“I see it, you know,” hissed Ignatius. “The fear you try to keep hidden. The weight of expectations presses down on you. The pressure will be your undoing.”
Zeke ignored the man. Instead, he walked through the streets, looking neither left nor right. Every instinct within him screamed at him to murder the leader of the Imperium then and there. To crush him where he stood. Yet, Zeke knew that wasn’t going to happen. It couldn’t, and not just because of the contract he had signed. That was part of it, but an even bigger concern was how it would look.
His army had practically deified him. They had put their trust in his strength. And if he went back on the agreement, it would tell all of those kobolds that he was too weak to follow his own promises. Perhaps it wouldn’t have immediate consequences, but eventually, it would seep into their impression of him, ruining everything he’d done.
“It wouldn’t be that bad,” Eveline said.
Zeke could hear in her tone that even she didn’t believe it. Leadership was a precarious thing, especially so for someone like him. He ruled by virtue of strength, and anything that called that into question would threaten his authority. Both Zeke and Eveline knew it, too.
“What level do you think he is?” Zeke asked, referring to the enormous warrior a few dozen feet ahead of him. The man was barechested, wearing only a loincloth and a series of manacles, and if he was shorter than nine feet tall, Zeke would have been surprised. He’d have also been a little surprised if someone told him that the man was entirely human. He was too large. Too muscular. Too hairy.
“He could be part beastkin,” Eveline remarked.
“It doesn’t matter,” Zeke responded. Then, he repeated his previous question, “So no clue about the level?”
“I know as much as you do. At least in this instance. But you’d be fooling yourself if you think he’s anything but a peak entity,” Eveline answered. “He’s going to be strong, too. Savage. With this kind of a fight, with no skills or equipment, that’s going to matter as much as his level.”
“You don’t think I can beat him?”
“Of course you can beat him,” she scoffed. “In fact, I expect that you will. What I worry about is what it will cost. You understand that contract doesn’t actually bind the rest of the Radiant Host, right?”
“I’m aware. But he’ll have to open the citadel. That’s going to have to be enough,” Zeke stated.
“Not him. He wasn’t the one to sign it. If I had to guess what’s going to happen, they probably have some surprises for you and the army for when you enter the citadel,” she speculated. “And they’re probably banking on this fight wounding you enough that you won’t be able to help out. I’d expect that Ignatius will try to escape, too. He seems the type.”
“He does seem a bit…slithery.”
“Good characterization. No matter the agreement, he will turn on you the second he thinks it will benefit him,” Eveline said.
Zeke felt fairly confident that she was right. Moreover, he recognized in Ignatius something that he’d seen in other people as well. The man was powerful in his own right, probably at or near the peak, but he hadn’t gotten ahead on his own merits. He’d done so by climbing over other people, using them as stepping stones on his path to power.
And Zeke expected that to continue, especially when Ignatius’ survival or continued freedom was at stake.
“He’ll abandon them at first opportunity,” Eveline reasoned, giving voice to Zeke’s thoughts.
“He will. That’s why the army has not stood down.”
Indeed, the Radiant Host had no real context for just how many kobolds he could put on the field, largely because they’d only seen the first army at work. Knowing that, Zeke had already given the order for the rest of the kobolds to surround the citadel and ready themselves to take it down.
“And keep the Radiant Host from escaping,” he added. He had no interest in prolonging the war, which was what would happen if he let any of them slip through. That was especially true when it came to Ignatius.
All of that went through Zeke’s mind as he and Ignatius – led by the giant brute – traversed the city to the arena. A contingent of kobolds flanked them, but they kept a respectful distance. After all, everyone was playing nice at the moment. They were at least pretending that they intended to follow the agreement.
Even though everyone knew that it was all a farce.
Eventually, they reached the arena and passed through the massive gates. Soon enough, Zeke found himself on the field of battle, facing off against the brute. As expected, he could feel that the enchantments woven through the entire structure prevented him from activating the few skills at his disposal. Oddly enough, he could still utilize his racial gift to change his weight and ignore pain, though he was cut off from the Crimson Tower.
He was also bare-chested, just like the brute. Not because it was required, but because he didn’t want to ruin a good shirt in what he expected would be a furious battle with a savage opponent.
Facing the brute, he studied the man. He was almost three feet taller than Zeke and quite a bit denser as well. His muscles bulged beneath a mat of body hair, and his face had a blunt, squished arrangement that reminded Zeke of a prize fighter who’d fought a few too many fights.
Still, Zeke could see the power in those rippling muscles, and for the first time in a long time, he felt that he was looking at someone possessing more raw strength than him. Was that true? Or just a natural response to visual cues?
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Only time would tell.
Zeke reached up and cracked his neck before rolling his shoulders. He wasn’t permitted a weapon, so Voromir remained locked away in his spatial storage. If he was going to beat this brute, it would be with his bare hands.
Fortunately, Zeke had more than a little practice in that arena. Not only had he spent some time as a pit fighter beneath Min Ferilik, but he’d also trained extensively in hand-to-hand combat over the past year. He was as ready for the challenge as he could be. The only question was whether or not he had the strength to compete.
The brute paced back and forth, grunting with every other step. With the sun hanging high in the sky, Zeke just stood there, ready for the signal to begin. Then, a bell echoed throughout the arena, and the fight began.
The brute thundered forward, his arms outstretched. Zeke stood his ground, though he did shift slightly sideways and raised his hands. Just when the brute reached him, Zeke stepped to the side, then hammered his fist into the huge man’s hip. The crack of bone filled the air as he stumbled.
