(Nathan)

Nathan resumed Weapon Recall on the errant hammer, silencing its humming flight with the grip of his hand.

Dorian’s gaze tracked the crystal projectile. “I’m not sure what you’re trying to do, but I don’t think it’s very effective. You should try hitting me.”

At unranked, Nathan stood no chance against his common-ranked brother. Dorian had goaded him into the fight and now he was adventuresplaning how it should be done. Typical of his brother. Nathan knew Dorian was toying with him; he probably pulled the sucker punch, too. His plan to exhaust Dorian wasn’t working because the unstoppable elf wasn’t spending any mana. He needed Dorian to use more abilities.

‘This is going to suck,’ Nathan thought. He cast Metabolize on himself, muscles tensing as he skidded to a halt, then launched the hammer again (13). Dorian closed, launching a quick salvo of his own—with his fists.

The first punch landed on Nathan’s chest with a snap. The second quickly followed up across his jaw with a crack. He braced for a third pop that never came, tasting the warm copper pooling in his mouth. He turned to spit, splattering the green glob on the ground.

A smile revealed his green-tinged teeth. Both attacks had exhausted Dorian’s mana, while his was now topped off, the excess returning to the cosmos. Those haymakers must’ve been costly abilities for Dorian to be running low.

His plan might just work. He’d exhausted Dorian’s options for now, and it’d only cost him most of his life. Lifeforce showed him at 24% health. Respiteful Regeneration switched to health mode.

Sweaty and out of breath, Dorian wiped his brow with his forearm. “Pretty good,” he said between breaths. “For a mender.” But that didn’t mean he was out of the fight. He kept throwing regular punches, elbows, and knees. Although not true abilities, his Super Strength passive still empowered them, and they would’ve whittled Nathan down had Flame Shell not grown strong enough to minimize the damage.

Each strike sparked a different color from the flames. Dorian’s health was still at 100%. He didn’t seem to take any of the retribution damage from the shell.

Doubt crept into Nathan’s mind. ‘What if he’s too tough for me to hurt?’ He soaked another half dozen strikes before a pink spark lit up from Dorian’s last punch. The shell had completely negated the damage, giving him a flicker of hope.

Dorian’s health finally dipped to 96%, and he took a step back, shaking out his hand. “That’s starting to sting.”

Nathan’s health was just above critical, sitting at 15%. His new abilities were the only things keeping him on his feet. The darkness creeping at the edges of his vision told him he was only a handful of percentage points from blacking out.

“You don’t look so good, brother.” Dorian leaned over, pointing to Nathan’s belt. “Take the potion.”

Instead of doing the sensible thing, Nathan shook his head and spat out more blood, wiping his mouth on his scaled-sleeve. He had him exactly where he wanted him. They’d come this far. And when the fight was about to turn around, Dorian wanted him to quit? Not a chance.

Dorian continued to circle around Nathan slowly, with his guard up. “An important skill in adventuring is to know when to quit.”

Nathan met his gaze. “You ever quit?”

Dorian smirked and said, “No.” Then he stepped back and split into three.

Nathan squeezed his fists tighter, realizing Dorian was just stalling. His plan was to wait for Flame Shell to expire. He took a seething breath, exhaling forcefully. He wanted to land his attack now more than ever and wipe that stupid grin off his brother’s smug face.

Nathan spun up another attack and tossed the hammer at him, missing (14). He tried the recall attack again, but it missed as well (15). Between the triplet buff and his aura, Dorian was impossible to hit, but that didn’t stop him from trying.

A minute later, Flame Shell expired; the prismatic flames waned as the collection counter displayed (33). He’d used up about half his mana again, and his health was back to 54%. Metabolize was amazing, doubling the health regeneration of his aura. But as soon as his health outpaced his mana, it flipped back to mana regeneration, which had no synergy with Metabolize.

