(Nathan)
The leather creaked as Nathan flexed his grip on the crystal hammer’s handle. He released it, letting it fall before snatching the chain and spinning it up with a flick of his wrist. Grunting through clenched teeth, he attacked blindly into the storm (47).
The sudden weightlessness of releasing the hammer felt good, but like a drop of seawater, it only added to his thirst.
The crystal hummed as it sailed through the air, falling silent only when it returned to his grip. He chucked it again (48), and again (49), and again (50) as fast as it would return. With each toss, a tiny turn of the release valve on a runaway boiler, only making enough room for more resentment to build.
“Control yourself, brother,” Dorian said.
“Control?” Nathan’s face twisted. “Myself?!” His body shook with rage. “You know nothing of control!” He launched another attack into the sandstorm (51).
Hatred consumed his mind, fueled by Dorian’s impudence just as his vision cleared again. He swiped furiously at the wall of the sandstorm, refreshing Flame Shell’s protective layer. His vision blurred once more as the ability blinded him. It had reached the maximum potential for this rank. He couldn’t see the chaotic spectrum of shifting flames whipping around him, mirroring his temper.
“Give up and take the potion. Let’s end this before you get hurt,” Dorian said.
Nathan ignored the concern in his opponent’s voice. It was a distraction. All he could hear was the condescending tone spewing from his mouth.
“No,” he growled, still coughing, unable to voice all the terrible, hateful things running through his mind. ‘You’ll get what you deserve today. I’ll make sure of it.’
Nathan’s inability to see or speak didn’t stop him from throwing the hammer at the infuriatingly patronizing voice (52). His rage continued; his only relief was to lash out.
Another sandy glob of green ichor soaked the ground, coming up after he’d yelled at the infuriating voice hiding in the storm. Without giving the hammer a moment’s rest, he fired relentlessly.
“Aaargh!” Nathan bellowed in frustration after launching his sixth attack in a row (58).
Lifeforce showed Dorian’s health on the list again, still at 100%. But that meant the sandstorm was over. Nathan’s nostrils flared as he took another furious breath, his rage expelling the last of the grit from his lungs. The song of the crystal hammer sang as it returned to him again. He caught it, spun it back up, and hurled it back out (59).
The blind debuff would soon be over and this time he wouldn’t miss; this time he wouldn’t hesitate. This time, the unstoppable elf was going down. In less than one minute, it would all be over.
“Your new abilities… they’re great. But you’ve seen they aren’t enough to hurt me—let alone win,” the voice taunted him.
“I’m not done!” Nathan yelled. ‘Such arrogance, I hate it,’ he thought, seething as he counted down the moments until his sight would return.
“Come now, brother, just take the potion and this can all be over,” his opponent said.
Nathan fired another attack toward the vexing voice (60). The hammer missed again, striking only dirt. He held out his hand, willing the weapon to return. It snapped back into his grip, and he waited for his moment. The corners of his mouth twitched as he imagined the boastful brute on his back, tasting the bitterness of defeat.
“If you stick to mending, you’ll do great. You gave it your best shot.”
‘Always so condescending, I hate him,’ Nathan thought. He walked forward, stalking after the voice. He spun up the hammer again and blindly rocketed it (61), listening for the crushing impact. The muted thud as it buried into the ground did nothing to sate his desire for justice.
“Have it your way, big brother.”
Nathan’s face twitched. That impetuous nickname dumped fuel on his fire.
“But when that rainbow flame of yours goes out, I’m going to end this.”
Nathan heard the casual cracking of knuckles as he clenched his jaw, trembling with indignation. “I will end you…” he swore. His vision finally cleared as the debuff wore off. He snapped his head to his right and then left, searching for his brother. Only when he spun around did he find the target’s location.
This time, Nathan didn’t hesitate. “Stand still!” his voice echoed with Command.
Trapped, unable to move. The unstoppable elf finally stood in place, gazing down at his unresponsive legs. Nathan took delight in watching the confusion form on his face, reveling in the elf’s silence.
The twitch at the edges of his lips curled into a smile as the hammer returned to his grip. Both brothers locked eyes, and whatever Dorian saw in Nathan’s gaze scared him enough to use a defensive ability, covering his entire body with a protective layer of stone.
Nathan glimpsed the fear in his brother’s eyes and drank it in, his own eyes growing wide. “Yes… That’s it!” This time, Dorian couldn’t just walk away.
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Something deep inside him took sadistic glee in knowing his brother wouldn’t escape the consequences this time. That twinkle of terror in his eyes was a delight, satisfying. The writhing mass of hatred—a mere mask—broke apart as the fist of righteousness ached for release. Order, sensing the impending justice, revealed itself as Nathan’s promise of power.
His brother’s sentence had finally come, and he would be the one to deliver it. Guided by the righteous fist of Order itself, he dropped the hammer, caught the chain, spun it up, and attacked his brother. Just like the first throw, the crystal hammer sailed headfirst into his chest. An echo of the past repeated as Dorian took the hit, but this time it was different.
Nathan realized too late that the collection counter read 61.
His pupils went wide as he called out for his brother, “Dorian!”
But the damage was done; the recall was too late. He watched as the titanium breastplate buckled, catching the hammer and preventing it from running him through. His brother’s torso imploded, shattering bone and crushing vital organs. A fine green mist instantly formed around him from the concussive force.
Dorian’s eyes remained locked on his, full of confusion, shock, and surprise. Nathan watched as the light in his eyes went out.