Then, the big man pivoted in an attempt to backhand Zeke into oblivion. For his part, Zeke danced backward, easily avoiding the attack, then darted in and smashed his other fist into the brute’s midsection. A second punch came shortly on the heels of the first, rewarding Zeke with the sound of a sharp exhale.
He ended the combination by stomping on the man’s enormous foot, cracking a dozen delicate bones in the process. Then, he once again sprang backward, narrowly avoiding retaliation.
He danced on the balls of his feet like the trained fighter he was. The brute was obviously powerful. Zeke could see that much. However, he seemed largely untrained, with sloppy technique. He was also slow.
Just as those thoughts flitted through Zeke’s mind, he heard something that he knew would change everything. The moment the sound of bones shifting back into place reached Zeke’s ears, he realized what was going on. Clearly, the brute was more than just an immensely strong fighter. He had some sort of racial ability that enhanced his regeneration.
Like a troll.
Maybe he could even trace his lineage back to one of those hateful creatures. He did have some skin beneath that mat of body hair that looked suspiciously scaley.
“This just got a lot harder,” Zeke remarked inwardly.
“You’ll be fine. You’ve trained for this,” Eveline responded.
That much was true. During his time in the Hunting Grounds, one of his favorite opponents was the troll warlord. Not only was the first powerful enemy he’d ever fought a difficult match-up due to his allocation of attributes, but he also possessed the regenerative capabilities of his race. That made fighting him an exercise in frustration that Zeke thought brought out the best in his own abilities.
Also, if given the chance to beat a troll to death, he’d always take it.
And in his mind, the brute before him had just revealed his true nature. He was no longer just an obstacle. He was a representation of the hated trolls who’d made the first few years of his life in the Mortal Realm extremely difficult. As such, when Zeke stepped forward, it was with renewed vigor and incredible resolve.
The troll met him head-on.
Zeke ducked beneath a wild swing, then danced to the side, narrowly dodging a hasty kick, before smashing his fist into the troll’s midsection. He’d have gone for the head, but doing so would have thrown him off-balance. So, he hammered the troll with a second, then third punch. This time, though, he didn’t let up. Even as his foe reeled, Zeke forged ahead. Each punch broke bones, but he had to maintain constant focus to avoid taking a hit.
He ducked and dodged, dancing aside as the troll threw one wild attack after another at him. And they all missed. Some by miles, others by mere inches, but none of them connected.
But Zeke knew he wasn’t winning.
Not really, at least. Sure, he’d done a little damage, but the troll’s regeneration was so high that by the time he’d hit it with another attack, the previous was already healing. It was painful, he was certain, but it was insufficient to bring the troll down.
And he was well aware that, because it was a racial ability, it wasn’t likely to run out of energy anytime soon. On the flip side, if Zeke took a few good hits, he would be crippled. And as high as his vitality was, it was not sufficient to heal him from that kind of damage. For years, he’d neglected that stat because he always had [Hand of Divinity] and its predecessors to prop him up. Without it, he was a bit of a sitting duck.
Zeke could keep going for days.
Weeks, even.
But this was one fight he wouldn’t win by attrition. He couldn’t simply wear the troll-man down. Nor could he fell him with a single blow.
That realization begat another, and he recognized the only route to victory lay in unmitigated and relentless assault. He knew he would be injured in the process, but that was a price he was going to have to pay. It would endanger him, but he needed to trust that his army – his people – would ensure that it didn’t cost him his life.
Without further hesitation, Zeke rushed the troll-man, taking out his knee with a well-placed shoulder tackle. Doing so opened him up for a retaliatory strike that hit him in the back, and the sheer strength behind that blow cracked Zeke’s ribs. He ignored it, grabbing the enemy’s other leg, twisting, and sending him toppling to the ground.
The troll-man hit with a cloud of dust, and Zeke pounced atop him. He raced up the man’s toros, then landed a massive, two-handed attack on his squashed face. His skull cracked, briefly stunning the powerful warrior. However, it only lasted a split second before he lashed out and hit Zeke in the side.
Before he was launched across the arena, Zeke increased his weight as much as possible, which kept him in place. He hit the troll-man again. Then again after that.
One blow after another rained down on the enemy, and many were answered by the creature beneath him. Some of those attacks were glancing blows, but the thing was so strong that even those were devastatingly effective. And the solid hits were absolutely hell to endure.
But Zeke did endure them.
He took them with powerful stoicism, weathering the storm as he threw one punch after another. His strength was no less than that of the troll, and each one of his strikes came with the sound of cracking bones. But those wounds were quickly reversed by the creature’s massive regeneration.
Not completely, though.
Slowly, Zeke gained ground, and the troll-man’s weakened bones shattered even more easily than before. Soon enough, he was pummeling the thing’s bare brain. It kept up its own attacks, but they gradually lost their vigor as the thing became insensate.
But it still didn’t die.
Not for the first hour, at least. Nor the second. In the end, it took three entire hours of Zeke’s constant attacks before the thing came to the edge of death. If he let up even for a few seconds to catch his breath, the troll-man would regenerate. So, he didn’t do that.
With broken bones and sagging resolve, Zeke continued top pummel the monstrous man into submission. Then, finally, his hand went through the troll’s brain, entirely obliterating it.
Only then did the thing die.
He sat back, still straddling the thing’s shoulders. His own broken bones were sticking out at all sorts of weird angles. His hands had been shattered by his own strength, reminding him of his first few days after being reborn. And he knew he’d have trouble walking now.
But he had won.
And just as he had predicted, that wasn’t where the conflict would end. That was made absolutely clear when an arrow streaked across the sky and rammed into his chest.