding on to it against the vicious pull of the wind. Tilting his head up, he saw that he had just enough reach to hit his target and then, flexing his Speed, his right arm blurred.
In the space of a single second, he stabbed the bird a dozen times in one of its massive eyes. He had to pass by one of its disgusting headless necks, the one with the cone appendage, which was bent down to point straight at his torso.
But the metal tip of the spear skidded off the membrane of the eye as if it were hardened glass, his grip shifting on the oak haft with each blow, friction burning the palm of his hand. The wood of the spear split, the top half breaking off and he let go, both halves whistling away into the air.
His bubble popped again and he braced, but there was just the roar of air. It must have run out of breath for a moment. The monstrous bird tightened its claws in response to his resistance and he cried out as something snapped in his left arm.
The pain felt somehow absent, as if it were being felt by someone else. Despite his disorientation, there was still a keen clarity to his thoughts. This next one would be an even finer needle to thread, but what choice did he have?
Forming a circle with only his right hand, he focused on the convex lens effect. It worked after only a moment, his free manipulation somehow benefiting from his half-conscious state.
Angling his hand towards the creature’s eyes, he bent his head down and squeezed his eyes shut, dumping much of his remaining PE Capacity into this gamble. Raw light, as he knew from experience, would spring into existence in a blinding flash if he recklessly pushed energy into his [Free Manipulation - Light] as he was doing now.
If it paid off, the lens effect would bundle it together and-
There was a flash that burned even through his closed eyelids, an angry honking sound and then the pressure was off his shoulders.
He opened his eyes again, blinking through the afterimage. The bird had been moving up, so there was a brief moment of weightlessness as his remaining momentum brought him a final stretch up. He hung there, looking out at the setting sun, framing the vast expanse of forest and the impressive, snow-capped mountains behind. It was enough to make him smile, feeling like he was in a dream.
How he wished for that moment to stretch on, but then the uncaring pull of gravity had him hurtling back down to the ground.
The damned bird had taken him much higher than he’d expected. If it circled back and caught him again his thread would be cut for certain, but he was hoping that the blinding flash would have a lasting effect.
He squinted down to see that he was still above the desert, but close to the tree line. Angling his body as he picked up speed, he tried to guide himself towards the forest. Below, he could already see a familiar cloud of dust, meaning at least one Roid-Bull was circling like a scavenger. They must have learned that the blasts of sound released by the bird meant that prey was around.
Tracking his descent, he thought he would just make the tree line. Good. This would be the final needle.
Opening the System Interface, he dumped twenty points into Durability. Then, having only a few seconds left, he once again opened the MAFT storage system, praying for this to work. He stretched out just his right arm, his left dangling by his side, sending a regular stab of pain as it got buffeted by the wind. Then he stretched out his legs to either side, as far as his tendons allowed.
Finally, he focused on the retrieval system, choosing his mattress and placing it diagonally below him at what he hoped was just the right angle. As it popped out of stasis and into existence, only his heightened Senses and Speed allowed him to react, grabbing the one edge as tight as he could while clamping his legs on either side of it.
It caught against the wind, wobbling precariously, but his weight held it stable. Immediately, he felt the added wind resistance slowing him down. Still, he was moving at far too high a speed straight towards the canopy, so he activated [Reflect Momentum].
Placing the pane of force below him, he fed it only a trickle of energy, not wanting to come to a sudden stop, as that would be as bad as landing straight on the ground. He needed just a bit of resistance. But as he passed through too easily - just a small shock of resistance - he decided to triple the amount, only having time for one more activation.
There was a bigger shock, pushing his face into the mattress, then a series of cracks and two violent jerks as it caught on branches, the final one throwing him off to come down hard on the forest floor.
Barry desperately hung on to consciousness, knowing that his injuries were bad. Dying nearly forty times in a hyper realistic VR environment had taught him enough to recognize the signs.
He spat out a mouthful of blood, barely able to breathe. His ribs must have punctured into his lungs. Only fast short breaths came out, accompanied by a wet wheezing sound, as he crawled slowly away from the crash site.
Looking to his left, back out at the desert through the trees, he saw a Roid-Bull coming his way and spat angrily onto the ground.
“Fine. Fitting, that it would be one of you.” The words were barely a whisper, but his face was twisted into a hateful grimace.
A glance at his PE Capacity confirmed what he’d already known - nearly empty. Not enough for sustained use of his sphere. He summoned his scimitars and made to stand up, but his knees buckled and he fell back down. That was it, then. He closed his eyes.
But where was the inevitable rush of crushing hooves? The sound had stopped. Had the bird blown out his eardrums after all?
He craned his neck to look at the Roid-Bull, which was standing right at the edge of the trees, pointed straight towards him, ears twitching.
What was this? Did it fear the forest? He couldn’t think anymore. Sleep was pulling at him.
He faintly considered that he’d lost a lot of blood already. He wasn’t sure whether the Fixer Upper could still save him, but it was all he had left.
Pushing himself up with his back against a tree, he put up his Energy Shroud, then summoned his Fixer Upper and began attaching the straps, fighting against the encroaching darkness.
Suddenly, there was a pop-up from the System Interface.
[Emergency Stabilization Pill] - 800 Value
This pill will heal internal bleeding and stabilize critical body function. Recommended to use only in emergencies.
“Pokka?” He wheezed, looking around for the old man, but he was nowhere to be seen.
“Thanks.”
He swallowed the large pill with some difficulty, then, having finished strapping on the Fixer Upper, he just sat there for a moment.
His left arm was bent and broken, clothes torn, a flap of skin hanging loose on his chest, bleeding profusely. The corners of his lips twitched up into a faint smile, blood bubbling out with each painful, whistling breath.
Staring at the Roid-Bull, he slowly raised his right hand, then his middle finger, before his body went limp.