Lifeforce registered Dorian’s death and removed him from the list. The lifeless body landed on its back, its dead eyes openly staring up at the sky.
Nathan had gotten exactly what he wanted.
[Undeath orb]: [False Life] available for 10 seconds.
With his mind broken, Nathan forgot about the returning hammer. It slammed into his outreached hand, shattering everything up to his wrist before landing somewhere behind him. His rage was spent, replaced by a silent numbness, insulating him from everything.
Small plumes of smoke rose off Dorian’s unmoving body. Before he knew it, Nathan had moved closer to stand over his brother.
[Undeath orb]: [False Life] available for 6 seconds.
Dorian’s body lay on the ground, continuing to smolder. The fabric of his clothes caught fire as embers ate away at the frayed edges. But Nathan didn’t hear the sizzling crackles coming from within his brother or smell the smoke rising from his burning clothes. He’d disassociated, cutting himself off from all communication with the outside world. It was the only way he could process what had happened.
[Undeath orb]: [False Life] available for 3 seconds.
“Dorian’s dead…” he said, glancing down at his trembling, crippled hand. “I… killed him.”
His hatred had led him to this moment, and it was hatred that brought him back. Tendrils of self-loathing reached out, reconnecting him to the world around him.
[Undeath orb]: [False Life] available for 1 second.
In that moment, Nathan made a choice, accepted its consequences, and held out his deformed hand, casting False Life on his brother.
Dorian’s -31% health reappeared, displayed by Lifeforce. His mouth opened, but nothing escaped—no sound—not even air. He reached up, grasping at his chest. His eyes grew with concern as he found it wasn’t in its usual place.
“Hang on,” Nathan said clinically, allowing his physician training to take over. That was what Dorian needed him to be at this moment. He could go back to being a terrible brother later.
He used Triage, sighing as it stated the obvious—Dorian should be dead. Most of his injuries were beyond life threatening. He didn’t read the entire report; they didn’t have that kind of time. Instead, he took a knee, wincing through the pain, as he worked to unclasp the deformed breastplate. It was still crushing Dorian’s chest.
Technically, Dorian didn’t need to breathe while False Life remained active, but some habits were hard to break. Nathan frowned as his brother flailed about, impeding his efforts to remove the armor. The inside of the breastplate was slick with green gore. He tossed it to the side, his stomach churning at the sight of the imploded chest.
“Don’t move,” Nathan said. “You’re injured.”
After surveying the damage, his patient would need a new set of lungs before he’d be able to breathe again. His current set was now mostly coating the inside of the breastplate. He cast Life Shield and then Metabolize, mentally adding Dorian to his team so the regeneration aura would work on him, too.
Between all three abilities, the patient’s organs should regenerate quickly. He was lucky that Metabolize could regenerate anything, from organs to limbs, which not all mending abilities could. He kept an eye out as the chest cavity re-inflated, while the ribs reformed. It happened slowly, emitting slurping and other unsavory squishy noises.
The patient refused to keep his hands away from his torso; he had to keep swatting them away. While Nathan understood Dorian’s instinct to know what was happening to him, it was distracting and interfered with his ability to mend.
Nathan held his gaze, giving him a flat look. “Please keep your hands away from the operative field, or I’ll have to restrain you.”
His coughs were a good sign, meaning enough of his respiratory system had regenerated for him to breathe on his own again. Nathan held him down as he tried to roll on his side—his wounds required more time to mend.
“That…” Dorian coughed into his fist. It sounded wet, a sign his lungs were still forming. “Was some attack.”
Nathan blinked at the sound of Dorian’s voice, bringing him back to himself. Tears welled, threatening his vision again as he held his brother’s hand.
“Knocked me right on my ass.” Dorian finished another coughing fit.
Nathan didn’t respond—he couldn’t. If he tried to speak now, he’d just break down again, and he wasn’t sure there was anything that could pull him back together a second time. Instead, he looked at his own twisted hand and cast Metabolize on himself. His aura kept switching between mana and health, as each ticked up a percentage higher than the other.
He didn’t know how to feel about his Undeath ability. The undead health allowed the body to function without working organs, and while that was unnatural, it’d saved two lives already.
His thoughts betrayed him as they plotted different ways he could save adventurers where traditional mending couldn’t. Admittedly, it was a powerful mending ability, and he questioned why he shouldn’t use it to help those beyond traditional mending.
The taste of betrayal was bitter, souring his stomach. All his life, he thought it was Undeath turning him into a monster. But Undeath had saved his brother. It was Order that drove him to take a life. What would he do now? Could he trust himself not to do it again?
His gaze found the crystal hammer lying in the dirt. It forced him to look away as tainted thoughts of righteousness stirred his sense of pleasure.
Dorian groaned as he sat up beside him, placing a hand on Nathan’s shoulder. “Looks like neither of us used a potion… Let’s call this one a tie.”
Nathan’s fist balled instinctively as the writhing mass stirred within him at Dorian’s provocation. He released it, immediately letting go of the anger, giving hatred nothing to purchase. Instead, he reached down, grabbed Dorian’s potion off his belt, popped the top, and forced his brother to drink it.
“Hey…” Dorian protested, pushing the vial away. “That’s cheating.” A moment later, the potion went to work, and he looked much healthier.
“I don’t care…” Nathan leaned in, hugging his brother tightly, despite his tender whimpering. “We’re never fighting again.” He refused to let go, hiding his tears and shame while treasuring what he’d almost lost.