The counter had crept into the thirties without him realizing. ‘Thirty-three is very high,’ he thought. ‘I should do it now.’ He never enjoyed fighting, actively avoiding it whenever he could, which meant he never got around to thoroughly testing his attacks, or how he might exploit them.

One hit from his hammer had no effect on Dorian, but thirty-three hits combined into one should do some damage. Normally, he’d be concerned it might do too much damage, but he was just giving Dorian exactly what he asked for.

Nathan had held off on using Command, in case his brother went for the blade again. However, it could also force the unstoppable elf to stand still long enough to land the shot. He’d find the right time to use it after the doubles went away.

Dorian’s triplets merged back into one shortly after Flame Shell went down, meaning it also had a one-minute duration, which was a relief. Xel’oria could barely contain a single Dorian, let alone three.

This was the moment Nathan had been waiting for—his chance to end the fight. But Energy Leech had just dropped off, and he opted to play it safe, refreshing it, which cost him his opportunity to use Command.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Suddenly, a wind swept in from Dorian’s direction, followed by a wall of churning sand. Lifeforce didn’t work on undetectable enemies, and Dorian’s health dropped off the list as the sandstorm obscured him.

Cursing himself for making another costly mistake, he shielded his eyes from the sand. That did little to help because this wasn’t a mundane storm—it was one of Dorian’s abilities. He was blind and taking constant abrasive damage from the raging storm around him. Coarse sand got everywhere, grinding, scratching, scraping, and whipping him from every side.

‘Which way?’ he wondered. Logic dictated this ability had a limited area of effect and going straight in any direction would lead him to safety, but he found it difficult to think when every instinct he had was screaming for him to hunker down. Unable to see, barely able to breathe, and in constant pain, he forced himself to take a step forward.

A sudden blow to his solar plexus, right below his diaphragm, stole what air remained. Before, it’d been difficult to breathe, trying not to choke on the sand and dust infiltrating his mouth. Now it was impossible. His diaphragm spasmed, unable to inhale—he panicked. Frozen in place, his mind abandoned the plan, obsessing over his next breath.

At the first sign of restored function, he inhaled sharply, sucking air, sand, and debris into his lungs. Racked with coughing, he dropped to a knee. Blind, helpless, his health slowly deteriorating, and worst of all, unable to call out for mercy. Would Dorian even notice if he took the potion to surrender?

More flashes of pain surprised him across his cheeks and face. Dorian didn’t hold back, striking again and again.

Overwhelmed, confused, and afraid, Nathan was desperate, digging deep, grasping at anything. At the very bottom, he found a writhing mass, powerful enough to give him back control. Hatred surged, tempting him with a way out—if he’d just give in—let it consume him.

“No,” Nathan gagged, using revulsion as a focus point instead. He flicked his wrist, spinning up his hammer and launched it (34). Dorian’s assault paused long enough for the hammer to return. A cheap kidney shot followed once the hammer was back in his hand.

Nathan pushed himself back to his feet, tossing the hammer wildly again (35). It bought him precious moments as his brother waited for it to return before striking him again.

Dorian must have exhausted himself with the sandstorm, because these were regular unarmed strikes. They still hurt and did a great job at lowering his health, but they weren’t the life-ending haymakers he’d been using before.

‘He’s in mana debt,’ Nathan realized. Lifeforce showed his own health down to 13%. He reached for the healing potion on his belt as another option presented itself.

Flame Shell came off cooldown, and he used it immediately. The constant attacks of the sandstorm quickly ramped up the shell to full effect, negating the damage. His health ticked up to 14%, and the shell blocked Dorian’s next strike completely.

He still couldn’t see or stop coughing, but the shell would keep him in the fight. If Dorian kept attacking, he’d only hurt himself. But the unstoppable elf had shown respect for his ability previously. It was too much to hope he’d knock himself out on it.

Flame Shell would outlast the sandstorm by a minute, and Nathan hoped that would be long enough for the blind to wear off. He had a blind cleanse gummy in one of his pouches, but it was mixed in with the others.

It was annoying to admit this fight was already proving a valuable lesson. He’d be sure to keep the gummies separate in the future, so he’d know which to use even if he couldn’t see.

Slowly, he made his way to the edge of the storm. He picked a direction, alternating between taking a step and firing off another ranged hammer attack (36). The attacks gave his mind something to focus on, keeping him from giving in to panic. His coughing fits improved at a glacial pace as the mending repaired his lungs, though it couldn’t remove the sand or debris.

It took nineteen paces until he couldn’t feel the surrounding storm, and then he launched the hammer one more time (45).

Regrettably, his blindness persisted for a time, which he expected. He stopped holding back and gave into his urge to choke and vomit, leaving a mess on the ground at his feet. He’d need an appointment with Windlock to fully clear his lungs and prevent further complications.

Dorian clapped. “Impressive abilities. Can’t believe you’re still on your feet,” he said, lurking from within the sandstorm.

Too busy coughing to clear his lungs, Nathan was forced to continue listening as Dorian droned on.

“For only having two-thirds of your powerset, you’ve done well.”

Nathan fired off another attack toward his voice (46).

Dorian gave a chuckle as the hammer failed to find its target again. “I’m not used to fighting solo. You’re very hard to catch. Usually, P’reslen keeps everything locked down. And that ability”—he whistled. “The one jacking up my mana cost? It’s brutal. A real shame you’re only a mender and have nothing that can hurt me.”

‘Infernal Mother, stop monologuing,’ Nathan thought, his frustration building at his inability to speak—Dorian was really pissing him off.

It took half a minute for his sight to return. Tears still obscured his vision, a side effect of coughing up his lungs to breathe, but at least his brother had shut up. He could see well enough; he just needed to know where the sandstorm was. Most common-ranked abilities stayed in place once activated, though some occasionally followed a target; this one remained where Dorian had used it.

He walked over and stuck his fingers through the sandy veil, refreshing the duration of his Flame Shell. He figured the blindness would return. It did, but that was okay—he already knew which direction to attack. Dorian was in there somewhere, and maybe he’d get lucky with a stray shot.

His mistake of choosing Energy Leech over Command replayed in his mind over and over. He was upset; that wasn’t even the first poor decision he’d made this week. The shell offered him a reprieve from Dorian’s onslaught, but it also gave him time to reflect—to seethe.

His thoughts pushed him from frustrated to furious. He should’ve ended the fight with Command, locking his opponent down to land the shot. Now he had to deal with the consequences of his failures.

“Consequences,” he scoffed, spitting the offending word from his mouth.

A simple concept whose purpose was to keep everything in check, to keep everything fair. It was the one rule preventing everyone from doing whatever the Pits they wanted. But of course, that never applied to Dorian; he was immune. And that was unfair. No—unjust. And it really pissed him off.

Dorian always showed up whenever it suited him, doing whatever he pleased, and then left the mess for someone else to clean up. That someone was usually Nathan. His lack of consequences was maddening.

“You’ve done well… for a mender,” Dorian said. “Unranked with little combat experience… You could never win. Drink the potion before you get hurt.”

Forced to listen to Dorian’s gloating, Nathan felt the writhing mass surge again. Dorian had just admitted that he knew this was a one-way fight from the beginning.

‘Then what was the point?!’ Nathan’s mind demanded. This was all for his brother’s entertainment. His pain, his suffering, was just a cure for boredom? Not once did it ever occur to Dorian that he could beat him. But Dorian was wrong. Nathan had a plan, and he should’ve won, but one stupid, split-second decision had cost him Dorian’s comeuppance.

Frustration and anger were regular emotions Nathan struggled with, one always leading to the other, fusing together into something more—hatred. Until now, he’d always directed it inwards.

Hatred reached out, offering its power once again. He really wanted to hit something. He needed to hit something. And this time, he didn’t say no.